Tuesday, November 29, 2016

The Astounding Story of a Civil War Veteran

On a cold rainy Monday I was surfing the Internet and came across this story.  I hope you find it as interesting as I did.  I am currently trying to verify alleged relationship to Decatur County, Indiana.  As of now, I cannot ascertain claims that he was related to Decatur County Miller's.  I decided to go ahead and post it because it is such a great story.  Happy Reading.

Taken from the Daily News Joliet Ill. Wed. June 14, 1911
Thanks to the help of Beverly L. Craig Fossil Ridge Library, Braidwood Ill.

Braidwood Veteran Carried Bullet in Head For Many Years After War

Story of Vicissitudes of the Veteran, Left on the field of Battle as Dead
Reviewed From His own Biography Receives $40 Month Pension

       Braidwood is sending to the state G.A.R. encampment today one of the most remarkable hero survivors of the Civil War. His name is Jacob Miller and since Sept. 19, 1863, he has lived with an open bullet wound in his forehead. For a number of years the bullet remained in his head but piece by piece it fell out till now. It is thought none of it remains in the wound. During the time it was in the head it at times would produce a stupor, which sometimes would last two weeks, it being usually when he caught cold and produced more of a pressure on the brain. At other times delirium would seize him and he would imagine himself again on picket duty and would tramp back and forth on his beat, a stick on his shoulder for a musket, a pitiful object of the sacrifice for freedom. As these pieces of lead gradually loosened and fell out he regained his usual health and is now at the age of 78 years, one of the most, if not the most, remarkable survivor of the Civil war.

       The harrowing experience undergone by Mr. Miller is so vividly felt by him even at this late day that it is seldom he can be persuaded to talk of it.

       But it is my privilege to record from his own hand writing written for his family the story of his miraculous escape from death at that memorable time under his signature.

       Jacob Miller, formerly a private in company K 9th Indiana Vol. Inf. Was wounded in the head near Brock Field at the battle of Chickamauga, Georgia on the morning of Sept. 19, 1863. I was left for dead when my company when my company fell back from that position. When I came to my senses some time after I found I was in the rear of the confederate line. So not to become a prisoner I made up my mind to make an effort to get around their line and back on my own side. I got up with the help of my gun as a staff, then went back some distance, then started parallel with the line of battle. I suppose I was so covered with blood that those that I met, did not notice that I was a Yank, ( at least our Major, my former captain did not recognize me when I met him after passing to our own side).

       At last I got to the end of the confederate line and went to our own side while a brigade of confederates came up to their line behind me. There were none of the Union forces found on that part of the field when I passed along. I struck an old by-road and followed it the best I could, as by this time my head was swelled so bad it shut my eyes and I could see to get along only by raising the lid of my right eye and look ahead then go on till I ran afoul of something, then would look again and so on till I came to the Lafayette Pike near the Kelly house and started towards the field Hospital at the springs. I at length got so badly exhausted I had to lie down by the side of the road. At last some bearers came along and put me on their stretcher and carried me to the hospital and laid me on the ground in a tent. A hospital nurse came and put a wet bandage over my wound and around my head and gave me a canteen of water. I don’t know what time of day they examined my wound and decided to put me on the operating table till after dark some time. The surgeons examined my wound and decided it was best not to operate on me and give me more pain as they said I couldn’t live very long, so the nurse took me back into the tent. I slept some during the night . The next morning (Sunday), the doctors came around to make a list of the wounded and of their company and regiments and said to send all the wounded to Chattanooga that the ambulances would carry and told me I was wounded too bad to be moved, and if the army fell back those that were left there could afterwards be exchanged.

       As stated before I made up my mind as long as I could drag one foot after another I would not allow myself to be taken prisoner. I got a nurse to fill my canteen with water so I could make an effort in getting near safety as possible. I got out of the tent without being noticed and got behind some wagons that stood near the road till I was safely away (having to open my eye with my finger to take my bearings on the road) I went away from the boom of cannon and the rattle of musketry. I worked my way along the road as best I could. At one time I got off to the side of the road and bumped my head against a low hanging limb. The shock toppled me over, I got up and took my bearings again and went on as long as I could drag a foot then lay down beside the road, to see if I could not rest so I could move. I hadn’t lain long till the ambulance train began to pass, the drivers as they passed me asked me if I was still alive, then passing on. At last one of the drivers asked if I was alive and said he would take me in, as one of his men had died back awes, and he had taken him out. Then it was all a blank to me, (Monday the 21st I came to myself and found I was in a long building in Chattanooga Tenn., lying with hundreds of other wounded on the floor almost as thick as hogs in a stock car. Some were talking , some were groaning. I raised myself to a sitting position got my canteen and wet my head. While doing it I heard a couple of soldiers who were from my company. They could not believe it was me as they said I was left for dead on the field at the left of Brock Cabin. They came over to where I was and we visited together till then came an order for all the wounded that could walk to start across the river on a pontoon bridge to a hospital, to be treated ready to be taken to Nashville. I told the boys if they could lead me, I could walk that distance. I started but owing to our army retreating the night before, and was then in and around the city wagon trains. Troops and artillery were crossing the river on the single pontoon bridge. We could not get across until almost sundown. When we arrived across and up on the bank we luckily ran across our company teamster, who we stopped with that night He got us something to eat After we ate some (the first I had tasted before daylight Saturday morning the 19th), we lay down on a pile of blankets, each fixed under the wagon and rested pretty well as the teamsters stayed awake till nearly morning to keep our wounds moist with cool water from a nearby spring.

       Tuesday morning the 22nd we awoke to the crackling of the camp fire that a comrade built to get us a cup of coffee and a bite to eat of hard tack and fat meat. While eating, an orderly rode up and asked if we were wounded. If so we were to go back along the road to get our wounds dressed, so we bid the teamsters good-bye and went to get our wounds attended to. We had to wait till near noon before we were attended to. That was the first time I had my wound washed and dressed by a surgeon. After we were fixed up we drew a few crackers, some sugar coffee, salt and a cake of soap and were ordered to get into an army wagon with four army mules, ( God Bless the army mule, the soldiers friend.) We got in and started to go over Raccoon or Sand Mountain to Bridgeport, Ala. To take the train to Nashville, Tenn. After riding in the wagon awhile I found the jolting hurt my head so badly I could not stand it so had to get out. My comrades got out with me and we went on foot. I was told it was 60 miles that route to Bridgport, at least it took us four days to get there. Wednesday morning when I woke up I found I could open my right eye and see to get around. We arrived at Bridgeport the fourth day out from Chattanooga at noon, just as a train of box cars were ready to pull out. I got in a car and lay down. I had gained my point so far--and how. As the soldiers term it with lots of sand, but the sand had run out with me for the time being.

       The next thing I remember I was stripped and in a bath tub of warm water in a hospital at Nashville. I do not know what date it was; in fact I didn’t pay much attention to the dates from the Friday at noon when I got in the box car at Bridgeport to start to Nashville.

       After, some length of time I was transferred to Louisville , Ky. From there to New Albany, Ind.. In all the hospitals I was in I begged the surgeons to operate on my head but they all refused.

       I suffered for nine months then I got a furlough home to Logansport and got Drs. Fitch and Colman to operate on my wound. They took out the musket ball. After the operation a few days, I returned to the hospital at Madison and stayed there till the expiration of my enlistment, Sept. 17, 1864. Seventeen years after I was wounded a buck shot dropped out of my wound and thirty one years after two pieces of lead came out.

       Some ask how it is I can describe so minutely my getting wounded and getting off the battle field after so many years. My answer is I have an everyday reminder of it in my wound and constant pain in the head, never free of it while not asleep. The whole scene is imprinted on my brain as with a steel engraving.

       I haven’t written this to complain of any one being in fault for my misfortune and suffering all these years, the government is good to me and gives me $40.00 per month pension.

Submitted by Edgar Miller

from - http://incass-inmiami.org/cass/bio_gen/millerjacob.html

Friday, September 4, 2015

Decatur County Poor Farm, by Susan Simmonds Ricke

I have been curious for some years about the history of the Decatur County Poor Farm which was located in Clinton Township.  I will include a few facts I have discovered so far. This research is very time consuming and so I will publish preliminary points of interest and eventually hope to make a complete story about how the indigent of our county were treated or taken care of in the years 1870 to 1940.  The map below is from the 1870's.

Clinton Township including Poor Farm in section 14.

Sunday, August 9, 2015

John Henry Schroeder

As I was researching genealogy for my sister's family recently, I came across an interesting entry in Harding's History of Decatur County.  It is about the patriarch of the Schroeder family in Decatur County and it is very informative to the genealogist and historian.

The student interested in the history of Decatur County does not have to carry his investigations far into its annals before learning that John Henry Schroeder has long been one of its most active citizens, in both its mercantile and agricultural interests, and that his labors have been a potent force in advancing the interests of this locality. Mr. Schroeder has lived a useful and honorable life, a life characterized by perseverance and well defined purpose and he has established a character as a man who measures up to the type of the good American citizen. To him there also belongs the distinction of being the oldest resident of Decatur County.  John Henry Schroeder, who lives on a farm adjoining the town of Enochsburg, Salt Creek Township, was born in Germany, November 19, 1822, the son of Frank and Mary Elizabeth Schroeder who came to America two years after their son had located here. When John H. Schroeder was about fourteen years of age, in 1836, enthused by the wonderful stories of the great possibilities in the United States for a young man of ambition and energy, he came to this country, locating first at Cincinnati, where he engaged in common labor. He also worked in a store for five years. In 1841 he went to Louisville, Kentucky, where, for five years, he was employed in a store, and in 1846 went to Missouri, and clerked in a store at Lottsport. Two years later he returned to Louisville and after a residence there of one year came to Decatur County in 1849, locating in Enochsburg, where he established a store, which he operated with considerable success for about eight years. It was at a period antedating the advent of railroads in this section of the state and it was necessary to bring his stock of goods from Cincinnati. On one occasion when he was sending a wagon load of dressed hogs to the Cincinnati market and while crossing a stream near Harrison, the ice broke and the valuable team of horses which he was driving was drowned. When he discontinued his store at Enochsburg, Mr. Schroeder located on the farm where he now lives and which comprises two hundred and seven acres of valuable land. He has resided there for about forty years and has worked a wonderful transformation in the condition of the place. At the time he moved upon it there were no improvements of any kind and it was necessary for him to cut timber in order to erect his buildings. He since then has done strenuous labor, but despite his hard luck he is now, at the advanced age of ninety-three years, remarkably well preserved, both physically and mentally. He has always taken a keen interest in local affairs and has lent his aid to the advancement of all worthy propositions and to the raising of the standard of living. While living in Enochsburg he served two years as trustee of the township, and one term as appraiser and was in other ways prominent in the affairs of his neighborhood. During the Mexican War, Mr. Schroeder assisted in organizing a company for service and also helped to organize a military company during the Civil War.

On February 8, 1849, Mr. Schroeder was married to Elizabeth Tuka, who was born in Germany on September 8, 1828, and who passed away in March, 1894. She came to America, locating in Louisville when fourteen years of age and her marriage to Mr. Schroeder occurred at Enochsburg. To Mr. and Mrs. Schroeder were born the following children: Henry H., Henry, deceased; Everhard Henry, October 9, 1832, who died in 1905; John G., November 17, 1854, who lives three miles south of Greensburg and who is married and has four sons. John, Edward, Frank and Gregory : John Ambrosius, deceased; Herman Henry, October 24, 1858, was married, July 13, 1897, to Rosa Sandrock; Mrs. Mary Elizabeth Northorst, of New Albany, is the mother of three children, Joseph, Rosa and Henry; Louisa Zizilia, December, 1862; Mrs. Annie Frances Thea, of Posey county, who has seven children, Rosa, Elizabeth, Joseph, Clara, Frances, Julia and Anthony ; Rosa Clara Wessels died in Louisville, Kentucky, on November 23, 1899. at the age of thirty-two years, leaving four children, Lizzie, Bennie, Edward and Rosa. John Henry Schroeder also has four great-grandchildren, namely : Joseph and Leonard, sons of his grandson, John ; and Richard and Paul, sons of Joseph Northorst.

Mr. Schroeder has been a life-long adherent of the principles of the Democratic party, having cast his first Presidential vote for Henry Clay and has voted for every Democratic presidential candidate since. His religious affiliation is with the Enochsburg Catholic church, of which he is a liberal supporter.

As the oldest resident of Decatur County, J. H. Schroeder has seen his county develop from a sparsely settled community to its present prosperous condition, and has performed a very important part in helping to bring about the advanced standing of the locality. Though now in the evening of life, he is still hale and hearty and enjoys life with the zest of a far younger man. His long residence in this section has given him a great number of friends, by whom he is held in the highest esteem for his many commendable traits of character.
History of Decatur County by Lewis Harding pages 882-884

John Gregory Schroeder and Elizabeth Pulsing Schroeder with sons John, Edward, Frank and Gregory.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

On this day in 1924 - Leopold and Loeb Murder Case in Chicago

 One of the earliest and tragic murders in the 20th century was the case of Leopold and Loeb.  It happened in Chicago in 1924.

Fourteen-year-old Bobbie Franks is abducted from a Chicago, Illinois, street and killed in what later proves to be one of the most fascinating murders in American history. The killers, Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb, were extremely wealthy and intelligent teenagers whose sole motive for killing Franks was the desire to commit the “perfect crime.”
Leopold, who graduated from the University of Chicago at age 18, spoke nine languages and had an IQ of 200, but purportedly had perverse sexual desires. Loeb, also unusually gifted, graduated from college at 17 and was fascinated with criminal psychology. The two made a highly unusual pact: Loeb, who was a homosexual, agreed to participate in Leopold’s eccentric sexual practices in return for Leopold’s cooperation with his criminal endeavors.
Both were convinced that their intelligence and social privilege exempted them from the laws that bound other people. In 1924, the pair began to put this maxim to the test by planning to commit a perfect murder. They each established false identities and began rehearsing the kidnapping and murder over and over.
Loeb stabbed Bobbie Franks (who was actually his distant cousin) several times in the backseat of a rented car as Leopold drove through Chicago’s heavy traffic. After Franks bled to death on the floor of the car, Leopold and Loeb threw his body in a previously scouted swamp and then disposed of the other evidence in various locations. In an attempt to throw police off their trail, they sent a ransom note demanding $10,000 to Franks’ wealthy father.
But Leopold and Loeb had made a couple of key mistakes. First, the body, which was poorly hidden, was discovered the next day. This prompted an immediate search for the killers, which Loeb himself joined. The typewriter used to type the ransom note was recovered from a lake and, more important, a pair of glasses was found near Franks’ body.
When the glasses were traced to Loeb’s optometrist, police learned that the optometrist had only written three such prescriptions. Two were immediately accounted for and the third belonged to Nathan Leopold, who calmly told detectives that he must have dropped them while bird hunting earlier in the week. This explanation might have proved sufficient, but reporters covering the case soon discovered other letters from Leopold that matched the ransom note. When confronted with this evidence, Leopold and Loeb both confessed.
Clarence Darrow agreed to defend Leopold, and the trial soon became a national sensation. Darrow, who didn’t argue the boys’ innocence, directed one of his most famous orations against the death penalty itself. The judge was swayed and imposed life sentences. Apparently unsatisfied with the attorney’s work, Leopold’s father later reneged on his contract to pay Darrow.
In January 1936, a fellow inmate killed Loeb in a bloody razor fight in the prison’s shower. Leopold was released on parole in 1958 with help from noted poet Carl Sandburg, who testified on his behalf. He lived out the rest of his life in Puerto Rico, where he died in 1971.

 Copied from the website below:

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Two pound cannon ball in Greensburg after the Civil War

“The Two-Pound Cannon Ball”
The following article appeared in the Greensburg Daily News on September 14th, 1932. Wouldn't it be interesting to find this canon ball or find out more about it and the canon that fired it.


A two-pound cannon ball was found on the banks
of Gas Creek near the stone quarry, just south of
the city limits Tuesday and was brought to the News
office today by Greenberry Roszell, 85, who is old
enough to remember when a cannon belonged to
the city and was often used back in the 60’s in firing
at a large sycamore tree which was used as a target.
This ball is believed to have been one that was used
In practicing on the tree which stood on the bank of the
Creek. It may be seen in the News window.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Funeral home in Westport since 1872 from Bass and Gasper website


Online Obituaries
Our History & Heritage
Grave Markers
Contact Us
Benefit Information

1872 - 1897
James M. Burk, Wagons, Carriages & Undertaking
An undertaking business was established in Westport in 1872 by James M. Burk. As the business name shows, Mr. Burk was more than just a funeral director, he was also an undertaker.

1897 - 1928
J. F. Hamilton Furniture & Undertaking
On January 20, 1897, Westport merchant J. F. "Frank" Hamilton purchased the undertaking establishment from Mr. Burk. Two months later he added a furniture store. From 1900 to 1914 the business was located in a two story wood framed building next to the railroad on Main Street. So rapidly did the business grow, that new headquarters became necessary. On May 13, 1914 ground was broken for a new brick building. The building had two floors and a basement. It was arranged so that there were two separate departments: the furniture store and the undertaking department. The undertaking department contained a private office, a casket display room and dressing room. Mr. Hamilton maintained two funeral wagons, an ambulance and a splendid team of horses. Mr. Hamilton was accredited with being the first funeral director in Decatur County to use an automobile in the funeral business. His daughter Leona assisted Mr. Hamilton in the business.

1928 - 1960 
Hostetler Funeral Home
Mr. Hamilton's Undertaking business was sold to Conn & Emil Hostetler, who operated the business as Hostetler Brothers Funeral Home. After this the funeral home was owned by Conn and his wife Katherine and called simply Hostetler Funeral Home. Assisting them in the funeral business was their son Connie Mac. The business was moved from it's downtown location to its current location on Bennett Street on October 27, 1945. This move marked the 19th anniversary of the Hostetler Funeral Service in Westport. It continued to serve the area until the death of Mr. Hostetler on January 21, 1960.

1960 - 1985
Bass Funeral Home
In April 1960, George & Mary Louise Bass purchased the Hostetler Funeral Home and it became known as the Bass Funeral Home. During this time the facilities were enlarged and redecorated to keep in the progression of the present day and age. New areas added to the facilities during this time was an office area, flower receiving area and a heated garage for washing vehicles. Along with this was a new casket display area. This allowed the old display room to be converted into a larger visitation and chapel area. The Bass's also purchased property across the street from the funeral home for additional parking.

1985 - Present
Bass & Gasper Funeral Home
In January of 1985, Mike and Cynthia Gasper joined George and Mary Bass in ownership of the funeral home. During this time additional improvements were made including handicap ramp access, paved parking lots, new heating and air conditioning units and remodeling of the building to create a second visitation and chapel area. The funeral home also became computerized thus allowing the staff an even faster way of transmitting obituary information to newspapers and radio stations. It also allows on site printing of register books, service folders and prayer cards. Many families have been pre-arranging and funding their funerals. The Bass & Gasper Funeral Home uses the Forethought ® Group as the funding vehicle for its pre-need insurance and trusts. In 2005 the funeral home added an additional large service room to accommodate larger services and visitors. Mike and Cynthia Gasper are proud that the funeral home is locally owned and family operated. Together they operate the business with the same dignity, honor and respect for which it has been known all of its many years serving the public of Westport.

402 East Bennett Street
Westport, Indiana 47283-9744
(812) 591-2571
Fax- (812) 591-2586

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Memoirs of Nancy Hamilton Adams and early pioneer life in Decatur County

In this blog post you will read the memoirs of one of the first pioneer families in Decatur County, Indiana. James E. Hamilton and his brother, Cyrus along with their wives, sisters Jane and Mary McCoy, respectively settled here in 1822 near Kingston.  Charity Mitchell from the Historical Society of Decatur County has offered this memoir of James Hamilton's daughter, Nancy Hamilton Adams (1826-1913). This very valuable memoir has been reprinted many times. It will stand as one of the best historical documentations of life in the earliest pioneer days (1830-1850) of Decatur County, Indiana.
Marker on County Road 80NE near where the families built the first cabin.

Some Reminiscences of my Childhood Days

Out of the mists of the memory of my early childhood arises a square log house where I first saw the light, March 12, 1826. My parents were Kentuckians. Father, James E. Hamilton, born in Nicholas County in 1795. Mother, Jane McCoy, in Bourbon, an adjoining county, the following year. They married in 1818. In March, 1822 Father, Mother and their two little children, Philander and Robert A., also Cyrus Hamilton, a brother of my Father’s, and Polly McCoy, a sister of my Mother’s, who had just been married, emigrated with them to Decatur Co., Indiana, near what is now Kingston. They went in hired wagons. Much of the way was a wilderness, and they followed a blazed trial, which served as a guide through the unbroken  forest, and on the 11th day of March unloaded their household goods by the side of a large poplar log (Tulip tree), the wagons and drivers returning to Kentucky. A  temporary shelter was made out of bark, until logs were cut and a cabin erected. Here, away from the blighting influence of slavery, they began their life work to found a home for themselves and their children, and how they worked! Later, a second cabin was built, the one in which I was born. In 1830 the brick house was built, where I passed my childhood and girlhood, until my marriage to Jacob Clendenin Adams, June 7, 1849. Those early days of my life were indeed in the long ago, and primitive times they were, of life in the far west, as Indiana was then considered. Father being a man of great energy, and strong will and frame, kept everything moving about him. Mother, was energetic and ambitious too, but worked beyond her strength. Almost all the cloth needed for clothing for the family and the home furnishing was manufactured at home. Flax was raised and spun and woven into cloth. The process of getting the flax into thread, as I remember it, was this:  The flax was pulled up by hand out of the ground, and left spread out to dry a while, then was gathered up and laid a big bundle at a time on a hand machine and pounded to break the coarse fibre which encrusted it. Then came the scutching process. A large handful was held by one hand on an upright board or post, and with the other hand on a long knife shaped wooden instrument the flax was scutched or beaten downwards, thus getting out the broken crusty pieces, and the flax was ready for the hackle. This was a board about six by twelve inches, in which sharp iron spikes were placed in upright position. The flax was drawn through this machine by handfuls again and again,  taking out all the coarse flax or tow, as it was called, leaving the long fine glossy fibres which was spun into very fine thread, and woven into table linen, sheets, pillow slips, sewing thread, etc. The tow was also spun into thread and woven into cloth for men’s trousers, flour sacks, wagon covers, towels, etc. The flax was wound around a distaff, and always spun on a little wheel. I have often seen my mother sit and spin flax. I loved to watch her draw out the thread turning the wheel rapidly all the time with her foot which was on the treadle. It was easy, comfortable looking work. In summer we wore home made cotton dresses. The cotton thread was bought and part of it colored indigo blue, and part with copperas making an orange yellow, and a little white was put in to brighten it. This was woven into striped, or checked cloth, good and strong, and looked very well too. The  dresses are expected to last, and did last two years—well suited to healthy, romping, climbing children. I remember of being perched in an apple tree one day, and attempting to jump from one of the lower limbs to the ground, distance of eight or ten feet, but alas, the hem of my cotton dress caught on a project and there I hung suspended head downward. As I was alone and some distance from the house I despaired of anyone finding me and thought I would die, but my good mother heard my cries and to my great joy came to my relief.

      Flannel was made for winter wear. The wool was sheared off the sheep, washed,  dried and all the burrs and trash carefully picked out, then sent to a carding machine, (I can just remember of hand cards being used for a small amount of wool) to be made into rolls, when it was brought home, spun into thread and dyed with indigo and madder, which made a pretty red color (No diamond dyes in those days). This was also woven into stripes or checks, and made very pretty comfortable dresses. For the men and boys jeans was made, also what was called fulled cloth. I think the latter was used for overcoats. Woolen stockings were universally worn, and of  course knit at home. Sugar, soap, starch, candles, etc., were also made. I can remember of my Mother making buttons out of thread. Perhaps haw thorns were used for pins, but I do not remember. There was little to buy anything with, and for such things as were absolutely necessary, some kind of cloth was usually made, and exchanged for them.

     The canning process was then unknown and there was much drying of fruit. There was a great abundance of peaches. The long row of trees extending along one side of the large apple orchard were always full year after year of luscious fruit. A great deal of it went to waste, or rather was fed to the hogs, but a great many bushels were dried on a kiln made for the purpose. Apples were dried in the sun as as the kiln did not answer so well for them. I think much more apples and peaches were dried than were used at home, and were exchanged for necessaries. In the very early days Father tanned the leather and made our shoes at night when he could not work on the farm. These were only worn in the winter time or to church, and I do not suppose had much style to them. There was very little work hired—friends and neighbors exchanged work, helped each other. There were many house and barn raisings, log rollings, (great black walnut logs were burnt or split into rails), corn huskings, flax pullings, wool pickings, apple parings, quiltings, etc. Corn planting was always  a busy time and all the help possible was taken from the house. I was considered a good dropper—could drop the corn in the intersections of straight rows running both ways, so the corn could be plowed both length and crosswise. It was very tiresome walking on the plowed ground and the dinner horn was a welcome sound, so was the setting sun longingly watched for, as that was the signal for quitting work. The first four working days of the week mother would weave, spin, dye, etc., day in and day out and then on Friday and Saturday came washing and ironing, mending, baking and scouring till everything shone and was in readiness for the Sabbath. By this time she was often laid up with a terrible sick headache, but I do not know that it ever occurred to her that it was caused by overwork. Her busy life was ended when she was fifty-four. My dear, sainted Mother! She was one of the excellent of the earth. Always sympathetic, affectionate, in confidence and touch with her children in all their joys and sorrows. No wonder, she was beloved. Father was different in my ways. A man of few words, undemonstrative, but quick tempered and absolute in his government, which was more  common in those days.There were no “whys” or “what fors”, instant obedience was expected and given, so he had little occasion to punish. Doubtless he loved his children but he did not show it, as a consequence there was a good deal of fear mixed with the love his children had for him. While not demonstrative, his love for his children was evidence by his gifts of land on the marriage of each of his children, and later by more land to each one, and still later of money in considerable amounts. In this way he showed more affection and trust than most fathers, and I will insert here a tribute lately received from my brother Robert who is still living at the ripe old age of eighty-six years.  “Father was a public spirited man in all public enterprises and improvements --- did more work  and gave more money than any man to build the railroad (Big Four) to Indianapolis which has grown to a great system. Though as I look back now he took a fearful risk in endorsing the bonds to get money to build the road. If the road had failed, as some of them did, it would have bankrupted him, and as I look back at him leaving the hills of Kentucky a poor man with a small family, stopping in the woods (of Indiana) until a rude cabin was built to shelter the little family, and his long steady life work in building up a great county, I see him in front of a race of giants. He grows bigger and broader as the years go on and the world progresses. He did his full part in the day he lived.” I may add that he left benefactions to church and community in which he lived, that will ever keep his memory green. He lived to be nearly eighty-six, and his character and disposition ripened, and sweetened as the days and years went by so that he was beloved by all, and his children and children’s children could rise up and call him blessed.

      But to go back to my childhood days. Accidents happened of course. I will relate one which seemed very serious for a time as I came near losing an eye. When I was about five years old I fell from a high rail fence on to a clump of  spice bushes, and one of the branches ran up one of my nostrils. I pulled out the projecting stick before help reached me. The blood streamed from nose and mouth, and there was a very sick little girl carried home that day and for several weeks afterwards. The opposite eye from the sore nostril was greatly affected, swollen, almost to bursting with the lids always closed and every effort to open them seemed unavailing. The doctor probed in my nose but could find nothing, yet he felt convinced that a piece of the stick had been left in somewhere which caused so much inflammation and found he was correct by fitting the pieces of the stick together, but as no one knew what could be done about it, some weeks passed with but little change when a remarkable circumstances happened. A good faithful animal, the mother of a young colt, had been sick for hours with what they called colic, and at bed time father left her in the door yard, thinking nothing more could be done for her, but the suffering creature seemingly in hope of relief went round and round the house, until finally she fell against one of the side doors which burst from its hinges, landed on top of a bed that providentially was not occupied, and poor Dolly fell dead on the floor inside the room. I was lying in my mother’s arms and with the shock my eye opened which had been so long closed. My mother’s heart overflowed with thanksgiving and tears of joy fell on my face and from that time on my eye improved steadily. I was aware that there were grave fears that I would be disfigured for life and for some timer there was a great difference in my eyes, but I outgrew this to a great extent. But the strangest part of this incident remains to be told. About twenty-three years after the accident occurred, and had been almost forgotten, I was sitting one evening reading aloud to my family, which was rendered difficult by my nose  being much stopped up with cold, and I resolved to make an effort to clear it with a good blow, when lo, the identical piece of spice stick, loosened from its mooring of so many years, put in its appearance. I felt it come into my nostril and pressed it out. It was in a good state of preservation, about one and one-half inches long and only one half of the stick, the crease for the pitch showing plainly on that side and there was considerable bark on the other side. It was thought it had lodged in the cavity in front of the brain, and I was not aware of the occupant, doubtless it was better so.

      There were no ranges or cooking stoves. All the cooking was done in the great fire place, across which was an iron bar or crane, from which hung a number of pot hooks. From these were suspended kettles, pots and boilers for the cooking process. A very few had brick ovens built for baking, but we had none. We used pot metal skillets and ovens with lids for baking bread and all such things. They were placed on the hearth before the fire with coals put underneath and on the lids, and sweeter bread was never made, although it was hot, trying work in front of a big fire of logs. The bread for every day use was usually made of corn meal, often what we called “Johnny Cake”, which was baked on a long narrow board about six inches wide and baked in front of the fire. It was delicious, so was the light corn pone. This was put into quite a large oven and baked all night in the corner of the fire place. How good it was for breakfast with plenty of good butter and rich sweet milk. Wheat was somewhat scarce. I can remember when it was cut with a sickle and the grain tramped out by horses on the barn floor. Flouring mills were not very accessible. In the early days Father would pile on his large horse, Old Charley, quite a number of sacks of wheat and go to Whitewater to mill to have it ground into flour. This was twenty miles away and the trip would not be made very often and the flour had to last a long time. Some grist mills for grinding corn were scattered through the country. As soon as the growing corn was dry enough, we children grated corn every afternoon from which delicious mush was made for supper. Mush and milk was the supper for the family all the year round, and what was left over was warmed up in milk for breakfast for us children. Boiled dinners were universal. The meat was boiled in a pot over the fire and some sort of vegetable cooked with it. As a rule there were no second courses, corn bread and milk completing the meal. When we went from home it was on horseback, often two on a horse, and in case of children one behind and one before was very common. Visitors were always expected to stay for a meal, and to stay all night was a common way of visiting.

       As there were no matches it was never expected to let the fire go out, or coals would have to be brought from the neighbors. Some fire was always covered in the ashes when not needed for heat. But I have said nothing about any pleasures that we had. It was not all work and no play. Child life in the country in many ways is beautiful. The restful memory picture that comes back to me often times is of myself and my younger sister, Mary, roaming over the blue grass pastures in the warm bright spring days. It was a lovely place thickly studded over with sugar maples. Wild flowers in great variety were in abundance, as were the feathered songsters. We gathered flowers to our hearts’ content, hunted  the birds’ nests, also the  nests of the geese or lingered around the fascinating young goslings. Then there was the winding branch, or brook, where we wondered up and down, removing all obstructions so the clear water could ripple over the pebbly bottom, and we could watch the little minnows dart in and out or glide peacefully along with the current. Oh, the city child does not know of such happiness! Communion with nature is always helpful, always uplifting. David as the shepherd boy communed with nature, so when he became the “Sweet Singer of Israel”, what beautiful imagery he had. “Like the tree planted by the rivers of water”, “As the hart pantest after the water brooks”. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside the still waters”. “The Heavens declare the glory of God, -etc. Also the 104 Psalm complete, and many, many other portions.

      But I digress, I have not spoken of the educational facilities of my childhood years. Church and Sunday School were started almost with the settlement. The first church building was a large round log structure, Sunday School was at 9 A.M. after which came morning service – a sermon of goodly length. Then an intermission of about an hour when we ate our lunch, then assembled again for another service. So it was along in the afternoon before we reached home, when the catechism was studied and recited to Father in the evening. We took all this as a matter of course and I do not remember that we considered the day at all tiresome. There were day schools for a few months in the winter as soon as there were children to go to them. I was started when I was almost four years old. My first school was across the country about a mile through the wood. In a small brick room which was built in the pastor’s yard for his study, and which he gave up for a time for school purposes. The long parsonage of several rooms stood near by. The Teacher, Miss Susan Howe, was a Yankee school marm whom the pastor had brought from the East. Home missionary work, no doubt. She was a sweet lovable woman. Children were not dressed so warmly in those days as now—no warm underwear. Not even drawers of any kind. So baby that I was I often reached the school room almost frozen, when this kind good woman would take me on her lap to warn me up, put my stiffened fingers in her warm bosom to thaw them out. I remember of crying with the cold as I trudged home through the freshly fallen snow which flew up on my bare limbs and stiffened my skirts. My oldest brother, Philander, was along. He was about eleven years old and I thought him quite a big boy. He saw my distress and persuaded me that I could run faster than he could and we would soon be home, so he made a pretense of running very fast, but let me get ahead, thus beguiling me into forgetfulness of my troubles. Not long after this a brick school house was built near our home and I had no more tribulations in getting to and from school. I have always thought that our teachers were superior to those of country neighborhoods generally. Not only were “The Three R’s taught, but grammar and geography  as well, and very thoroughly too, especially was good spelling insisted upon. Spelling  Matches formed part of the routine in school. I was always chosen first as I seldom missed a word. Arithmetic was not considered so important for girls. I remember of doing an example in long division which covered one side of my slate. I was so proud of it that I carried it home to show my Father. He looked at it but refused to believe that I had done it without assistance. I never progressed very far, for my school life ended when I was very Young. It was very seldom indeed that anyone was from home in order to have better advantages in school. My oldest Brother, of whom I have spoken, while yet a boy, had an accident to his knee that made him a cripple for life, and on that account he was sent to Hanover College where he was graduated in 1839. This brother so full of promise passed away in early manhood aged twenty-eight years. I do not suppose there was a thought of my other brother, Robert, going away. For he was to be a farmer, of course, which was all right in his case for he made a very successful one. When I was eleven years old I was taken out of school, and put to the spinning wheel. It nearly broke my heart. I shall never forget the wretchedness of that first day. How weary, footsore and hopeless I felt as I walked back and forth by that big wheel, trying to draw out the rolls of wool into something like even thread. With practice the art became easier, but I never was an expert. I never could accomplish as much as my older sister, Margaret, so after a while when I was older I was set to weaving on a loom. This I liked better than spinning and I wove a great many years of cloth of different kinds in the years that intervened until woolen mills were started through the county, which took this kind of work out of the homes. I had no regret in no longer hearing the hum of the spinning wheel or not seeing the shuttle fly back and forth in the hand loom. I have spoken of my sister, Margaret, and the very name brings up this bright capable sister. Beautiful, too, she was, and so as young girls together, I so timid and bashful, I almost lived and moved and had my being in her, and was almost inconsolable when she married and went to a home of her own. During these years my school days seemed to be ended, but when I was eighteen a new pastor came to us, whose wife and an educated eastern woman, and who probably seeing a special need, opened a private school in her own house, to which I was only to glad to go. There was a rapid review of the studies we had previously gone over, and some new ones added.  United States history, advance in Arithmetic, Comstock’s Philosophy, with Astronomy in the back part, was taught. I was very much interested in these studies for they seemed to open up a new world of thought. But it was all too short, only lasted one winter, and was my “finishing school”. How insignificant were my opportunities  compared with those of the girls of the present time. I often wonder what the girls and women of the twentieth century will do with their great opportunities. I trust make better  wives, better mothers, beautiful in Christian Character, and in all that goes to make truly womanly women. I had another sister, Fidelia, whom I have not mentioned. She was nearly twelve years younger and so came little into my childhood and girlhood, and after we left the home did not live near each other. The changes that have come since those early days are almost like the passage to another planet. Changes in the whole comfort, convenience and healthfulness of living and working, and in the relief of the sick and suffering.

      Just before the discovery of Chloroform my poor Mother underwent a very painful surgical operation. The eminent surgeon for the time, Dr. Mussey of Cincinnati, Ohio, said she was very brave, greatly above the average, but even yet it makes me shudder to think of it, and regret that this wonderful discovery  did not come sooner. So it was with many, many other things. The telephone, telegraph, phonograph, and so many other wonderful inventions, too many to even mention in this paper. They would have seemed incredible within my memory, and I often wonder if there can be as many changes and inventions in the next century as in the last one. Flying from one place to another seems almost here, but it is useless to  surmise what will take place in the future. Even the end of the world may be near at hand,  for we “know not the day nor the hour”. One by one the little flock that was sheltered and nurtured in the old house of my childhood has passed over the river. My brother Robert and myself alone remain awaiting the sound of the “Boatman’s oar”, and of the voice “Fear not, I will pilot thee”.

     The years that I have traveled lie stretching in long array behind me, and I have reached the time that one lived much in memory, hence these reminiscences. They may be of some interest to my children and children’s children when I am living in this world only in memory.

                                                                             Nancy Hamilton Adams

Topeka, Kansas

February 10, 1908