EARLY LIFE

CHAPTER ONE

Grammar and spelling remains the same as in the original document.

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Ancestors--Brothers and sisters–House where I was born–accidents in early childhood–Timidity and experiences at school–Visit to birth place after 60 years–The old log spring house–Going to market and mill–Boy sports–Picking stone and handling tobacco–Grandfather Jennings visit–Marketing grain and stock–Moved with relatives to Iowa–Incidents on the way–settling in Iowa–Working for neighbors, driving oxen and mules–First railroad in Iowa–Uncle Henry’s heirloom–Buying boots–agitation and excitement over the war.

   It If I am prompted by one thing more than another to write a brief story of my life, it is my children and grandchildren may have means of obtaining some little information of their ancestors and the time in which they lived. Of my ancestors, I know but little. I am told that many years ago there lived a family of Jennings, relatives of mine that had a bible in which was recorded the name Benjamin Jennings, the first from England. My father Benjamin Jennings and Ann Jeffries were born near Union Town, Pennsylvania in 1819. They were married December 24^th 1840. To their union eleven children were born. Nine sons and two daughters. I was the third son. My two older brothers Elijah and Mifflin were born in Pennsylvania. My parents moved to Ohio in 1844, and settled among the hills in Guernsey County, where I was born in a log cabin February 14, 1845. My brothers, Taylor, Jeffries, Enoch, and Doctor Franklin, were born in Ohio. Sister Ellen, brothers, brothers Alvin Wharton, Oliver, and sister Emma were born in Louisa County, Iowa. When father and mother were married they had but little of this world’s goods. I have heard father tell that he rented a farm and when they went to housekeeping they moved with one horse. Packing all their household goods on the

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horse, mother rode, while father walked. At that time they moved to Ohio, that part of the county where they settled was very new. The land was mostly covered with timber and brush and had to be cleared off to farm. During the winters father worked in the timber chopping down trees, cutting them in logs and rolling them in heaps with the brush, then burning them. I have some recollections of the privations and difficulties under which the people lived and labored in those days. There were no eight or ten hour labor laws; at that time people worked from sun up till sun down. I presume that our home and surroundings were about the average of the community. The house in which I was born was built of logs. It was one story, had one door and two windows one sash each. The door was hung on wooden hinges with a wooden latch on the inside to which a tow string was fastened and run through a hole in the door to open it and was locked by pulling the string inside. There was a large open fireplace, with a crane fastened in the wall on while the pots and kettles were hung to cook the meals. An oven in which to bake bread and a few pans and skillets made up the cooking outfit. I have seen father cut large logs three to four feet long and roll them in over the floor for a back log, then pile smaller wood in front of it to start the fire. I have a very distinct recollection of the old fireplace. Father and mother went visiting one winter evening at one of the neighbors and while they were gone we boys tried to see which one could sit on the back log the longest. I think I did for I burnt a hole in the seat of my pants for which I got a paddling. One time before I could walk, in the absence of mother from the house, I rolled into the fireplace and will always carry the scar on my right leg where I was burned. Only for the timely arrival of my Uncle Jarard who was working on our porch at the time, the chances are I would not be writing this story.

 A tallow candle or a lamp made with a rag laid on a tin pan covered with lard was our electric light. I can’t remember our first dishes, but I well remember once when father came home from town and brought some pewter plates and spoons and a large pewter platter. Mother made “farmer’s rice” wheat flour boiled in water and placed it on the table. Then we had a “square” meal. I have seen mother pacing back and forth

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over the floor, turning a spinning wheel for many an hour. When I was about five years old my aunt Hannah, my mother’s sister, was making her home with us and while there she married Mr. Frank Wilson. I well remember the day they were married and have carried a reminder of the event ever since. Father had been to town and bought a new hatchet. While the people were gathering for the wedding I got the hatchet and went to the wood pile just in front of the house and I thought I could stand on a log and chop like a man. I got on the log and began chopping between my bare feet. I had struck but a few times when the hatchet struck a twig and glanced striking between my large toe and the one next to it, splitting my foot half way to the ankle. I fell off the log and, Mrs. Joel Williams, one of our neighbors ran from the house, picked me up and carried me in and laid me on the trundle bed, where I witnessed the marriage ceremony. I am told that many years afterward Mrs. Williams was burned to death in her home.

 We did not have the advantages of free schools but they were supported by the subscriptions of the patrons. The little education I have was obtained while attending three months school during the winter seasons until I was nineteen years of age. I don’t believe a more timid and bashful boy or girl ever entered a school room than I, if so, I pity them. On this account I was greatly handicapped in getting an education. I presume that I was between five and six years old when I started to school. The school building where I first went was built of logs. It had one door hung on wooden hinges with wooden latch and tow string to open and close it. There were six windows with one sash each placed about three and a half feet from the floor. The seats were made of slabs sawed from logs, with holes bored through the ends, and wooden legs from 13 to 20 inches long driven through, sometimes projecting two or three inches, I suppose, to keep the scholars from sliding off. The seats were from eight to twelve feet long placed lengthwise of the room and usually two across one end. The writing desks were made of boards about two feet wide fastened to the wall with legs in front to hold them up. When writing we sat with faces to the wall. Our writing material was polk berry juice for ink and a goose quill for a pen. I have chased many an

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old goose to get a quill to make a pen. One of the qualifications of a teacher was to be able to make a good pen out of a quill. Our principle books were the old Elementary speller with the words arranged alphabetically, a reader and arithmetic and sometimes a small geography. We learned the states, their capitals and location by song. I never could carry the tune commencing, State of Maine, Augusta on the Kennebec river, etc. The teacher, always a man in those days

usually kept two or three hickory or iron-wood gads standing in the corner of the room for correcting rods. It was no uncommon thing to see a boy or girl nearly grown brought on the floor and the gad applied, making the dust fly from their home spun clothing. I believe my first teacher was Jonathan Kanuff. I remember one cold winter morning shortly after school was called, brother Elijah and Abe Jeams, a young man grown sere sitting together at the writing desk facing the wall. Jeams did something that displeased the teacher, he grabbed his gad and commenced whipping across the shoulders. Elijah had a new spelling book lying open on the desk in front of him and the end of the teachers’s gad struck the book quartering, cutting it through. When the teacher, tired of whipping Jeams, started back to his desk, Abe got up kicked and spit at him, but the teacher said nothing.

 I remember another incident that occurred at the same schoolhouse with Madison Yagee as teacher. One morning after school was taken up, six of u s boys were sitting on a bench. I was on one end, brother Elijah on the other and Mifflin near the center, the other three boys sitting between us, Mifflin and the boy next to him were pushing each other. The teacher was walking round the room with his hands crossed behind him, apparently not noticing what was going on . Suddenly he stopped, reached over and caught Mifflin and the boy next to him by their coat collars and pulled them onto the floor. Then he laid Mifflin down and placed the other b boy across him, reached back and got the next two boys and piled them across the others, then came back and got Elijah and me and piled us across like a pile of rails. The teacher said nothing but walked away and we all crawled back on the seat.

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 That was the severest punishment I ever received in school.. In the mixup I think I was scared our of a year’s growth. In the summer of 1913 I made a visit to my old home in Ohio, the first time since I left it, nearly sixty years ago. The railroad now runs within five miles of the place. From the station, Quaker City, once called Millwood, I went with team over the steep barren hills to the old farm. On my way I passed the old schoolhouse where I attended my first and last summer school. There is a new schoolhouse on the site where the old school stood.

The old building stands among some other buildings on a farm nearby. While attending school in this old building I learned the multiplication tables. I had no arithmetic. The teacher drew the numbers on a piece of white paper for me. One evening on my way home from this school while passing through the woods I saw an old black and white striped cat with several kittens run across the path ahead of me. I caught two kittens. I thought they were the prettiest I had ever seen. I put them in my dinner basket and hurried on home, anxious to show my pets. I had no sooner entered the house when mother scented the odor from my basket. Very suddenly, there was a small boy with his basket and kittens (skunk) hurried out of th house. The skunks were killed and the boy’s clothes strung on a line to air. When I arrived at the old home place a rather remarkable incident occurred. Here I met a man by the name of Stoneburner, who was born on an adjoining farm. He and I attended the same school when were boys. Naturally we did not recognize each other. But when I told him that I was born on that farm and that I was the third son o Benjamin Jennings, “Oh yes, said he, “I’ll never forget you, your name is William Henry, you always cried the first day you came to school.” I said, “Well, Stoneburner, that’s very unkind of you to cast that up to me since nearly sixty years have passed.”

 There are but few improvements now on the farm that were there when we left it. An old log spring house, the spring still running, built by my father in 1848, some rail fences, that he split the rails and built, and a few apple trees he planted are still living. Most of the logs in the spring house are well preserved. The clapboard roof is partly rotted and fallen in. I well remember a peculiar circumstance that

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occurred at the spring house. At that time, it was built, two logs were left whole at the bottom of the floor. We owned an old blind mule named Lid. One day she got into this house, it being narrow she could not turn around, so father had to saw out one of the logs at the door to get her backed out. I recall another incident or perhaps I should say an accident that happened at the old spring about the same time. One day Uncle Ike Mullen, came to our house and his bottle, (he liked his drinks) in the clover by the spring. In some way it so happened that we older boys were about the spring, I think it was Elijah that found the bottle while handling it let it fall on the rock and broke it. I presume Uncle Ike went home dry.

 In those days it was the general custom among farmers to have liquor at harvest time, house and barn raisings and corn husking. Frequently serious accidents occurred on account of it. I can remember seeing the whisky jug in our harvest field. But I never saw my father take a drink of liquor. It was quite common for farmers to snap their corn, haul it to the barn and put it in two piles. When the time came for .husking, ten or twelve of the neighbors were invited to the husking. The men were equally divided and a captain chosen for each side. The side that was beaten usually paid for the liquor. Supper was prepared and a jolly time held.

 The method of butchering hogs was quite different from the present. I have seen father haul a lot of old dry logs and pile them together, then pile on stone weighing from 25-30 pounds until he had 150-200 pounds according to the number of hogs to kill. The log heap was then fired and when the stones were red hot they were thrown in a large barrel about two-thirds full of water and left until the water was hot enuf to scald the hog. One time Elijah and I rode one horse to Kenonsburg, about three miles to market. I carried a little bucket of eggs which we exchanged at three cents a dozen for calico. At another time we went to Burson’s mill, about five miles, to get some corn ground. Each rode a hose with a sack partly filled. On our way back, when within a half mile of home, I let my sack fall off the horse; then I had to go home and get father to put it back on.

 photo of spring house

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Boy like, we had our sports. One time our neighbor’s hogs came to our place and the older boys got them in a lot. Then they got a single line and tied it to a bar post and made a noose in it. I stood behind the post and held the noose, while the other boys drove out the hogs. The first large hog that came, I slipped the noose over his head, when it ran to the end of the line it broke at the post and the hog ran home with it. When father came home he had to go after his line. I can’t remember, but I expect some boy got a paddling for our fun. I remember once in the fall of the year when the chestnuts began to fall we three older boys went over to Joel Williams, a near neighbor, who had some chestnut trees on a very high hill on his farm. Elijah and Mifflin were up in the trees and I picked a few chestnuts and put them in a little tin bucket. Williams was working in a field nearby but could not see us. But suddenly we heard him call to his girl, “bring me the gun, there is somebody in the chestnut trees.” Ill never forget the rattle of those few chestnuts in that little tin bucket as we hiked down over the rocks off that hill. I am sure we ran most of the way home.

 I have no recollection of ever seeing my Grandfather Jennings but once. I t was in the fall of the year when peaches were ripe. Father had made a little wagon by sawing the wheels off a round log, and placing a box on them for the boys to haul peaches off the knob, a very steep hill near the house. My two older brothers started with me in the wagon up the hill and when at the steepest part both leg go, and away it went down the hill, and when near the bottom upset, throwing me out. Grandfather came walking with a cane and picked me up and placed me in the wagon. At that time he was about seventy five years old, his home in Pennsylvania. I have no date when he or grandmother died. Grandfather is said to have been very eccentric. I have e heard father tell that when he was a young man, that he had a riding bridle made with over-check and martingale. At that time buckles were little used in making bridles. All parts were sewed together. Once when grandfather wanted to use a bridle he got hold of father’s new one and got it tangled up so he could not get it on the horse; then he took his knife and cut everything off except one rein. At another time, grandmother wanted him to take a basket of eggs to market. He

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took the eggs and brought them back with him. When asked why he brought them back he said “no one asked for them”.

 My earliest recollection of work was picking stone off the side hill, where brother Elijah was trying to plow corn with one horse and a single shovel plow. I also remember helping set out tobacco plants, hoe and worm it, and when matured strip it from the stalk and pile it in bundles. Then father would haul it to the tobacco house on a sled. I have carried the bundles from the sled to a table for my mother to string. The leaves were usually strung on a cord fastened to a stick about four feet long. When the stick was full it was hung on poles in the sun until the leaves were wilted; then placed in the tobacco house to smoke. Perhaps it was my experience, when a boy, in handling the filthy weed, that gave me such a dislike for it. In those days all improvements in farm machinery and inventions that now make farm life attractive, were unknown.

 Father’s farm implements at the time, consisted of a wagon with wooden lynch pin, stirring plow with wooden mold board, single shovel corn plow, harrow with wooden teeth, mowing scythe, grain cradle, hoe and wooden hand rake. I have seen father flail out wheat on the barn floor. Sometimes brother Elijah would ride the horses round and round on the barn floor to tramp it out. The first threshing machine I ever saw was called the “Chaff Pile”. It simply threshed the wheat from the straw. Then men separated the straw from the wheat with forks. The wheat and chaff was then run through a fanning mill and separated.

 At that time railroads were few. The stagecoach and horse carried the travelers and mails. From t hat part of Ohio, most of the stock, and even turkeys, were driven to Wheeling, Va. To market. Sometimes in the winter season hogs were butchered and hauled whole in wagons, to market. The first hogs I ever saw sold on foot was in Iowa and were weighed in a box one at a time. The stock buyer had a pen made of rough boards that would hold twenty or thirty hogs. In the fence, a space of about three feet was left, and on each side a post about eight feet long was set two feet in the ground. Across the top of the posts, a bar was p laced over which a lever was laid with a large pair of stilliards (sic steelyards) attached to the end and fastened to a box about

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two feet wide and four feet long. The box was made with sliding doors at each end. The hog was driven in the box and passed on into another pen.

 The spring we left Ohio, I went with father to Salesville, about five miles from our place, with a load of ear corn to sell. The grain buyer measured the corn in a barrel, then shelled it, and measured it again in a half bushel. Father used three horses to the wagon, two abreast on the tongue, he riding the near one and drove the lead horse with a single line. This was the usual way of freighting at that time, using four to six horses to the wagon. I have no recollection of ever seeing father drive a team with check lines until we started to Iowa.

 In the early part of April 1854, we left Ohio. I shall always remember the day we started. Our folks had borrowed some little articles of a neighbor that lived about a mile from us. Elijah and I were sent to take them home. In going we had to pass over a high hill, out of sight of our house. When we got to the neighbors and delivered the goods, little grass grew under my feet until we reached the top of the hill on our return. I was afraid our folks would leave us.

 The day we started was rainy and the roads were quite muddy. A short time before, father had bot a little3 bay mare and we had not gone over half a mile when going up a little hill she balked. Then one of our neighbors hitched his team onto the wagon and helped us to Washington, twelve miles, then the county seat of Gurnsey (sic) county. We remained there that day. Some time previous to leaving home father and mother had arranged with their relatives in Pennsylvania to meet them at Washington, and all go together to Iowa. About dark that day, their folks arrived. I can’t recall the exact number of them, but before we got to Iowa at one time, there were forty-two in the caravan. Of the older ones coming from Pennsylvania were my Grandfather and Grandmother Jeffries, Uncle Elijah and Henry Jennings, brothers of father, their wives Aunt Jane and Rachel. Aunt Eliza Malaby (widow), Aunt Esther and Lydia, all sisters of mother, and Uncle Taylor, her only brother.

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The balance of the company was made up of children, all relatives. Of all those mentioned, Aunt Lydia, past 77, is the only one now living.

 The morning we left Washington, our little mare still balked. That day my father traded her to a man that was plowing in a field for a large bony sorrel mare that we drove to Iowa. On our way, one night be camped near Cambridge, Ohio. It was there I first saw a railroad and train of cars. We were camped in the woods about two hundred yards from the railroad track. Shortly after dark we heard the train coming. We children and many of the older ones started thru the timber toward the track. I must have gotten halfway when I saw the headlight on the engine coming around the curve in the road. At once I got behind a large tree. I thot it was coming straight for me.

 Our family was interrupted by the sickness of brother Franklin, so that we had to stop a week at Uncle John Jennings’, in Athens county, Ohio, for him to recover. Near Dayton our company was joined by two of father’s brothers, Enoch and Jarard, and their families. Also another man and his family, whose name I have forgotten. They all traveled with us until near Peoria, Ill. when they left for Wisconsin. I have never seen any of them since. After many long days of hard travel and nights camping along rough and muddy roads, over steep hills and thru miry swamps, and across swollen streams, we finally reached the east bank of the Mississippi, opposite Burlington, on the 26^th day of June, 1854. No incident of great importance occurred on the trip. Grandfather Jeffries had one horse die on the road. When crossing the Big Walnut river, in Indiana, while it was very high, Uncle Enoch, with his wife in the wagon was fording the stream, and when they reached the opposite bank, which was very steep, their team balked, and the water was running over the wagon box at the rear end. Uncle began whipping the horses, not using Sunday School words, trying to make them pull. Aunt Betsy, hysterical, began screaming “I’ll die Enoch, I’ll die.” “Die and be d—d.” said uncle. While coming thru Illinois we met many people going back. Some had very discouraging stories to tell of Iowa. Their main complaint was

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 the high winds. Some said it would blow the tires off the wagon wheels.

 June 27^th, we crossed the river at Burlington and traveled about twelve miles on a plank road and camped near New London. A plank road now in Iowa would be a novel sight. Leaving New London, we traveled northwest across the prairie until we reached Albert Hague’s, about six miles south of Columbus City, in Louisa County. Hague’s wife was a distant relative of mother’s.

Iowa was a very new country at that time. There were but few houses on the road form Burlington to Hague’s. The early settlers had a hard struggle to exist for many years. Some gave up and returned to the eastern states. Our company camped at Hague’s nearly a month. Father and some of my uncles took a trip thru some of the western counties, looking for land. They were gone about ten days but returned without buying. Finally they all bot (sic) land in Louisa country within a few miles of each other. Father bot eighty acres of prairie, near Long Creek, about five miles south of Columbus City. It was partly broke and had a frame house on it partly enclosed. My recollections is that father paid $1000 for the land paying $600 cash, the balance in payments. I have heard him tell that after making the payment on the land and buying a cook stove, he had but three cents left. Winter coming on , his house not finished and a family of nine to support, was not a very encouraging outlook for a man in a new country. The house was 16 X32, one story, divided into two rooms. Before winter set in the house was lathed and plastered. One room was used for the kitchen. The floor was of rough boards. I n the other room we all lived and slept, and sometimes kept travelers over night. Father kept this land during his lifetime and added two more eighties, making a farm of 240 acres. It is peculiarly situated, in that the public road runs on all sides of it, and has, ever since the first settlement of the county.

 In 1881 (should be 1883 the actual date) brother Alvin married Miss Bell Hester. He now owns and occupies the farm.

 The first winter in Iowa, I stayed most of the time with my Aunt Jane, w hose husband, Uncle Elijah, died in the fall before. I did chores an went to school. During the holidays some of

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aunt’s neighbors made a wood chipping and hauling for her. I was sent to Grandfather Jeffries’, about five miles to invite them. When I got there none of the family were home. John Wilson, who made his home at grandfather’s was there. Before starting back, he got a mince pie and cut it. I think I must have eaten about half of it. That night I was a very sick boy. The pie came up freely. From that time to present, nearly sixty years, I have not eaten a quarter of a mince pie.

 At first father only had eighty acres and did not have work for all of us boys during the summer season. So it was my lot to be hired out. My first work in Iowa was while we were yet in camp. I raked wheat after a cradle and carried bundles for a man named Kirkpatrick. I remember supper was brot (sic) to the field for the hands, but I was too bashful to eat with strangers, so I went to camp. One summer father hired me out to a man by the name of Mickey at $6.25 a month, for four months. Mickey had a nephew, Levi, working for him at the time. He and I broke prairie. He held the plow while I drove the oxen, usually two yoke. One evening about quitting time a peculiar accident occurred. Levi had filed the plow, intending to go another round; but looking up at the sun, he said, “we’ll unhitch.” I went between the hind yoke of cattle to unloose t he chain, and just as I came out from between them, the near steer kicked me, knocking me past the plow. Levi, being high tempered, grabbed up the hatchet and threw it at the steer in such a way that the blade struck its hamestring (sic), cutting it in two. The steer had to be killed.

 Early one spring I took the ague; I shook with it nearly every day until harvest; at times shaking hard enough to make the dishes rattle in the cupboard. One day mother had gone to town to get some medicine for me, and the older boys were going to the field with a wagon and rack to get some loose wheat that the chinch bugs had spoiled, to top out a wheat rick. I got on some of the loose wheat, they set fire to the balance: that scared the mules and they started on the run. I tried to get off thru the hay rack and got fast. The mules ran about a quarter of a mile, dragging me in the rack. The incident must have scared or

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shook the ague all out of me, for I have not had another chill from that day to the present, over fifty years.

 I worked two summers for my Uncle Henry. The first summer he ah d a young man by the name of S. E. Wilson, working for him. He afterward married my Aunt Jane. We broke prairie, he holding the plow and I driving the oxen. The second summer I did general work on the farm, at times plowing with a span of mules or yoke of cattle. The mules I worked were afraid of thunder. One day while plowing I had the lines around me and there came a loud clap of thunder, and away the mules went dragging the plow and me several yards thru plowed ground before they stopped. I have a very distinct recollection of plowing in the fall in the stubble field with a yoke of oxen, and plowed up a bumblebees’ nest. The bees got on the cattle and me. I ran one way and the cattle bawling, the other. I think I came the nearest to swearing at that time, that I ever did. One warm summer day uncle and I took tow yoke of oxen and wagon to haul a log to the saw mill. I drove the cattle. About half a mile from where we loaded the log there was a long, steep hill. When near the top, one of the steers of the lead yoke fell and died before we got his yoke off. We thought he broke a blood vessel.

 One rainy day after harvest uncle and I were plowing a stubble field, with two yoke of oxen, when a man by the name of Bond came along the road with the separator of a threshing machine, and when within about a quarter of a mile from where we were at work he got into a mudhole and stalled. After trying for some time to pull the machine out on solid ground, Bond went between the cattle to unhitch them. He had on a slick gum coat, that scared them. One of the steers began bawling, that scared the others, and away they went, machine and all. If Bond had run the other way I could have stopped the cattle, but they outran us. They ran about a quarter of a mile, finally striking a wagon, locking the machine wagon, which stopped them, with but little damage done. I h hauled the sand to plaster a house for uncle, with two yoke of cattle, from the Iowa river bottom, near

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where the town of Columbus Junction now stands. In those days what was known as “Wildcat money” was in circulation. You did not know from one day to another whether the bank notes were good or not. While I was working for uncle he sold a yoke of steers for $100; the party paid him al lin new five dollar bills issued by a Burriss City bank, located in Louisa county. About a week afterward uncle went to Wapello, the county seat, and found out the money he was paid for his cattle was worthless. I am reminded that while working for this uncle, he gave me a dollar bill, which I now have, that has been an heirloom in the Jennings family. On the face of the bill it reads “Maryland, One Dollar, No. 13476. This Indented bill of One Dollar will entitle the bearer hereof to receive bills of exchange payable in London for gold or silver at the rate of four shillings and sixpence sterling per dollar for the said bill, according to the decision of an act of the Assembly of Maryland. Dated at Annapolis, this tenth day of April, anno Domini, 1774. Signed: H. Lapham. On the back of the bill it reads, ‘Tis death to counterfeits. Patented by A. C. And F. Green.”

 There were no railroads in Iowa at that time. The first road to enter the state was the Chicago-Rock Island, during the summer of 1856. It crossed the Mississippi and out to Iowa City, then the capital of the state. The next year it was extended to Fredonia, near the Iowa river, just across from where the town of Columbus Junction now stands. The rock in the piers of the railroad bridge across the river at Fredonia were hauled with teams from my grandfather’s farm on Long Creek. Uncle Henry and father bot the first McCormick reaper in Elm Grove township. It could hardly claim relation to the harvester of today.

 We had very cold winters in those times. The winter of 1856-57 was the longest and coldest, and had the most snow of any winter I ever experienced. I have heard father tell that the icicles hung on the south side of the house that winter for ninety consecutive days. At times the snow drifted terribly. I have driven a team of horses with sled over a seven rail fence with rider. Wild game was quite plentiful at that time, especially prairie chickens and quail and some deer in winter and geese and ducks in the spring. I remember of chasing eleven

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deer out of a cornfield with a dog. I also caught a crippled one. I was never a very good Nimrod, but had fair luck in trapping quail and prairie chickens. One snowy winter day I caught thirty-six prairie chickens in one trap at two hauls. The first money I ever had to call my own I made by trapping. The first school I attended in Iowa was at a place called Pitchin, at a cross road and blacksmith shop about a half mile from our house. The house was frame, a little improvement over those in Ohio, but the seats were made of slabs placed around the room. The writing desks, made of boards fastened to the wall.

 I went there three terms. Then the district was divided and a new more modern house, built which was called Amity. I attended there the balance of my school days. I shall never forget when the first county superintendent came. I had been trembling from the time I heard he was coming. Att hat time classes were called on the floor to recite. The day the superintendent came I feigned sick and could not recite with any of the classes. I felt greatly relieved when the superintendent left.

 Religious meetings in those days thru the country were frequently held in schoolhouses and conducted quite differently from what they are now. I remember attending revival meetings held by what was known as the Evangelical Methodist, mostly Germans from Pennsylvania. It was no uncommon sight to see a person shout. I have seen three or four men and women shouting at the same time, until they would become exhausted and fall to the floor. I shall never forget being at a meeting held at our schoolhouse on a very cold winter night when a man, with whom I was well acquainted, kneeled down to pray near the stove, which was red hot in places and full of live coals. When he got real earnest in his prayer he leaned back, striking the stove and upsetting it. The stove door flew open and the coals rolled out onto the floor. We boys shot out of the house. The man moved a little ways on his knees, but kept on praying until he got thru. In the meantime other members had put the stove back to its place and the meeting continued as if nothing had happened. Father being a Baptist, seldom attended such meetings. But I remember of helping to cut ice on Long Creek when it was from 18 to 20 inches thick to make a hole to baptize Baptists.

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 In 1859 I began working for Joseph Durbin, a near neighbor of ours. At that time he was county judge of Louisa County. I worked for him nearly three years. He was one of the finest men I ever worked for. I would rather work for him than at home, as there were no boys to boss me. During the time I worked for the judge I can’t recall that he ever spoke a cross word to me. One winter I made my home with him doing chores for my board and went to school.

 In those days Methodist camp meetings, lasting two or three weeks, were very common. While working for the judge, one fall, a meeting was held in the woods near his house. Many people came a large distance and camped. I presume at times there were 500 people on the grounds. Great religious excitement often prevailed, and shouting could be heard almost day and night.

 The boys boots were supposed to last them a year and our clothing, always home-made, until it was worn out. I n ever had a ready-made suit of clothes until I got them of Uncle Sam. When the fat hogs were sold in the fall or winter, we usually got new boots, father would line us boys up and have us stand, one at a time, in our stocking feet, with the heel of one foot against the door jamb then mark the length of the foot on the floor and cut a small stick to fit the measure. If the stick went inside the boot the foot had to fit it. Then we had no rubbers or overshoes.

 The first circus and animal show I ever saw was P. T. Barnum’s, in the fall of 1861, at Wapello. It came from Illinois, crossing the Mississippi at Port Louisa and the Iowa river at Wapello. It crossed the river on a ferry boat, except the two elephants–they were made to wade. At times, while crossing the river they would be entirely under water. Many people stood on the river bank watching the elephants in the water. It was a warm day and their keeper had quite a time getting them out of the water. When they came up the river bank they threw water with their trunks on the crowd and dispersed them very rapidly. While performing in the tent the keeper would lie down and make the elephants step over him. I thot that a dangerous business. A few days afterward while performing at Mount Pleas-

Photo at Sixteen

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ant, one of the elephants stepped on the keeper, killing him instantly. I had my first picture taken the day I attended the show. I was working for Judge Durbin when the war broke out. He was a Virginian by birth. His sympathies were with the south. But he never talked about the war in my presence. About election time in the fall of 1859, the Judge made a trip to Kansas, on horseback, riding old Mike, ostensibly to look at land. But since I have read the political history of Kansas, I have always thot he went to vote against a new constitution prohibiting slavery in the territory. I shall always remember old Mike. An incident occurred with him that came near ending my life. After plowing corn with him one day I took off his harness and led him out of the stable to roll. I was holding the halter strap while he rolled when all of a sudden he jumped up and whirling, kicked with both hind feet, striking me in the breast and knocking me clear of the ground about a rod where I fell flat on my back.

 About the first of September, 1861, Elijah and Mifflin enlisted in the army. Than I went home to work. I did general work on the farm that fall and went to school three months during the winter. The next spring, shortly after the battle of Shiloh April 6^th and 7^thMifflin came home sick and remained at home until the 9^th of July, when I took him to Burlington to return to his regiment then in East Tennessee. At that time several members of our family were down with typhoid fever. I was taken down with it on the 11^th of July and was confined to the house until the 15^th of September. Tow doctors gave me up and said I couldn’t get well. They gave me thirteen emetics in fourteen consecutive days. I was kept in a close room and but little air allowed. I lay until nearly every joint in my body was worn to the bone. The wonder to me now is that I lived. At one time there were seven of our family down with the fever. Brother Jeffries died in the room where I lay. I had one aunt and two cousins die while I was sick. I have heard father say that during three months at that time the doctor only missed one day coming to our house. During the summer and fall of ‘63 there was much excitement and agitation over the war. Many public meetings were held and the Union sentiment was very strong through that part of Iowa. Our 4^th of July celebration was held at

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Columbus City. There was a very large gathering and the war spirit rang high. The speaker for the occasion was a lawyer by the name of Cloud. He was very patriotic, and had been speaking but a short time when he was interrupted by a man named Steel, a southern sympathizer, who was “full”. A soldier who was home on furlough was sitting just behind Steel, and when Steel interrupted the speaker the second time he was knocked down by the soldier. Some in the crowd began yelling, “hang him, hang him.” Two men went to a house nearby to borrow a clothesline, but the woman of the house wouldn’t let them have it. After quite an effort, Steel was gotten out of the crowd and left the grounds. At times southern sympathizers would try to get public meetings but they were generally failures. I remember attending one at Cairo schoolhouse, about five miles from our place. It was aver warm afternoon and the crowd was mostly young people. I don’t believe there were a half dozen grown men there, and they were too old to go to the army. The speaker was a lawyer named Hall. There was quite a large attendance of young women and boys who favored the Union. Among the young women was one named Marshall who had a brother in the army. When the speaker began, she and quite a number of the girls were sitting near the center of the room. We boys were hanging in the windows from the outside looking on. The speaker had talked but a short time when he began denouncing the Union soldiers saying “they would be robbers and thieves when they returned home.”He had scarcely said it, when the Marshall girl jumped to her feet and said, “You’re a liar, sir.” Then she said “come on girls” and left the room followed by most all the young people. Then we boys raised a yell and broke u p the meeting. The chairman protested, said he would have us all arrested, but that didn’t stop us. The next day at Sunday school at the Prairie Chapel, there was a girl wearing what was known as a “Butternut pin”, which represented the uniform of a Confederate soldier. This same Marshall girl and another tore the pin off the girl and threw it away.

Photo Soldier Boy at Nineteen

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ARMY LIFE

CHAPTER TWO

Conditions of the war when I enlisted----Taking the Oath — Leaving Home—Guarding Indians at Camp McClellan—From

Cairo to Vicksburg—Meeting my regiment at Memphis---Joining the Battalion and Guard Duty at Vicksburg—From Vicksburg to Clifton, Tennessee—First marching—Joining my regiment at Huntsville, Ala.—Sherman concentrating his forces for the Atlanta campaign–March to Rome—First line of battle at Kenesaw mountain—Siege of Atlanta—Battle July 21st-22nd –capture of 16^th Iowa —Guarding prisoners—Casualties—of battle–Chasing Hood–Camp at Marietta—My first vote–Detailed as provost guard—Destroying railroads—March to the sea–Advance on Savannah–Seven days without rations–Capture of Savannah—Boat trip to Louisville, Ky–Accident to boat–Discharge and muster out.

 As nearly fifty years have passed since the close of the great Civil War, it will hardly be expected that I can give in detail all the exciting scenes and incidents that occurred, even in that part of the army to which I belonged. Neither do I expect to describe them as others saw them, as no two persons see exciting scenes alike. In writing this part of my story I shall not rely entirely upon memory, but will be aided in part, by a small pocket diary I kept at the time. I shall not attempt to write a history of the war, but will only undertake to relate, briefly, the part I took in it. The war had been going on nearly three years when I enlisted. Some of its greatest battles had been fought. I believe it is generally conceded, that the defeat of the Confederate forces under Gen. Robert E. Lee at Gettys-

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burg, July 3, 1863, was the turning point in favor of the Union forces. Up to that time, the battles between the forces were about a draw. In the summer of 1913, during the reunion of the “Blue and the Gray” at Gettysburg, I visited the battlefield and went over the ground where the Union and Confederate forces were engaged the last day of the fight. On the Union line near little Round Top, I saw a stone tablet on which was inscribed “The high tide of the Rebellion reached here.” It was at this point, during the battle, where Gen. Pickett’s division of the Rebel army made the famous charge and was defeated. The next day, July 4^th, the Confederate Pemberton surrendered Vicksburg to Gen. U.S. Grant. The fall of Vicksburg practically cut the seceded states in two and opened communication to the gulf. Bands of Rebel guerillas infested the banks of the river, lurking behind trees and stumps and firing at our steamboats as they passed, but the Union gunboats soon cleared the river of all these annoyances. Simultaneously, with the fall of Vicksburg, Grant sent Gen. Sherman with a large force to find and disperse the Rebel army under Gen. Joe Johnston. The Rebel general made a feeble attempt to make a stand at Jackson, Mississippi, but soon abandoned the position and made a retreat to the east, leaving the Capital of Mississippi once more in the hands of Union forces. Gen. Grant’s army, at this time, was made up mostly of western men, who had enlisted for three years or during the war. The time of many of them would expire within the next twelve months, and there was little prospect of the war being over in that time. As an inducement for men to re-enlist the government offered a bounty of $#400, and a thirty days’ furlough home. Many of the men re-enlisted and came home during the winter of 186304. They usually came to the states by regiments. Those who did not re-enlisted were called “non-veterans” and were formed into battalions, and retained in the field for guard duty. When I enlisted, Crockers’ Iowa Brigade composed o the 11^th, 13^th, 15^th and 16^th regiments was at Vicksburg. My two older brothers, Elijah and Mifflin, volunteered in Company C, of the 11^th Iowa, which was organized at Columbus City, and went to the front in September, ‘61. Elijah died at Vicksburg soon after its surrender. At the time of his death, Mifflin was with his regiment in a raid on Meridian,

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Miss. He re-enlisted about the first of January ‘64. On Sunday my 19^th birthday I happened to be at one of our near neighbors and met Jacob M. Ashford, whom for convenience I will call Jake.

 He had three brothers in the army who belonged to the same company Mifflin did. During our call the war question naturally came up and Jake bantered me to volunteer, said “he would enlist if I would” After talking the matter over for some time we arranged to go the next day and be sworn in. It stormed Monday so we did not go until Tuesday. Arriving at a county justice of the peace, who lived about a mile from our place, we informed him what we wanted. The justice got his statutes, and began looking for the oath to administer to us, but not finding it, finally said “Boys, hold up your hands.” He mumbled over some words that we did not understand, then said, “You do solemnly swear that you will be good soldiers, won’t you, boys,” and stopped. But that was good enough for us. We remained at home about three weeks. In the meantime, there were many young men in our county enlisting. Most of them were going as recruits for the 11^th Iowa. About the 10^th of March we got notice to appear at Clifton, a railroad station about eight miles from my home, on a certain day to leave for the front. The day came and I bid goodbye to home folks, to my mother and youngest sister for the last time. Father took me to the station. Arriving there I met Jake and about two hundred other recruits. We took the train and were sent to Davenport, Iowa; then placed in Camp McClellan, about two miles from the city. Next day after our arrival we were put in a room, stripped naked, and examined by an Army surgeon. Jake and I passed and were then regularly sworn into the U. S. Service for three years, or during the war. We drew suits of government clothing and were paid $300 state bounty. We took up daily drill and life in the barracks. At that time there were some two or three hundred Indians held there in a stockade as prisoners, who had taken part in that terrible massacre in Minnesota. At times we were detailed to carry them wood to keep fires. We would carry the wood to the gate in the the stockade and throw it in; ofttimes trying to strike them, but usually they were too quick for us and would

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dodge it. March 12^th, we left camp McClellan, and were put on a Rock Island train and sent to LaSalle, Illinois. Here were changed to the Illinois Central road, put in box cars, so close that we had no room to lie down, and sent to Cairo, Ills. In the evening of the second day after we got to Cairo, Jake and I were down at the wharf when a large boat, “The Mississippi” heavily loaded with soldiers going home on a furlough, landed. The first officer to come ashore was Gen. U.S. Grant. That was my first sight of him. The boat was unloaded, then re-loaded with all kinds of army supplies including wagons, harness, horses, mules, cattle and feed. Jake and I had to help load the boat. We went abroad with about five hundred recruits going to join their regiments. The boat was very heavily loaded, for the water came near to the top of the guards and I was somewhat scared for fear it would sink. It was the largest boat I had ever been on. The boat finally pulled off from shore and headed for Vicksburg. At Memphis we met the 11^th Iowa, on their way home on furlough. I met brother Mifflin here. All recruits on our boat went on to Vicksburg. Before we got to Lake Providence, a strong wind came up, driving the water clear across the deck, thru the engine room of the boat, and was nearly knee deep for the stock. It became so violent that we had to land and dip the water out of the boat, and place boards long side. Without further trouble we landed at Vicksburg, March 19^th. Jake and I soon found the Iowa battalion, then commanded by Colonel Pomoutz, of the 15^th Iowa. We were placed in a company made up of non-veterans of the 11^th. While here we did daily drill work and guard duty. My first experience on picket was at an old fort on a hill just outside Vicksburg, on the road leading to Black River.

 On March 30^th, the battalion left Vicksburg by boat for Cairo, Ill. On our way one afternoon when a short distance below Lake Providence our boat was signaled by some contrabands on shore to land. We were just passing a short bend in the river when the Captain of the boat ordered the pilot to land. When nearing the bank, he reversed his engine, and the lever broke, letting the boat strike the slightly slanting bank with such force as to break the side walls just back of the engine. At the time I was standing on the top deck holding to the flag

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mast. When the boat struck the bank, the check was so sudden that it came near to throwing me over in front of the boat. At this time there were many guerrilla bands along the river and frequently decoyed boats to land, then pillaged them. Jake and I with others were put on picket while the boat was being repaired to watch for them. In about three hours we proceeded on our trip. April 3^rd we landed at Cairo. The boat was unloaded and the battalion marched to near Mound City, but a few miles, where we camped. T he next day Jake and I went to the soldiers’ hospital in the city, and found his brother William. He was badly wounded at Yazoo City, shortly after the surrender of Vicksburg, and sent to Mound City. We remained in camp here nearly a month, drilling most every day. The day before we left, our regiment returned from furlough to Cairo, and Mifflin came to see us. April 28^th our battalion was loaded on the boat “Collesus” and that night we pulled off for Clifton, Tenn. The second morning when we got up there were eight boats to be seen in the fleet. We arrived at Clifton, about eight miles below Shiloh, on the 31^st and proceeded to unload our. While unloading an amusing incident occurred. Some wagons had been taken ashore and set up, when four mules were hitched to one of them. The mules were restless and finally pulled the wagon past the boat along the river bank before we got the box on. The driver tried t back the mules and in the mix-up they backed the wagon off the bank, and the whole outfit went into t he river out of sight. Shortly the mules came up, snorting and puffing for breath. We got some long poles, pushed them round in front of the boat and rescued them and the wagon. May 5^th the battalion left Clifton for Huntsville, Alabama. We started about 4 p.m. and marched five miles before we halted for camp. The day was very warm and it was our first experience marching with our army equipment. Most all the recruits had more baggage than a Jew peddler would pack. Jake and I had drawn a full outfit of government clothing and still had the clothing we had brot from home. We also had our knapsack, guns, cartridge box, forty rounds of ammunition and five days rations to carry, besides many relics we had picked up from the battlefield around Vicksburg, that were intending to take home. But when morning came, we made a general cleaning out of

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knapsacks. Clothing of every description and war relics were left in camp and scattered along the line of march most all day. Jake and I held to our overcoats until noon, then left t hem. By night I only had a knapsack and a change of shirts, a wool and gum blanket left. The next day I had to abandon my knapsack as the strap across my shoulders would stop circulation in my arms, so that I could not hold my gun. Form that time on I carried all my extra clothing, which was very little, rolled up in my blanket with the ends tied together and thrown over my shoulder. The battalion arrived at Huntsville, May 20^th. I did my first foraging while on this trip. A few days after we left Clifton we camped one night a little before dark. So Jake and I went foraging. We were not allowed to take our guns outside camp. I had an old pepperbox revolver. We went out about a mile and found some young calves in a pasture. We got them in a fence corner and I bean shooting at one but couldn’t knock it down. Finally Jake caught it and we got a quarter of veal and struck for camp unmolested. May 22^nd our brigade arrived. The battalion was then disbanded and its members sent to the company and regiment to which they belonged. Our (Crocker’s) brigade was then placed in the 17^th army corps, that time commanded by Gen. Frank P. Blair. From that time until the war closed my postoffice address was Company C, 11^th Iowa Infantry, 3^rd Brigade, 4^th Division, 17^th Army Corps. Early in April 1864, General Sherman was at Chattanooga, Tennessee, when he received orders from his commander in chief, Gen Grant, then in command of the Army of the Potomac, to make immediate preparations for a campaign thru Georgia. Sherman at once set about the task. Rapidly gathering his soldier s from far and near all thru Kentucky and Tennessee. The veterans who had fought with Buell and Rosecrans the fall before, were scattered in small detachments protecting railroads and garrisoning forts. These were summoned to the front, together with the veteran troops that were home on furlough during the winter of 63-4. By the 6^th of May these armies were assembled at their appointed places; Gen. Thomas at Ringold, Gen McPherson at Gordon’s Mill, Gen. Schofield at red Clay near the Georgia state line, a little north of Dalton. The combined force numbered about 98,000 men and 250 cannon.

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The Confederate army of about 60,000 men, including a very superior force of cavalry, was also in three divisions under Generals Hardee, Hood and Polk. The whole force being under the supreme command of Gen. Joseph Johnston. They were strongly fortified in and around Dalton. The first object of the campaign was to secure Atlanta, one of the most important towns in Georgia. Here railroads from every direction centered. Immense manufactures of war materials were established here. The path to Atlanta lay thru Dalton. The country full of ravines, forests and interlacing rivers, was peculiarly adapted for defensive warfare. The army fighting on the defense always has greatly the advantage in selecting its position for battle. The roads from Ringold and Red Clay met at Dalton, a strongly fortified town. The Confederates had prepared to defend this place to the utmost. It was very essential to Sherman that it should be taken. The town is on the East Tennessee & Georgia railroad, one hundred miles northwest of Atlanta and thirty eight miles from Chattanooga.

 On the morning of May 7^th, Gen Sherman ordered the three divisions to move forward with center on Dalton. The reader will understand that these divisions moved forward on parallel roads, at times several miles apart. The country between these moving columns was covered by cavalry. When the rebel pickets were confronted they were driven back within their lines, oftimes (sic) with considerable loss of life. When the rebel works were found too strong for our forces to assault, without endangering great loss of life, Sherman would apply strategy, and order one of his generals commanding a division or corps to flank the works to right or left. The rebels would then fall back to another position and fortify it, if it was not already fortified. In this way the two armies fought over nearly every foot of ground several miles in width from Dalton to Atlanta. When Sherman was nearing Dalton, a small stream swollen by recent rains, was to be crossed about two miles west of the town, and the rebels had destroyed the bridge. Sherman, in his characteristic manner, asked the superintendent of a construction train “How long will it take to throw another bridge across that stream?” “It can be done in four days”, was the reply. “ I will give you forty-eight hors or a position in the front ranks be-

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fore the enemy.” It is said the bridge was finished in the specified time.