Remembrances of Early Algona

CALL, HECKART, MOORE, STACY, INGHAM, SMITH, FISHER, HILL, CUMMINS, TAYLOR, THOMPSON, HENDERSON, HUTCHINS, BLACKFORD

Posted By: John R. Call (email)
Date: 10/14/2006 at 14:44:44

Remembrances of Early Algona
By Emma Heckart, Nov. 27, 1911, Zephry Hills, Florida
(Transcribed 2006 by John R. Call from a photo copy of the letter received from Joanne Ellis.)

In my far away home in Florida comes a request from the President of the Kossuth County Historical Society for a paper on the early history of Algona. The story has often been told by abler pens than mine but as it is ever a pleasure to recall those golden days, I will, at the risk of being tiresome, tell again the little that I know.

It was on the 10th of May 1856 that we pulled into Algona. We had made a 500 mile trip from Elkhart Indiana with a four-ox team in just seven weeks time. I was but a child then, 11 years old, and can with certainty recall but little of the order in which the settlers moved in and built their houses. But the first glimpse I had of the place is firmly fixed in my memory.

Blue skies overhead and, if I had ever heard the expression I think I should have called it a blue sky town, for it was very sparsely settled. One lonesome looking little cabin, off to our left, as we came in from the south, was the only human habitation in sight. But it was not all blue sky. There was the solid ground beneath our feet, covered with soft spring grass; timber lands were to the north and south of us and with the Des Moines river almost encircling us, it was truly a beautiful place for founding a city. The log houses on our left, which could be plainly seen with the naked eye was known for miles around as the “Jo Moore cabin” and a right hospitable place it must have been for inside could have been seen Jerome Stacy, W. H. Ingham, L. H. Smith, Abe Hill, Jake Cummins, Father Taylor, the Joe Thompson family and I don’t know how many more.

There were eight of us – my father and mother, Michael Fisher my mother’s brother who died the following winter and was the first to be buried in Riverview cemetery, a teamster who had come with us from Indiana, a sister, two brothers and myself and I have no doubt but that we too could have found shelter under the same roof if we had applied for admission.

But we were aiming for another point. Straight to the north-west we steered our craft, over cementless walks and houseless lots and soon came in sight of another cabin – the home of my sister Mrs. Asa Call who had preceeded us by nearly two years and whom we were all anxious to see. Love is stronger than gold or lands and it was more thru her letters of entreaty that “we come to Algona and live near her” than the lure of Uncle Sam’s broad prairies that had urged us on thru spring rains, mud and slush and treacherous sloughs and was even now bringing us to her cabin door.

The oxen were too slow for me and jumping out while the wagon was visibly moving, I rushed for the cabin and right thru the open door into the middle of the room. But no Sarah was to be seen. Standing there and wondering where she could be, I heard a suspicious little sniffle behind the door. Looking back I found my sister. Overcome with joy at meeting us all again she had hidden herself and was crying and laughing simultaneously.

Many and long have been the years, dear sister, since we mingled our tears behind your cabin door but they will be fewer and shorter till we meet again at heaven’s open portal.

I had two other sisters there but neither one quite so dear as Sarah. She had nursed me in my infancy, played with me in childhood and taught me to read, knit and sew. She was at once mother, sister, playmate & friend. Sacred to me is her memory.

A few rods east of the Call cabin, showing thru the trees and hazel thicket, stood the four walls of our own cabin. Kind neighbors had before we arrived, raised the building and cut openings for one door and half a window.

We stayed with the Calls one week till our cabin was finished and there took possession. We had a fine garden that year – everything seemed to thrive on rich Iowa soil & father and brother Cal raised an abundance of sod corn, potatoes and water melons.

One day after we had been living in our new home for about a week a tent was pitched a few rods east of our cabin. Like a big mushroom it had sprung up in a few hours. Men and women, boys and girls, dogs & horses were moving about in lively commotion.

Hezikiah Henderson had come to town and judging by the goods he had brought with him had come to stay.

I don’t remember the length of time they lived in this tent but “Ki” was an energetic man and before the terrible winter of 56-7 had set in he had built a commodious hewn log cabin near the present site of the Thorington hotel and had his numerous family warmly housed. It was the largest cabin in town and was a much needed place for here the homeless young men who were seeking their fortunes in primitive Algona found a good boarding place and travelers were hospitably entertained. And here one winter night, the whole town rendezvoused for safety. It was in the winter of ’57 shortly after the massacre at Spirit Lake, we were aroused from our slumber by a rap at the door and someone in a fearfully low and blood-curdling voice told us to “get up quick the Indians were just on the other side of the river, that they could see their camp fire, with figures moving in front of it; that we must go to the ‘Ki’ Hendersons”. It is needless to say we “hurried”.

Excitement and fear prevented us making very great head way but as fast as we were able, we sought refuge in the new cabin. The women and children were hustled off upstairs, men with guns filled the room below and others stood guard outside with the understanding that if anyone fired off a gun without orders, he himself should be shot. Fearfully we waited, expecting to hear any moment the firing of guns and the whoop of Indians. But “not a sound was heard nor a funeral note”. We upstairs people grew tired listening and waiting and one by one lopped over on beds, chairs or the floor and went to sleep. When morning dawned we awoke and quietly went to our homes, thankful and surprised that we were still living.

That camp-fire with figures moving in front of it was a singular vision. Captain Ingham and a few others with him crossed the river that night to the north of the place where the light seemed to be but found no fire now Indians. And I afterward learned that people living on the west branch of the Des Moines river, twenty miles away, on the same night, saw the same sight still west of them as far as eye could see.

Another comfortable and well built cabin was built in the summer of ’56 by Father Taylor. Here he lived and from here, like the Master whom it was his delight to serve, went about doing good. He gave time, money and comfort for the people among whom he had cast his lot. Thus the log cabin era of Algona was ended.

It over-lapped and in some instances reached far into the frame house period, but these five cabins were all, I think, that were ever built on the town site. J. Ellison Blackford had built on the west border of town in the summer of ’55, but it was over the line. Several young men and a few new-comers had put up log residences on their claims, but a steam saw mill, the boiler of which we had passed, fast stuck in a slough on our way here from near Independence soon supplied the people with a more easily manipulated building material and time has effectually covered the last traces of those early Algona homes.

The summer of ’56 was peculiarly prosperous and hopeful. The crops were fine; the sod corn and potatoes yielded abundantly and our garden was a surprise – a source of pleasure and profit. Everything seemed to thrive and everybody seemed pleased that they had come to Algona. But if fortune’s pendulum swung high that summer, it fell accordingly low during the winter that followed. Never since have we seen the snow so deep nor the cold so intense. Thermometers often registered 40 degrees below zero and snow was 4 feet deep on the level with drifts 20 feet high. To keep warm and get enough to eat were the mighty problems that faced us like the winter of 1620 when a few brave pilgrims landed on the bleak New England shore – “It was a time for trying the staunchest hears”. But the same over-ruling Providence that preserved their lives was caring for us. A young man with a load of frozen pork on his way to Mankato, was storm bound in our town and the people gladly bought his whole load and considered it a God-send. I never heard what the people of Mankato thot about it.

The town would soon have recovered from the gloom which that winter had cast over it but another blow was in store for it. The Indian massacre at Spirit Lake effectually retarded all growth and it was with difficulty the few settlers then living here were induced to stay. A fortress was commenced but never finished. After they had done their terrible work at Spirit Lake the Indians left never to return. A short time before we came to Algona they had made their last visit to this place. About 100 of them had departed for new hunting grounds just the day before we arrived, so that we have never had even a glimpse of the savages. Before they left they assembled in the knoll where Mr. D. H. Hutchins house stands and gathering a number of pebbles, made a circle of them on the ground and marked each pebble with red. We never could interpret the meaning of the symbol.

A dead calm was resting on the place; all immigration had ceased, building was suspended, the saw mill was quiet. The ordinary routine of living went on. We raised our crops that we might have something to eat, we ate that we might raise more. Our churches and schools lyceum and social functions were faithfully attended. We gradually grew accustomed to our quiet mode of living always hoping that the lull would ere long be broken.

But in ’61 a cloud came up from the south and for more than three years its black hulk hung over us. Fort Sumpter had been fired upon and quickly the discharge was felt in our Iowa homes. Civil war was upon us and some of our number must go. Meetings were held in the Town hall and speeches made firing the hearts of our young men with enthusiasm. About 20 I think left their homes and friends for the front. Three came back. A few of them were killed in battle but the greater number died like rats in a trap, under orders of a half drunken captain, they were hurried off, as soon as anyone showed any symptoms of being sick, to a poorly managed hospital where they promptly died after a few days treatment. After the war was ended and peace again settled over the land the thots of the people once more turned westward and Algona received a fair share of the immigration. It has since increased steadily but rather slowly in population and wealth till the present year, 1911 which is now witnessing its most rapid growth since the summer of 1856.

I am afraid my story is indeed tiresome but when these old time memories are called up for recognition, they come trooping in in such numbers and so rapidly it is difficult to leave any unnoticed.

Emma Heckart

Zephyr Hills Fla.
Nov. 27 - 1911