USA > Ohio > Miami County > Piqua > The first century of Piqua, Ohio > Part 27
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ELLA GILL SEDGWICK.
PIQUA OF 50 YEARS AGO
RECALLED BY MR. ARTHUR W. CROSBY, WHO SPENT BOYHOOD HERE
Boston, Mass., January 25, 1913.
To the Editor of The Piqua Daily Call, Piqua, Ohio.
Dear Sir: Copies of The Piqua Daily Call sent me a few weeks ago stirred up old memories of the town, once so familiar but of which I have seen nothing and heard little in more than
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44 years. Being in a reminiscent frame of mind I am inclined to "obey that impulse" and give your readers a few impressions, as I recall them, of Piqua as I knew it in the days just before and during the Civil war.
First, as to the town itself. It was a quiet, sleepy old place in those days, the word "hustle" not having yet "arrived." I can scarcely recall any material change or improvement in the ap- pearance or condition during the 14 years that I was a resident.
On the west side of the town, the section in which I lived, there was but a narrow belt of houses on the west side of Broad- way, except along Texas street, (Park avenue), where they ex- tended farther out. Between the town and the hills were the well-tilled farms of Matthew Caldwell and Ben Merryweather.
North and northwest of the city, adjoining the corporation line, was the farm of old George Johnson, the terror of small boys and trespassers. Johnson's woods were a favorite resort on Sundays and holidays for all classes of pleasure seekers. I think I have heard that these woods now constitute a part of your park system.
Opposite these woods, on the Versailles pike, I once wit- nessed an attempt on the part of Sam Garvey, the sheriff, to ar- rest an alleged runaway slave, a stalwart young mulatto who had been in the neighborhood but a few days. The negro drew a knife and threatened the sheriff who, thinking, perhaps, that "discretion is the better part of valor," climbed into his buggy and drove back to town. The intended victim was not seen in the vicinity again and the fact of his escape was a matter for rejoicing in our family, my parents being abolitionists. This in- cident occurred about 1856, as near as I can recall, and made a lasting impression.
Many of the stirring events peculiar to the presidential cam- paign of 1856 are well remembered by the writer, who was then in his tenth year. Among the political speakers of that day I especially recall that stalwart old war-horse, Ben Wade, also John Sherman, Columbus Delano and others.
One feature of that campaign I have never seen equalled since: the matter of flag-poles. The town was full of them. From our home on the hill we could count as many as 30 or more. The Democratic poles were readily distinguished from the Re- publican by having a bush at the top.
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In this connection I will mention Jim Simpson, an eccentric character of those days, who dearly loved to "run with the ma- chine," and whom your older readers will doubtless remember.
A relative on the Pacific coast has just sent me a panoramic post-card he had recently received, presenting a view of the Public Square in Piqua. Evidently it was taken from the east side of Main street looking out High street. But there is little that seems familiar in the scene. As my brother remarks, "The old Market House is conspicuous by its absence." On the site of what appears to be the Plaza hotel building once stood Brooks' livery stable, and one the corner to the right of the cannon was Aaron Friedlich's clothing store, and opposite that was the Jour- nal office. The building on the left of the picture may or may not have been there in 1868, as my memory is a trifle hazy on that point.
The old Public Square was the scene of many patriotic meet- ings and stirring incidents during the Civil war. I recall es- pecially one Union rally, I think it was during the Brough and Vallandingham campaign of 1863, when the chief speaker of the evening was the Rev. Granville Moody, well known throughout Ohio and the north as the "Fighting Parson." Referring to the claim made by southern sympathizers that the rights of the south were being trampled upon he exclaimed, "Rights! Rights! Let me tell you, my friends, that the only rights those people have is to be HANGED in this world and DAMNED in the next." And the crowd yelled AMEN! Granville Moody never minced his words on any subject.
The Vallandingham campaign was perhaps the most excit- ing and bitter ever fought in this country. However, that is now a matter of history and familiar, no doubt, to most of your read- ers. To those who participated in it, it is considered merely as an incident of that long, four years struggle.
Another feature of those "high and far off times," as Kipling puts it, and one worthy of mention, was the generous and pa- triotic manner in which the people at home cared for the "war widows." Certain days were set apart for bringing in wood and provisions from the country. Prizes were offered for the big- gest load of wood. On one of these occasions a single load meas- ured 14 cords, although it required an extra pair of wheels under the center to sustain the weight.
In the autumn of 1864, when 17 years of age, I left High
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School for the front, serving the remainder of the war and for several months after. It was in 1862 that I worked for a time in the Journal office. As before stated, the editor and pro- prietor at that time was D. M. Fleming, whose daughter, I am interested to know, is a member of your staff.
Mr. Fleming, as I remember him, possessed a personality that would attract attention in any gathering. Always smooth- shaven, his face was not unlike that of the late President McKin- ley, expressing kindliness combined with firmness and determina- tion. If he ever had enemies, other than political, I never heard of them.
Piqua's wealthiest man in the sixties was supposed to be old Uncle Billy Scott, as he was familiarly called, although he would hardly be classed as a "plutocrat" in these days of "high finance."
Among the leading physicians may be mentioned Drs. G. Volney Dorsey, Parker, Worrall, Caldwell and Gordon. Of the lawyers I can only recall the Mckinney brothers, Frank and Sam. Both were Democrats. The latter, on one occasion, be- came involved in a political dispute with Parson Moody. Those who saw the encounter reported it as most amusing. Sam Mc- Kinney weighed close to 300, while Moody, though less bulky, was taller and more powerful. No blood was spilled.
An eccentric character, and one who was, perhaps, as widely known as any man in town, was Joe Kelly, the auctioneer. He was certainly a past-master of the art, and exceeded in native wit and volubility any member of the profession I have ever met. There were many other citizens of lesser prominence whom I remember, but will refrain from mentioning now.
My family and I moved to Missouri in 1868. I came to Bos- ton in 1880, and have resided here ever since.
Very respectfully yours, ARTHUR W. CROSBY.
PIQUA 50 YEARS AGO
BY M. H. JONES
Written Feb. 22, 1890
"We speak of many a vanished scene, Of what we once had thought and said, Of what had been and might have been, And who has changed, and who was dead."
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Alas, O Posthumous, the years glide swiftly by. So sang Horace to his friend amid the glories of the Roman empire, and so it seems to the writer when he reflects that it is 50 years ago in the coming September when he, from the top of Hilliard's hill, at the east end of Huntersville, first beheld the fair town of Piqua. It then contained probably from 1,500 to 1,800 people, was a very clean and handsome town, full of life and vigor, and commanded a large trade from the north and west. The canal had been completed some three or four years to the state dam, three miles north, and Piqua was the headquarters of all the
M. H. JONES
canal interests between here and its northern extension. Here were gathered canal commissioners, engineers and contractors. Here were estimates made and paid to the contractors, and here was the money mostly spent, and spent freely. We recollect one contractor, whose name now escapes us, who carried his money in a tall plug hat and went around town paying it out as long as it lasted.
The work at Lockington was very heavy and expensive, and a large force was constantly there employed. And very lively chaps some of them were. We recollect well the Duffin boys, Felix and Randall, and bold Irish lads they were, who after-
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ward covered themselves with glory in our famous "Broadford War." Piqua then, except by a very few houses, extended only to Downing street on the west, and one square below the railroad on the south, with two or three houses south on Main street, between that and Simpson's tannery-now T. J. Wiley's. Main street was the principal street, with but few houses on it now which stood there 50 years ago. From Greene street south, all the present houses have been built, except the residences of Mrs. Jos. Young and Mr. G. W. Young, Ashton's store and the three stores adjoining it on the south, the Holtzerman block, and the house on the opposite side. All other present houses have taken the place of small frame buildings then standing.
Greene street M. E. church is the only church building but what has been erected since 50 years ago. This congregation, previous to that time, worshiped in a small brick building over the canal on Spring street, about where the knitting works now stand, the present building having been erected in 1836. There we heard the earnest pleading of Rev. Solomon Howard, or of that other noble specimen of manhood, Rev. Wm. Raper, and occasional blasts from Rev. Jas. B. Finley. The Episcopal church, a small brick, was also over the canal, on the corner of North and Spring streets, east of the Foreman block. It had for its pastor Rev. Mr. Guion, a very worthy and devoted man, long since dead. The Seceder, now United Presbyterian, stood on the lot on Sycamore street, now occupied by the Malt House, where we frequently went to hear Rev. Mr. Claybaugh, who often preached there. He was an exceedingly earnest, logical and eloquent preacher. He also rests from his labors.
The regular pastor of the church at that time was Rev. Mr. Porter, who lived in the house beyond Rossville which is now the home of Wm. McFarland.
The old-school Presbyterian church stood in the north-west corner of the old Wayne street cemetery, being a small brick building. This church was under the pastoral care of Rev. Jas. Coe, who we believe is also dead.
The new-school Presbyterian church occupied the lot on Wayne street where the residence of J. W. Shipley now stands, and was finished in 1841. Rev. Benjamin Graves, who died at Huntsville, Alabama, in 1878, was then the pastor and was very earnest and devoted to his work. This church had the first pipe organ in the town, and was noted for its good music.
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The Baptist church was a large frame building over the canal on Ash street, occupying the lot on which the brewery now stands, just east of D. Spencer's residence. The pastor was Rev. John E. Thomas, a very able and earnest man, who died early and whose body yet lies in a neglected grave in the old Park avenue cemetery. The Cumberland Presbyterian church had a small frame situated on the south side of the lot on Wayne street, now occupied by Dr. W. S. Parker, then owned by Judge Benjamin Leavell. It was afterward moved to the lot where the Lutheran church now stands, and was used by that congre- gation. Rev. Mr. King was the pastor. This comprises all the churches. The services in all were simple, earnest and impres- sive, and drew large congregations to each.
The postoffice was kept in a small one-story frame building immediately south of Todd's book store, which was then the site of Carson's door-yard, and John Carson, father of the present Jas. Carson, was the postmaster. This dwelling house was after- ward moved to south Main street, where we saw it only a few days ago. After Harrison's election in 1840. John Carson, being a pronounced Democrat, was succeeded by John W. Gordon, a Whig, who moved the postoffice to his building on the north-east corner of Main and North streets.
After Harrison's death and Tyler's deflection from the Whig party and his attempt to build up a party of his own by turning out postmasters and other office-holders, and Gordon being a very ardent Whig, it was suggested to him one day that the adminis- tration having changed he was liable to lose his office. But he replied that "he would like to see an administration that could change any quicker than he could," and immediately became an aident Tyler man and retained his office until Polk was elected in 1844.
Swartz's Tavern, a long two-story building on the west side of the square south of the railroad on Main street, was among the oldest buildings of any importance in the town, and in front of it and across the street was the scene of a murder committed by one Arstenstall, for which he was convicted and received a life sentence, dying of cholera in the penitentiary in 1850.
There were no houses then across the road from the tavern. The river was spanned by a bridge commencing on Sycamore street, where the railroad bridge now is, and running into Main street in Huntersville. This bridge was built on wooden stilts
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or benches, and was swept away in the great flood of Jan. 1, 1847, as well as all other bridges on the river. The bridge at the head of Main street was also built on bents, with low side railings and insecure floor, and one day when our military com- pany, the "Light Infantry," were marching across the old bridge with flag and plumes "full high advanced" and heads erect. a board in the floor tilted up and let through Lewis P. Kirk, one of the soldiers, "with musket, plume, knapsack and all." On another occasion Gordon F. Mott, then a lawyer just married, afterward a member of congress from Nevada, was strolling over the old bridge with his wife, who in playful mood was tilting up the boards of the old floor, when suddenly she found herself shot through the bridge and into the turbulent stream. Her husband gallantly leaped over the railing and rescued her from the river, and they both crawled up the bank, wetter but wiser people. This bridge was the favorite strolling place for the young people, and we have enjoyed many moonlight strolls thereon in the days of long ago. "Alas. O Posthumous, the years glide swiftly by !"'
Tamplin's tavern, a two-story frame building situated just north of the present Bassett House, was kept by John Tamplin, who commenced building the Bassett House in 1840 and finished it in 1841, when it was kept by him and Patrick Scully. It for- merly had a basement, and the hotel was reached by a flight of stone steps. It has since been remodeled.
The next hotel was the "Exchange," the two-story frame over the canal on Ash street. where it still stands just east of the stone bridge. This was the liveliest spot in town. Here was the packet landing, and on the old wooden bridge that stood where the arch bridge now stands would gather pretty much the whole town to see the packet from Cincinnati and all points south land its passengers. Its arrival was announced by the ringing of a bell located on the top of the tavern sign-post. This was a great event in the town. The packet was a favorite way of travel to and from Cincinnati, and was noted for the excellence of its table. It was a little slow, but so was the old stage-coach, driven by Jack Green, the veteran driver.
There was no railroads then, nor telegraph, nor a mile of turnpike in the country. We recollect standing on this bridge and seeing a company of soldiers of the regular army from Ft. Gratiot, in Michigan, pass down the canal to join the troops
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of Gen. Taylor, in the Mexican war, and also saw the company raised here for the same war by Gordon F. Mott, leave for their destination, from the same place. And we saw the next year a solitary soldier from Mexico land on his return from the war at the same old bridge, with a chapparel stick, cut from the battle field of Palo Alto, which is now in my possession as a walking cane. This veteran soldier was Capt. F. A. Hardy.
On the same spot about 42 years ago the writer landed from the packet from Cincinnati, Capt. W. J. Downs in com- mand, with his certificate of admission to the bar, after an ex- amination by a committee of which Salmon P. Chase was chair- man, with an armful of law books, and not a dollar in his pocket to commence the battle of life. Jack Green the driver is dead, the packets have rotted at their moorings, the old bridge is gone, and a new generation has come upon the stage.
Next in point of interest was Tuttle's hotel, now the "Hotel de Franz," kept by Dennis Tuttle and his sons, Perry and Gay- lord. This hotel was the gayest and most fashionable place north of Dayton. It was kept in superb style, and here were gathered and boarded the canal contractors, engineers and com- missioners, and all connected with the canal interests, together with their families. Among them we recall E. Farrington, David Hunter, E. G. Barney, A. G. Conover, Wm. Werden, Martin H. Crane, Michael Wallace, and many others.
The late Perry E. Tuttle never tired of telling of the pleasant times old Piqua had in this hostelry, and describing in his mas- terly and quaint way what was their ball-room, with its blue ceiling made to imitate the blue vault of heaven, studded by its bright stars which looked down on "fair women and brave men." The remaining large hotel was the "National," kept, I think, by a Mr. Dimmitt, which stood where the City hotel now stands.
It was a plain two-story brick, and was torn down about 1849, when the present building was erected. It did a good bus- iness, and was generally filled with boarders and travelers. All the hotels kept public bars, generally in their front rooms, with- out any concealment, and sold only strong liquors.
We had no saloons and lager beer was unknown. Christ. Rommel kept a cake shop in the building just north of Dr. Ash- ton's dwelling, a small frame house, where he sold gingerbread by the section and spruce beer by the quart, but a barrel of it would not produce any intoxication.
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The square on Wayne street now occupied by the Davis, Johnston, O'Ferrall, Orr, and Wood residences was then vacant, except a house on the north-east corner owned and occupied by Jas. Scudder. In wet seasons it was covered with water, but at other times was used by show people for their circus and show grounds, and sometimes for political pole-raisings. From a point about a half square west of the Zollinger residence on Broad- way, to near Wood's oil mill, the ground in wet seasons was covered with water from one to three feet deep.
No houses of any kind were on it. As late as the time the high school was built, about 1855, the late Matthew Caldwell offered to sell to the school board the entire square in front of the school house, to be used as a park, for $800. The ground west of the school house and up the hill where the Hydraulic now is was swamp, and was good hunting ground for squirrels and pigeons, and we have shot many of them on these grounds. The Hydraulic has completely drained all these lands and made them valuable.
Matthew Caldwell's farm house, a small frame, stood on the north-east corner of the present Ash and Caldwell streets, and he owned pretty much all west of it. The farm barn of his brother, Samuel Caldwell, stood about where Leonard Parker's and John McClure's houses now stand, and all north of that and west for a considerable distance was vacant and open commons where the military companies trained in all their glory, and occasionally a show would pitch its tents. North of Camp street and between that and Broadway was a beautiful sugar grove where political meetings were occasionally held.
In 1842 there was held in this grove a great and notable political discussion between Robert C. Schenck of Dayton, and Wm. I. Thomas of Troy, on behalf of the Whigs, and John Brough in behalf of the Democrats, all of whom after the dis- cussion was over in appearance greatly resembled the famous Kilkenny cats. Just north of this grove, at the north end of Broadway, was the large farm house of Hugh Scott, Esq., father of the late William and James Scott, and of Hugh Scott, who owned the lands around there for quite 'a distance. This part of the country was exceedingly handsome.
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Another noted place was "Upper Piqua," which we must not pass by. Here was the residence of Col. John Johnston, the Indian agent, and a noted man in his day. His house, now owned by Mrs. Rachel Blackwood, was a large and handsome one for the times. There he kept, by order of the government,
UNCLE BILLY PATTERSON, OLD PIONEER AT UPPER PIQUA.
some 8,000 Indians during the war of 1812, and by his influence induced them to be neutral during the war. He made many trips to Washington on public business on horse-back. He was a man of courtly manners, great force of character, good edu- cation, and of commanding influence with the Indian tribes.
In his beautiful home at Upper Piqua he raised a large fam- ily of brave sons and fair daughters, and his hospitable man- sion was a gathering place for the polite and fashionable society of the Miami valley. His wife, Mrs. Rachel Johnston, was a woman of very beautiful character and of great benevolence. She was interested in all good works, but especially in that of the Piqua Bible Society, of which she was one of the founders, and was for many years its president. She was the mother of 15 children, 14 of whom survived her, and 11 of whom sur- rounded her dying bed in July, 1840.
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Three of Col. Johnston's sons died in the country's service. Stephen died a naval officer; Abraham, a captain in the regular army, was killed in a charge on the Mexicans at the head of his regiment in the battle of San Pasquel, Cal., and was the only American killed in the battle. James, a school-mate of the writer, was 'a captain of volunteers and died in the hospital at Alexandria during the rebellion. All the daughters are dead and William, a resident of Cincinnati, alone survives. The col- onel himself died in Washington city and his body, together with his wife's, his sons above mentioned, and the rest of the family now lie buried in the family cemetery on the farm. A great deal of history gathers around this spot. Above the residence on the hill is a prehistoric stone fortification; near by on the river was a garrisoned fort during the early days of the country, and a short distance away was fought a battle, so tradition says, between the French and English. In connection with the in- fluence the name of Col. Johnston had with the Indians the fol- lowing anecdote told me by his nephew, the late Wm. Johnston, ex-county commissioner, may not seem inappropriate :
In 1849 Wm. Johnston and Capt. T. J. Lawton organized a large party, probably one houndred, and went over the plains to the then newly discovered gold fields of California. When far out on the plains these two one afternoon rode in advance of the train to seek grass and water for their cattle and a camp- ing place for the night. While looking for a suitable place they saw at a distance two persons on horse-back approaching them who they soon ascertained were Indians. As soon as they met Johnston spoke to them, and one of the Indians answered in broken English and in a rather surly manner.
He asked the Indian if he could tell him where he could find grass and water. The Indian shook his head and said "no" very promptly. He then asked Johnston, "Where you from?" Johnston answered, "From Ohio." The word Ohio seemed to arouse the Indian and he said, "What part?" The answer was, "Piqua." The Indian's eye flashed and he straightened'up on his horse and said, "You know Col. John JJohnston?" and he an- swered that he did. He then asked, "Who are you?" and was answered, "My name is Johnston-Bill Johnston." The Indian looked at him very earnestly for a moment and said, "YOU BILL JOHNSTON; YOU KNOW COL. JOHN JOHNSTON?" and again he answered, "Yes." The Indian then told them to follow and going a short distance pointed out where they could find
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a small stream of water and plenty of grass. On the way he asked particularly concerning Col. Johnston and family and himself, and it transpired that the Indian and Johnston had been boys here of about the same age and had played together at Upper Piqua while the Indians yet remained here.
When he had fully satisfied himself concerning Col. John- ston and family and Wm. Johnston's identity, and after show- ing the location of grass and water, he said to Johnston, "So you Bill Johnston? You know Col. Johnston? You know Piqua? You live at Piqua ? Well, G-d d-n!" and shaking hands with Johnston and Lawton, he turned his horse's head and with his Indian companion rode off on the plains.
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