CHAPTER VI. (CONT'D)

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF A PIONEER.

(Thomas Meredith.)

I was born May 26, 1824, in the village of Donstone, Herefordshire, England, my mother's maiden name was Sarah Beavan, she died when I was but four years old. My father in the year 1829, moved to the Parish of Glasbury, Radnonshire on the borders of Wales--as he was the owner of some tenement houses with gardens attached. One of these houses was built, as I have been told by my father, when I was a little boy, by his grandfather, probably three hundred year ago. It was built of stone and covered with tile, which consisted of thin stone which comes out of the quarries in that part of the county, and is dressed off by masons when taken out of the ground as then they are in a softer condition than after exposed to the sun. The tile dressers, after it is squared off, picks a hole in each about half an inch in diameter and a oak pin about two inches long is driven in and made flush with the upper side, so as the other tiles will lay down smooth. These are laid in layers like our shingles, and moss that grows on, or about, the roots of trees in the woods, in that damp, moist county, is gathered and stuffed between the joints, to keep out snow and wind. The moss grows and fills up all between the joints of the tiling. Since that date they use slate for covering buildings, except mansions, which are covered generally with sheet lead. The house where I was brought up, had moss growing on the walls when I was a boy, and had been in my father's ancestor's possession since it was enclosed from the commons. The Lord of the Manor may have permitted some of my ancestors to inclose a few acres out of charity, or otherwise, I know not. My father died in the sixtieth year of his age, when I was about the age of nineteen, and out of my apprenticeship, as I was bound under Edkins, of Bristol, to learn the plastering trade. When a boy, I worked at Masbough Castle in the east house, where there were over seventy-five plasterers at work, over a year. The work was done with plaster of paris and formed bead cornice, miters, center pieces, and all kinds of statutary, etc. What I learned there was never of any use to me, as after the death of my father, I took up his business, he having kept a small shop where he sold groceries, etc. This Masbough Castle cost millions of money and was building for two generations, and was near the ruins of one of the old castles that Oliver Cromwell battered down in the days when King and Commons were at war. The castle belonged to the Walter Wilkins estate. I have heard my father say that the way the elder Wilkins accumulated his wealth was that he had ships at sea, and would run to Africa and catch, or trade trinkets, or goods, for a cargo of young Africans, then run his sailing ship to Charleston, and trade his cargo of blacks for a cargo of cotton, which he would bring back to Liverpool and sell it, then to African again; and that he brought the most of the ancestors of the colored people to this country and sold them into slavery, and made a fortune by so doing; and it cost the American people billions of money, and rivers of blood to do away with slavery. As I commenced telling, I took up my father's business and thought myself capable of taking the reins into my own hands and driving. I trusted out my goods and could not collect the debts, so I sold the store house and few acres of land, my father had left me, and made up my mind to come to America. I remember one old man, a schoolmate of my father's saying to me, "Oh, Tom! Tom! What would your poor father say, if he could come back to life, and know you had sold the property he had left you. Oh! Tommy, you should never have sold it." I had got married to a young widow who had one little boy, four years old, which I brought up. My wife's name was Martha Griffiths, the daughter of James Griffiths, the saddler of Bishop's Castle, Shropshire, England. I came to Madison, Wisconsin, in the summer of 1852. I bought a farm seven miles south of Madison, with a little frame house and a few acres broken up, about ten acres girdled, in the burr oak openings. I received the first letter from my wide stating that Lew, her brother, would not come out with her. I was somewhat out of humor. Late in the fall of the same year, I came here. I took the stage coach that run from Madison to Galena, and found everything frozen up and the roads very rough. When we arrived in Galena I was informed that most of the boats had gone down the river, and would not be up any more that season, but there was one still up the river, and if it was not frozen in, it would be down shortly. Finally it came along and I went down to the river bank and got out on some rocks and waved my handkerchief and held up my satchel. The boat stopped and took me and two other men on board, and we went up to the captain's office and paid our fare to St. Louis. There I got in to help the cook on the boat just starting for New Orleans, so I saved my fare, as I had about spent all my money for land in Dane county, Wisconsin. I got to New Orleans and fell in company with some English miners that were about to start for California. I thought I would like to go to the land of gold and make my pile, as the Californians call it. I got on board the steamship Union that was bound for Chagres, on the Isthmus of Panama. I engaged with the chief cook, who happened to be an Englishman, who took me in as ship cook. I had already got into the ways of the Americans, and could turn my hand to almost anything. I was to get $30 per month. When we got out to sea, I had to sign articles, as they are called by seamen; I gave in my name, age and nativity, name of father, mother, etc., and agreed that I would not leave the ship in a foreign port, etc. We had about four hundred passengers bound for California. When we got to Chagres, on the Isthmus, we anchored out in the ocean, as there were no docks or harbors, all was in the state of nature. Our passengers were all taken ashore in skiffs, by the Spaniards, copper-colored fellows, all wearing palm leaf hats, and thin knit undershirts, and light pantaloons which was all of their apparel, except shoes. I wanted to leave the boat, but I could not get ashore, as we were anchored out some way from land. The next day after, the passengers had all left and gone up the Chagres river, as the railroad was not built over to Panama, at that time. I asked the captain if he would release me. "What do you want to do here cook?" "I want to go to California." "Have you not signed articles?" "I have." " Well, you ought to know that I cannot release you in a foreign port, you could apply here to the American consul and he would send you to the States and maybe bring a bill against our company for the charges." We were there in the early part of January, and it was as hot as it is here in July. On about the 3d day, the Captain and Supercargo were taken ashore in one of our life boats, as each ship carries one on each side of the vessel. In the afternoon they were brought back in the boat by six able bodied seamen, and had several shot bags nearly full of gold, that was taken as fare from passengers. The steward came to the kitchen and told us to get ready, that there were about five hundred passengers booked for New York--so next morning the Spaniards commenced to bring the returning Californians to our ship in their skiffs, so within a few hours we hoisted our anchor and made for Kingston, Jamaica, where we had to take in coal and water. Here our ship drew in alongside the wharf, and many of our passengers went ashore to get some Jamaica rum, while we took in about two hundred tons of coal, which was accomplished by about one hundred negroes, male and female. They formed in line by falling in behind one another, carrying about one hundred and fifty pounds of coal upon their head, in the half of flour barrels, and as each came on deck, dumped his load as he passed the hole, and keep in line one following each other singing "do-da-do-da, I am gwine to run all night, I am gwine to run all day, I will bet my money on the Bob-tail nag, who will bet on the bay," until you could not hear yourself think. They were some of the liberated slaves of that island, which was a part of the British colony of the West Indies. It was still very warm weather in January, where the oranges, lemons, bananas, etc., were in abundance. Our bell rang and our fog horn blew, and our passengers came quickly on board, and we were headed for New York. One of our passengers entering his state room, lifted up his satchel that was heavy when he left his berth, and it came up light, "Oh my God! My Gold is Gone!" He had had about forty pounds weight of gold dust and nuggets. He went, in an excited manner, to the Captain, who ordered a committee to search the ship, which was like looking for a needle in a hay mow. Somme of the flunkeys got it and would be on a bender in New York as long as it lasted. Every day's run brought us into a colder climate, and when we got into the port of New York it seemed to me as cold as Greenland, as I had felt no cold weather that winter, since I left Wisconsin, about the middle of November. As soon as we got into the port, our passengers went ashore and our head cook went into the city to get some liquor and promised to be back within the hour. I cleaned up the kitchen and waited for him, as we had over two barrels of slush to sell to the bakers of New York; this was from the rendering of roast meat, etc. I waited patiently, and a customer appearing to buy our barrels of grease, and offering me $25 for it, I took it, and went into the office and received my pay for services rendered on the steamship Union. Poor Bill, the cook, did not return to get his share of the pay, for slush; I suppose he got on a drunk. I packed my satchel and took a hack for No.___ Washington St. looked for a daily paper to see what steamers were leaving for Liverpool, and saw that City of Bristol was loading at Pier No.___. Next day I went on board of that steamer and went to the Captains office. I was asked where I was cook last---I told him "on the Union." He remarked, "Be here by ten o'clock to-morrow, I will engage you to Liverpool." I did not return until about two P.M., next day. The Captain was just coming out of his office. I spoke to him. His reply was, "I have engaged two colored cooks, you were not on time." I turned on my heel and went to an office and paid my fare on a clipper that made the voyage from Sandy Hook to Cape Clear, within fourteen days, which was good work for a sailing vessel, but those clipper built ships are very long and narrow, for fast sailing. When I arrived in Liverpool, it was coming towards spring of the year. Within a few hours I was at Lime St. Station, and aboard the train for Bryn Mawr, Monmouthshire, Wales, where my wife and family were. I visited around my old home a while, and packed up and returned, with my family, to the farm I had bought near Madison, Wisconsin. When I got back to the place I started from, I counted up the miles of my trip, which was over 17,500 miles, or as much as two-thirds around the world. The first winter in Wisconsin was a cold one. In the spring of 1854 or 1855, I started, with two wagons, three yoke of oxen to each, and about forty head of heifers and cows, to Oregon, as I was told it was a climate much like England; not much cold weather in winter. We got out as far as Cass county, and met some teams going west, and learned that the emigrants had by that time all crossed the river, west of Council Bluffs, and I could not go, as all had to meet at Council Bluffs and go in one train. These had a captain and officers, and were organized to fight the Indians, if need be. I camped on the banks of Indian creek, near Iranistan, on the main emigrant traveled road to Council Bluffs. This county was new at that time; but very little land was entered in the county. I was disappointed in not going to Oregon that season, but I looked around for a location. I went down to the east Nishnabotna river, and found Joseph Pearson building a log house, which was the go in those days. I returned to camp that night, and next morning went with Jeremiah Bradshaw. He told me that he would show me a good claim, good timber, and smooth prairie adjoining, which was on sections 29 and 32, township 77, range 37. We found one settler that had erected a little log hut, with clap-board roof and puncheon floor, the latter split out of logs. The only inhabitants within three miles of the place were Isam Pucket and John Porter, who had log cabins. Mr. Bradshaw and I went around the claim; he gave me some numbers and I got a township plat, by which I saw that there were only eight "forties" entered in the township. These were some of what they called the choice locations, good timber lands---as all struck for the groves of timber. I, next day, went to Council Bluffs, on what was called in those days the two-horse jurkey, which was the only public conveyance throughout this part of the country, except their own ox or horse teams. When I got to Council Bluffs, after walking up the hills, I found some Englishmen, who said they were "Latter Day Saints," as the Mormons were called. I found that Council Bluffs and vicinity was inhabited by Latter Day Saints from Nauvoo, Illinois. They were moving off to Salt Lake, and many were anxious to sell their claims. One owned a "forty" of entered land, about where the Court House now stands, or a little south. I believe it is now called Bayliss' first addition to Council Bluffs. I think he asked me eight hundred dollars for the forty acres, which had a log cabin upon it. I inquired around, as I did not know what was best to do. One old man told me to go over the river from Council Bluffs, and I might find the surveyors that were coming to survey a little in Nebraska. The old man told me to buy A. D. Jones' claim of half a section, as it could be got for about one thousand dollars. I offered eight hundred dollars for it, but as the sun was about going down I had to go back over the river, as the old flat boat or scow stopped crossing about sundown. There was a sod shanty built some way north of the Union Pacific depot, as far as I remember. Jones' claim was three hundred and twenty acres, taking in a part of the heart of where Omaha stands to-day. If I had given the one thousand dollars, (which was about my pile at that day), some fellow would have come along and offered me two or three thousand dollars, and I should have been very apt to let it go. I returned over the river to Kanesville, now called Council Bluffs, and next day entered a few tracts of land in Cass county, and built my hut. That summer I broke up about sixty acres of land on section 32, 77, 37, where John Berry's farm is to-day. The next spring I sowed about thirty acres of wheat, and had a good crop, about twenty-five bushels per acre. I tramped out some in the fall, and took some of the wheat to West Nishnabotna, to what was called Stutsman's mill, and brought the flour home and sold it at seven dollars per hundred pounds. Corn was then a dollar per bushel, but within a few years corn was only worth fifteen cents and wheat twenty-five cents per bushel. As soon as we broke up the virgin soil and it brought forth abundantly we overstocked the market, and as we had no outlet, except by team to Council Bluffs, or Des Moines, prices fell. The next settler that came into Brighton township was Thomas Leadly. He bought out John Porter, where Wm. Altig lives to-day, on section 33. Samuel Shields came in, and built a log house. They were all from Napierville, Illinois. The first school in the township was kept in the house of Samuel Shields. Adelia Page was the first school teacher; she was the sister-in-law of Shields. Joseph Everly married the girl some time after the death of his first wife, and I do not know what has become of her---whether she is dead or alive. Joseph Everly, her husband, was a clever man and good neighbor, but was a fool when he got drunk, as he would do when he went to Iranistan. He and Jake Watson went home together on a sled, as they lived at that time on the river, a few miles north of Lewis. Everly was killed on the way home, and his body found next day. Jake, fearing trouble, went away for awhile, and then came back, and there were nothing done about it. It was a drunken freak and the people thought, if, he got drunk and wanted to whip everybody, he ought to be killed. I went to Council Bluffs in the fall of 1856, to enter some land. They were entering by ranges, and as it would not come my turn for several days, I went to where they were building opposite the Pacific House, and as I had laid some brick, in England, and did not want to be idle, the contractor lent me his trowel, and I laid a few bricks. He agreed to give me $4 per day. I worked for Jesse Winn, about a week when I told him what I had come there for, to enter land. He said he would like to enter some good land, as he had some money on hand. I agreed to give him the numbers of a section for $25, and he entered land on section 5-76-37. I was in Council Bluffs the winter following, and I told Jesse I wanted him to buy a tract of one hundred and twenty acres of timber, as it could be got for $6.25 per acre, and it was three of the best forties of timber in Cass county. I met Jesse coming down the street, "Well, I have bought the timber," taking off his hat and taking the deed out of it. He was a peculiar man, raised down in Virginia, and was no scholar and he wanted to know if the numbers were all right. I told him they were. He said he would come out with me to see his property, and I remarked "I have an ox team and it will take me three days to go home." "Oh pshaw, I thought you were in with a pair of horses and cutter." "Well," said he, "I want to go and see my claim on the Elkhorn, Nebraska, and I will be out as soon as you." The four horse coach was running by that time. I waited and was expecting Jesse every day, but one day I received the Council Bluffs Bugle, and saw in it the sad announcement that Jesse Winn had gone to see his claim on the Elkhorn and had found a man had jumped his claim. Jesse ordered him out of the house, but the man, in cold blood, had shot Jesse. Snow, the man that did the dastardly crime, was lodged in the old cottonwood jail, at Council Bluffs, but he broke out, and escaped from justice, and was not found. So, if I had had a horse team in place of oxen, I would have saved the man's life. But poor Jesse never saw the land. It was afterwards sold at a referee's sale at from $20 to $40 per acre. One cold winter, about 1858, the elk were forced down south from Minnesota and Dakota, upon us; there were thousands around us in every direction. John Leslie, Joseph Leslie, Charles Hebing, Gehart Hebing, and myself, went, one bitter, cold morning, to get some elk. We went with a pair of horses, and sled, and plenty of blankets, and one saddle horse, we had three rifles, and went up the ridge north, between Indian and Camp creek. We saw droves of elk, and would get as close to them as we could and fire. We would scare them and they would run. We shot more times than any experienced hunters, but got "nary" elk. We followed them ten miles, north. I got off and took out on foot, through what is now called Elkhorn grove. I saw the sun was about setting in the western horizon, and I was three miles from the sled, and when I got back to the south side of the grove, where I had left my overcoat, I found my horse had hobbled off down to the creek. I had left him tied down head and foot. I got my overcoat on and waded through the snow, as best I could. The snow was badly drifted and I had not gone far until I went down in a washout, over head and ears. I scrambled out the best I could, to get out, and finally made it, and caught my horse in a snow drift, and by the time I got back to the ridge the sun was down. I followed on the ridge, or back bone, south between Indian creek and Camp creek, and I came to where the snow tramped down, but the sled had been turned round and gone back for home. It became dark and I tried, in vain, to get on my horse, I had run my rifle between the surcingle and the saddle in trying to get on, and the saddle turned. This scared the horse, and he got away from me. I reached home at one o'clock at night and found the folks up, waiting for me. Leslie, who drove the team, said he followed the tracks of the sled back and something had scared the horses, when he had gone a few miles, and he had to go ahead of the horses. Here he found that Charles Hebing had given out, and got under a snow pile to keep from freezing. Leslie and John got him on the sled and drove as fast as possible to save his life. We had no more elk hunting that winter, although there were many elk killed during that time, with clubs, in snow drifts, but they had become very poor in flesh.

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Transcribed by Deb Lightcap-Wagner, March, 2014 from:"History of Cass County, Together with Sketches of Its Towns, Villages and Townships, Educational, Civil, Military and Political History: Portraits of Prominent Persons, and Biographies of Old Settlers and Representative Citizens", published in 1884, Springfield, Ill: Continental Historical Co., pp. 282-289.