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Full text of "Memoirs of Marx D. Hauberg : being a personal narrative of the immigration of his parents and their children from Schleswig-Holstein, 1848; a year's life and travel via New York, Pittsburgh; in Tennessee, Alabama and Kentucky, and life in Rock Island County, Ill., and Scott County, Iowa, 1849 to 1923 inclusive"

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Q ^~r*—t> n XL a^c^ 










COUNTY, IOWA, 1849 TO 1 923 

Privately printed 






UR people were Schleswig-Holsteiners. I 
as born September 29, 1837, in Lustigen 

that time Denmark, now Prussia, Ger- 
many.. When I was one year old my folks moved 
to Kieler Raisdorf. I went to school when I was seven 
years old, with a song book and primer under my arm. 
I went to school there three years. When I was eight 
years old I broke my right leg, close to the body, from 
which I lay in bed five weeks and five weeks I walked 
on crutches. 

School would open in the morning with song and 
prayer ; then the teacher would exhort and explain dif- 
ferent phrases from the Bible for a half hour — the 
same as in Sunday School here in America. I never 
had an arithmetic nor a geography in school. We had 
to learn so many verses of a hymn and of the Bible 
every week. When there was a funeral in the village 
the school children sang at the house, before the corpse 
was taken to the church. The church was at Preetz, 



one German mile away. It would be four and one-half 
miles in America. Everybody walked. 

Father worked mostly in the timber. It was called 
the "Vogelsang" forest. This land belonged to the 
Government. Enough timber was cut in the fall to 

The Public School which I attended, 1844 to 18-17, inclusive 
.11 Raisdorf. 

supply the demand, and during the year young trees 
were planted to equal or exceed the number cut down 
in the fall. The last three years we were there I helped 
father plant young trees, one year old. Father dug the 
holes and I set the trees in. Oak, beech, ash and willow 
were planted mostly. Father was in charge of the 
work, and when more men were needed he superin- 
tended them. The nursery where they planted the 
seeds and started the trees had a high fence around it 
so the deer could not get in and crop off the young 


trees. The fence was a high dirt bank or wall, five or 
six feet high with brush growing on top of it so the 
deer could not jump over it. They had lots of deer 
there, and they were so tame I got 'within just a few 
yards of one of them one time. 

They had three markets a year in Kiel. "Fastlom" 
or Shrove Tuesday on the 14th of February, " Johannis" 
or St. John's Market on June 24th, and "Magalis" or 
St. Michael's Market on the 29th of September, They 
sold everything imaginable : horses, cattle, hogs, veget- 
ables, clothing, boots, shoes, harness, wood, turf, coal, 
fruits, etc. It was customary at the June Market for 
people who did not have much to buy a pig, and in 
September four or five would club together and buy a 
beef cow. 

It was the custom for the women to go to market. 






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i*™itf p f^p *' ^ 

Village scene, Raisdorf. My uncle, Marx Hauberg, lived in 
the thatched cottage in the left foreground. 


Mother would come home carrying a little pig under 
her arm. It would be tied up in a sack, and we chil- 
dren would play with it. We fed the pig slop, ground 
barley and peas, and goat's milk. Every poor family 
kept a goat for milk. By Christmas time the pig would 
have grown to a weight of 200 pounds or more and 
would be butchered. Father would go in with four or 
five neighbors and buy a beef. He knew how to butcher 
and they would share the meat. They would take turn 
about carrying the hide to Kiel and stop at every 
"Gasthaus" for a drink. They would sell the hide 
and divide the money. 

At Christmas time we children would make what 
was called a "Rummel pot," made by stretching a blad- 
der across the mouth of an earthen jar and having a 
stick run through it. When you worked the stick it 
gave off a loud noise. You could hear it nearly half 
a mile. A crowd of fifteen or twenty of us would get 
together and go from house to house with these rum- 
mel-pots or drums. We would rattle them and then 
sing Christmas carols and then wait for the folks to 
come out and give us something. Sometimes they gave 
us "Meh," a drink made with honey, or they would 
give us a "Sesling" which was one cent. 

March 14th, 1848, we had a sale in the forenoon and 
sold our household goods, had dinner with Uncle Marx, 
father's oldest brother, and that afternoon went to 
Kiel. A young man by the name of Roggenkampf 
hauled our trunks and boxes. We staid over night with 



mother's brother, Clement Griese. This same day 
Schleswig-Holstein had its first battle, as rebels, with 
Denmark for the same reason that America rebelled 
against England in 1775. Father's youngest brother, 
Joachim, and a brother of the man who brought us to 

The Stadt Kirche at Preetz which we attended. 

Kiel were in that battle in a Dragoon Regiment, Cav- 
alry. After this man had brought us to Kiel that 
afternoon he rode out to the battlefield, returned to 
Kiel the next morning about fifteen minutes before 
train time, and reported both young men were all 
right. Father wanted to know how his brother had 
fared in the battle. 

We left Kiel at 9:30 in the morning and arrived in 
Hamburg at 11 :30 and had dinner and supper with 


mother's oldest brother, Marx Griese, a blacksmith by 
trade. After supper we went to the wharf, where a 
boat was waiting to take us to the ship in the harbor. 
Mother bid her two brothers goodbye for the last 
time. Mother took it pretty hard. We got on the 

The Smithj oi Marx Clemenl Griese, nrrj grandfather, ;\t 
Elmschi nhagen, Holstein. 

ship just before dark. The other people who were 
going with us were already there, thirty-five in all. 
We were seven in our family, including mother's sister 
Doris, father and mother, brother Jergem Detlef, my 
two sisters Doris and Lena, and myself. 

The ship left the harbor somtime during the night. 
The next morning, when we got on deck, we could just 
see a glimpse of the land back of us. We came in a 
sail-ship to New York in thirty-five days. One night, 



during the voyage, a terrific storm took the top off the 
hatch and the water just poured in on us. Before they 
could get the top on again we were in two feet of 
water. There were from three to four hundred pas- 
sengers down there; and if there were any who had 
never prayed to God before, they prayed that night. 

We were in quarantine in New York harbor one 
day, there being three sick people on board. Mother's 
sister, Doris, was one of them. We stayed in New 
York three days. The second day mother's sister 
was released from the hospital. We left New York 
in the afternoon and arrived in Philadelphia the next 
morning, where we stayed a day and a night, leaving 
in a railroad car drawn by two horses through the 
city. Outside of the city the cars were hooked onto 
a locomotive that took us as far as the mountains. 
There the cars were attached to a cable and pulled 
up the mountain. There were three passenger cars. 
Half way up the mountain Ave met three coal cars 
coming down. On top of the mountain the cars were 
again drawn by a locomotive for a short distance ; 
then we went down the mountain without the loco- 

When we got over the mountains we travelled on 
a canal boat for two days, then on the train again 
for a while, then on a canal boat again for three days 
to Pittsburg. On the last boat we met about an equal 
number of Irish immigrants. They and the Germans 
got into a fight, the Irish women fought the same as 



the men, and the boatmen put up a partition of soap 
boxes. We stayed in Pittsburg a day and a night. 
Here the women saw yellow corn meal for the first 
time, and remarked "How wise the people are in 
America; they mix the eggs right with the flour; we 
must have some of that." When they got it they baked 
pancakes. Nobody liked the pancakes, and they thought 
it was a 'sell'. 

From Pittsburg we went down the Ohio River on 
a steam boat to Paducah, Kentucky, and stayed there 
three days, then got on a boat again and went up the 
Tennessee River to Tuscumbia, Alabama, where we 
stayed over night, and the next morning got on the 
train to go to Decatur, Alabama, a distance of forty 
miles. We boarded the train about 8 o'clock that 
morning and rode all day, stayed over night in a little 
town, and arrived in Decatur about 11 o'clock a. m. 
the next day (one day and a half to travel forty miles) . 
There were no coaches, only flat cars, and we sat on 
boxes. The roadbed was like all other railroad beds; 
but the rails were two-by-fours of wood nailed to the 
ties, with a wagon tire spiked to the rails. It was 
blackberry time and we boys would get off and pick 
a cap-full of blackberries, then run and catch up with 
the train and get on. When the engineer saw us he 
would speed up ; then the cars would get off the track 
and it would take some time to get them on again. 
There was an extra car with hand-spikes, blocks and 
six negroes to put cars back on the tracks. 



We stayed at Decatur two days, waiting for a 
steamboat to take us to Kingston, Tennessee, fifty 
miles below Knoxville. We left Decatur June 21st. 
The weather was very hot. We were on the boat three 
days. The last day, the 23rd, my younger sister, 
Lena, died. She was three years old. A young boy, 
two years old, died; and an old lady, coming with her 
son's family, after sweeping the floor, sat down in 
a chair to rest and died with the broom in her hand. 
All three were buried in the Presbyterian Cemetery 
at Kingston on June 24th, 1848. A Methodist Prot- 
estant minister by the name of George Yost preached 
the funeral sermon. We still have his certificate of 

We stayed in Kingston two days ; then moved to 
Wartburg, about twenty miles from Kingston, with 
three mule teams, six mules to a team. We forded 
one river. In Wartburg, where we stayed three weeks, 
we saw our first Fourth of July celebration. We did 
not understand the meaning of the noise in the mor- 
ning. I had to find out. I could already understand 
some English and talk a little. 

There was nothing doing in Wartburg, so fathter 
and a man by the name of Pender, went to Knoxville 
to work. They helped make pipes and lay them. 
Logs from one and one-half to two feet thick, with 
holes bored through them, laid end to end, were used 
to pipe water to the city from a spring some distance 



We had lived in Wartburg about three weeks when 
the boss came, a man by the name of Nerga. My 
folks, while in Germany, had hired out to work for 
this man in America. He had a big farm in Germany. 
American agents told him he could do better in Ame- 
rica ; that he had better sell and come to Tennessee ; 
Tennessee was mountainous ; there were gold, silver, 
copper, zinc, lead, coal — all kinds of minerals in 
the mountains ; all that was lacking was labor to get 
it out. So Nerga sold his farm for $50,000.00 and 
hired men in Germany to get out the gold and silver. 
He hired six married men with families, four single 
men, two young maiden ladies. These men had var- 
ious occupations — one was a carpenter, one was a 
millwright and a miller, one was a blacksmith, one, 
a shoemaker, one a weaver, one a forester (father was 
the forester) and the rest were farmers; in fact, they 
were all Jacks-of -all-trades. 

Nerga bought a farm ten miles above Kingston 
on the Tennessee River — three thousand acres. About 
four hundred acres were bottom land, three islands 
in the river, and the rest was mountain land, the right, 
and the ferry boat also — it was called Penrock Ferry 
— for $30,000.00. He got all the implements, horses, 
cattle, hogs, poultry and the Post Office in the bargain. 
Tennesee being a slave state, the man he bought of 
had slaves. When the men and negroes had moved 
out, we moved in. 

There was a blacksmith shop close to the river, tools 



and all, also in the bargain. All the mechanics had 
brought their tools with them from Germany, so the 
blacksmith shop was well stocked with tools. The 
blacksmith went right to work and had all the work 
he could do. 

Father superintended the farm work for about three 
or four weeks, until the other fellows learned what 
to do. After that he helped the blacksmith and ran 
the ferry-boat, which was rowed across the river 
with oars. 

I went to school in a private house for six weeks. 
The man who taught me was from the North. He 
was the only native American I knew who could read 
and write. He was also a Justice of the Peace. His 
name was Graves. Mr. Nerga had a large house, with 
one big room, and I taught school in that room. I did 
not know much, but my pupils knew less. I knew 
about as much then as I know now. I also acted as 
Postmaster. I was the only one in the bunch who 
could speak and read English. I was also interpreter 
for the boss. Every Saturday I went to Kingston 
on horseback, ten miles, to get the mail. When the 
boss had business anywhere, I went along to talk for 
him. I was a good scholar in Germany for a boy 
ten years old. We learned the English letters in school 
there. In writing and reading, all I had to do was 
to translate them, and that was not hard to do. 

We all lived in a log cabin, with a big fire place 
and a large wooden chimney. Everybody cooked and 


baked in the fire place in a kettle. Our chimney 
caught fire twice while we lived there and we had 
to push it over, to keep the house from burning up, 
and build a new one. It was built of split sticks 
plastered with clay. 

When we had lived there about nine months the 
blacksmith and father got into a mix-up with some 
moonshiners from over the river. The blacksmith and 
father were ironing a wagon box across the road from 
the shop. These moonshiners had six horses hitched 
to their wagon and drove squarely against the wagon 
box that father and the blacksmith were working on. 
The blacksmith said to the moonshiners (there were 
two of them) in German, "I should think the road is 
wide enough to go by without running over the box", 
when one of the fellows jumped at the blacksmith, to 
hit him with his fist; but he was too slow. The black- 
smith picked him up and threw him against a rail 
fence. The rail broke and the fellow's head went be- 
tween the upper and lower rails and his face was 
skinned. The upper rail had to be lifted to get the 
fellow out. 

The moonshiners were loaded with alcohol and were 
going to Kingston. In Kingston they got a warrant 
and had father and the blacksmith arrested for murder 
— or trying to commit murder. The man's face was 
scratched up, all bloody and his clothes too. He had 
not washed the blood from his face or his clothes and 
looked as if somebody had tried to murder him. 



The next morning after the mix-up a constable and 
two more men came from across the river and arrested 
father and the blacksmith. They brought two extra 
horses for the two to ride. One of the men came after 
me — I was at home. He told me to come along ; that 
they had the two arrested, and wanted me to talk for 
them. "Get right on here, behind me," he said and 
I got on. They used their own ferry boat to ferry us 
over the river. There were two ferry boats — one on 
each side of the river. Each ferried across what came 
on his side but took nothing back with him. It was 
getting dark. We rode about eight miles through the 
timber and it got dark as pitch. The man I rode with 
was ahead, the criminals next, and the constable and 
the other fellow brought up the rear. 

Everything was ready for the trial. The Squire 
read the warrant, then asked them if they were guilty. 
I said "No". "Bub, how do you know", said the 
Squire, "ask them"? I said "I know they wont plead 
guilty." Then the Squire said, "Proceed; go ahead." 
He said to the two moonshiners, "Get up, hold up 
your hands", and swore them in. They had no lawyer. 
The squire asked the questions. When they were 
through telling their story, he told father and the 
blacksmith to get up and hold up their hands. I said, 
"Do you want me too?" He said, "No, you are too 
young." I think the two of them did not understand 
a word he said. 

Father told mother the whole story in the evening 



of the day it happened, while we were eating supper, 
and I took it all in. When the man who was hurt was 
telling his story — how the blacksmith threw him 
against the fence and broke it — I said, "Didn't you 
try to hit him first?" The Squire said, "Bub, you 
keep still." I said, "Yes, he did." The Squire said, 
"Bub, if you don't keep still I will put you in the other 
room." I said, "He did," and he put me in the other 
room. I was not sorry, for his family lived there 
and the lady asked me if I had had supper. I said 
"No," and she gave me something to eat : corn bread 
and fried pork. 

"While I was eating the Squire came in and told me 
to come back. The lady said, "Let him eat his supper." 
"All right," said the Squire, and he stayed there and 
asked me all I knew about the case and I told him what 
father had told mother at the supper table — how it 
happened. When we got back in the Court room he 
told father he was clear — he did not find him guilty. 
"I find you guilty and put you under $1,000.00 bond," 
he said to Penter, the blacksmith. Then he told 
father and me we could go home. 

Father said to me, "Tell the Squire we want a horse 
to ride home." I told him and he said, "I have no 
horse." I told father what he said. Father said, "Tell 
him we had a horse to ride when we came here and we 
want one to ride back home." I told the Squire this. 
Then he told one of the men there to let us have a 
horse; so we got a horse but no saddle. Father said, 



"Tell him we want a saddle." I told the Squire this 
and he said to the fellow, "Get him a saddle," and he 
did. The Squire said, "Bub, you tell the boss to come 
over tomorrow and sign a bond and the blacksmith 
can go back home with you." 

When we got to the river we tied the horse to the 
rail fence and took their skiff to cross the river. To 
get to our home we had to pass the home of the boss 
and father stopped to tell him what the squire had 
said. This was about 3 :00 o'clock in the morning. 
At about 7:00 o'clock the boss sent for me. He was 
all ready; told me to get on. I told him we should 
take another horse with us for the blacksmith to ride 
home. He got another horse and I rode it. Father 
ferried us across the river. We took the horse with 
us that we had tied to the fence, but it broke away 
and ran home. When we got there the boss signed 
and the blacksmith came home with us. 

Everything was all right for about three or four 
weeks, then Court opened. Squire Graves, our neigh- 
bor, told the blacksmith he had to go to Kingston ; 
Court was in session. Father and I went with him. 
I was to do the talking. Squire Graves also went with 
us. He was the Court Bailiff. They found a doctor 
in Kingston who could speak German, so they had no 
more use for me in Court. 

Father and the blacksmith walked to and from 
Kingston every morning and evening during Court 
— ten miles — and reported to the boss. The second 



day the doctor told them they should make application 
to become citizens of the United States, which they did. 
When they reported this to the boss in the evening, 
he said, "I did that the day before — I did not tell you 
to do that. That puts you on an equal footing with me. 
You had better get out." 

''I will see you about it in the morning," father said. 

The next morning father asked him if he meant what 
he said. He said he did. Then father said to him, 
"When this trial is over, we will move." 

"I am sorry to see you go," said the boss, "but I 
can't take back what I said." 

"Well," father said, "if you don't take back what 
you said we will go." The trial was put off for about 
a week. Before they had a hearing the blacksmith was 

When they came home that evening father asked 
the boss for a yoke of oxen and a cart to haul our goods 
to the river bank. He let him have a yoke. 

"Will you leave Marx here with me?" he said to 
father, "I will treat him as my own boy and send him 
to college." Father said, "No, I will take him along." 
I think father and the blacksmith had about $7.50 
between them. We stayed one day on the river bank, 
before a boat came down from Knoxville to take us 
to Decaaur, Alabama. We then came on to Davenport, 

The contract they had made in Germany with Mr. 
Nerga was that each should have a house to live in, 


such as was customary in the country they moved to — 
which was a log house — the use of one cow, a three- 
hundred pound hog and four dollars in money per 
month. Mother was to have seven cents a day when 
she worked, and I got five cents a day. 

The kettle we brought from Tennessee, in which mother did the family cooking. 

Mother's sister died of a fever about a month before 
we left Tennessee. 

I remember mother baked bread on the river bank 
in an iron kettle. She set the kettle on hot coals, 
turned the lid of the kettle upside down and put hot 
coals on top. We have the kettle yet, or else my son 
John H. Hauberg has it. We had two tripods. We 
did all our own cooking on our travels. We came down 



the river on the boat Tippicanoe. All our trunks and 
boxes that we had brought with us from Germany, 
and in addition two cane bottom chairs and a dog, 
we carried with us to Moline. We had the dog on the 
farm until he died of old age. We called him "Pack- 
an", — "Take hold." 

We were three days on the boat going to Decatur. 
We lacked $2.50 in having enough money to pay our 
fare. I told the Captain to keep one of our boxes 
until he got his pay. "Take them along," he said, "you 
can pay me when I come back." 

Father and Penter did all kinds of work while in 
Decatur, mostly digging cellars by contract ; also hand- 
ling freight, it being the terminal of the railroad and 
the steambot. The first time the boat came back, when 
we heard it whistle in the evening as it landed, father 
and I went on board and pa^d the Captain. Father 
gave him three dollars and he gave father back one 
dollar. "We owed you two and half," father said. 
"Two dollars is enough," he said "I did not think you 
would pay me so soon." 

We stayed four weeks in Decatur. From there we 
went to Paducah, Kentucky. We boarded the train 
in the morning and got to Tuscombia, Alabama, in 
the afternoon; just half the time it took us when we 
made the trip from Tuscumbia to Decatur on the same 
road. At Tuscumbia we took a steamboat to Paducah, 
Kentucky. In paying our fare at Paducah we were 
four dollars short, and father borrowed the money 


from the hotel man, where we stayed when we went 
to Tennessee. 

At Paducah we went to the foundry to look for work. 
I asked for work for the two. "What can they do?" 
the boss said. I said, "This man is a blacksmith and 
this man can help, or he can do almost any kind of 
work around here." The boss handed me a piece of 
steel and said, "Tell the blacksmith to make a cold 
chisel from that." 

I handed it to the blackmith and told him what the 
boss said. He looked at it and said, "That is no good ; 
it is burned." He threw it down and looked around 
for another piece. He picked up another piece of steel 
and I asked the boss if he could use that. The boss 
said he could, and he made a cold chisel from that and 
handed it to the boss, who tried it. It was all right. 
I heard father and the blacksmith say they would like 
to have a dollar a day, when we went to the foundry. 

"How much does he want a day?" the boss asked. 
I said, "One dollar and a half." The boss said, "All 
right, he can go to work right away." 

Then the boss said, "What can he do?" meaning 
father. "He can help the blacksmith," I said. "How 
much does he want a day?" he said. "One dollar" I 
said. There were two big pieces of iron lying on the 
floor, and the boss said to me, "Tell him to weld them." 
The blacksmith put on a leather apron, told father 
to put the iron in the fire and blow the bellows, while 
he looked around to find what he wanted. He found 



it. When the iron was hot, father took one piece and 
the blacksmith the other. When they had it welded 
the boss said, "He can stay too." 

Father hired me out to the hotel man for $4.00 a 
month. I had to help peel potatoes, clean forks and 
knives, wait on the table, and help scrub the dining 
room. All the other help in the hotel were negroes. 
I had seen hotel servants sitting down, having a good 
time, but I did not find it so here. I have never in 
my life been so tired. I could stand up and sleep with 
my eyes open. Steamboats would come from New 
Orleans or St. Louis, up the river and down the river, 
from Louisville, Cincinnati and Pittsburg and the 
Tennessee River at any time during the night with 
passengers wanting something to eat. Sometimes we 
would not get to bed before twelve or one o'clock and 
would have to get up at three o'clock in the morning. 

We stayed in Paducah one month and then got on 
a steamboat to come to Davenport. Mr. Penter, the 
blacksmith, stayed in Paducah. The foundry boss 
promised him $2.00 a day if he stayed. Our boat 
took us to St. Louis, where we were transferred to 
another boat by the name of "Wisconsin". We did 
not go on shore at St. Louis as they had the cholera 

Three days later, about midnight, the "Wisconsin" 
landed us on the Davenport shore. We had all our 
household goods and a dog. We lit our pitch pine 
torches, we brought a good supply with us from the 



South, and made our beds, crawled in and went to 
sleep. Next morning at daylight mother told me to 
get some dry wood. Below us, down where the St. 
James Hotel now is, at Front and Main Streets, was 
timber. We had no matches and we made our fire by 
using a steel, a flint and a kind of tow. We would 
make a spark that would ignite the tow. We had 
sticks dipped in sulphur, and touching them on the 
glowing tow, they would burn like matches. 

While we were eating breakfast, a man by the name 
of Beyer came. He knew us. He was from Preetz. 
His brother-in-law lived in the same house with us in 
Germany. He came to Davenport in 1847 the same 
time as Wolf Liitt, father of August Liitt, now of 
Rock Island. Mr. Beyer told us where we could find 
Wolf Liitt, who was my Uncle. He was married to 
Father's sister. They lived on the Island working for 
Bailey Davenport or Mrs. Lewis. 

After breakfast we got a boat and went to see the 
Liitt's. We surprised them. They did not know we 
were coming; they knew we were in America. After 
the greetings father told uncle Liitt he was looking for 
work. Uncle Liitt said there was no work in Daven- 
port but there might be in Moline. We walked over 
the Island and over the stone and brush dam, where 
the bridge is now, to Moline. 

There were two sawmills and one saw- and flour- 
mill combined in Moline. A man by the name of 
Obermeier ran the saw- and flour-mill. Father got 



work there at seventy-five cents a day. I told Ober- 
meier our goods were in Davenport, on the river bank, 
and asked him if he would send a team over there to 
get them. We would pay him for it. He said, "All 
right. I will send a team over to get the goods." We 
walked back to Uncle Liitt's and told him father got 

When we got back to Davenport the team was 
there, loading up. We all went over on the ferry boat. 
It cost $1.50. Father had only seventy-five cents; but 
the teamster told the ferry-man he would see he got 
the rest of the money, as father was going to work 
for his boss. The ferry was what is called a horse- 
ferry — a horse on each side of the boat in a tread 
power. Planks were fastened to a chain that went 
round a pully, one end higher than the other; the 
horse would walk on the plank and that would turn 
around to run the wheel, or paddle, in the water. 

Moline was three miles from Rock Island, through 
the timber. There was one farm between the 
two towns — William Brooks' farm He had a 
good orchard. He told me he got the seed from some 
rotten apples that were thrown from a steamboat going 
up the river with a load of apples for the Galena lead 
mines in the year 1839 or 1840. The farm was on the 
left hand side of the rail road tracks going to Rock 
Island, where the street car runs under the railroad 
bridge. In going to Moline from the ferry with our 
load of household goods, it being pretty bulky, we had 


to pick our way through the woods, otherwise the limbs 
of the trees would rub the goods^ off the wagon. 

We moved into a little shanty, about eight by twelve, 
near the river bank between 20th and 21st streets 
across a creek — the creek is not there now — about four 
rods west of where the Moline Tool Company factory 
is now, or at the East edge of Sylvan Park where the 
railroad cuts through. Our furniture filled up the 
shanty. We had a big chest, about six feet long, and 
a big box, one bed and a trundle bed and two chairs. 
That filled the shanty. We had no stove. Mother 
did the cooking and baking out doors. When it rained 
we stayed in doors and ate our grub cold. Father and 
mother slept in the bed and we three children slept in 
the trundle bed. I was eleven, my brother, Jergem 
Detlef (we called him Dave) nine and my sister, Doris, 
five years old. During the day we pushed the trundle 
bed under the other bed, or there would be no room to 
get into the shanty. We ate from the big box. Father 
and mother sat on the chairs and we children stood 
around the box. The shanty was boarded up and 
down, with batting, board roof with slabs over the 

There were two families living across the creek. 
One, Joe Askew and his family, moved to a farm south- 
east of Cordova, where John James Armstrong now 
lives. (Sec. 6, Coe twp.) Steve Askew, now living 
above Port Byron, is his son. He was about two years 
old when they moved away and I helped him on the 



wagon. The other family's name was Berger. They 
had six girls and three boys. One of the girls married 
Ditmer Vieths, and one girl, Catherine, married a 
preacher by the name of Arndt — Sam Arndt's father. 
Sam Arndt had a cigar store in Rock Island some years 

Father worked for Obermeier about month; then 
he hired out to Mr. Patterson, grandfather to Corinth 
P. Curtis, who was guard at the Moline bridge a few 
years ago. Mr. Patterson was Road Commissioner 
of Moline. During the fore part of June four men 
started to grub out the trees and stumps to make a 
road to Rock Island where now Third Avenue Street 
cars run. In front of where Williams, White & Com- 
pany's factory now stands, and down towards the 
river (or slough) was a little log house where a man 
by the name of Gamble lived ; a little west of this log 
house at about what is now Seventh Street, Moline, 
they started to grub. 

They grubbed the trees so they would fall in a pile 
and burned them. If there was a good saw' log, Dave 
Sears got it. Bill Davis and another man would come 
with a cross-cut saw and two or three yoke of oxen 
and take it way. The grubbing was done before the 
ground froze up. 

Mr. Patterson kept Father on the job burning the 
wood and brush after the grubbing was done. He got 
one dollar a day for burning and grubbing. 

That fall, father bought and moved into a house 



located on the side hill, on what is now Fourteenth 
Street. Moline. He bought it of George W. Bell for 
$50.00. There was about a half acre of land with it. 
Adjoining us on the west was AlexSwander. His house 
is now No. 725, Fourteenth Street. We had our barn 
and barnyard east of our house. North of us for about 
three blocks was timber, and no houses except those 
of William McEniry and Mike Hartzell's, and. at the 
foot of the hill, 14th to 15th Streets was a low, swampy 
place. I have seen cattle stuck in the mud there in 
the spring of the year, and helped pull them out. 
Where the Swedish Lutheran church is. and westward 
was timber so thick, you could not drive a wagon 
through it. They were large trees of saw-log size. 

Father bought a three-legged cook stove from Ober- 
meier for three dollars and fifty cents, and a clock for 
one dollar. He bought a good cow and calf of Bailey 
Davenport for twelve dollars and fifty cents. In the 
summer father had a week off from grubbing to make 
hay. It was wild hay and we made it where East 
Moline is now. Everybody in Moline had a cow or 
more, and one hog or more, and they made hay where 
we did. Snakes were so thick there we boys would 
catch them by the tail and throw them at each other. 

My sister Elizabeth was born in the shantay, July 
8. 1849. 

I carried water for Mr. Patterson and for his men, 
sometimes, and fished when I did not carry water. I 
got ten cents a day. In the winter of 1850 I went to 


school. There were no public schools in Moline then. 
We had to pay for schooling in those days. I went to 
school in old man Gordon's house. He was the father 
of Daniel Gordon, who died about five years ago. Dan 
was a young man at that time. The house is still stand- 
ing. It is No. 1714, Third Avenue, Moline. I went 
about two weeks when I got into a fight with one of 
the boys from the other school. There were two schools. 
The well-to-do sent their children to the brick building 
on Sixteenth Street, between 4th and 5th Avenues, 
used for city hall afterwards, now it is a Fire station. 
The boys from that school came to rout us out. I stood 
my ground and licked the leader of their crowd. Then 
our teacher wanted me to apologize and I would not 
do it. I told him he did not take any pride in his school 



and that he ought to be proud that we had licked them. 
"You had better pick up your books and get out" he 
said to me. I said "All right, give me back my money 
that is coming to me." "I will give that to your fa- 
ther" he said. I said "That was my money and I 
want it before I go. That money does not belong to 
my father." Then he went into old man Gordon's room 
and borrowed the money and handed it to me. I had 
paid for two months. I was the first foreign boy in 
school and they thought foreigners had horns and they 
would talk and act outrageously. Mother would say 
to me "Don't fight," but father would say, "Don't start 
any fight but if they start one don't come home licked." 

The Gordon family lived in the west end of the 
house, and the school was kept in the east end, down- 
stairs. The teacher's name I believe was Mason. 
There were about Twenty scholars. The furniture 
was a table and some benches. They had no desks and 
when your turn came to write you would move up to 
the table. The only books we used was a spelling book 
and McGuffy's readers. I used McGuffy's fourth read- 
er as I had had some schooling in Tennessee. We did 
ciphering but we had no arithmetic books. We had no 
geography nor history or other books. 

Among the scholars there were Rosa Bell who after- 
wards was Mrs. William Mill of Canoe Creek Town- 
ship, Julia Ann Withrow who married Johnty Cool of 
Cordova and Ira Pratt who afterwards married the 
sister of Arthur Mead of Zuma. 


After my school experience I had three jobs as a 
hired girl, carrying water and keeping up the fires 
where the women were sick. 

During the winter father hired me out to man by 
the name of Matthias J. Rohlf who was on the Judge 
Grant farm, three miles north of Davenport, at four 
dollars a month. He also hired out my brother Dave 
to a farmer by the name of Untiedt living in what 
they called the "Probstei," about 6 or 7 miles north- 
west of Davenport, at two dollars a month. Dave 
was then ten years old and I was twelve. We were 
to drive oxen to a breaking plow during the breaking 

I started to work about March 10th, 1850, with the 
instruction from mother, "Now you mind and do what 
they want you to do. If they turn you off and you 
come home, I will get after you with a stick and drive 
you back." I do not know whether brother Dave got 
the same instruction. Perhaps for me it was a timely 

At home I had always slept in the same room, or 
in the room adjoining father and mother's room, but 
on the farm I had to sleep in a shanty about eight feet 
from the house, which was infested with rats. The 
first night one bit my big toe while I was asleep. It 
awakened me in a hurry ; and when I made a noise, it 
frightened the rats — they were not used to company 
— and in running away they knocked everything down 
and made so much noise. I thought the shanty was 


Memoirs. 3. 


tumbling down. If the river had not been between 
us, perhaps I would have gone home. 

The first three days I cut wood. The next morning 
the boss said to me, "Yoke up the black oxen — yoke 
the big black one first — and put them on the wagon 
and you can haul manure." I yoked the big black 
one first, but I got it on the wrong side; the other ox 
would not come under the yoke. He belonged on the 
"haw" side and the one I had yoked up belonged on the 
"gee" side. I turned the yoke over, but that made the 
bow come on top of the necks. That would not work. 
I unyoked this ox again and got him on the other side. 
That was all right ; the "haw" ox then came under the 
yoke. I had never yoked any oxen before, nor had I 
seen it done. I had seen Bill Davis, the summer be- 
fore, drive oxen when he snaked logs. I often went 
with him and had learned what "get-up", "haw" and 
"gee" and "back-up" meant and how to put them on 
the wagon. 

I hauled manure that day. The second day, while 
I was hauling manure, the boss called me to the house 
to help him a minute. When I returned the oxen had 
broken the wagon tongue and gone into the field, tak- 
ing a part of the tongue with them. I got them back, 
fixed up the tongue, and had it about done when the 
boss called me for dinner. He looked somewhat sur- 
prised when he saw me fixing the tongue and said it 
was a pretty good job. My boss had been a school- 
master in Germany, and I wasn't there very long be- 



fore I made up my mind that he knew about as much 
about farming and doing things as I did. 

I hauled manure that week. Monday morning he 
told me to hitch the oxen to the wagon and take three 
turkey hens to Mr. Dibbern's, who lived about a mile 
and a half southeast from us, and nearer Davenport. 
Mr. Dibbern was the father of Charles Dibbern of 
Milan. We left the turkey hens with his flock of 
turkeys for two weeks ; then I brought them home. 
Each hen laid fifteen eggs and hatched fifteen turkeys. 
I left the farm about November first, and they then 
had forty-eight turkeys, including the hens. I am writ- 
ing this to show what luck some people have in spite 
of their ignorance. The turkeys took care of them- 

After I returned from Mr. Dibbern's, the boss said, 
"Rig up the plow — it is in the barn — and you can 
plow the field across the road." I took off the clevis 
and hooked the ring of a log chain over the clevis and 
put it on the plow again. The chain was about ten 
feet long. I hooked it on the yoke ring and dragged 
the plow to the field. When I started to plow it went 
in beam deep, and in plowing over the little knolls, or 
hills, the beam of the plow was not high enough. I 
was plowing up the yellow clay. I plowed two rounds 
that day. When I returned to the house the boss 
asked me, "How does it go?" 

"Pretty good," I said, "but the plow goes pretty 



'That is all right," he said, "I want to put wheat in 

The next morning I plowed a little more than one 
round, when a boy, about my size, came up behind me 
and said, "Captain, aren't you plowing pretty deep?" 

"The boss wants to plant wheat in this field," J said. 

"He does? Well, you are killing the ground, plow- 
ing up that yellow clay." 

"Don't you plow that deep?" 

"No, by God, we don't." 

"How deep do you plow?" 

"I will show you," he said. "Do your oxen kick?" 

"No," I said. 

He went between the oxen, backed them up so the 
heels of the oxen touched the beam of the plow. He 
took hold of the plow handles and started up. The 
plow came right up within an inch or an inch and a 
half of the top. He plowed about a rod, when I told 
him to stop ; he did not plow deep enough. 

"Well," he said, "I guess you will have to let out the 
chain a couple of links." 

Then we sat down and talked a while. He invited 
me to come and see him. He said his name was Cody 
and that he lived five miles east of there. He was look- 
ing for cattle. I went to see him the following Sep- 
tember and found the place, a couple of miles north- 
west of Le Claire, but they had moved away. His 
name was Sam Cody, an older brother of "Buffalo 
Bill" Cody. He was killed in a horse race that fall. 



His horse fell with him, and Sam's neck was broken. 
I did not tell him that I knew nothing about setting 
the plow until he showed me how. The land where I 
was plowing is on the west side of the Brady Street 
road, just across the line of the Davenport city limits 
(in the southwest quarter, Section Twelve). 

When we had the seeding done we started out break- 
ing for other people. The first we did was for Mr. 
Noel's, on the bluff, where Van DerVeer Park is now. 
That was all timber at that time. Noel had grubbed 
out some trees and had mowed the hazel brush. He 
mowed it with a scythe. The next place we broke was 
for Claus Vieths, about 7 miles west of Davenport. The 
second day we were there an Indian came along and 
stopped. When we came to the road he hailed us. The 
boss was afraid, but I went up to him. He was riding 
an Indian pony and he carried a rifle, a revolver and 
a bow and arrows. The pony's bit, the saddle stirrups 
and rifle were silver plated. He asked me how far it 
was to Davenport. While he stood there he would 
sometimes look toward the west. Then he went in that 
direction and was gone about ten minutes when he 
returned with the whole tribe — there must have been 
two hundred of them. They had ponies running loose 
with baskets on each side, a papoose in each basket, 
and some were carrying the tents. 

A half mile north of us another breaking team was 
working. When these men saw the Indians they be- 
came frightened and went home, about eight miles 


away. When we got back to the end the boss saw these 
men going home and he was afraid too and was going 
home. He said to me, "We will go home too." 

"If you want to go home," I said, "go. You can take 
one yoke and go, but I will stay here." 

"I want you to come along," he said. 

I said, "No." 

"Are you not afraid those Indians will come back? 
We are two miles from the nearest house." 

"I am not afraid of the Indians — they are not com- 
ing back, they are going across the river." 

"Go ahead," he said. "I'll stay too." 

The other fellows came back just before dinner the 
next day. "It's a good thing we stayed," the boss said. 
"The other fellows lost three-quarters of a day." 

The people for whom we were breaking the land 
had built a shanty for us to stay in and a yard to keep 
the cattle in. We herded the cattle until late in the 
evening and turned them out again early in the morn- 
ing. They got no feed except what they grazed. 

When we had finished breaking here we went to 
break for the boss. He owned one hundred and sixty 
acres two miles east of where Mt. Joy is now. He 
started me off ahead with three yoke of oxen hitched 
to a wagon loaded with forty green white-oak fence 
posts and fence boards. About two miles from home 
I came to a creek — Goose Creek, I think it was called. 
To get to the bridge I had to drive around a little curve. 
The bridge had been built just a short time and the 


road leading up to it graded. It had rained quite hard 
the night before, and I had hard work keeping the oxen 
and the wagon in the road. The creek was full of 
water. I got on the bridge all right, but a little too 
much to one side — the planks were not nailed down — 
and when all four wheels got on the bridge the whole 
load, wagon and all, went over in the creek, the planks 
on top of the wagon. 

I had been there about ten minutes when a man driv- 
ing a team of horses came from the north. The man 
got off and came to where I was. 

"Sonny, you missed the bridge, did you?" he said. 

"I did not miss the bridge," I said, "but some fools 
put in the bridge and did not know enough to nail the 
planks down." 

"Well," he said, "I helped to put in the bridge and 
put on the planks, but we did not have any spikes. I 
was going to town to get some to nail them down. 
Where are you going with the posts and fence boards?" 

"I don't know; the boss will be along soon." 

"Who is your boss?" he said. I told him Mr. Rohif 
was the boss. 

"Aren't you pretty young to send out with a load 
like this? How old are you?" 

"Twelve years. I guess I am not too young," I said. 
"You had better stay and help me out." 

Just then the boss came around the corner. "What's 
the matter?" he said. 

"No matter at all," I said; "it's all water." 


"Are you from town?" the man said. I said, "Yes, 
I am from town." "I thought so," he said. I did not 
know why he asked me that question. The man was a 
brother of Henry Saddoris, of Coe Town. I met him 
quite often after I grew up. He used to remind me of 
the affair and would have a good laugh. 

The next morning we fished the wagon, fence boards 
and fence posts out of the creek. Two young men by 
the name of Petersen helped us. Then we started for 
the ranch, about five miles out. The nearest house was 
a mile and a half away. 

We had another creek to cross, near where Rohlf's 
farm was, but there was no bridge. We unloaded half 
of our load and spaded down the banks of the creek, 
as they were pretty steep, and forded it. This was 
about forty rods from our camping place. We camped 
on a little knoll. When we got there we ate our dinner. 
After dinner I dug post holes ; but before I started to 
dig post holes I mowed grass, so it would get dry be- 
fore bedtime. The boss hauled up the posts and boards. 
We had to build a yard before night to keep the cattle 
in. If we left them out, they would stray away. 

In the evening we put the dry grass in the wagon box 
for bedding, put a blanket over it and a blanket for 
cover, and set boards up against the wagon box to 
lean over us in bed to keep the dew off. The boss slept 
with his head in one end of the box and I in the other. 
It was all right the first night, but after that the snakes 
would crawl up on the wagon wheels and get in between 



our blankets. The boss was as afraid of a snake as 
death. I had quite a lot of fun with him. He would 
go to bed early and I had to herd the cattle until about 
ten o'clock, and then drive them in the yard ; but before 
I would go away I had to throw out the snakes, and 
once in a while they would fly the wrong way and hit 
him in the face. 

From where we camped you could look northeast, 
north and northwest and not see a house nor a tree. The 
last two deer I saw in Iowa were about thirty rods west 
of our camp, running up the slough. 

We broke land there about four weeks, five days a 
week. We would drive home Friday evenings and go 
to Davenport and have the plow-shares sharpened. 
One Saturday I caught a ride with Nicholas J. Rusch. 
He was afterward a Colonel in the Civil War and Lieut- 
Governor of Iowa. At that time he was a typical 
German, and smoked his long-stemmed pipe as he 
drove along. The pipe-bowl was of porcelain and had 
pictures painted on it. While we were in Davenport 
a hard rain came up, and I caught a ride back with a 
man by the name of Claus Hast. He was a big, heavy 
man from the Probstei in Germany. He had a home- 
made wagon. The wheels were sawed off a log, and 
he had a new Wagon-bed which was water-tight. It 
had rained so hard that the creek was overflowing, and 
when he drove in to ford across, the wagon-bed floated 
off the bolsters and started to float down stream with 
us. He called "Whoa" to the oxen and they stopped, 



and after we had floated a little ways we caught hold 
of some willows and pulled ourselves in to land. 

The second Monday that we went to the Rohlf farm 
we took some young ash trees with us, and I set them 
out. They are still there and are big trees now. I was 
out there last summer and we took pictures of them. 
The farm is in the southwest quarter of Section 29 in 
Lincoln Township. 

There were two boys from Davenport working in 
the neighborhood, driving oxen to a breaking plow, 
and we would visit together on Sundays and catch 
snakes. We were all barefooted. We would catch all 
kinds of snakes. If we could not find a stick to kill 
them with we would jump on their heads and take our 
knives and cut their heads off. We would see how long 
their teeth were and where the poison was. The rattle- 
snake's poison is above the upper jaw, back of the eye, 
on the side of the head. 

We thought first the snakes had young ones, but 
this is not so. They lay eggs in the ground and the sun 
hatches them. The snake has a pouch in which he car- 
ries the little fellows. I have counted as many as sixty- 
five in one pouch. A snake egg is the shape of a 
pigeon's egg and of a dirty white color. We would 
find snake eggs in the ground just laid and some ready 
to hatch and hatching. 

The latter part of June and the month of July were 
pretty dry that year. We had five yokes of oxen pulling 
the plow. One clay it was very hot, and it was hard 



work to get the oxen to pull. The boss — I guess he 
took pity on me — said he would drive a while and I 
could look after the plow; so we changed whips. My 
whip was about an eight-foot stock and ten-foot lash, 
his about a five-foot stock and six-foot lash, which he 
used to drive the hind yoke. We had not gone ten rods 
when the oxen turned "gee" on him ; he followed them 
up and the lead oxen jumped over the chain, ahead of 
the second yoke from the rear. The chain caught on 
the yoke of the "off" ox and pulled him down. The 
boss followed them up and whipped them. I shouted 
to him, "Hold on! You are killing my ox!" He did 
not stop and I hit him over the head with my whip 
stock. I backed up the oxen and got the chain loose 
in time to save the ox ; but it was some time before he 
was able to get up. The boss stood back and looked on. 
When the ox got up he had a smile on his face. I guess 
he thought I did the right thing. 

The following Monday morning, when we were ready 
to start, Mrs. Rohlf said to me, very nicely, "Marx, be 
careful not to hurt Mr. Rohlf too much." I felt kind of 

The next Saturday, when I took the plow-shares to 
town, Mrs. Rohlf came with me. She would rather 
ride with me. We had to walk most of the time in 
driving oxen and Mr. Rohlf did not like to walk. I got 
the plow-shares sharpened and Mrs. Rohlf did her 
trading, and we started home. Everything went all 
right until we got on top of the hill, on Brady Street, 


MEMOIRS OF 1/ l/.'.V /'. II 1 1 BERG 

when she said, "Get in the wagon and ride," and I did. 
It was down hill, almost a half mile, to the Duck Creek 
bridge. "Let the oxen trot a little," she said, and I let 
them trot. We had not gone far when the key came 
out of the off ox's bow and the bow dropped out of the 
yoke. When the ox was loose from the yoke it got out 
of the way. Then the near ox got wild and ran as fast 
as it could. I got out over the dashboard as quickly as 
I could and took out the wagon hammer to loosen the 
chain. I got it loose, but it caught in the eye of the 
hold-back at the end of the tongue. Going down hill, 
as we were, the ox loose from the tongue, sometimes 
the ox wmild be ahead of the wagon and sometimes the 
wagon ahead of the ox. There was one bridge half- 
wax down the hill — we missed that. I ran for dear 
life to unhook the chain from the tongue before we 
should get to I Mick Creek bridge. I got it unhooked 
about eight rods from the creek, but the wagon did not 
stop until within a rod or two of the creek. The ox 
went down the bank, which was eight feet high, into 
the creek. Mrs. Rohlf, sitting on a seat board on the 
wagon, looked like a dead woman. 1 told her to get off 
the wagon and watch the ox, so it would not go home, 
while I went back to look for the other one. It stood 
where we had left it, a third of a mile back. When I 
returned I went down in the creek and unyoked the ox 
and drove it out ; then I yoked them up again, hitched 
them to the wagon and told Mrs. Rohlf to get in. 
"I'll walk," she said. 


"Get in," I said; "it will be all right. They will not 
run away again." She got in and we got home all right. 

About thirty-five years after that, when I was a can- 
didate for State Senator, I met Mr. Rohlf in Daven- 
port. He was then County Treasurer of Scott County. 
He had been a member of the State Legislature, and 
he insisted on me going home with him. He said, "The 
Mrs. is talking about you yet, Catrina is still with us, 
and they will be glad to see you." Catrina was the 
servant they had brought with them from Germany, 
and stayed with the Rohlfs till she died ; she was the 
maid who showed me where to sleep the first night I 
came to the farm, and wrapped up my big toe when the 
rat bit me. I went with him. When we got there both 
Mrs. Rohlf and Catrina knew me. 

"I didn't think you would know me," I said. 

"I will know you until I die," said Mrs. Rohlf. "Why, 
Marx, sometimes I would think you were a little rascal 
and sometimes I thought you were a real little gentle- 
man. To think, now, a boy twelve years old, who did 
what you did ; it doesn't seem possible. If it had been 
anybody else but you, I would have been dead now; I 
dream about it yet sometimes. Do you remember when 
that ox ran away with us? I think now it would be 
impossible for anyone to do what you did — you saved 
my life. Why, Marx, I never thought you would get 
so big; you were short and fat when you worked for 

I stayed there all night. We talked until after mid- 


night. She reminded me of the time I hit her husband 
over the head with the whip-stock. "But, I guess it 
was all right," she said. "You know he did not know 
anything about oxen." 

"I felt sorry for you," she said, "when the man stuck 
the fork through your hand ; you told him you would 
pay him for that when you got big enough. Did you 
ever see him again?" I saw him when I was nineteen 
years old — and paid him. 

We broke prairie till harvest time. During harvest 
I helped shock, and carried water and the bottle. While 
stacking, I loaded the bundles, the boss pitched off onto 
the stack, and I threw the bundles to the stacker. 
When the stack got high the stacker and I changed 
places and he would get on the wagon and pitch up to 
me and I piled them on the stack. I missed catching 
one, and in a rage he struck me through the hand with 
the fork. I have the scar in my hand yet. 

We boys would go to Davenport some Sundays and 
trap quails and snare rabbits in the woods, where the 
St. James hotel now stands. 

I left Mr. Rohlf about November first. He gave me 
a note for what was coming to me at ten per cent, 

During the summer I visited my brother, Dave, twice 
on Sundays. The last time I was there they were haul- 
ing hay. Dave looked pale and forlorn. I asked him 
if he was sick. Tears came into his eyes and I then 
noticed a drop of blood on each ear. His boss was there. 



I asked him if he had been pinching his ears. He did 
not answer right away, and I guess I got mad; I 
grabbed a fork and was going to stick him with it, 
when father came around the stack in time to catch it. 
I told father he'd better take him home with him — if 
he didn't, I would — and find another place for him. 
Father took him home. The remainder of the season 
he worked for Bill Brooks at Brooks' Crossing, now 
42d Street and 5th Avenue, Rock Island. 

When I came home I worked two weeks picking corn. 
I think it was on the farm where John Weckel now 
lives, on 7th Street, Moline, next south of 25th Avenue. 
When I quit, the man gave me a heifer calf for my 
work. Then I picked corn three weeks for a man on 
Rock River bottoms. He gave me a steer calf when 
I quit, and a rope to lead it home. Some fun ! 

Then I went to school in the brick building on the 
west side of 16th Street, between 4th and 5th Avenues, 
afterwards the City Hall. I paid for two months. The 
first week everything went well. The second week I 
had two fights, and the teacher told me I had better 
pick up my books and go home. He handed me the 
money that was coming to me. I did not even have to 
ask for it. 

Then father took contracts cutting stove wood, at 
so much a pile. The first job was for George Stephens, 
afterwards the Moline Plow Company man. They had 
three little children. I carried my dinner with me and 
set it by the wood pile. Mrs. Stephens would come and 



take it into the house to keep it warm. Sometimes the 
little folks would get at it and eat what they liked, and 
then Mrs. Stephens would give me my dinner. 

The next job father had was for Jonathan Huntoon. 
When that was done I went to work on a farm about 
seven miles northeast of Davenport, where father had 
hired me out to John and Fritz Priest for $5.00 per 
month. I went there about March 1st and stayed there 
until about October 1st, when I quit — or ran away. 
I thought they were imposing on me. They had four 
horses and a hired man, besides myself. We worked 
the horses. I was too little to harness or unharness 
the horses — they had big horses — but I had to feed 
them hay. I had two cows to milk and the hogs to 
feed and water. I had to carry water from a creek 
about eight rods away, and had to pull weeds for them 
in summer. They had seven hogs when I came and 
thirty-five when I left. I had to bring a pail of water 
from the creek for the house when I came in to supper. 
When the weeds got dry I had to cut corn to feed the 
hogs and carry it ten or twelve rods. When I had 
milked the cows we ate supper. After supper I had 
the hogs to feed ; and the other fellows sat down and 
smoked their pipes. Sometimes they had all gone to 
bed when I got through. I slept with the hired man. 
The evenings were getting kind of cool — I went bare- 
foot all the time — and when I was ready to go to bed 
he would have the bed nice and warm, and his feet too. 



I would stick my feet in a warm place on his and then 
he would kick. 

One of the bosses, John, had sold a horse in Daven- 
port and before delivering it he was going to take off 
its shoes, and he wanted me to hold up its foot while 
he took off the shoe. I told him he had better take the 
clinch out of the nails first. 

"You hold up the foot," he said. I did, and he jerked 
it away from me. 

"Take hold again." 

I said, "No, you hold it ; I can pull as much as you 
can." So he held up the foot and I got a hold of the 
shoe with the tongs and gave it a jerk. He let the foot 
go and fell down. 

"You take up the foot," he said. 

I said, "No, I won't do it." 

"If you don't, I'll box your ears," he said. I picked 
up the hammer and told him to come on. He didn't 
come. He got on his horse and went to Davenport and 
I picked up my clothes and went to Moline. 

On my way home I met Mr. Griffin from Coaltown, 
and hired out to him for $7.00 a month, hauling coal 
to Hampton and Rock Island with oxen. He paid me 
in money. After that I hired out on the other side of 
Rock River to pick corn, for fifty cents a day. I got a 
pig and a calf for my work. 

When I got home Henry Frels of Hampton Bluff was 
there and wanted somebody to pick corn. I went with 
him. He had two other men, besides himself. There 

Memoirs. 4. 


is where I got initiated in sleeping upstairs in a log 
house. Daniel Holmes and I slept upstairs. One night 
we had a big snow storm and when we awoke the next 
morning there was about six inches of snow on the bed 
and the floor. We did not wear underwear those days 
and when we undressed we threw our pants on the 
floor. When we put our feet down that morning to 
put on our pants, it felt kind of ticklish. This was 
Monday morning. We picked corn that day. The next 
morning it was too cold to pick corn and Mr. Frels 
said to me, "You can go to school," and I did. Mr. 
Frels had two children going to school — Fred, nine 
years old, and Margaret, six years old. 

I went to school that week, in Cook's log school 
house. After school Friday evening the boys had to 
try my mettle; that was customary all over the coun- 
try. When a new boy came they had to try him. I 
told Fred not to say anything about it to the folks; 
but when Margaret got home she said, "Mother, our 
boy had a fight." The next day, Saturday, Mr. Frels 
took me back to Moline. 

This log school was on Harris Cook's land, on the 
north side of the Bluff road, a few yards west of where 
the road turns southward to Barstow. (In the north- 
east quarter of Section 23, Hampton Township.) 

It being near Christmas, I did not do anything until 
after New Year's. Then I went to school in Moline. 
I paid for two months. I got along fine with the boys, 
but I thought the teacher did not know much. He had 



me write copies in the copy books for the other pupils. 
The school was kept in a small upstairs room, and I 
had to go out in the hall and spread the paper on the 
floor to write the copies. The weather got so cold the 
ink would freeze on my pen — there was no stove, and 
I would put the pen in my mouth to thaw the ink. 

I got tired of that, so I thought I would find out how 
much the teacher knew. I looked up some hard words 
to pronounce and asked him to pronounce them for me. 
He did. I thanked him, then I told him how I pro- 
nounced them. He said, "Come back and let me see." 
He spelled them over again and said, "That's right, 
and you knew that before you came here." I did not 
want to crawfish, so I told him I did ; that I just wanted 
to know whether he did. "Well, Marx," he said, "I'm 
sorry, but you might just as well quit," and I did. This 
was in the winter of 1851 — 2. The school was in the 
brick house which is still standing: No. 714 Fourteenth 
Street, Moline. It was the Michael J. Hartzell resi- 

Next I went to work for John Deere for twenty-five 
cents a day, and boarded myself, squaring plow-beams 
and sawing them off with a buck saw, and bending the 
plow handles. I had a big iron kettle out doors filled 
with water into which I put the handles and cooked 
them, then bent them over a log. I tied the other end 
down, according to how much of a curve was wanted 
in them. While I worked there a German by the name 
of Mr. Dunker was killed. He was a grinder and got 



his foot entangled in a belt. John Deere, a Mr. Wil- 
liams, and a young man and myself were there when 
it happened. The young man was drilling holes in 
shares and mouldboards. I found many years later 
that this young man was William Jackson, the lawyer, 
of Rock Island. John Deere's establishment at that 
time was a one-story shop, with three fires or forges. 

I worked for John Deere until March 1st, and on 
March 14th I went to work on a farm one mile from 
the river, across from Moline, belonging to John Littig, 
to whom father had hired me out for six dollars a 
month for eight months. I got there in the evening. 
I told him who I was. "Well, you can stay all night," 
he said, "and in the morning you can go back to Moline 
and stay two weeks and then come back. The ground 
is too wet to work, and if it keeps on raining, you can 
stay home longer." 

"I want to go to work and earn some money," I said. 

"I can clo all the work I have to do myself, until we 
get into the field," he said. Both Mr. Littig and his 
wife worked in the field. They were hard workers. 
She would leave the field a little while before meal 
time, and get the meal ready. 

I left the next morning and took my duds along, and 
hired out to Fielding Madison for three months at 
eight dollars a month where Bettendorf is now. Our 
nearest neighbor was Isaac Morgan, who lived in a 
brick house a half mile down the river. I got acquaint- 


ed with his son, James W. Morgan, who afterwards 
located in Port Byron, and later in Moline, as a doctor. 

Our next nearest neighbor lived three-quarters of a 
mile up the river. They were the Eph. Stokes', a broth- 
er of Young Stokes who built the dam and flour mill 
at Cleveland, on Rock River. 

Mr. Madison had rented twenty acres of land from 
Mr. Gilbert (of the Pitts, Gilbert & Pitts of Moline) 
for corn. While I plowed that land I saw the biggest 
snake I have ever seen running loose. I think it was 
ten feet long. It frightened my horses. 

Mr. Madison planted twenty acres in corn and five 
acres in onions. He had a little store where he sold 
groceries, patent medicines, also soft drinks with a kick 
in them. We made our own drinks. I think we took 
wheat bran, a little brown sugar, and soft water, a 
little yeast; then let it stand and work. Afterwards 
we added a little alcohol. Our drink beat anything 
they had in Davenport. On rainy days, farmers would 
come from all directions. We had foot races, horse ^ 
races, wrestling matches, and fighting. Everybody 
went home happy. I got about all the bar tending I 
wanted in a place like that without police protection. 
He kept a row-boat to ferry people over to and from 
Moline, and I ran that part of the time. 

When I quit working for Mr. Madison, I got a job 
at Spencer H. White's saw mill for fifty cents a day. 
White's mill was next to the Island, at the north end 
of the brush dam at Moline. Chamberlain & Dean's 


saw mill was in mid-stream on the dam, next south of 
White's. The dam between them was being repaired. 
I carried my dinner with me, and, after eating, would 
fish from the dam. One day during the noon hour 
three men came to inspect the work, when all of a 
sudden the dam broke, and they were caught by the 
water. It missed me by about a foot. One of the three 
men swam ashore; one man got hold of the end of a 
log; and the third man, I think, was drowned. I did 
not see him again. The other two men were D. B. 
Sears and John W. Spencer. 

After I quit the saw mill, I worked for Abram Frick, 
at Frick's hill, for fifty cents a day, picking apples, 
digging potatoes and picking corn. I got a linchpin 
wagon for my pay. I also picked apples for Bill Brooks 
for a couple of weeks for fifty cents a day. His orchard 
was southwest of his house, now 4106 Fifth Avenue, 
Rock Island, 111., and everything east of it was woods 
of mostly oak and walnut, more walnut than oak ; and 
the public road passed among the trees. To the west 
between his place and Rock Island was also timbered. 

Back of where the Moline Wagon Company is now 
was a log house with a rail fence around it on which 
they generally had gourd vines. They would have their 
cows laying out in the road at night, out in front of the 
house. The public road passed between the house and 
the river near the edge of the river, and back of the 
house was quite a rise of ground. 

East of Twentieth Street, Moline, at the foot of the 


bluff, was a corn field. One winter they did not get 
the corn out. The snow got too deep for them, and 
the wild turkeys came out of the woods on the bluff to 
feed in the corn field. A good many wild turkeys were 
shot there that winter, and also a deer. I think it was 
a Mr. Collins that shot the deer. 

While we lived in Moline I very often visited at my 
Aunt's on the Island to play with my cousin Katie Liitt, 
and with the children of Col. Davenport, Henry and 
Lizzie. They were very dark. It was claimed 
they were part Indian. My aunt died and was 
buried in the old Moline cemetery. My cousin Katie 
married a man by the name of Lamp. I think they 
moved to Dayton, 0. The Liitts now living in Rock 
Island are of the second wife and not related. Lizzie 
Davenport married a man by the name of Ferkel, and 
they moved on a farm in the lower end of the county. 

The first time I saw Bailey Davenport he was wear- 
ing a plug hat and was quite a young man. He was 
always a friend of mine and supported me years after- 
wards when I was in politics. 

Antoine LeClaire used to call at the Davenport 
house on the Island when I would be there. I can see 
him yet, plain as day. He was not as tall as Bailey 
Davenport. He was dark complexioned, kind of red 
face, and fat. He was just square up and down, just 
as wide at the hips as at his shoulders, and full in be- 
tween. He filled the full width of the seat in the boat. 
Henry Davenport and I rowed him across to Davenport 


one time, and I rowed 
him over alone one time. 
When he built the Le- 
Claire House in Daven- 
port it was considered 
a big building. Some- 
thing wonderful. 

Old Fort Armstrong 
at this time was all di- 
lapidated. We used to 
play over the ruins and 
climbed down the rocks 
to the caves. There were 
three towers or block- 

Indian interpreter, and one of the Founders houses, and a kind of 
of Davenport, l>>\\a. 

high cellar of masonry. 
That was the magazine. Nobody seemed to be looking 
after the old fort at that time. East of the Fort was a 
wide, cleared space or prairie. I used to wonder why 
that was open ground and all the rest timber. I de- 
cided it must have been cleared by the soldiers so they 
could not be surprised by the Indians. 

The island had fine pasturage. A hundred or more 
cattle were pastured there through the summer. 
Everybody in Moline had a cow and a pig or a half 
a dozen of them. The cattle were driven to the island 
over the brush dam. One time father took some of 
our cattle over by swimming them over the slough. 
He carried a small calf in the boat. The cattle gave 



almost no trouble on the island ; we had only one calf 
swim back and come home. There is hardly a foot 
of ground on the island that I did not go over, looking 
after cattle. 

The Davenport residence was the best around here 

The Col. George Davenport homestead on Rock Island, to which I was a 
frequent visitor. 

They had a small cottage near it where my aunt and 
uncle lived. The Davenport children played with my 
cousin Katie, and were in and out of aunt's house so 
much they both learned to talk "platt-deutsch," and 
I was often in the Davenport house and had many a 
meal there. 

In 1851, immigrants began coming to Moline. 
Christian Loptien and two sons, Christian and Jo- 



achim, shoemakers, came that year. Also Amos 
Schmidt and one daughter, and two young men by 
the names of Hans and Claus Langmaak. In the fall 
of 1852 there came Hans S. Schodtfeldt and two 
little daughters, Mary, now Mrs. Reimer Reimers, and 
Margaret, now Mrs. Conrad Grantz. Also Claus Grilk 
and little daughter, now the wife of Louis Weckel, a 
grocer of Rock Island ; and James First, a wagon 
maker, and originator of the Moline Wagon Company, 
now the John Deere Wagon Co. Claus Grilk who was 
a blacksmith, with his shop at Five Points, made wa- 
gons also. Matthias Kahler came to Moline late in 
the fall of 1852. All the above-named, for most part, 
came during the summer months, at different times, 
and staid at our house from one day to two weeks, 
or until they found a house to live in. 

John Nichols was in Moline when we came there. 
They had a little daughter, Mina, about three months 
old. She was the first German girl born in Moline. 
My sister Elizabeth was the second. Nichols lived in 
a frame house that stood where the waterworks is now. 
Hans Schlodtfeldt and Claus Grilk lived just below 
where Dr. P. H. Wessel lives now, at about Eighth 
Avenue and Fifteenth Street. 

Three Swedish families, by the name of Benson, 
Johnson and Anderson, also came in fifty-two. Ben- 
son was the grandfather of George L. Benson the 

Henry Andersen, a German, married an Irish girl. 



Mrs. Andersen, his mother, who was a widow, lived 
neigbors to Mr. Charley Dibbern, on a farm North 
of Davenport. Here they had target shooting. When 
I worked for Mr. Rohlf they invited father to come. 
He came. They had a two-room house and that night 
they gave a dance. The fiddlers fiddled in one room 
and they danced in the other. At that time there was 
a big over-grown fellow in Davenport. Whenever 
there were any doings in Davenport he would go, with- 
out an invitation, and make the other fellows "set 'em 
up" ; and if they didn't he gave them a pounding. He 
domineered everybody. Everybody was afraid of him. 
He was here too. He took father by the shoulders 
with both hands and bumped his head on the door 
frame. Father asked him if he was in his way. 

"You don't belong here; you are from Illinois," the 
fellow said. 

Father said, "I was invited." 

"You get back over the river or I'll make mince- 
meat of you." 

He had hardly said the last word when father 
knocked him down. When he got up, father asked 
him why he had bumped his head. The fellow did 
not answer quickly enough and father knocked him 
down again. He just about did the fellow up. After 
that almost anyone in Davenport could put it over him. 
He had to leave town. He was cooked. 

In 1851 Father bought One-hundred-sixty acres of 
land in Coe Township. They called that part of the 



country the "High Prairie." It was in section twelve. 
He bought it of Elihu B. Washburne, of Galena, 111., 
and paid $255.00 for it. He sold the East eighty 
acres of it to Henry Knock for $125.00 Then father 
collected the money standing out that my brother Dave 
and I had earned. My brother Dave worked for Wolf 
Hahn, six miles west of Davenport, in 1851, for four 
dollars a month. In 1852 he worked for him eight 
months at five dollars per month. During the summers 
of 1851 and 1852 father worked for William McEniry, 
making brick. McEniry was the first brick-maker in 
Moline. He was the father of John, Matt and Mollie 
McEniry of Moline, and William of Rock Island. In 
the winter, father cut cordwood. 

In the winter of 1852 — 3, my brother and I cut 
stove wood and attended school at the brick building 
on 16th St., afterwards the Moline City hall. After 
that father took jobs all over town, cutting wood. I 
sawed, and Dave split. I guess we made about twenty 
dollars for our winter's work. 

In the spring of 1853 we moved to the farm. Du- 
ring the winter father had bought a yoke of oxen for 
$45.00. Henry Knock also bought a yoke of oxen. 
About the middle of March we started to the farm 
father bought of Washburne, to build a log house. 
There were four of us that went. Henry Knock and 
his hired man, Henry Kahler, six months younger than 
I, and father and myself. We arrived at the farm 
a little after sundowm, with two yoke of oxen. There 



were about Twenty acres of timber land on both sides 
of the creek. The grove was called "Sugar Grove" 
and the creek was known as Sugar Creek, because the 
timber was mostly Sugar Maple. There was a log 
house in the grove where the people had camped when 
they tapped the trees and boiled sugar. We had hay 
and corn with us, and provisions for two weeks. I 
took care of the oxen and the other fellows put the 
house in order, one corner of which had been knocked 
down, so we could get in. I was the cook. I cooked 
coffee and baked pancakes for supper. The next mor- 
ning we had coffee, eggs and pancakes and bread and 
butter. We had two dogs — one was a bloodhound 
and the other a kind of dachshund which we had 
brought from Tennessee. 

After breakfast we started to look over the farm. 
We had not gone thirty rods when the dogs chased 
up a deer. We had not gone ten rods farther when 
they chased up two more ; and when we got up the 
hill east of where our house stands now, they chased 
out another deer. 

It soon became known that we were in Sugar Grove. 
David Martin, a boy about my age, went to Tom 
Walker, his cousin, and said, "Tom, they say some 
Dutch have moved to Sugar Grove, what do you say 
we go over there tomorrow and see what they look 
like?" They came. It being Sunday, we did not work. 
We were in the house. At noontime I crawled out of 
the house to feed the cattle. They saw me. Tom said 



to Dave, "I don't believe he's a Dutchman, he looks 
just like we do." When I got back to the house I saw 
them looking over the hill. I called to them to come 
to the house. They came. Father got out the bottle 
and gave them a drink. After that the Dutch were 
all right. We boys got quite chummy. We often 
laughed about it years afterward when they would tell 
about this. 

We were about two weeks getting the material ready 
for the house ; then I went back to Moline to get pro- 
visions for the house-raising. Isaiah Marshall, living 
two miles and a half, and Joe Martin, living two miles 
southeast of us, had been over to see us, and they had 
invited the men for the house-raising. Everybody in the 
country was there. Isaiah Marshall and his four boys 
— Joe, John, William and Brice; Joe Martin and his 
three boys — John, James and Dave; John Walker 
and his son, Tom; Hiram Walker and son, Sam; Hiram 
Cain ; John Marshall ; Alec Abbott ; Tom Fowler and 
Thurlow Garrison. Some of them brought their din- 
ners, but I got dinner for all of them. Everybody 
was happy. We got the house almost finished — put 
on the rafters, laid the floor joists, sawed out the door 
and windows. They used no nails, just pegs. They 
got all the whiskey they wanted to drink and nobody 
got drunk ; everybody went home happy. That house- 
raising created a friendship that lasted as long as they 
lived. They christened father "King of the Dutch." 

We built the log house about ten rods north of Sugar 



The Hauberg log cabin at Sugar Grove, 1853. 

Creek, on the rise of ground there. Just west was a 
little hill, and that and the ground all the way from 
the south, southwest, to the west and north was tim- 
ber with big trees so we were well protected from the 
north and west wind. East and southeast was open 
ground for garden and orchard. We got our water for 
cooking and drinking from a spring in the creek. 

The other fellows cut the logs and I snaked them 
to where we built the house. We split the rafters 
and floor joists from some of the tall, straight Sugar 
Maple. For flooring upstairs and downstairs we got 
oak bords from a saw mill at Port Byron that was run 
by Fred Gates' father. The boards were twelve inches 
wide. We had wooden door-hinges, a ladder to go up- 
stairs ; a wooden doorlatch, the string outside. We 
had no lock, and the log house in all its days was never 



locked. We had an augur hole in the door-frame and 
when we all left the house a peg was stuck into the 
hole to keep the door shut. Our house was 14x18 
feet, one story and three logs high, with oak split 
shingles and stove pipe sticking through the roof. We 
had a little sumer kitchen lean-to in front, west of the 

Ours was not the first German blood on the High 
Prairie, but we were the first family of direct German 
immigration to come here. The Spaids, Zieglers', 
Simpsons', Garrisons', Flickengers' were all Pennsyl- 
vania folks and were nice people. All of them under- 
stood German. Old Mr. David Metzger of Port Byron 
was one of them. Old Mr. Jacob Flickenger and his 
wife never talked plain English. The northern part 
of the township and Cordova township was settled 
mostly by the Jersey people. The Marshalls', Goldens', 
Quicks', Ege's, Cools, and Sextons', and the Southern 
part had Ohio people and came from about the same 
place. They were the "Colonel" William Johnson's, Dil- 
lins', Wards', Genungs', all nice people. The LaRue's 
were from New York State and were a different style 
of people altogether, a different class of people. I 
think it was all in the neighborhood that they came 
from in New York. 

We repaired the log house that the sugar-makers 
had built ; put in new logs, and Mr. Knock moved into 
that the same spring. 

We moved to the farm about the middle of April. 



The furniture and family were in a wagon drawn by 
oxen. Margaret, the youngest of the family, was four 
months old. Among the furniture was a couple of 
chairs we had brought from Tennessee. They were 
splint-bottomed, high backed, the bottom being of split 
hickory. Then we had the old iron kettle and long 
handled skillet, also from Tennessee, and a stove and 
other things. Father made all the other furniture 
needed in the home, from boards and timber, such 
as table and stools, etc. 

We had two yoke of oxen of our own. We had rais- 
ed 2 steer calves, now 3 years old and well broke. We 
broke them when they were yearlings and hauled wood 
with them for two winters for our own use. We had 
3 cows and 7 head of young cattle, three sows, and 
poultry. We drove straight through across lots from 
where Mike Murphy now lives (a half mile east of 
Fairfield church) to where John Rocker lives (South 
line of southwest quarter section ten, Coe township). 
We got stuck in the mud in the slough — now Arista 
Saddoris' field. When we moved up here it was seven 
miles to Port Byron. It is now seven and a half miles 
because now we have got to follow section lines. At 
that time we drove straight across the country, wher- 
ever the way looked the best and shortest. 

After leaving Port Byron the first house was Steel's 
where John Fife now lives. Then came Flickenger's 
where the old McRoberts' place is — now Richard Ash- 
down's (next south of Fairfield cemetery) ; then Rube 


.!/• moirs. 5. 


Hollister's father's place was passed and then Tom 
Fowler where Arista Saddoris now is. From Jim 
McRoberts' (one fourth mile east of Fairfield) to the 
Garrison place (in southwest corner of section ten) the 
road passed over virgin prairie. Garrison's afterward 
built the house which now is occupied by the Rocker's. 
Next East were the Larue's. They were raising their 
new frame house the day we moved up from Moline. 
Nathaniel Pearsall owns the place and is tearing down 
the house now. This was the last residence we passed 
on the way to our log house. The huners' lodge was 
off to our right (at near the southwest corner of the 
northwest quarter of the northeast quarter of section 
fourteen) but was unoccupied except in the season 
when these Philadelphia men came to hunt. 

Toward the north was the house of the George 
Marshall's. Tunis Quick was already in the country 
and living at the old "Cheese House" (in east half 
of section one, Coe township). Wesley Cain built 
either that Spring or the year before, a log house 
where the Cain house now is (in southeast quarter, 
section twelve, Coe) and on to the east there was 
nothing until you struck the bottoms where Volney 
Baker lived in a log house, (at about the northeast 
corner of the northwest quarter of the southeast quar- 
ter of section eight, Canoe Creek township). Ed. Ash- 
down lived there afterwords. 

Isaiah H. Marshall, a lawyer from Pennsylvania and 
who later lived in Virginia, lived in a log house at 


about the middle of the west half of section seventeen. 
Canoe Creek township. He came in 1842 but in 1854 
he built the brick house that my brother Dave after- 
ward owned. Joe Martin, a heavy set man, lived in 
a log house, opposite where Dave Martin's house after- 
ward stood, south of the creek at about the center of 
section eighteen, Canoe Creek township, now Willie 
Pearsall's ; and John Walker lived in a log house on 
the farm now owned by Alvin Frels (at the South- 
west corner of the southeast Quarter of section eigh- 
teen, Canoe Creek). Martins and Walkers came here 
in 1836 and were from Kentucky. The Quicks and 
Cains and the "Cordova" Marshalls and the "Prairie" 
Marshalls were all from the same locality in New 

The morning after we got here brother Dave went 
to work for Isaiah Marshall at seven dollars a month. 
Henry Kahler and myself started to break prairie on 
our new farm, with three yoke of oxen. He drove the 
oxen and I tended the plow. We broke prairie until 
harvest time. Father planted corn on sod the first 
year. The second year he wanted to sow wheat and 
I got wheat for pay instead of money from "Billy G" 
Marshall's. Father made fence rails in Martin's grove, 
the first year, from down timber, but not all our fences 
were built of rails. We made ditch-and-bank fences 
like they had in Holstein, Germany, where we came 
from. We would dig a trench about two-and-a-half 
feet deep and about three feet wide. The sod that we 



dug up was set on the edge next to the trench with 
another row of sod about three feet from it and be- 
tween these two rows of sod we threw the dirt as we 
dug the trench. This made a bank about five or six 
feet high from the bottom of the trench. If the sod 
grew it made a fence that lasted a long time and 
turned cattle or anything. If the bank got worn or 

nil day remain 

'i one "i "in nld Ditch-and-wal] fences. 

washed down we would cut wild crabapple or other 
thorny brush and lay it on top of the bank. You can 
still see about two miles of traces of these old ditch- 
and-bank fences on our farm and adjoining farms of 
German neigbors. As late as 1862 the only fences 
we had were either the ditch-and-bank or rail fences. 
In sugar-making time mother would boil the sap 
from the Supar maple in our grove and make syrup. 
Some of the Maple were three and four feet through 


and fifty feet to the nearest limb ; they were scarred 
as high as you could reach from borings by people 
before we came. I suppose the indians used to boil 
sap there before the white people came. 

Indians used to call at our log house. They would 
be hunting or trapping and would beg things to eat. 
One winter an Indian and his squaw and papoose 
called. They were all barefoot. Mother gave them 
something to eat, but they would not take the wheat 
bread she offered them. 

Mother brought her spinning wheel along from Ger- 
many. She carded the wool and spun all the yarn 
for our stockings and mittens while I was home, and 
in after years she would card and spin our wool and 
knit stockings and mittens for her grand-children. 
The old spinning wheel and wool carder is now in the 
Rock Island County Historical Society. 

When we left Moline in the Spring of 1853 they 
were talking about the railroad from Chicago to Rock 
Island. They got it through in 1854. A newspaper 
called the Rock Island Advertiser, dated Dec. 24th, 
1853, is in the possession of the County Historical 
Society. It has a lot of interesting reading for old 
timers. It says the railroad track is laid to Geneseo, 
and that the grading west of Geneseo is nearly com- 
plete, and that the bridge across Rock River is held 
up on account of not being able to get the timbers. 
It says that the section from the Mississippi river to 
Iowa City is under contract, and another railroad 


The spinning-wheel, brought from Germany by my parents. 

Company is organized to build a road from Warsaw, 
111., at the foot of the Lower rapids, via Rock Island 
to Port Byron, at the head of the Upper rapids. This 
railroad was the "Warsaw & Rockford Ry. Co.", and 
some of our neighbors on the High Prairie bought 
stock in it. In this newspaper it is called the "Carbon- 
dale, Warsaw & Rockford Railroad." 

Another thing of interest in the old newspaper is 
the market quotations. Hogs were $3.00 to $3.50 to 
city of Rock Island butchers, and $4.00 to $4.10 in 


St. Louis. Chickens were $1.50 per dozen ; turkeys 
50 and 75c apice; quails 30c per dozen; lard 6 ! /o to 
8c ; potatoes 20c to 30c per bushel ; butter, fresh in 
rolls 15 to 18c; eggs 18 to 20c per dozen; oats 20 to 
25c; wheat 65 to 75c; corn 20 to 25c, and "Whiskey, 
rectified" 281/oc to 31c. 

This newspaper also tells of a new hack just put 
on between Moline and Rock Island. "The hack leaves 
Rock Island at 7.15 and 10.00 a. m., and leaves Moline 
at 8.15 and 11 o'clock and leaves Rock Island at 2.00, 
and Moline from Nurse's store at 4.30 p. m." This 
hack line was run by John Lusk, and was originally 
started by N. Lynch. 

The same spring that we moved up from Moline, 
father sold our house and lot in Moline to Alex Swan- 

Military Bounty I,and Act of 28 September, 1850. 


^ ^/^zZj^^dYZ^ ^^fs/g? *~I8 & 3 
MILITARY LAND WARRANT No. J^^^m the narne of ^^X^^ 

s ~\^ ^f has this day been located by ^-/^'Si^*- ^Z^ 

quarter ot Section f(J m 'I'ownship *Zr -^s^ 

of Range < y//' /Y~L£6<^f subject to any preemption 

claim which may be filed tor said land within forty days from this date. 
Contents of tract located ~\ 
/j £/ Acres. 

Y- ^/ f S/%//J/Z^^ Re ^' er - 

Certificate showing Military Bounty Land located by Father, in 1853. 



der for a horse and buggy, a sadlle, and a hundred and 
seventy-five dollars in money. 

Before the end of the first year, father made two 
trips to the U. S. Land office at Dixon, 111. He went 
afoot because he could make better time that way. It 
was about forty-five miles one way. On one of these 
trips he walked there and back inside of Twenty-four 
hours. He left home shortly after midnight carrying 
enough lunch for the trip, and took several pair of 
woolen stockings which mother had knit and which 
he sold in Dixon. He transacted the business at the 
Land Office and got back home late that night. Fred 
Owens of Cordova mentioned this a few years ago. He 
said father had stopped at their log house at the Middle 
Crossing at two or three o'clock in the morning and 
was back at eleven or twelve o'clock that night. 

August 13, 1853, he located or "entered" one-hun- 
dred-twenty acres of land. Eighty acres of this he 
entered for a neighbor, Krabbenhoeft, next south of 
our farm in section thirteen. The other forty was 
the northwest quarter of the southeast quarter of sec- 
tion eleven, Coe, now owned by Harry Cook. Father 
would have pre-empted the forty next east of it also 
but a man by the name of Henry S. Steele entered it 
just ahead of him on the same day, so he bought 
that forty of Steele, paying him sixty-nine dollars for 
it ; six dollars cash and sixty-three dollars on credit. 

October 12, 1853, he pre-empted a quarter section 


in section eleven. We still have the certificate. It 
reads as follows : 

"Land Office at Dixon, Illinois, October 12, 1853. 

"It is hereby certified that John D. Hauberg, of Rock 
Island County, Illinois, on the 12th day of October, 
1853, filed at this office, a declaration of his intention 
to claim the North half of the Southwest Quarter and 
the South half of the Northwest Quarter of Section 
No. Eleven, in Township No. 19, Range No. Two East, 
as a Pre-emption Right under the provisions of the Act 
of Congress, approved September 4th, 1841. 

"Dating his settlement on the 27th day of Semptem- 
ber, 1853. (Signed) Hugh Wallace, Register." 

When the 1853 harvest began we worked for Isaiah 
Marshall at a dollar and twenty-five cents a day, bind- 
ing grain. I helped with that for about two weeks, 
and then hired out to Isaiah Marshall to help dig the 
cellar for the brick house where John Woodburn lives 
now (in Sec. 17, Canoe Creek Twp.). Turner did the 
masonry work. He had just come from England. He 
was the father of Tom Turner of Port Byron. He lived 
in the northern part of Coe township where John 
Moody afterwards lived. John Donahoo did the car- 
penter work. He was father of E. C. Donahoo. 

After the cellar was dug I worked for Jerry Pearson 
picking corn for ten dollars a month ; then for Fred 
Owens, picking corn, for ten dollars a month. After 
corn picking my brother Dave came home and stayed 
home. I worked for Wm. G. Marshall all winter for 
ten dollars a month. 73 


«. •* It,* v * w v»J T^JTz* 



There were three tribes of Marshalls. We called one 
of them the "Cordova Marshalls," another was the 
"Prairie Marshalls," and the other "Lawyer Mar- 
shalls." Isaiah Marshall was the "Lawyer Marshall" 
and his family was made up of four boys and five girls, 
namely, Joe, Bill, John, Brice, Mary, Jane, Priscilla, 
Anna and Sarah. Mrs. Dave Trowbridge and William 
and Ida Feaster are grandchildren of Isaiah Marshall. 
He was an officer in the war of 1812. 

The "Prairie Marshalls" were John, William who 



was always known as "Billy G.," Henry, Jake and 
Theodore, called "Dora," and Lettie. 

The "Cordova Marshalls" were cousins of the 
"Prairie Marshalls," and were as follows: William, 
always known as "Squire Bill" ; George, who was 
father of Attorney C. B. Marshall of Rock Island; 
John, called "Gooseneck John" ; Johnty, and Charles 
B., who owned and lived on the farm now the D. H. 
Bracker Estate, in Canoe Creek Township (in Sec. 7). 

Amos Golden and his wife were working for "Billy 
G" in the winter of '53 — 4 also, Mrs. Golden as hired 
girl and Mr. Golden as hired man. They had one child, 
a little boy named William, two years old. Christmas 
time Mr. Golden bought 160 acres of land of Nathaniel 
Belcher for five dollars an acre. When Mr. Belcher 
came out to make the deed, Amos went upstairs and 
got a sack of gold, dumped it on the table and counted 
out eight hundred dollars, put the balance back in the 
sack and took it upstairs again. 

That winter Amos Golden cut wood on Port Byron 
bluff and Mr. Marshall and I hauled it home. We made 
two trips a day, hauling on wagons. The weather was 
cold and the snow was deep. We had five miles to haul 
and would not get home until about eight o'clock in 
the evening. Then we had the chores to do. We had 
no lantern. I wore cowhide boots — no oevershoes — 
and the boots would be frozen stiff on my feet and I 
had to thaw them out before I could get them off. 

We also hauled lumber for Mr. Golden's house from 



Port Byron. It was tough, but I liked the place. 
Father got his seed wheat and oats there in the spring 
of 1854 for what I had earned. I stayed with Mr. Mar- 
shall that summer and the next winter, 1854, at the 
same price. In the fall I had to get up about daybreak 
and drive sandhill cranes and wild geese out of the 
corn. There were thousands of cranes and geese living 

being the amount of f: 
of Land, for the year lagg" 1 

Woo* /./^,/rv.<2^ 

. /2^e-^<''<^- £ 

. >lu.- the State of Illinois and countv* 



_. Dollars. 

tin following tract 


iVrfM.nnl Property 





.- i ■ 


2 /If, //■{■ 










An L854 tax receipt, showing "Penn" Township, now Cur Town, and also the 
;iiii"iint we used t" pay on our land. 

near the Meredocia and they almost shaded the sun — 
they would breed there — and there were hundreds of 
muskrat houses in the swamps. The geese laid their 
eggs on top of a muskrat's house. When the little 
goslings were hatched the old geese would bring them 
out on high ground. On Sundays we boys would go 
down to the 'Docia to catch goslings ; but the ganders 
would keep watch and tell the goose we were coming. 
After the gander had seen us we would hurry to catch 
the goslings, but we were too slow; the little fellows 
would scramble into the water. We amused ourselves 
listening to the little fellows telling the old goose how 



lucky they were not to get caught. There were hun- 
dreds of them. When we picked corn we found they 
had eaten out eight or ten acres. They stuck their 
bills under the shuck and picked the corn off the cob. 

When I quit Wm. G. Marshall's in the spring of 
1855, I bought four steers from him, coming four years 
old, for one hundred dollars. We yoked them, a pair 
at a time, behind the old oxen that were broke, and 
drove them. When seed time came we had them pretty 
well trained to work with other cattle. I quit Mar- 
shall's March first. 

Father bought a reaper to cut our grain in 1855. 
Before that we used the cradle. Our 1854 wheat crop 
we hauled to Mr. Obermeier in Moline; our 1855 and 
'56 crops we hauled to Geneseo, a distance of sixteen 
miles. We would leave home at about 2 or 3 o'clock in 
the morning; get to Talcott's ferry on Rock River 
about sunrise ; get to Geneseo about noon, and get home 
about 10 o'clock at night. Everybody had oxen. 

Our 1857 and '58 crops we hauled to Port Byron. 

Our first threshing machine was called a "Beater." 
It was run by tread-power. It just beat the grain out 
of the straw; it had only a cylinder like our present 
threshers. Two men, with a rake each, would shake 
the grain out of the straw, and one man with a fork 
would throw the straw away. They threshed from 
forty to sixty bushels of wheat a day. When the 
threshing was done, we set the fanning mill in a wagon 
box and cleaned the grain. This was in 1854 and '55. 


In 1856 they had attached a fanning mill and a little 
straw carrier to the Beater. 

We put our grain in rail pens in the field where we 
threshed. We put chaff on the bottom and straw on 
the sides to hold the grain in, and when we had it full, 
we covered it up with straw. We had to clean all our 
grain over the fanning mill. We marketed all our 
grain in sacks. When we went to the mill it took us 
two days, if we had good luck. 

Folks from here would go to Como, 111., in Whiteside 
County, to mill. 

In 1856 father bought a span of horses and a wagon. 
After we had our seeding done that year we broke 
prairie for other people until harvest time at three 
dollars and fifty cents an acre. Then father bought 
eighty acres of land in Section Fourteen, Coe Town. 
We broke that in 1857. I did the breaking and had 
August Naeve, a boy about thirteen years old, drive 
the oxen. He drove for me two summers. His mother 
was a widow and lived in Moline. 

In the spring of 1854 a lot of our acquaintances and 
friends from Moline moved here. Among them were 
Matthias Kahler with three sons, Henry, James and 
John, and one daughter, Catherine; Krabbenhoeft and 
daughter Ida ; Marx Wiese and three sons, Frederick, 
Henry and John, and one daughter, Anna; John Win- 
terfeldt and wife. They all moved on farms. In 1855 
there came from Moline to locate here John Hahn and 
three sons, John, William and James, and two daugh- 


ters, Doris and Elizabeth. Claus Schnoor, a young 
man of about seventeen years, came that year to work 
for John Marshall, and John Liphardt, a boy of six- 
teen, came from New York. Henry C. First also came 
to the High Prairie in 1854 and drove oxen for Amos 
Golden, breaking prairie. In 1856 Gottlieb Stilz, Paul 
Gottsche and John Arp, all young men, came and 
bought land. In 1857 John Krebs bought land here 
and moved on it. In 1859 Henry Struve bought Krebs 
out and moved to the farm. 

Coe Township had at that time a hunters' lodge 
owned by some wealthy Philadelphia Irishmen. They 
brought with them three men who permanently located 
here. One was Gottlieb Stilz who had served as gar- 
dener for John L. Lambert who was one of the owners 
of the Lodge. Stilz was from Philadelphia. He after- 
wards married my oldest sister. Another was Alec 
Hasson, coachman for Lambert, who came and brought 
his family with him; the sons were James, John and 
George Hasson. The other man was Richard Torpin, 
who was a cousin of Mr. Lambert. He moved his 
family here. His sons were Richard, Joseph, Henry 
and Lambert Torpin. They came in the spring of 1856. 
His son Richard was a young man at the time, and the 
winter after they came here he taught the Walker 
school. The school stood on the west side of the road, 
just opposite the present residence of Alvin Frels, at 
about the middle of the south line of Section 18, Canoe 
Creek Township. The school was afterwards moved 


to the present location of "Enterprise school" in the 
northeast quarter of Section Eighteen. 

The hunters' lodge or house was built of sawmill 
lumber. It was the best building in the country. They 
had a high pole with a big lantern on top and at night 
you could see it for miles around. Their lodge stood 
on the highest ground in this part of the country, and 
was out in what is now the field east of George Guinn's 
residence, on the west half of the northeast quarter of 
Section Fourteen, Coe Township. They hunted all 
over the High Prairie and the Docia. They brought 
their servants with them, and had the finest hunting 
dogs I ever saw, some of them worth five hundred dol- 
lars, and they had a man especially to take care of 

In 1860, when the Prince of Wales, Edward, visited 
this country these men brought him here on a hunting 
trip, and I had the honor of drinking whiskey out of 
the same bottle with him. Mr. Harte introduced me 
to him. He said, "You want to take off your hat to 
this man." Mother sold these men milk, butter and 
eggs. It was about three-quarters of a mile from the 
Lodge to our house. In their hunting trips they often 
came to where I was at work and sat an hour at a time 
talking about the affairs of the country, which inter- 
ested me. I was in the piece south of the house clear- 
ing ground of stumps and brush when they brought 
the Prince. 

These hunters came every spring and fall, sometimes 


as many as twenty at a time. They were finely formed, 
big-sized men. W. H. Harte, who was one of them, 
was killed as a Captain on a gunboat down the Missis- 
sippi during the rebellion. He had farmed the eighty 
where the Lodge stood for a couple of years. Father 
bought the eighty in the southwest quarter of Section 
Fourteen through Harte, paying $660.00 for it. We 
still have the written contract signed by Harte and 
Father. It is like a good many deals of those days. 
Nothing was paid down. The contract was dated Sept. 
30, 1855, and father was to pay for the land Dec. 1st, 

About the last time the hunters came here, they set 
the prairie grass afire around their house and the fire 
got away from them. It burned about forty rods of 
rail fence for us, and burned eight grain stacks for 
Tunis Quick, Tom Quick's father. It was all the grain 
they had harvested that year. 

Early in the spring of 1856 I drove to Port Byron to 
meet Rev. C. A. T. Selle, the German Lutheran home 
missionary. The roads were muddy from the spring 
thaw. The next day was Sunday, and our friends and 
neighbors met at our log house for church services. 
We organized a church and arranged to have preaching 
regularly. The neighbors took turns having preaching 
at their homes, and if there was no other place, they 
came to our house whether it was our turn or not. 
There was a small lot of German Lutherans in Rock 
Island that were getting started at the same time, but 

Memoirs. 6. 


we had the biggest and best congregation. Rev. Selle 
was a representative of the Missouri Synod, and we 
naturally came to be a congregation of that synod. 
These were the first beginnings of the German Luther- 
an Church in Rock Island County. 

In the summer of 1856 the neighbors got up a sub- 
scription list in order to start a school in our district. 
It was the formation of what we called the "Bluff 
School." It is called by that name now. Father and 
Tunis Quick and Amos Golden were elected Directors 
of the school. They built a little frame building about 
twelve by fourteen on Amos Golden's farm, on the west 
side of the road running north and south through the 
middle of Section Eleven, a little north of the center 
of the section. Calvin Lambert was our first teacher. 
He was a young man at the time. Later he married 
Phoebe Quick, a very nice girl. We had a fine school. 
We used the McGuffy school books, and the Sanders 
school books were beginning to come in also. Joe 
Torpin, his sister, now Mrs. Mary Allen, Cy. Comfort 
and his sister Louise, who afterward married Levi 
Stout (Mrs. C. B. Marshall's mother), John and Henry 
Quick were among the older scholars there when it 

For some time our German Lutheran minister held 
services at this school also. He would preach in Ger- 
man in the forenoon, and in the afternoon in English, 
to a large congregation made up from the whole neigh- 
borhood. This kept up until we got a preacher who 



was not satisfied unless he condemned everything that 
was not Lutheran. That ended the English preaching 
because our English-speaking neighbors were not Lu- 
theran. Afterward a Rev. Rutledge, who lived about 
five miles back of LeClaire, la., came and preached in 
this school house. He was from the same part of New 
Jersey that the Goldens and the Marshalls were from. 
Later still the Baptist minister from Cordova held 
services here. His name was Rev. Asa Prescott. He 
had revival meetings there. 

We also had a debating society at that little school, 
and had it crowded. 

Not many men around here knew how to conduct a 
public meeting. When they voted on moving the school 
to its present location, Tunis Quick was presiding. He 
voted the same as the others, and it was a tie. So he 
voted again as presiding officer and that gave his side 
a majority. I think I was the only one present that 
knew it was wrong for a presiding officer to vote twice, 
and I explained it. That gave the majority to those 
who wanted to move the school to its present location. 
We bought the present school lot from Gottlieb Stilz. 
The deed to the lot is dated Sept. 11, 1865. 

After we got the German minister to come up to the 
High Prairie, we also started a singing school. They 
met at father's at first and afterwards changed about 
among the neighbors. We had very good singing. I 
think it was Rev. Doescher that led it at first, and Rev. 
Gruber kept it up when he came. 



Some time after we had moved the public school to 
its present location, we started an English singing 
school. It was the first American singing school 
around here. Clyde Fleming was our first song teacher. 

Melodion used bj Wm. Fowler in his Singing Class at 
Bluff School in Coe Town. This instrument was brought 
from Vermont to Rock Island County by the George E. 
Holmes family in L846. 

He was a brother of Wilson Fleming who afterwards 
had a drug store at Port Byron. Both the brothers 
were born in Coe Town. Years afterward a man from 
LeClaire, la., by the name of William Fowler had a 
singing school at Bluff school. He used the little melo- 



cleon that Dr. W. H. Lyford presented to the County 
Historical Society. Dr. Lyford's wife's folks brought 
it from Vermont in 1846. Fowler was a good song 
teacher and always had a house full. 

Christian Kramhoft lived on the farm next South 
of us in section thirteen. Father pre-empted his 
eighty for him. He was a widower with one daughter. 
After he located here he married a widow with four 
children. In the fall of 1855 she gave birth to a child 
that had the small pox. Mother was there to attend 
the sick woman, and continued taking care of her 
until she herself came down with the small pox. Fa- 
ther and my three little sisters also got it. Elizabeth 
and Catherine were badly scarred for life, but Mar- 
garet, the youngest, was not so sick and had only four 
or five scars in her face. My brother Dave did the 
chores and I did the house work and attended the sick. 
Mrs. Kramhoft and the baby died. People were afraid 
to go near the place for fear of getting the disease, 
and Mr. Kramhoft made the coffin and buried his wife 
near the house with no services and no one present 
except himself and the children. His first wife had 
died of cholera on the trip here from Germany, and 
the widow he married afterward had also lost her 
husband in the same cholera plague on the way from 
the old country. 

In the winter of 1856 they had a German school at 
the home of this same Kramhoft. William Riewerts 
lives on the place now but it is not the same house. 



Kramhoft's house was built by setting posts in the 
ground, with poles fastened to them. They filled the 
space between these poles with cornstalks, and plast- 
ered it all over with clay mixed with "buffalo chips". 
It was whitewashed inside and out. The roof was 
of bull-grass thatch. It looked as neat as shingles, 
or neater. I do not think he had a nail in the house. 
He drove pegs to hold the poles together. I attended 
that school also, to learn Luther's Catechism. We also 
had reading, writing and arithmetic. John Arp was 
the teacher. There were eight of us from the High 
Prairie, some were from Port Byron Bluff, and some 
from Hampton Bluff, nineteen in all. We were all 

( !i nfirmation 

rtificate, issui I to me in L857. It was tie first German 
Lutheran class in Rock Island County. 



confirnmed in the Lutheran faith on May 24th, 1857, 
in the Port Byron Congregational church. Rev. G. 
Chr. Friedrich was the minister in charge of the class. 
This was the first German Lutheran class in Rock Is- 
land County. The only others for that year being at 
Rock Island where one girl from Muscatine, Iowa, and 
one from the Edgington settlement were confirmed. 
Our teacher, John Arp, was a brother to Mrs. Henry 
Kuehl of Moline. 

Our congregation lasted about forty years. We 
never built a church. The congregation never was 
quite big enough, and at the time we should have 
grown, some of us joined the Grangers, Free Masons, 
Farmers Mutual Benefit Association, and the Modern 
Woodmen of America. The Missouri Synod of Luther- 
ans does not allow its members to join secret societies, 
so we were ousted, and the church kept getting smaller. 
For many years we had services at Bluff school at its 
present location (middle of the south line of section 
eleven, Coe township), and Rev. Louis Winter of the 
Hampton Bluff church was our last pastor. The 
earlier ministers of our congregation were Rev. C. A. 
T. Sells, Rev. G. Chr. Friedrich who was in charge 
at the time of our first confirmation service, May 24, 
1857, Rev. Gruber, Rev. Doescher, and Rev. C. A. 
Mennicke. All these men made our log house their 
home when they came to preach. Rev. Menicke was 
a young unmarried man when he first came. He also 
preached at Hampton Bluff where the Henry Frels' 


were prominent members of his congregation. The 
Frels' home was his headquarters most of the time 
when he preached for the Hampton Bluff people. My 
wife, who at that time was Miss Anna Margaret Frels, 

was one of the bridesmaids 
at the wedding when Rev. 
Mennicke and Miss Anna 
Mangelsdorf were married, 
in 1861. He was pastor of 
the Rock Island church for 
about fifty years. 

The only thing that is left 
of the old Lutheran congre- 
gation on the High Prairie 
to-day is the little cemetery. 
I donated the land for that 
in the Southwest corner of 
my farm. 

The fir;st class of the 
Hampton Bluff Lutheran 
church held its confirmation 
exercises in the hall over the L. F. Baker store 
at Hampton. This was in the spring of 1860. They 
had been holding their church services in a brick build- 
ing, up the hollow a ways, in the village of Hampton. 
Among the members of that class was Miss Anna M. 
Frels, who became my wife two years later, and was 
"My Better half" for over fifty-six years. 




In 1857 when township organization took place, 
Henry Lascelles, Edward McFadden and John D. Hau- 
berg, my father, were the first three Road Commis- 
sioners elected in Coe township. Father was elected 
for three years. He could not read or write English. 
They had a great deal of work to do. The country 
began to settle up. We had been driving straight 
through the country wherever the road was best. The 
settlers began to fence up the roads, and they had to 
lay out new ones. Each of the Commissioners got a 
Law and Form book on Township organization. I 
did the writing for father, and learned about all the 
forms by heart. I could write a road petition, or a 
road or fence notice, without looking in the book. We 
also got a book "Every man his own Lawyer." The 
first two winters as a bachelor, I read law. I made 
up my mind I would be a lawyer, but the more I read 
the less I knew, and I made up my mind I was a fool 
and I quit ; but atferwards I found it did me some good. 
Sometimes a new Justice of the Peace would come to 
me to help him make out a State Warrant, and if they 
had an important law suit and one side had a lawyer 
and the other side hade none, the Squire would send 
for me to defend them and I was pretty successful. 

The oath of office which a Township officer took 
in 1857 had more to it then we have now. It was as 
follows : 



State of Illinois ) 

Rock Island County ) 

I do solemnly swear that I 

will support the Constitution of the United States and 
of the State of Illinois, and that I will according to 
the best of my judgment, skill and ability, diligently, 
faithfully and impartially, perform all the duties en- 
joined on me as of the Town of 

in the County of Rock Island and State of Illinois." 

"I do solemnly swear that I have not fought a duel, 
nor sent or accepted a challenge to fight a duel, the 
probable issue of which might have been the death 
of either party, nor in any manner aided or assisted 
in such duel nor been knowingly the bearer of such 
challenge or acceptance since the adoption of the Con- 
stitution, and that I will not be so engaged or concerned 
directly or indirectly in or about any such duel during 
my continuance in office, so help me God." 

The above form was signed by the men elected, and 
sworn to before a Justice of the Peace. 

September 29, 1858, I was twenty-one years old 
and I left home, with twenty-five cents in my pocket. 
Father was not a poor man any more ; if he had been, 
I would have stayed with him. I went to John Mar- 
shall and got a job for $14.00 a month. The next 
morning father came there and rented to me his eighty 
acres in Section 14 ; but before I rented it I bought 
a team of horses and a plow and an old linch-pin 


wagon from him for $300.00 and gave him a note, due 
one year from date, with ten percent interest ; then 
I rented the land for one year for $300.00. 

I bought a stove from John Marshall, a two-bushel 
sack of flour, two bushels of potatoes and some meat 
a knife and fork and a tin cup, and stayed there and 
worked to pay for these things. Then I went back 
to father's, got my horses, the old wagon and plow, 
then to John Marshall's and got my stove, flour, po- 
tatoes, meat, knife and fork and tin cup, borrowed 
an ax and went into the timber and cut stove wood 
to finish out my load, then to my rented farm, into a 
little shanty we had built when we broke the land. 
I unloaded and went back to John Marshall and bought 
a wagon box full of corn — about fourteen bushels — 
at twenty cents a bushel, to be paid for in work at 
corn picking time. Then I went back to the shanty, 
got my dinner, unloaded the corn in the shanty, tied 
my horses to the wagon and went to my nearest 
neighbor "Col" William Johnson, one mile and a half 
southeast, borrowed a scythe and cut grass for the 
horses. I got water from the creek about 80 rods to 
the south, near where the Adelphia school huose now 
stands — my shantay stood where now George Ashdown 
lives — and there I batched. 

After breakfast the next morning, I got a load of 
posts and poles from father's timber to build a stable. 
When that was finished I started to plow, and I plowed 
until the ground froze. Then I picked corn to pay 



for the corn I got from Marshall. After that I picked 
corn on shares for John Marshall. Corn got down to 
fifteen cents a bushel. "A man does not pick more 
than 12 to 15 bushels a day and it does not pay to 
hire it picked" he said. I picked twenty-five bushels 
a day, and got a third of all I picked. John Marshall 
at that time was living on what was afterward the 
William Mill stock farm, now Wiltamuth's, in section 
six, Canoe Creek township. 

About the first of December father came over to 
my shanty and said he was going to quit farming and 
would rent me the whole farm for one year. I told 
him I did not want it for one year as I did not want 
to stock up for one year, not knowing what I was going 
to do the next year, but would take it for four years. 
He rented the farm to me, one hundred and ninety 
acres, for four years, at $600.00 a year, and he built 
a house on section 14 where I was, and moved into 
it about February 1st, 1859, and I moved into the old 
log house on section twelve. In 1861 father built a 
barn, size 34x36, at his place in section fourteen. It 
was the largest barn in the country except the one of 

I bought one yoke of oxen from him for $50.00 
and two cows and a sow for $50.00, and gave him 
my note for $100.00 with ten per cent interest. 

There were about eight hired men in this part of 
the country who wanted to go to Moline to a dance 
and they asked me to take them there for $2.50 and 



my expenses to the dance, which I agreed to do. The 
evening before we had a meeting at Paul Gottsche's 
place to arrange the time we were to start in the mor- 
ning. I got home from the meeting about twelve 
o'clock, gave my horses some hay and kicked up the 
bedding for them and then went to bed. The next 
morning my best horse was dead. I borrowed a horse 
from Gottsche, snaked my dead horse to the slough, 
and when I came back everybody was ready to go. 
I got ready and we went to Moline to the dance. This 
was Christmas of 1858. 

Mr. C. Krabbenhoeft married again in the fall of 
1858, a Mrs. Bahlman from Davenport. She had four 
children — two boys, Reimer, nineteen, and James, 
fourteen years old, and two daughters, Anna, twelve, 
and Castina, ten years old. 

I picked corn all winter. In January the snow was 
so deep I had to take a shovel with me and shovel the 
snow away to get to the corn. The snow blew from 
the bare fields and the corn stalks held it, forming 
drifts from four to six feet deep. I got enough corn 
for feed and some to sell. The latter part of Feb- 
ruary I hauled one hundred bushels to Hans Beekman, 
in Moline, and got forty dollars cash for it. 

In February, 1859, there was a sale at Dillon's (they 
lived near Madison Bowles.' The family had died 
out and everything on the farm, including the house- 
hold goods, was to be sold. I went early in the mor- 
ning because I wanted to talk to the administrator. 



As soon as I found him I told him who I was and what 
I wanted. I said, "I am a young man. I have rented 
a farm six miles north of here and I need household 
goods. I see you have it for sale. I would like to buy 
some but I have no money to pay for it now. If I 
buy anything I cant' pay fr it until next fall, and I 
don't want to ask anyone to sign a note with me." 

''Young man," he said, "you are all right. Buy what 
you want — buy it all. You can pay me when you 
get the money." 

I bought the stove, two bedsteads, all the quilts 
but one — that was too fancy for me — all the dishes 
and candle molds and candlesticks, and the knives 
and forks ; and mother gave me a bed when I started 
batching, so I was "all set" for housekeeping. I had 
bought chairs and a table of Mr. Snaphase, in Port 
Byron — the man who built the stone house across 
the street from and a little below the depot — for 
$14.50, to be paid for next fall. 

I bought a horse four years old from Isaiah Marshall 
for one hundred thirty-five dollars and gave him my 
note, with interest at ten percent. I got twenty chick- 
ens, two turkey hens and a goose for moving father's 
stuff to the new house. I bought one hundred bushels 
of corn from him at twenty cents a bushel. I traded 
one hundred fifty bushels of corn for eighty bushels 
of seed wheat. I bought forty bushels of seed wheat 
at fitfy cents a bushel and gave my note for it. I 
traded a cow for sixty bushels, bought ten bushels 



for cash and traded forty-four bushels of corn for 
a cow. 

When father got moved he let brother Dave go, 
and I took him in as a partner. When we had our 
seeding done in the spring, one of our neighbors 
borrowed our oxen to finish his seeding. When he 
had finished seeding he turned the oxen loose on the 
prairie. One ox came home with the cows. I looked 
for the other and saw it, a half mile away, on the hill. 
When I got there it was lying down ; the cords of one 
of its hind legs had been cut and it had almost bled 
to death. I tied my handkerchief around its leg to 
stop the blood, drove the ox home and doctored it 
up, but it was never able to work. This was the "off" 
ox. I bought a steer for $35.00 to mate the ox we had. 
Perhaps you do not understand what "off" and "near" 
are. I will tell you. The "near" ox is the left hand 
side, where you drive — that is the "haw" side; the 
one on the righthand side is the "off" ox — that is 

About July 1st my other horse died — a three 
hundred dollar team gone. I bought another horse 
from Roger Bell, afterwards in business in Port Byron, 
for one hundred dollars, and gave him my note. 

The first Sunday after the Fourth of July my broth- 
er, Dave, was accidentally shot in the hip, which left 
him a cripple for more than a year. I had to pay 
$1.50 a day for help during the harvest, after thrash- 
ing. When we thrashed we worked our oxen on the 


horse power. The thrashers did not like this, so I 
asked my neighobr to put his horses on, which he did, 
and I let him have my oxen to deliver his barley, which 
he had sold and had to deliver that week. When he 
got half way to town with his load of barley the "off" 
ox fell dead. It was a warm day and the ox became 
overheated. Then I bought three more oxen and rented 
more land. 

Seventy acres of wheat that I had in section 14 went 
little better than thirty-seven bushels to the acre. This 
was Canada Club wheat. We had twenty acres of 
Red River ; that went twenty bushels to the acre. We 
had twenty-five acres Early Robinson wheat — on 
ten acres of it I sowed nine and one-half bushels — 
that went twenty-seven bushels to the acre. I sold 
that in Davenport to Hansen (the present hardware 
and seed-man's father-in-law) for seed at $1.00 a 
bushel. He was in the grain business. On fifteen 
acres of it, I sowed one bushel and three pecks to the 
acre ; that went fifteen bushels to the acre. I had 
thirty-five acres of barley, that went thirty-five bush- 
els to the acre. I sold that to Schloepel, the brewery 
man in LeClaire, for forty-eight cents a bushel ; and he 
gave me my dinner, all the beer I wanted to drink 
and paid the ferry-man. 

When I hauled wheat to Port Byron I carried a lunch 
with me. There were no restaurants. When I had 
unloaded the wheat I would tie my horses to the wagon 
and feed them in the box. George Wagner had a 


bakery in Moline and he peddled his goods, his pie 
and cake along the road. He would tie his team to 
my wagon and feed them. He also carried his lunch, 
and we would go to Charley Grey's saloon and buy a 
quart of beer and sit down and eat our lunches. Mr. 
Wagner afterwards bought Schmidt's brewery near 
the thirty-fist street depot in Rock Island and changed 
the name to Wagner's brewery and afterward it be- 
came a part of the Rock Island Brewing Company. 

Our first wheat of the 1859 crop I sold for 42c per 
bushel and paid my bills at the store and other little 
bills, and for the balance I bought a new wagon. 

The second batch of wheat I sold to William Mar- 
shall, grandfather of Attorney C. B. Marshal of Rock 
Island. I hauled the wheat to the "Diamond Jo" steam- 
boat warehouse at the west end of town. The grain 
at that time was always put into sacks and the sacks 
sewed up and carried on the steamboat by the gang 
of roustabouts which every steamboat carried. Some- 
times the grain dealers would pile the sacks in a high 
pile on the river bank and a storm would come up and 
spoil a lot of the grain. 

Cordova at this time was a busier place than Port 
Byron. All the business part of the town was at the 
lower end. 

Along about this time so many people moved here 
from New Jersey and located in the upper end, east 
of where the railroad is now, and about the public 
school, they called it "Jersey Row". 



Tin- Diamond Jo warehouse ;ii Cordova, to which we hauled wheat in 

When I had delivered the last load of wheat, I 
stopped to settle up. I was a little late coming in 
and had to wait my turn to unload. Mr. Marshall 
was running a general store and had gone home for 

"He will be back pretty soon", the Clerk said, "he 
has gone to supper." 

I waited but he did not come, so I went to the house 
and he had gone to bed. I told him I wanted to settle 
as I had to help my neighbor Monday and could not 
come to Cordova. He came back to the store with me 
and we figured up the amount and he paid me $777.00. 


The store was full of men. The Sterling & Rock Is- 
land Railroad was being built at that time, and it 
being Saturday night, the men working on the railroad 
came to town to do their trading. I got my team 
and started home. Before I got out of town I had 
to cross a little bridge about ten feet wide. There 
were three men and a horse and buggy on it. One of 
the men asked me for a ride and I told him to get in. 
He got in and the other two men got in the buggy and 
we all started away. It was a bright moonlight night. 
Three miles out of Cordova is a Jack oak grove. 
When we got to about the middle of the grove — a 
mile away from anybody, and trees darkening the 
road — I saw my near horse rearing up, somebody 
having a hold of his bit. It gave a plunge to the right 
and kicked the fellow. In a flash it struck me, "Those 
fellows are after my money." The man on the seat 
with me had thrown one foot over mine. I hit him 
with my arm, under his throat and took him by the 
leg and pushed him out. The other fellow was trying 
to get hold of my neck ; but the horses turning and 
running, threw him out of balance. Before he got 
on his feet again I got him by the throat. When he 
did not move any more I shouted "Whoa" and the 
horses stopped. About eighty rods out on the prairie 
— my man was quiet — I picked him up and threw 
him out of the wagon. I jumped out of the wagon 
and picked up my lines, got on again and drove home. 
It was 12:30 o'clock when I got home. 



If I had had good clothes on, I think they would have 
tried to murder me for my money. As it was — I 
had a hickory shirt on, a five-cent straw hat, and most 
likely patched trousers and perhaps was bare-foot — 
they picked me for a green country boy who knew 
nothing. When I got the money I wrapped it up in 
wrapping paper and put it in my pocket — I had no 
pocketbook — and they saw it. 

Ten years afterwards I was in Davenport, in a 
restaurant. A man came up to me and said, "Do you 
live east of Cordova?" 

I said, "Yes." 

"Do you know me?" he asked. 


"I know you. Do you remember the time you got 
a handful of money in the store and three fellows 
stopped you on the bridge in Cordova, and tried to 
hold you up when you got in the timber?" 

"Yes, I do." 

"Well, I was one of the fellows that was to hold the 
horses. The big fellow sitting in the seat with you 
was to take the money out of your pocket ; and if you 
made any resistance, I was to hold you. I don't know 
what happened to me ; but when I awoke the next 
morning the sun was shining and I was lost on the 
prairie — no house in sight. I will tell you how I 
happened to be there. My folks lived in Iowa City. 
Father was in business there, and he had a farm near 
town. I had been off to school. When I came home 



it was about haying time and he told me to grind 
the sickle and get the mower ready, and get things 
ready in general. The next week when they hitched 
on the mower it was not ready; father gave me a 
scolding. I made up my mind he could do his own 
haying, and I left. I heard they were building a rail- 
road up there and I went. I got in the wrong company, 
got to drinking, playing cards for money and went 
from bad to worse. When I woke up that morning 
I was sober and began to realize my position. I start- 
ed at once for Iowa City and made a clean confession 
to father. I am a married man now and well to do. 
Here is my address. Come and see us. My folks 
will be glad to see you. They know about the happen- 
nings. Good-by." 

The railroad grade at that time was being built 
across the 'Docia from Erie to Cordova. The right 

" ^& . iluirsiuu mill IRorkfiiril IRnilroniL 


~4<Cfi ? .,.-.../ x.,sy^^MiB&W AN© EOCKFdJUD IRA2!L!R©AD, 

_~/u,„ *j£ <r~U*~&a ^*4Z. 4~*yi4 **U?-*f ■*.*&£/*£ . 

Q > t<£&£4&Z!£— Z^f^.t&i^z^cr? Treasurer. 

Warsaw & Rockford Railroad receipt, 1854. 



of way was through a lot of sand holes and if it was 
not sand it was swamp. I think the men who opposed 
their getting the loans for buying the iron for the 
track used that as an argument ; that the country that 
the road went through was non productive and that 
the road in the end would be a failure. 

They had the grade finished, bridges built and the 
ties laid. They had the promise of money to buy the 
rails but when it came time to get it, it was refused 
them. Steel or iron rails were not made in this 
country at that time. It had to be imported from 
England. It was generally thought that the Chicago 
& Rock Island railroad officials had something to do 
with knocking the Sterling & Rock Island road in the 

All the farmers around here were asked to buy stock, 
and a great many took some. Father subscribed 
$400.00. At first it was the "Warsaw & Rockford" 
and they were selling subscriptions for that in 1854, 
but later it was known as the "Sterling & Rock Island 
Railroad Co.", and subscriptions were taken for that 
in 1857. 

When the rairoad fell through with, the farmers 
refused to pay the notes they had given. Suit was 
brought against a lot of them in the Circuit Court 
at Rock Island and they had to settle. The farmers 
accused the promoters of stealing the money as the 
reason why they refused to pay up, but the promoters 
did not steal. They simply could not get the money 


necessary to buy the rails and rolling stock. "Squire 
Bill" Marshall and Jim Abbott were among the pro- 
moters, both Cordova men. "Squire Bill" Marshall 
showed me the papers giving him the right, by Act 
of congress, to build a bridge across the Mississippi at 

They worked summer and winter to build the rail- 
road grade. In the summer it was all wheelbarrow 
work. No horses were used. They worked wherever 
it was dry enough. In winter they built the grade 
through the swamps. They got dirt from the high 
bank about forty rods or so southeast of where the 
big cave is, in section 1, Coe township, and hauled it 
with horses and wagons over the frozen ground and 
ice. The men had their camp where the stone house 
is now; in the southwest quarter of the northeast 
quarter of section one. The stone house was after- 
wards built by "Gooseneck" John Marshall. 

Some of this railroad grade came in handy, later, 
when they used part of it for a public wagon road 
from Philleo's Island, at the Middle Crossing, east- 
ward, toward Erie. 

During the latter part of September 1859 I took a 
load of garden truck to Moline and peddled it. — 
There were no professional gardeners there then — 
and I stayed all night at the Western House. Charley 
Reese and Hans Beckman were the proprietors — 
both young men. I was late getting in. When I had 
my team put up I went in and told Mr. Reese I wanted 
supper. 103 


"All right ; come right in," he said. 

When we got in the dining room there were three 
ladies sitting at the table, eating. Reese said, "This 
man wants his supper. He is a farmer." I knew what 
that meant — "He's a fool." Farmers were all fools 
those days, in the eyes of the townspeople. The ladies 
made all sorts of fun of me. I made up my mind I 
would act like a farmer. When they put in a word 
of English, I did not understand; I was green — right 
from the old country. They asked me if I could dance. 
"Oh, I hop around a little," I said. One of the ladies 
said, "We are going to have a dance here next Satur- 
day evening; you had better come down." 

"No, you know I live in the country and we are a 
little clodfooted. If I should ask you for a dance and 
then step on your toes a little, you would run away and 
leave me standing there and the other fellows would 
laugh at me. No, I gues I won't come," I said. 

"I would not do that," she said, "you had better 

"Well, if you will promise not to run away, I'll come" 
and I came. 

The next Saturday I went down with another load 
of garden truck, sold out and stayed at the Western 
House again, where the dance was going to be. I was 
late again and had to eat with the ladies. "You see 
I'm here," I said to the girl. "I see," she said, "and 
[ am glad you came." I don't think she meant it. 

After supper I went into the hall, or bar-room — 



they were both in one room about forty feet square. 
The building was owned by C. H. Dibbern. The hall 
was full of men and I did not know a soul. The were 
all Germans, who were repairing the stone and brush 
dam across the slough from the main land to the island. 
The first public work that was done here was done by 
Germans; afterwards came the Irish. 

I sat down on a bench — there were benches all 
around the hall — and a fellow came and shook hands 
with me. He had worked for me during the harvest. 
"Mark," he said, "I am glad you are here ; we are 
going to have a dance tonight." "That is what I came 
for," I said. Then some one called him away — to 
find out who I was, I guess — and when they found 
out, one of the fellows sat down beside me. "Are you 
a farmer?" he said. 

"Yes, I am a farmer." 

"You must set 'em up to the fellows, then they won't 
whip you," he said. 

"They won't whip me," I said. 

"Yes, they will." 

"No, they wont." 

"What makes you think they won't whip you?" he 

"I won't hold still," I said. 

"Do you think you can whip that whole crowd?" 

"I can if I have to." 

He told the fellows what I said, and added, "He 
is crazy." Then the other fellows came and made 



fun of me. When they put in a word of English, I 
did not understand. One fellow asked, "Are you a far- 
mer?" Another fellow said, "That is a great question 
to ask — if he is a farmer — look at his feet, that will 
tell you." He said, "Say, if I had a farm I would like 
to have him for my hired man. I bet there are no 
clods where he comes from." 

"Say, don't talk that way, he came here to dance." 

"Dance, nothing. Ladies in Moline don't disgrace 
themselves to dance with farmers." 

During the time all this talking was going on, old 
man Dibbern had come in. One of the fellows went 
up to hirn and said, "Father Dibbern, we are having 
some fun; we have a green farmer here who just came 
from Deutchland." 

"Have you?" Dibbern said. 

"Yes, that fellow with the gray hat sitting over 
there; do you see him?" 

"Yes, I see the fellow with gray hat, but he isn't 

"Yes, he is," the fellow said, "he can't speak a word 
of English." 

"That is Marx Hauberg," Mr. Dibbern said. "Have 
you fellows been making fun of him? He was raised 
in this town ; he can speak English better than Ger- 

"No ; you don't know him," the fellow said. 

"Yes, I do" said Dibbern. "If you fellows make 


fun of him, he won't take that home ; he will whip you 
fellows before he goes home.' 

Just then Charles Deere and four or five fellows 
came in, about half shot. Charles says, "Mark, what 
in hell are you doing here?" 

I said, "I'm going to teach those fellows some man- 
ners to-night." 

"I guess you can do it," Charley said. 

"You d — n right," I said, "and I'm going to." 

"Come on, we'll have something," Charley said. We 
had something. 

"Mark, if you think you need any help, we will stay," 
Charley said. 

"I don't need any; I am good for this crowd." 

"I guess you are," Phil Williams said. 

These fellows were the toughs of Moline ; they were 
my friends ; maybe I wasn't any better. 

When the musicians came they shook hands with 
me and the leader said, "Mark, if you want a partner, 
get around in time; ladies are scarce in this town." 
I said to him, "Give me a tick on the board before you 
begin to play ; I'll set 'em up to you after a while." 
When the tick on the board came I went to the fellow 
that told me the ladies in Moline would not disgrace 
themselves to dance with farmers , and asked him 
to show me the ladies' room. He says in plain English, 
"You go to Hell." 

"I think you will be there before I will," I said. 
I got my gentleman by the neck and shoved him to 



the door of the dining room, where they went upstairs. 
When we got in the dining room I locked the door 
and told him if he misled me he would never see day- 
light again. 

"Come on", he said and we went upstairs. He 
opened the door and said, "This is the place" — a 
perfect gentleman. The first lady at the door I asked 
very politely for a dance. She got up and came with 
me. When we got to the dining room door she said. 
"There is no room to dance ; the place is full of men." 

I got a better hold of her arm and said, "Come on, 
we will make room." When we got in the middle of 
the hall I pushed some of the fellows aside (the first 
dance was a waltz) and when we had room enough we 
began to turn around. She was a good dancer. I 
stepped on everybody's toes that was in the way. We 
were the only couple who danced. 

When the dance was over, I said to her, "It is em- 
barrassing for you to sit here all alone, so if my com- 
pany is acceptable, I will amuse you the best I know 

"All right," she said, "what is your name?" I told 

"Why, this is a Godsend," she said, "we came here 
to America upon the recommendation of your father 
and mother. We have been here more than three 
months and have not been able to find them." 

We danced the next dance together. When the dance 


was over, her mother was there and she said to her, 
"Mother, this is John Hauberg's son." 

"What was you mother's maiden name?" said the 

"Margretha Griese," I said. 
"My," she said, "father come here — father was close 
by — this is John Hauberg's son." 

"How big is your father?" he said. 

"About your size." 

"What kind of hair has he?" 

"He has dark curly hair," I said. 

"Was he a soldier?" 


"Was he in the Cavalry?" he asked. 

"He was." 

"Mother come," he said, "and Doris you bring the 
young man, we will have a drink on this," and we did. 
Then the old man said, "Are you the farmer these fel- 
lows are going to lick?" 

"Yes," I said, "if they can." 

"You don't think they can?" 

"No," I said, "I am going to teach these fellows 
enough so that when a stranger comes hereafter they 
will know enough to respect him." 

"I see you are ready for them. You have taken off 
your coat and your necktie and collar," he said. 

We had had about seven dances when the ladies in 
the house came down. When "Ladies' choice" was 
called, the girl of the house who had invited me, sat 



down beside the girl I had danced with. The girl 
of the house said, ''Did they call out 'Ladies' choice'?" 

"Yes," said the girl I had danced with. 

"Well, I will get that farmer, I invited him." 

"You are too late; that is my fellow," said the girl 
I had danced with. 

"Can he dance?" 

"Yes, the best in the house." 

"He told me he could just hop around a little. Well, 
you get him first and bring him here to me. I invited 
him and I don't want to go back on him." 

I heard what they said, so I went to the fellows — 
they were all in a bunch — and said. "Say, you fel- 
lows look to me as if you were strangers here. Come 
on, one of you, and I will give you an introduction to 
my lady and you can have a dance." Then war broke 
out. They rushed at me and as many as could, got 
hold of me, and were in one anothers way. I got hold 
of one fellow — a side hold — and tripped him. He 
fell flat on his back. He took part of my vest along. 
The fellow next to him I hit and kicked. He fell back- 
wards, right over the first fellow, and broke his front 
teeth. He took a piece of my shirt along. The next 
man, when he fell, took the rest of my vest and shirt 
along. He fell with his head against the sharp edge 
of the counter and got a bad cut in the back of his head. 
The next man I hit right in the eye. That was the end 
of the battle, just then. 

I found out later that some of the fellows there that 


night were my friends. They had been treated like 
I was and they sicked these fellows on to me for re- 
venge, thinking I could put it over them. There was 
a bully in town and they had gone after him, one of 
these friends told me. He described him to me and 
said, "Take him in time. He is a blacksmith, working 
for John Deere." 

When he came in I happened to face the door. He 
was a little square-shouldered fellow. He made a rush 
for me, to stick his head between my legs and throw 
me over backwards; but he was too light. I picked 
him up and threw him out of the window. That 
ended the fight for all time with the farmers. There 
had been a dance there in June and the farmers had 
been made to treat, and when their money was all gone, 
they shoved them out doors. The Fourth of July 
there had been a dance there and farmers from Hamp- 
ton and from our way were there. When they had 
spent all their money they boxed their ears and told 
them to go home. They were pretty badly spoiled 
down there in the city. 

Well, I borrowed a shirt from Charley Reese and 
danced — everybody was happy — as if nothing had 
happened. "Son, well done," said the old man. His 
name was Gurius. James Loptien married his daught- 
er Doris. One of the three ladies of the house was 
Mrs. Speck, Claus Reimers' mother-in-law. Hans 
Mumm married one of them, Dr. Robert C. J. Meyers' 
mother-inlaw. What became of the other lady I don't 



know. I offered to pay Mr. Dibbern for the window 
the next morning, but he would not take any pay. He 
said, "I am glad that it came out as it did." 

The foregoing all happened on my twenty-second 
birthday. The next morning, when I was hitching 
up to go home, I got an invitation to a wedding. I 
put my team back in the barn and went to the wedding. 
The man who was married had staid at our home when 
we lived in Moline. Monday morning, the morning 
after the wedding, I had my team hitched up, when the 
constable came and arrested me for trying to commit 
manslaughter. The other fellow had a lawyer; I did 
not. When we got into Court the Squire read the war- 
rant and asked me if I plead guilty. I said, "No, sir, 
I don't." Then the lawyer got up and told the Court 
what I had done and what he could prove, and what 
ought to be done with me. When he was through the 
Squire asked me if I had anything to say. I said, "No, 
I think he said enough." Then he swore the witnesses 
and the interpreter. 

When the lawyer got through with the witness, he 
said to me, "You can take the witness." I asked the 
witness how it come that I hit him. "Didn't you poke 
your finger under my nose to see how good looking I 
was?" Then the lawyer said, "I object to the ques- 
tion." Then I got up and said, "Squire, do you think 
there is anybody in this country brute enough to hit 
anyone in the face without provocation?" The Squire 
said, "Answer the question." The fellow did answer 



it, but it was hard work. I think the interpreter was 
a little on my side ; we had things about our own way. 
The Dutch could not understand English and the Eng- 
lish could not understand Dutch. Every witness was 
about like the first one. The lawyer said, "Your 
Honor, this is our case." I said, "This is my case." 
When the lawyer got up to make his plea he called me 
everything he could lay his tongue to. When he sat 
down, I got up. 

I said, "Squire, these fellows are my conutrymen. 
They are good fellows. They don't look very good 
now, but they will look better after a while. They 
came from a country where they are compelled to re- 
spect people, they came to America, a free country. 
They think, 'I can do as I please,' and they pleased to 
make fun of me. There is a certain amount of nigger 
about these fellows, that has to be knocked out ; when 
that is knocked out, they are all right and become good 
citizens and know enough to respect strangers. If 
they have not learned that this time, I can come back 
and give them another lesson. Now Squire, if you 
think I am guilty, put on the fine ; I have the money 
in my pocket to pay it." 

When the lawyer got up again he put it over me in 
good shape. He said I ought to be put behind the bars ; 
I was a dangerous man to be left loose over the country. 
"He'll kill somebody." 

When the lawyer sat down, the Squire said to me, 
"I fine you one dollar." 


Memoirs. 8. 


"How much is the cost?" I said. 

"I will remit my cost," he said. 

"How much is your cost, Mr. Stevens?" Mr. Stev- 
ens was the constable. 

"Mark, I don't want anything," Mr. Stevens said, 
"I think you did the right thing." 

I got out my dollar, the Squire gave me a receipt 
and said, "Mark, Mrs. Swander wants to see you to 
dinner at our house." I said "All right." Mr. Swan- 
der was the Squire. He was our neighbor and bought 
our house when we left Moline. Mrs. Swander was 
glad to see me and asked me if I had been in the lockup. 
After dinner Mr. Swander and I went down town in 
a saloon, and there was the lawyer. He came up to 
me and said, "Shake, I thought you were a stranger 
here. Say, by gad, you've got the nerve all right; 
where did you get your education?" I said, "Driving 
oxen to a breaking plow" in Scott County, Iowa. 

I rented the eighty acres where George Guinn now 
lives, from Richard Torpin in the spring. I had hired 
a man and his wife for $180.00 a year, to work for me. 
He was a good man ; but she was no good. We did not 
have a decent meal while she was there. She never 
had meals ready when we came in. I got them from 
Davenport in March and I told him I would give him 
the $180.00 now if he would take his wife and get 
out; I said I could not stand it any longer. He said, 
"All right, take us down"; and I did in December. 
Then I batched again until next spring. 



I bought another span of horses, harness and wagon 
for two hundred and seventy-seven dollars and fifty 
cents, for which I paid cash. Then we had two of the 
best teams in the country — one pair of chestnut sorrel, 
weighing about twenty-eight hundred and a span of 
bays weighing about thirty hundred. 

When we had sold our grain and paid out the money, 
we were about $600.00 in debt. We had had extremely 
bad luck, but we were not discouraged. My sow had 
six pigs. I had bought a new reaper to cut the grain, 
for one hundred and sixty dollars. We now had a full 
stock of implements, feed and seed, and good teams. 

One Sunday morning in December, our neighbor 
woman came over and said to me, "Mr. Hauberg, my 
John is sick; I want you to come and see what is the 
matter with him." 

"Is he in bed?" I asked. 


"Mother," I said, "I don't know anything about sick 
people; if he is in bed, you better have a doctor. "It 
is too cold for you to go," I said, "but I will go to town 
and get one." 

"I don't want a town doctor; I want you." 

"I can't do him any good," I said. 

"You can't put me off like that," she said, "every- 
body says you are smart; I wont go home until you 
come with me." 

I went with her. When we got there John lay in 
bed like he was dead. I went through the perform- 



ance of a doctor and then stood back and looked at him. 

''Mother," I said, "there is nothing the matter with 
him, except you don't feed him good enough." 

"Yes, I do," she said. 

"No, you do not," I said, "if you don't feed him 
better he will die." 

"Well, John," she said, "if I thought you would get 
well again I would kill a chicken for you." (I think 
she killed the chicken and he got well.) 

At about the same time, a. man living about four 
miles south of here came over and wanted me to go 
with him to Rock Island and see if the title to a piece 
of land he had bought was all right. His wife had to 
come too. Going down the River road from Port By- 
ran to Hampton was very cold and the wife said, "Wil- 
liam, when we get to Hampton we will stop at our 
friend's house; I am afraid the baby will freeze. I 
can't wrap him up any more for then he will smother 
When we got to the friend's house, I said to him, "You 
help your wife, I will take care of the oxen." 

Before they reached the house the lady came out 
and said, "My man is dead — he was buried last Thurs- 
day — and now what shall I do?" I have only a little 
money ; I am a poor woman, and have only a little 
flour and potatoes left." Tears as big as peas ran 
down her cheeks. When she got out of breath, Wil- 
liam said, "What is the matter wih you? That old 
man was old ; he could not do you, nor the world, any 
good. You are young yet and pretty good looking; 


you will find somebody to take care of you better than 
that old fellow;" when all of a sudden she got a smile 
on her face and said : "Two have already asked me 
and one has a little farm on the bluff here ; I guess I 
will take him;" and she did. (I will not tell any 
names. The children are living yet and I might get 
into a hornet's nest). 

In the spring of 1860 I hired a married woman, 
who had a little girl, to work for me, for forty dollars 
a year. Her husband made his home with us when 
he was out of work. He worked for Henry Ashdown 
— Ed Ashdown's father. We had two hired men, each 
of whom we paid $16.00 per month. Brother Dave 
was not able to work. He drove the horses to the 
reaper in harvest. We raised a good crop. We had 
7100 bushels of grain — over 4000 bushels of wheat — 

and sold it, in time to Shepard, of Port Byron, 

who had a flour mill, for 75 cents a bushel. We fat- 
tened our oxen with pumpkins and butchered them. I 
butchered a beef every week after harvest and until 
it froze up in the fall and peddled it. I bought cattle 
to butcher and to keep. 

After we had sold our grain we paid our debts, and 
had some money left. Some of the old fellows around 
there who had been saying, "There's something wrong 
in the upper story with that young man," came 'round 
now and borrowed money to pay interest. 

In the winter of 1861 we bought another span of 
horses for $160.00 and rented the eighty acres again 



from Mr. Torpin. We had a fair crop this year. After 
paying rent and expenses we had about $600 for our 

When hauling wheat to Port Byron, Archie Allen, 
who lived a mile above Port Byron, on the river road, 
would ride with me and tell me how they did when he 
came here. He came in the late Twenties. He said 
they shot a deer, standing in the door of his house. 
He said, "Neighbor Clark and I (Neighbor Clark lived 
in what is now the city of Rock Island) had a plow in 
company, with iron share and wooden moldboard. If 
Neighbor Clark had it and I wanted to use it I would 
go down and get it and carry it home on my back, 
When I had it and was done with it, Neighbor Clark 
would get it and carry it home." 

"How did you know when he was done with it," I 

"We would always tell when we would be done with 
it. One time Neighbor Clark invited me and my 
woman down to Christmas dinner and we went down. 
When we got to the creek — you know, this side of Mc- 
Neal's — in Watertown?" 


"Well, it had been raining some days before this and 
the creek had been high and a scum of ice had frozen 
over before the water went down, and the ice would 
not hold us. I could jump it, but my woman could not 
span it, so I cut some saplings and threw them across. 
I went back and she stepped out as far as she could, 


and I got hold of her hand and pulled her over. (The 
creek was where Watertown is now). Well, we got 
down there about 11:0 o'clock . . . ." 

"Where did you get the ax to cut the saplings?" I 

"I always carried a hatchet in my belt." 

"... and Neighbor Clark and his woman were 
glad to see us. Clark got the grubbing hoe and went 
to the potato patch and got potatoes for dinner. He 
had shot a deer and turkey. I tell you we had a fine 

"Wasn't your potatoes kind of sweet, having been 
frozen?" I said. 

"No, we put them in boiling water right away ; it 
doesn't hurt them." 

"Why didn't he dig his potatoes in the Fall?" 

"He had no place to put them ; they are better in the 

"We stayed all night and went home the next day. 
Mark, I tell you, we had a good time. When we got 
home the house was warm. We had a big fire-place 
and the fire was burning. I went out to feed the cat- 
tle; the Indian was there. He would come around 
once in a while. He had been feeding the cattle and 
stayed there the night before." 

"Did the Indians ever bother you very much?" I 

"No, they don't bother any. They come and camp 
here sometimes and go. No, they never bothered me." 



One time I was hauling some watermelons to Port 
Byron with oxen. Sister Doris was with me. We took 
the road straight west from Fairfield. When we came 
down the hill, above the limekiln, the oxen saw the 
water — the road at that time was close to the river. 
It was a hot day. I kept my eye on them and they 
kept their eyes on me. A squirrel ran across the road 
and I looked at it. In an instant the oxen ran for the 
river; all my hitting them over the head was of no 
avail. They ran right into the river, the water half 

way to their backs, 
and water running 
into the wagon, and 
Doris sitting on the 
seat-board. I had to 
wait until they were 
cooled off before I 
could get them out. 
They were well broke, 
so when I went down 
a ways and told them 
to come on, they 
came. I was afraid 
the wagon would hit 
a rock and upset and 
drown my sister, but 
it all came out all 

Si3ter Doris and husband, Gottlieb Stilz. *= 



We did more walking those days. Many a time I 
would walk from Sugar Grove to Moline and back, or 
to Hampton Bluff and back, and we often walked to 
where the Heeren's lived, which was not so far, about 
seven miles one way. One time two other fellows and 
I walked from our log house to "Propstei," about nine 
miles northwest of Davenport. We got there at three 
o'clock in the afternoon. We went to attend a dance, 
about 35 miles. It was dangerous business to go there. 
A stranger was liable to get into a knockdown. I 
think I would have got into one there if I had not been 
so bold. They had a different twang to their talk, and 
our language was different so they always noticed it. 

The girls generally did not walk so far. It was 
mostly men that walked the long distances. I would 
go afoot to Port Byron, eight miles, to get the mail 
rather than hitch up a horse. After we were married 
my wife and I would walk a couple of miles or more 
to call on the neighbors and would carry the babies. 
In later life I generally walked to Hillsdale, six miles 
to catch the train to Rock Island. One time I was late 
and I walked to Barstow, eleven miles farther, and 
caught the Beardstown train into Rock Island from 

A few days before Christmas 1860 I took a hog and 
one turkey to Port Byron. I offered to sell the hog 
for $5.00 in cash — it weighed two hundred and sixty- 
five pounds — and could not get it. I could have gotten 
$5.00 in trade at the store, but I wanted the cash. 



The turkey was a gobbler weighing twenty-two 
pounds. I wanted fifty cents for it. I could not get 
that. It was dressed, ready to put in the pan. I took 
my hog and turkey home again. I smoked the hams 
and shoulders and salted the rest of the hog, later sell- 
ing the hams for 
18 cents a pound. I 
roasted the turkey 
and invited all my 
young friends to 
help eat it. 

We had some of 
the best times of 
our life in that old 
log house. Brother 
Dave and I were 
batching ; we had no 
old people around, 
and would invite 
the young people of 
the neighborhood, 
and dance all night, 
with someone play- 
ing an accordion or 
sometimes only a comb. Sometimes we used mouth 
harmonicas or jews harps, but we could not dance to 
a jews harp because it was not loud enough. 

When the war broke out, most of the men of our 
crowd enlisted. Our log house was their headquarters. 

I'ii .1 ti left to right: Catherine, Margaret, Elizabeth 



They would have their trunk or valise at our house 
and be with us when they were out of work. Among 
them were Joe Gravenhorst, who was a well-educated 
man, cultured and a good singer and musician; 
Henry Kahler — he and I went to school together 

in Raisdorf, Germany. Lindau, A. B. Shanks, 

Gustav Stromer, Charley Roberts, Claus Steffen, Fritz 
Wandschneider, and Peter Wiese, who worked for us 
that summer. All these men volunteered for three 
years' service. Jim Kahler was afterwards drafted. 
Stromer, Roberts, Steffen, Wandschneider and Wiese 
enlisted together in the summer of 1861. I took them 
to Port Byron with a four-horse team. We wanted to 
make a display. They joined the Fourth Illinois Cav- 
alry, Company "M." George Dodge of Port Byron 
was captain of the company. George Genung, Sam 
Williamson, and George Moore of Port Byron were in 
this company also. They got into some hard going at 
Fort Henry and Donelson and at Pittsburg Landing, 
or Shiloh, as they also call it. When their three years' 
term was up, the five men that I took to Port Byron 
enlisted in a veteran regiment, all except Stromer, 
who came home disabled. 

Captain Dodge told me afterwards that if he had had 
a regiment like Claus Steffen he could have ridden all 
through the South with them. "I could have raided 
h — 1 with them," he said. Steffen got his army train- 
ing in Germany and was a well-trained, quick and in- 
telligent man. Joe Gravenhorst was commissioned a 
captain before the war was over. 12:; 


I volunteered three times. The first time was when 
the call came for 75,000. I went to Davenport to en- 
list but the quota was filled. I was not even examined. 
The next time three of us went to Sterling to try our 
luck. I had a rupture, and the other two had some- 
thing wrong with them. The reason we went so far 
from home was we did not want the men at home to 
have the laugh on us if they knew we failed. Neither 
of us was accepted. The last time was shortly before 
I was married, in 1862, at Rock Island. A young 
doctor examined a lot of us. Dr. Patrick Gregg was 
present and asked the young doctor: "How many did 
you get out of that crowd?" "Only two," he said. 
"What's the matter with that fat fellow?" Dr. Gregg 
asked. The young doctor told him, and Gregg asked 
me to strip. He said : "Young man, you are in very 
bad shape. Don't leave town until you have got a 

We hired Henry Miller of Hampton Bluff to work 
for us and he enlisted also. He and Gust Klebe, who 
also was from Hampton Bluff, went together. They 
were only boys of about seventeen years. Fred Broady 

and Henry Frels and Schultz went together. 

The last two named never came back. Henry Frels 
was sitting on a log with several of his comrades. A 
rebel tried to get the whole line in one shot but missed 
all of them except Henry. He was leaning back a little 
further than the others and got wounded in the neck. 
It was only a flesh wound and he would not go to 



a hospital with it. 
Gangrene set in in 
a few days and he 

When Henry Mil- 
ler enlisted we got 
Andrew Stotmeister 
to come to take his 
place. The summer 
before we had two 
harvest hands who 
went to war, Charles 
Shuler and Nick 
Cumber. They were 
both coopers by 
trade. Shuler lost 
his life in the war. 

The men who went 
to war directly from 
our house was the 
largest lot from any one place in our township, but 
the Adam Ziegler's had a family record that probably 
was the biggest in the United States. They had seven 
sons in the war, and all volunteers. They were Dave, 
Solomon, John, Bill, Charley, Ben and Nick. All nice 
boys. All of them came back safe and sound. When 
Judge W. H. Gest was in congress he got a special bill 
through congress giving the mother of these boys a 
widow's pension. She could not get a pension under 
the general pension laws. 125 

and their first child. John D. G. 


Toward the last about all the loose-footed men had 
gone to war and we were hard up for men to do the 
necessary farm work, and when they started the draft, 
we formed a club at Bluff School. I was one of the 
officers, and they had one at Enterprise school in Ca- 
noe Creek Township also, and when a member of the 
club was drafted we would all chip in together and 
buy a substitute. We bought one. I think we paid 
$700.00 for him. They got a negro in Davenport to 
go. They would dicker over the price to be paid, and 
some got $500.00, and some got as high as $1000.00; 
There were men in the cities who made it a business 
to get substitutes, something like an employment bu- 
reau to-day. We were getting our harvesting done by 
several farm owners or renters getting together so as 
to have a crew. We did not have self-binders at that 
time. All the grain had to be bound by hand. 

A law was passed by congress early in 1865, when 
the draft was on, which gave a township the right to 
vote a tax to pay bounties for substitutes. At that 
time every township was held responsible for raising 
so many men, according to its population. Coe town 
took a vote on it and it carried nearly two to one. It 
was mentioned as a joke on Adam Ziegler. He had 
seven sons already in the war, and now would have to 
pay extra taxes to send substitutes. 

Coe town had no post office, and whenever any of 
our men enlisted they would give their post-office ad- 
dress, which was always some place outside of the 



township, and we did not get the credit we should have 
had. Canoe Creek township claimed that their popu- 
lation was less than the figures used to make up their 
quota. They claimed that every stranger that had 
been in the township to hunt on the Docia for the last 
ten years had been counted as part of their regular 

We did not have as many campaigns for money as 
we had in the war with Germany, but we did raise 
funds for aiding the wounded, etc. Jennie Ann Tor- 
pin was good at collecting for such purposes, and she 
got some good amounts from some of us. I paid her 
$90.00 in one sum. 

We got some interesting letters from the men that 
went from our crowd. I will copy one of them here, to 
show how the men felt about their army service, and 
their opinion about what turn things would take. This 
letter is translated from the German language, as 
follows : 

Colliersville, June 12, '63. 

Dear Friend Hauberg: — 

It has been so long a time since I wrote you, and 
still longer since I heard from you. Therefore I am 
going to write a few lines, and learn how it goes with 
you and your family, and in fact, all our acquaintances 
on the Prairie; whether you are all living and how 
things are progressing with you. 

With us all is still as of old, excepting that now, 
practically, we have no rest day or night, and we have 


got to spend the most of the time in the saddle. Last 
night the "verdamten" Rebels again tore up the rail- 
road between here and Germantown, and two days ago 
they did the same thing. Our Regiment is alone here 
and we cannot be everywhere at the same time, for 
we have to guard about 25 miles of railroad with out 
little regiment of 250 men, all told ; and we have to 
keep our rear and our front free while the rebels are 
continually feeling around, and yet there are three 
regiments of cavalry in Germantown, and seven or 
eight regiments of cavalry in La Grange, who lie about 
and observe how we worry around, for the "verdam- 
ten" rebels give up no opportunity for a fight, but 
when they have played us a trick, they return as fast 
as possible across Coldwater river. We are waiting 
daily for orders to go to Vicksburg or on a raid in 
Mississippi for a change. One of the two would do 
for a change, for our horses are now in good order, 
and the men in good health, and it is time that we 
should be burning the wheat which is now being har- 
vested in Mississippi, for certainly by fall there will 
be no more left, for by that time the rebels will have 
impressed all for their arms. 

The weather is becoming unpleasant, warm — or as 
one might say, hot ; and Peter, Charley, Gustave Stro- 
mer and I have built us a little "Irishman's shanty," 
so that in case we should remain here through the 
summer, we will not need to lie so jammed up in a tent, 
and we can have everything a little more agreeable. 


Christian is quite well this summer and is always 
the first when anything happens, and he would rather 
be here now than at home — which will happen soon, 
as the 14 months which we still have, will pass all too 
quickly, and I think that if the war is not ended by 
that time, that many will re-enlist and that there will 
be little drafting in the North, for the negroes are 
coming in by hordes and enlisting, and in a year's time 
we will have as many black as white soldiers. 

Everywhere at the military posts here on the rail- 
road, negro regiments are being formed. Here also is 
a black company, drilling preparatory to joining a 
colored regiment in Memphis. 

So far as one can see from the newspapers the negro 
regiments at Vicksburg and Port Hudson are giving 
good service. They do not have very much feeling, 
and they take few prisoners. 

With this I will close, with the heartiest greetings 
from us all to you and your family, and to all friends 
and acquaintances. 

Awaiting an early letter, I remain 

Your Friend, 
Fritz Wandschneider. 

In the winter of 1862 I got under the weather. I 
got weak, trembling spells. I went to Davenport to 
see an expert doctor on nerves and he said I was going 
into consumption. I went back to Rock Island. A 
lot of men were standing on the street corner, looking 
at something. I went and looked too. While I was 


Memoirs. 9. 


standing there I said to one of the men, "I was over 
to Davenport to see a doctor and he said I was going 
into consumption." 

"Whom did you see?" he said. I told him. 

"That fellow is no good," he said. "He is just look- 
ing for suckers like you. Did he charge you $20.00?" 

"Yes," I said. 

"He ought to be behind the bars. If you are sick go 
and see Dr. (I forget his name)", he said. 

When I got there I told him what I came for. He 
examined me and said, "Your lungs and heart are all 
right. Are you a farmer?" 

I said "Yes." 

"You go on the theory that what you do yourself 
you don't have to pay for — isn't that it? You are the 
bully of the country where you live? are you not?" 

"No, sir," I said, "We have no bullies where I live; 
we are civilized." 

"Young man, you have too much muscle for your 
bone ; I will fix you up," and he did, for $20.00. 

When I got back to Rock Island the train was ready 
to pull out. I took a seat with an old white-headed 
fellow. I guess he smelled the herbs I got in Daven- 

"What have you there?" he asked. 


"May I look at it?" He looked at it and smelled of 
it and said, "You can take that ; it wont hurt you. Let 
me feel of your pulse." 



He felt of my pulse and looked at the white of my 
eye, and said, "Do you smoke?" 

"No, I don't use tobacco." 

"Smoking, perhaps, will make you nervous,'* he 
said, "but tobacco is your medicine. Now I will de- 
scribe your case to you and see if I am right." He did 
and he was right. 

"Now I will tell you my business," he said. "I have 
been a medical director for forty years in a medical 
college in Germany. I am getting old. I have a son 
who is a doctor in St. Louis, and a son in Milwaukee, 
who is a doctor, and a son-in-law in Cincinnati who 
is a doctor, and I want to see my children before I die. 
Now, young man, tobacco is your medicine. If you 
want to get well you have to use tobacco. We recom- 
mend that, perhaps in one case of a thousand; and in 
one case of a thousand, perhaps, if tobacco were taken 
in the mouth it would kill instantly. What is medicine 
for one person may be poison for another." 

Before this I despised a person who used tobacco. 
I am a pig chewing tobacco and I know it — nobody has 
to tell me — but I have not taken any medicine of any 
kind for fifty-seven years. 

This being the last year we were renting the farm 
we were preparing to go west. When father and 
mother found out what we were up to, they came to 
see us. Father told me what he had heard and asked 
me if it was so, and I told him it was, and he said, "I 
don't want you to leave here ; I'll sell you the farm." 



My parents ns t <] one of perforated sheet-iron. The improved lantern with glass 
as a wedding-gifl from Mr. and Mrs. Henry Elattenhofi of Moline to my 
wife and mj self in 1 362. 

"What do you want for the farm?" I asked. 

"One thousand dollars." 120 acres in section 12. 

Then mother said, "This land was bought with the 
money you boys earned and you stay. Don't sell it 
right out, father, but let them pay us so much a year 
as long as we live." 


We agreed to that, and agreed to give them one hun- 
dred dollars, 50 bushels of corn, two tons of hay, 20 
bushels of wheat each year as long as they lived; and 
if one died, one half of the above. 

That year we thrashed early and sold our grain — 
what we had to spare — and the young stock; then 
Brother Dave and I divided what we had. We each 
got three horses and a colt ; he got four cows ; I got 
three cows and all the pigs and poultry. We divided 
the grain and corn even and we each got $730.00 in 
cash. Brother Dave got the farm in section fourteen 
and moved his stuff to his farm. 

I got married the 14th of September, 1862, to A^na 
Margaret Frels, the little girl that told her mother, 
eleven years before, "Our boy had a fight." Her 
father, Henry Frels, gave her two cows for a wedding 
present. My dear lady had been living in a nice brick 

Residence of Heflry Frels; 

it the time of our marriage in 1S62. 



house. When she came with us she moved into a log 
house, twelve miles from her former home, into a bach- 
elor's home. My little sister Margaret, nine years old, 
stayed with us about a year for company to my lady. 
My sister Margaret, who was afterwards Mrs. Fred 
H. Schroeder, police matron of Rock Island. 

My father-in-law, Henry Frels, was born at Els- 
fleth, Oldenburg, Germany, January 2, 1816, and came 
to this country in the '30s, and lived for some time in 
Virginia. He spent ten years of his life sailing the 
high seas and on the Mississippi and Ohio rivers ; 
worked a couple of winters at the lead mines at Ga- 
lena, Illinois, and in 1842 he married and settled down 
in a log house in the timber, in the southeast quarter 
of section fourteen, Hampton township, and started 
clearing the land for farming. His wife was Cath- 
erine Mandler, who had come to this county in the 
'30s. She was born at Launspach, near Frankfort-on- 
the-Main, Germany, August 6, 1820. Mr. Frels was 
well known as a farmer ; he had an interest in the 
Cleveland Mill; an interest in a brick kiln at Hamp- 
ton and at one time owned the Farmers' Store in Rock 

The last of December and first of January, 1863-4, 
we had one of the worst cold spells that I ever knew. 
We were still living in the log house. We kept the 
stove red-hot and our faces would be burning, and our 
backs freezing. My cousin, Eggert Hauberg, was 
staying with us that winter, cutting wood for his 


board, and he could never see any reason for cutting 
stove wood ahead. Our hog pen was about six rods 
from the barn. I took them a basket of corn, ran all 
the way there and back and simply dumped the bas- 
ket of corn at them, and got back to the barn with one 
ear badly frozen. A family by the name of Fielding 
was living several miles west of us on the Sand 
prairie. The old man was visiting that day at "Col." 
William Johnson's. His folks at home got their stove 
so hot that night it set the house afire. They had two 
children. Mrs. Fielding carried the youngest and led 
the other by the hand. They had to face the wind to 
the nearest neighbor, a half mile away. She froze the 
arm that she held the child with, and the child lost all 
the fingers from both its hands, and the older child 
froze his ears so they could not be saved. The coldest 
part of it lasted only one day. 

In the spring of 1865 I bought forty acres of Dea- 
con W. C. Pearsall. He wanted to send his boys, Lu- 
ther and Jerry, to college in Davenport. I paid him 
$590.00 for the forty and broke it the same summer. 

In the year 1866 I built the stone house that cost me 
$2500.00. We built it in the oats field, about seventy 
rods west of the log house. We quarried the stone in 
the northeast quarter of section three, Coe township. 
John Hofer and George Bryant, both of Cordova, did 
the mason work, and John Spaeth and Henry Oppen- 
dike did the carpenter work. Spaeth had the contract 
to do the carpenter work for $225.00. All the flooring 



had to be planed and tongued and grooved by hand. 
They did their work well and the house is as good to- 
day as the day they finished it. I dug the well seventy 
feet in dirt and worked down ten feet further in the 
rock. Phil. Wilson, a brother of our neighbor, Tom 
Wilson, walled up the well with stone and did a fine 
job of it. Afterward we had the well drilled 32 feet 

The same summer that we were building our house, 
Chris. Hofer and Phil. Wilson were putting up Amos 
Golden's stone house. 

I tore down the barn that I had built in 1863 and 
rebuilt it on the new place. When that was done we 
had a dance in it. We had four musicians from Rock 
Island. They were old man Bleuer, Joseph Stroehle, 
F. Eckhardt and a Mr. Mathis. We had a big time. 
Everybody in the country was there. A bunch of 
young men had just arrived from Germany that 
spring and were working on farms around. They 
came to the dance also. Among them were William 
Ernst, who married Louisa Hahn, daughter of our 
neighbor, and Lothar Harms, now proprietor of Hotel 
Harms in Rock Island. 

In 1863 my wife's cousin, John Wiegant, fourteen 
years old, came to stay with us. He stayed with us 
six years. 

In 1864 Brother Dave and I bought a threshing ma- 
chine. We thrashed until late in the winter those 
days. We pulled in about the middle of January one 


The stun., resilience built in 1806. It is still our home. 

year. We could have kept on threshing all winter, 
there was so much to do. The next winter we worked 
to get through by Christmas. We sometimes had to 
shovel snow to get through with the outfit. The first 
season we used an eight-horse-power, and after that 
we had a ten-horse-power. We thrashed eight sea- 
sons. We got three cents for oats, four cents for bar- 
ley and six cents for wheat and rye. 

In the winter of 1867 my wife and I went to town, 
leaving John Wiegant and the two little girls at home. 
They were aged two and four years. When we came 
back there was great excitement. They met us at the 
gate, and said: "Two big Indians were here and they 



took Ma's flower wreath, and her turkey tail along. 
They asked John if they could have it and he didn't 
say "no" quick enough. They had it before he said 

"Well," we asked, "wasn't you afraid they would 
take Ma's little girls along?" 

"No, we wasn't afraid. We got under the table so 
they couldn't get us." 

The Indians took with them a large wreath my wife 
had made of bitter-sweet ; a turkey gobbler's tail, a 
shiny mallard duck head, and some small pieces of 

In the fall of 1868 we had a "Harvest Home" picnic, 
in Marshall's grove, where William Feaster now lives, 
(in the southeast quarter of the northwest quarter of 
section seventeen, Canoe Creek township). Some of 
the picnicers brought a big pumpkin, a big squash, a 
big potato, a big apple or a big colt, etc., to show what 
they had. We all agreed that if they would do that 
next year we would give the fellow who had the big- 
gest pumpkin a quarter, and a quarter to every fellow 
that had the biggest article of its kind. We all chipped 
in a nickel. 

The next harvest-home picnic, in 1869, was a suc- 
cess. Everybody had something to show. Even the 
women got interested. They showed their quilts and 
other fancy needlework and knitting. Before we went 
home that evening we agreed to have a fair the next 
year and set the time for a meeting to elect officers to 



manage it. N. B. Joslin was elected president; vice- 
president. Jergem D. Hauberg; treasurer, Jasper 
Sells; secretary, N. J. Blackman; general superin- 
tendent, M. D. Hauberg; marshals, John A. Liphardt 
and J. T. Walker; directors, D. W. Talcott, James 
Camp, Henry Oppendike, C. Dillon, John F. Hahn, 
John A. Johnson, Herman Liphardt. They elected N. 

commonly known a< "The Hillsdale Fair." 

From left to right, the contestants are: M. 1). Hauberg, David M. Mai tin. 
John A. Liphardt. John Hahn and "Big" John Johnson. This picture taken 
about 1885. Fair Grounds were in X. E. & of the S. W. »4. Section 18, 
( lanoe ( Ireek Township. 

B. Joslin, N. J. Blackman and M. D. Hauberg a com- 
mittee to look up a place to hold the fair. We decided 
that Martin's Grove would be the place. We called on 
Joseph Martin and leased the ground for five years, 
at five dollars a year. 

The first meeting to organize was held the first Sat- 
urday in January, 1870. We named it the Rock Island 



County Agricultural Board of Coe and Canoe Creek. 
We elected committees to prepare the ground and for 
other purposes. — Finance, N. J. Blackman, M. D. Hau- 
berg and D. M. Martin ; general improvements, John 
Johnson, Henry Oppendike; track, D. M. Martin, J. 
D. Hauberg and D. Talcott; auditing, Tom Walker, J. 
D. Hauberg and James Camp ; stabling and sheds, J. 
D. Hauberg, Tom Walker and C. Dillon; entertain- 
ment, M. D. Hauberg, John Liphardt and D. M. Mar- 
tin ; music and printing, M. D. Hauberg and Jasper 

The first two years we had no premium list, nor 
rules to guide the Fair. The third annual meeting 
they elected M. D. Hauberg to write the preamble and 
by-laws and rules and regulations to govern the Fair. 
I asked them what kind of pre-amble and by-laws, and 
regulations they wanted, what premiums they wanted 
on different articles. We were all green backwoods- 
men, with very little schooling, with two exceptions — 
those two were learned men — but when it came to this 
kind of business, they knew no more than the rest of 
us. They said to me, "You write the book and we will 
see it when it is done." 

I wrote the book. When it was finished I told the 
president to call a meeting of the officers. At the 
meeting I started to read the book. When I was about 
half through the president said, "Hold on, that takes 
too long to read it all." Then one of our learned men 
got up and moved that the whole of the report be 



adopted without further reading, and it carried. Then 
I suggested we have a committee to solicit advertise- 
ments from manufacturers and business men. Some 
one moved that M. D. Hauberg be the committee, and 
it carried. The book I wrote is the same book they 

The Stokes' flour-mill at Cleveland, 111. Capacity 100 bbls. per flay. 

are now using at the Joslin Fair, except they have 
raised the premiums. 

As we had no agricultural society organized under 
the state law, the supervisors of the county elected a 
delegate to the state board of agriculture meetings to 
elect a director from each congressional district in the 
state. They elected me ; which created quite a bit of 



hard feeling towards the supervisors and me, from the 

There was no permanent place to hold the state fair 
and it was held in different parts of the state. They 
had difficulty in finding room for the exhibits. Cook 
county (Chicago), being mostly represented by law- 
yers, bulldozed the rural districts to build barns and 
sheds for their exhibitors, and the manufacturers over 
the rest of the state had to build their own shelters 
for their exhibits. 

The manufacturers of Rock Island county did not 
want a farmer. They wanted a smart man from the 
city to represent them and fight the Chicago fellows. 
We went to Springfield, where the Fair was that year, 
on the same train, but they did not speak to me. When 
we came home on the same train, they patted me on 
the back and said, ''Bully for you ; you have settled for 
all time what we have been fighting for, for twenty 

There were two things that I helped to do. First, 
was my notion that each congressional district should 
elect its own representative on the board of directors 
of the state fair, instead of having all the representa- 
tives of the whole state vote on every board member. 
The motion carried. This change was caused by the 
Chicago fellows opposing our man, Sam Dysart, of 
Lee county. Dysart was a good man, and afterwards 
was appointed the United States representative at the 
Paris exposition, to look after all livestock, and per- 



haps other exhibits, at the exposition from this coun- 

Next came what our local manufacturers wanted. 
The Chicago fellows got up as usual and moved that 
as Cook county paid such large share of the state taxes, 
that the fair board should erect buildings for the free 
use of the manufacturers of Cook county. The Cook 
county men were mostly lawyers and preachers, and 
while they talked in favor of their motion I wrote a 
substitute motion and offered it, and after a good deal 
of talking, it was carried. That motion put all the 
exhibitors, the state over, on an equal footing so far as 
putting up buildings for them was concerned. I think 
this was the year 1894. 

While I was at the fair I was appointed a judge on 
poultry. The superintendent being on a drunk, there 
was nothing doing that day. The next morning, when 
we reported for duty to the secretary — there were 
three of us — he said, "Nothing to-day, the fellow isn't 
sobered up yet." 

I said, "We can't stay here all week, waiting for 
him to get sober; get somebody else to do the busi- 
ness; anybody can do that." 

"Can you do it?" 

"Yes, sir, I can do it." 

He handed me the book — we got a judge in my place 
— and we went to it. When we were through I handed 
the book back to the secretary. He looked it over and 
said, "All right." 



I have been a judge at the state fair on sheep in 
1881, and on hogs, Shorthorn cattle, running horses, 
vegetables and fruit. Fruit is the most particular job 
of any. A person should know the nature of the dif- 
ferent kinds of apples. 

In 1877 the fair association was going to have a 
Fourth of July celebration. We advertised pretty big. 
I was the committee on music for the fair. They in- 
structed me to hire a band — ten pieces. I told them 
they had better limit me to the amount I should pay. 
I said, "Fourth of July is the banclman's harvest." 
They said, "Go ahead and hire." I hired a band for 
$101.00. The stands were sold the same day, for 

When I got off the train at Hillsdale somebody told 
me what the stands had sold for and who bought them. 
John Liphardt got a stand, including the dance floor, 
for $15.00. I made up my mind he should turn over 
the dance floor to the society, if we wanted it. Before 
going home I reported to the president and told him 
to call a meeting at the fair grounds at six o'clock to- 
morrow morning. Next day was the Fourth of July. 
Every officer was on hand at six o'clock. I told them 
what I had done and stated the object of the meeting. 
I told them that if Mr. Liphardt would turn his stand 
over to the society we could run it ourselves and per- 
haps make enough to pay for the music. Mr. Lip- 
hardt agreed to do this. Then they sent me to buy 
what was needed for the stand. I told them to send 




Though the respective grounds were only six mile- apart, they sometimes 
held their Fairs on the same 'Kites. Front row: Hugh McCall and Ah. Hollister. 
Next row: George W. LaRue, Luther S. Pearsall, William Ziegler and Thomas 
McCall. Next row: Dr. Wilson Fleming, M.D., George Genung, Henry Sad- 
doris and Mark Ashdown. Rear row: Jere Pearsall, William Ashdown, Arista 
Saddoris, Jesse Dailey and William McRoberts. Taken about 1885. Grounds 
wire north of public road, in S. W. % of N. E. '- + . Sec. 20, Coe Hwp. 

someone to meet me at the station with a wagon in the 
evening. It was two and a half miles to the station 
and the train would leave at 7:30. The other fellows 
got things ready for the picnic. 

I went to Rock Island and got what I could there. 
I did not get much. Then I went to Davenport. None 
of us had any experience. I got into one of those 
stores where they sell things for use of stands and 
take back what was not sold, and they made all kinds 
of suggestions for me. I would say, "We can not sell 
it all," and they would say, "We will take it back if 
you do not sell it." 


.1/. moirs. 10. 


The brass band came up in great style. The next 
morning Aleck Ashdown was put in as cashier at the 
stand. Brother Dave, and Dave Martin and some of 
the others worked in the stand. John Liphardt ran 
the dancing floor. Herman Liphardt made some 
grape wine the year before and he brought two gal- 
lons to the picnic with him and we colored our lemon- 
ade and ice cream with it. Big John Johnson was 
superintendent of the ice cream. The stuff I bought 
cost $48.00 or $50.00 and we sold $150.00-some dol- 
lars, and had sugar and crackers left. Our total ex- 
pense was $186.00, and total income $179.00. We each 
chipped in a quarter and paid our debts. 

We had a fine day, a big crowd and a great time. 
Heretofore everybody thought I was an honest man, 
but I lost that reputation at that picnic. About a 
dozen fine-haired chaps from Rock Island, wearing 
plug hats, were buying cigars. The fellow behind the 
bar handed down a box. They took out some, smelled 
of them and said, "How much apiece?" 

"Five cents," the fellow said. 

The chap said, "Haven't you any better?" 

The fellow said, "No." 

I said, "Yes, we have, but maybe they are a little too 
high priced for you." I went around the bar and 
handed down a box and said, "These are fifteen cents." 
They took out some, smelled of them and said, "Could 
you let us have two for a quarter?" I said, "Well, as 
long as there are several of you, I guess we can." They 



were five-cent cigars, the same as the others. They 
cost $1.50 a box. The first cigar was all right, I could 
see, but they did not want us to know they smoked 
cheap cigars. 

In those days everybody drove their stock cattle to 
the Docia in the spring, and let them pasture there all 
summer. The Docia was a free-for-all at that time. 
We would brand our cattle before taking them there. 
We had our ear-mark, ours was a slit in each ear, but 
anyone could change that kind of a mark or cut the ear 
off altogether. So we branded them. I would go down 
every week or every two weeks with salt and see how 
our cattle were getting along. They did not stray 
much. One year a heifer got away, but I found her 
next year at Dan Schryver's, near Erie. One year we 
lost a fine steer. I found him on the bluff north of 
Docia with Mr. Lutz's herd. He had bought 150 head 
in Wisconsin. I told him he had one of my steers, 
and when I pointed mine out, he showed me the paper 
proving he had bought him in Wisconsin. I said, 
"Mine has a brand on him, but it is not branded deep 
and we will have to catch him and put water on the 
brand to see it." It was a roan steer, now three years 
old, and wild, with head up. I said, "If I can't catch 
him, he isn't mine." He had always been tame to me. 
We had brought him up by hand. I took salt and 
called him by name. He had his head up, but after a 
while came and licked the salt. I caught him by the 
horns and threw him and sat on his head to hold him 



down while Mr. Lutz poured water on the brand. He 
said, "He's your steer." 

In the summer of 1869 and in 1870 we began to lose 
cattle and horses. In 1870 I lost three two-year-old 

(>hr branding iron. We used it as late as the '70's. 

steers, and one two-year-old colt. In the fall of 1870 
we had a meeting at Bluff school and organized a Coe 
Protective Association. It was an anti-horse and cat- 
tle thief society. As president we elected either Daniel 
Nicewanger, who was living on what afterwards was 



the William Mill Stock Farm, or it was Charles B. 
Marshall, who owned what is now the Dedrick H. 
Bracker farm. We had a Council of Twelve men, and 
ten "Minute men." Each of the Minute men had an 
assistant, making twenty men who were bound to be 
off at a minute's notice, in case they were called on. 

We had correspondence with other societies, like 
ours, and all these societies would help each other if 
possible. We would get notice, through letters, tele- 
grams or newspapers. 

One day Fred Owens of Cordova was in the woods 
back of Wm. Mill's, in the neighborhood of the stone 
quarry at the Middle Crossing. He was gathering 
nuts, and came on to two horses tied back in a hollow, 
out of sight of the public road. The horses were cov- 
ered with sweat as if they had done hard traveling. It 
looked so suspicious that he hurried to Nicewanger's 
and reported it. Nicewanger sent out one of his men 
to notify the Minute man and he himself rode to the 
Docia so as to get on the Middle Crossing road before 
the thieves got there. When he got to the edge of the 
bluff he saw the two horses with two men crossing 
toward Philleos Island, to the east of the public road. 
He rode as fast as he could to the north. In the mean- 
time C. B. Marshall, Dave Martin, and others of the 
Minute-men were hurrying, horseback, with rifles and 
shotguns, coming down the bluff to the Docia. The 
Docia was so much swamp that if you got off the regu- 
lar Middle Crossing road you would get lost in them 



unless you were acquainted. The horse thieves were 
strangers and they soon got them. The horse of one 
of them got mired and he surrendered. The other got 
off his horse and started in the direction of a cornfield 
on the north side of the Docia, but the Minute-men 
got within range of him and commenced shooting, and 
he surrendered. 

The men were taken to Cordova. Telegrams were 
sent over the country, one was sent to some place in 
Wisconsin, and a telegram came right back, "Hold the 
thieves. Will come on the first train." The owner 
came with an officer and the thieves were glad to get 
out of the hands of our Minute-men, and go to Wiscon- 
sin without waiting for requisition papers. The horses 
were taken back also. They had been stolen from a 
farmer. One of the thieves was his hired man. The 
other was a member of a threshing crew who was 
threshing at his place. They had always slept in the 
house but that night they stayed in the barn. Next 
morning they and the two horses were gone. 

George LaRue was living one mile west of Bluff 
School. He was one of our Minute-men and had a 
horse stolen. He called out his assistant and they 
traced the horse to Jackson county, Iowa. The west- 
ern part of the county was timber and a horse thief 
organization was said to have its headquarters there. 
George and his assistant were gone two weeks but 
came back without the horse. 

John Quick owned the forty acres that we now own 


An bid landmark at the Middle Crossing overlooking the 'Docia, in Section 
Five, Canoe Creek Township. It was blasted down and used to macadamize 
the road to Erie. Phi]leo*s Island is seen in the distance. 

at the Middle Crossing. He had a rail fence around it 
and kept his cattle there. One of his fine steers was 
missing and he notified all the Minutemen, I being one 
of them. "Big John" Johnson was my assistant. A 
few days later I went to Clinton, la., and took dinner 
with my wife's uncle, Henry Gode. They had some 
very fine, fresh beef. I asked where they got it, and 
they said they had bought a quarter beef weighing 
190 pounds, of George Mitchel, "who has got some rel- 
atives over by the Docia." I said nothing, and before 
I left Clinton I found out where the hide of that beef 



was, without anybody suspecting anything. John 
Quick's mark was an ear mark and a dewlap. I gave 
notice, and John Quick and our president went to Clin- 
ton and identified the hide. 

Mark Ashdown was justice of the peace and we pre- 
pared a warrant for George Mitchel. I had been 
elected constable but refused to qualify, and we ar- 
ranged with a constable in Whiteside county to arrest 
the man when he came to his field on this side of the 
Mississippi, but after a while he sent word he would 
not serve in the case, and I was elected to go after him. 
I arranged to have some one notify me when the man 
would be on this side of the river and when I got word 
from him, I got on a horse and ran him nearly all the 
way there. I was just in time. I found my man wait- 
ing for the ferry. I arrested him, and he very po- 
litely said he would go with me, but wanted to put up 
his team and change clothes — in Clinton. I knew I had 
no jurisdiction over there and he would be free, so he 
had to make other arrangements about his horses and 

I brought him to our own home and kept him over 
night, and took him to Port Byron the next day where 
he had a hearing before John Mulholland, a justice of 
the peace. The prisoner had arranged to have a Clin- 
ton lawyer come down on the train. We met the train 
and he pretended not to have seen his lawyer and po- 
litely asked me to let him go on down to Rock Island 
and get a lawyer, but I declined and a little later we 



found that his lawyer had come on the train. He was 
bound over to the grand jury. 

George McNeal was constable in Port Byron and he 
took the prisoner all over the country looking for 
some one to sign his bond to keep him out of jail. He 
finally got an Irishman living on the north side of the 
Docia in Whiteside county and who had a reputation 
of being a thief also, to sign with him. The grand 
jury found a true bill, but in the end he was acquitted. 

In 1868 I bought Garrett Quick's farm of 120 acres, 
for $3200. In 1869 I built a good-sized cow barn. In 
1880 I bought a quarter section of land near Sioux 
City, la., for $800.00. 

In the winters of 1868, '69 and '70 I sold farm im- 
plements — fanning mills, stalk cutters, grain seeders, 
etc. I would put a fanning mill and a stalk cutter on 
the wagon, and tie a seeder to the back of the wagon, 
and start out. My territory was Rock Island, Henry 
and Whiteside counties. The fanning mill was made 
in Moline, the stalk cutter in Rock Island, and the 
seeder in Ohio. I sold on commission. The stalk cut- 
ter and seeder was something new to the community, 
and the country was full of just such peddlers as I. 
We took orders and shipped the machines in the spring. 
I sold the best on the market, at least, I told them so. 
I was pretty successful. I would make enough in two 
months to pay my hired help for the whole year. In 
March we would go and set up what we had sold and 



settle for it. Most of the time we had to take a note 
for eight months with ten per cent interest. 

James LaRue's farm joined ours at the west. One 
day in 1874 he came over and borrowed our Buckeye 
combination reaper and mower. He was going to cut 
grass in the meadow south of his house, down in the 
hollow. He had a skittish team and when they came 
to a little washout in the hollow they jumped across 
and threw Jim into the sickle, or knives. It cut his 
arm badly. They sent for Dr. J. W. Morgan and Dr. 
Hoke. Dr. Hoke got there first and amputated the 
arm the same afternoon. LaRue died inside of an 

In this connection I want to mention the case of 
Samuel Bruner. He was running the old-fashioned 
kind of threshing machine, called a "Beater," and got 
his hand into the cylinder. It tore his hand to shreds. 
They sent for Dr. E. E. Rogers of Port Byron. He 
decided the hand had to come off, and used a common 
hand-saw to amputate it. 

In 1872 I joined the Grangers. We had our meet- 
ings at Bluff School house. Jerry Pearsall and I were 
the purchasing committee for our society, and I think 
we were about the first ones to send orders to Mont- 
gomery Ward's in Chicago, the mail order house. I 
was also made the shipping committee and shipped 
their hogs and cattle, and also bought the farm imple- 
ments that were wanted. 

In 1875 they organized a County Grange. Each 



local would send delegates to the County Grange. In 
1876 the county organization voted to have a County 
Co-operative Grange store, with a capital stock of 
$7500.00, to be located at Rock Island. LeQuat of 
Drury township, Lewis Wilson of Rural, A. C. Stevens 
of South Moline, L. D., Edwards of Hampton, and my- 
self, representing the townships of Cordova, Canoe 
Creek and Coe, were elected as a committee to apply 
to the secretary of state for a commission to solicit 

When we had enough subscribed we called a meet- 
ing of the stockholders. At that meeting they voted to 
have seven directors, and the following were elected: 
Lewis Wilson of Rural, Charles Kyte of Black Hawk, 
Major Glenn of Coal Valley, Ship Silvis and L. D. Ed- 
wards of Hampton township and myself of Coe town- 

We directors organized by electing Wilson presi- 
dent, and Kyte clerk. The first thing in order was on 
what per cent shall we sell. I moved that we sell at 
25 per cent above first cost. Silvis moved as an 
amendment that we sell at ten per cent above first cost. 
W T e argued all day without a decision. The next morn- 
ing we went at it again. Before we went to dinner 
we took a vote and the amendment carried five to two. 
Kyte and I opposed it. The next thing in order was 
to rent a store room. Thomas Schindler, the butcher, 
had a store on Second avenue for $700.00 rent a year. 
Tegeler had a store on Third avenue we could have for 



a thousand dollars a year. The vote on the store build- 
ing stood the same as the other, five to two in favor of 
the Tegeler store. Next was to elect a manager. I 
had seen a man at Albany, 111., an experienced man in 
the store business, but he was not a Granger. He 
wanted $700.00 a year. I proposed him as manager, 
but the directors decided they wanted a man of their 
own kind, a granger. They hired A. C. Stevens, as 
manger, for ten hundred dollars a year, and he to hire 
his own book-keeper and clerk. The book-keeper to 
get from $600.00 to $1,000.00 a year. He hired Frank 
Harris at $1,000.00 a year, both of them farmers, 
without experience in the store business. Then we 
adjourned for the day. Kyte and I figured that even- 
ing that our expenses would be $5,000.00 a year, and 
we would have to sell $50,000.00 worth a year to make 
expenses, to say nothing about shrinkage, freight, bad 
accounts, perishable goods, and dead stock, and we 
went into the meeting next morning to get a raise on 
the selling price. I did most of the talking. Charles 
Kyte was a quiet fellow but voted right. We worked 
hard to sell at 25 per cent, but finally settled on fifteen 
per cent above cost, which was just as good as bank- 
ruptcy to start with. 

About $6,000.00 worth of stock was paid up. The 
balance we could not collect. 

Three months after we opened the store the direc- 
tors had a meeting. I moved the president appoint a 
committee to take an invoice of the store. He ap- 


pointed Silvis and Kyte. When they reported they 
said we had made $2,200.00. I told the committee they 
did not know their business. Silvis said, "Mr. Presi- 
dent, appoint Mr. Hauberg, if he knows it all." T said 
I would accept, if I was appointed. When I got 
through I reported a loss of three thousand dollars by 
the time we would dispose of the trash we had on 
hand. We had a good supply of butter on hand, which 
had been taken from the farmers at 20 cents a pound, 
which the store afterwards sold to the Warnock & 
Ralston soap factory at four cents a pound, and other 
items of a similar nature. I am writing this to vindi- 
cate the managers of the store. They were good, hon- 

The Lime Kiln on Main St., Port Byron. Picture was taken in 1914. 



est men, and good farmers, but they did not know how 
to make a store pay. 

We next put in L. D. Edwards to run the store, and 
he did well, but it could not be made a success. Our 
competitors would advertise one item of groceries 
cheaper than we did, and our own Grangers would go 
there to trade. The third year we found things hope- 
less and voted to sell out to the highest bidder. My 
father-in-law, Henry Frels, bid 35 cents on the dollar. 
I objected to it going so cheap. Madison Bowles called 
out, "Let him have it," so we got $700.00. We had to 
make a fifteen per cent assessment on the stockholders 
to pay debts, and I had to collect from all the Upper 
End folks, and had to threaten suit to get some of it. 

In the winter of 1881 we had a special election for 
sheriff. The Republicans had their convention and 
nominated a candidate. The Democrats called a 
mass convention of the people to be held in Rock Is- 
land. T. S. Silvis, a candidate for sheriff in the con- 
vention, wrote to Captain William Ransom, of Coal 
Valley, and to me — we two being Greenbackers po- 
litically — asking us to work for him in the conven- 
tion. We went, and worked for Silvis. George Henry 
and a man by the name of Jarvis, proprietor of the 
Rock Island House, both Democrats of Rock Island, 
also were candidates. 

The first ballot was informal. George Henry got 
the most votes. The Jarvis campaign was managed 
by lawyers. When they saw their man going to get 


left they proposed a delegated convention and the 
proposal carried. They apportioned the delegates 
from the rural districts and the cities. There were 
seventy-eight in all from different parties. The hall 
was full of people. The George Henry and Jarvis 
men selected the delgates. A Jarvis man came to me 
and said: 

"Will you be a delegate here?" I said, "I can." 

"Will you vote for Jarvis?" he said. 

"No, I am a Silvis man," I told him. 

"We don't want you." So I was out. 

After the delegates were elected they moved to a 
room by themselves. There were five candidates be- 
fore the delegated convention. After the second 
ballot George Henry came to me and said: "I told my 
friends to vote for you ; you are the only man that 
can beat Jarvis in this house." 

"Hold on," I said. "I am for Silvis." 

"Silvis is out; he can't get it," he said. 

"I don't want it," I said. 


I said, "I am a greenbacker; you fellows wont sup- 
port me." 

"Yes, we will ; we are under honor bound to," he 

On the fifth ballot I got forty-two votes. That 
nominated me. They called on me for a speech. I 
gave them a talk and outlined the situation. They all 
seemed to be satisfied. I told the editor of the "Ar- 



gus," a Democratic paper, to insert my name as a 
candidate for sheriff. I did not see my name in the 
paper the next day, so I asked him why he did not 
insert my name. 

"I don't own this paper, I am a hireling and I got 
orders not to insert it," he said. 

While there, Mr. W. Johnson came in and said, 
"Hauberg, they want to see you at the Rock Island 
House." When I got there Drake met me and said, 
"Hauberg, here is $950.00, and Jarvis will add $50.00, 
that will make $1000.00. We will give you this money 
if you withdraw as a candidate, and we will put Jar- 
vis on the ticket and you support him and work for 
him for his election. If you don't take this offer they 
will use the money to defeat you." I said, "Is Jarvis 
in the house? If he is, call him here." He came. I 
said, "Mr. Jarvis. Mr. Drake says you will give fifty 
dollars to buy me, is that so." Mr. Jarvis said "yes." 
I said, "Mr. Jarvis. aren't you a pretty small potato, 
you being a candidate in the same convention 
that I was?" '"I didn't ask anybody to vote for me, 
but they nominated me without my consent and I 
am a candidate, and I am going to stay if I don't get 
but one vote in the county. You fellows haven't 
money to buy me and it would not be an honor to me 
to be elected by such a low-down set as you are." 

"By God, you take that back," Jarvis said. 

"I take back nothing; I can back what I say; you 
fellows are about the lowest type of humanity in 



America." If it had not been for Phil. Mitchell, Cap- 
tain Burgh and Mr. Lundy taking me by the shoulder 
and pulling me away, I think there would have been 
a knockdown. 

It was a short campaign — ten days. Every daily 
paper in the county fought me. We had one Green- 
back weekly that supported me. I got beat ; but I did 
not feel sore. Moline, where I was partly raised, 
a Republican town four to one, gave me a majority 
of five. I got all the votes in my own town but 
twenty, out of two hundred. By the official count I 
was beat four votes; and I did not buy any votes for 
beer or whiskey or cigars ; but money and saloons 
are hard to fight in elections. 

In 1883 I bought twenty acres of timber land for 
five hundred dollars. In 1884 we had a hail storm 
that destroyed all our crops. I had one hundred and 
fifteen acres in small grain and one hundred and five 
acres in corn and forty acres in meadow and did not 
get a spear of any kind of grain or grass. I bought 
$1600.00 worth of feed and seed for the coming year. 
In '85 I bought forty acres of land in Canoe Creek 
township for $800.00. In 1885 a little son, Walter, 
was born to us, who died in 1886. 

In 1882 I was a candidate for sheriff on an inde- 
pendent ticket. I got letters from all parts of the 
county to be a candidate. The Republicans had nom- 
inated their candidate, and so had the Democrats. 
My well-to-do friends in Moline induced me to an- 

10 1 
Memoirs. 11. 


nounce myself — they would finance my campaign. 
When I went down on the train the Republican can- 
didate met me in Moline and asked me to get off, as 
he wanted to see me at the drug store. I went with 

When we got there, he said : "I want you to an- 
nounce yourself as an Indepenedent candidate." 

"No," I said, "it costs too much money." 

"I think you will get a good many Democratic 
votes," he said "I'll give you $50.00 if you will run as 
an Independent candidate." 

I said, "Give me the $50.00 and I'll do it." 

He gave me the $50.00. I had the cards in my 
pocket to take to the newspapers to announce myself 
a candidate. 

A week after my announcement I was in Rock Is- 
land, and met the editor of the German paper, the 
Volks Zeitung. He had written to me, asking me to 
be a candidate. He said he would do all he could for 
me. The same day the saloon committee waited on 
me, to see what I would do with them, in case any of 
them were prosecuted and convicted, whether or not 
I would put them in jail. I told them that would de- 
pend on circumstances. If they were guilty of a 
crime I would surely put them in jail; if it were 
mere malice, why I would investigate the case and 
use them accordingly. 

"You surely don't want me to tie myself hand and 
foot to you folks, do you?" I said, "I can't afford to 



do that." This did not suit them, so they indorsed 
the Democratic candidate. 

I made a canvass of the lower end of the county 
and got acquainted with the people. Rock Island 
county is about seventy miles long and I live in the 
upper end, two miles from the county line. Every- 



w ^ 4^^^v*^<i!SsQriL 0m 

M ^.-.- • Bn^AMJtoiihfid 

Fort Armstrong on Rock Island as I knew it. 

thing went well, until the German paper, in the last 
issue before the election, stated, "M. D. Hauberg has 
withdrawn in favor of the Democratic nominee and 
asks his friends to vote for the Democratic candi- 
date." This paper was printed on Friday and the 
people in the county would get it on Monday, and 
Tuesday was election day. The time was too short 
for me to retract this statement. After the election, 
when the votes were counted, the Democratic can- 
didate beat me by eighty votes and I beat the Repub- 
lican by eighty-three votes. My friends in the upper 
end of the county stayed with me ; they knew I would 



not sell out, and they could not be bought for a drink 
of whiskey. I don't think there was a voting place 
in the county but it had a man with a two-gallon jug 
of whiskey and a glass. They had them in our town, 
but the voters routed them out. 

In 1886 I was a candidate for state senator. The 
people of Henry and Rock Island counties called a 
mass meeting, to be held at Orion, Henry county. A 
man from Wethersfield, Henry county, was a candi- 
date for state senator. He wrote to me to come to 
the convention and nominate him. He said, being 
nominated by a man from Rock Island county would 
give him a better showing in the county. 

I went to the convention and nominated him, and 
made a few brief remarks as to his qualifications and 
the kind of man he was. A man from Geneseo, 
Henry county, seconded the nomination, and gave us 
a flourishing talk for about a half hour, telling us 
about the gentleman's good traits and what a fine 
man he was. A man from Rock Island jumped up 
and said, "Mr. Chairman, I nominate M. D. Hauberg 
of Rock Island county. Mr. Hauberg is no gentle- 
man ; he never was, and I don't think he ever will be. 
We have too many gentlemen in office now. It isn't 
a gentleman we want — we want a man who, when he 
gets up before a crowd and gives his opinion, does 
not get red in the face; a man who doesn't fear any- 
body ; a man that you can't buy or sell. We are elect- 
ing entirely too many gentlemen." 



When he sat down I got up and thanked him for 
the compliment and said, "Gentlemen, I decline to be 
a candidate;" when someone moved to adjourn for 

After dinner the Rock Island fellows said to me, 
"What's the matter with you? We don't want you. 
We have voted for you as often as we want to. We 
will try to work in another candidate; we want a 
little fun out of this. You stay and we will have some 

I said, "All right, I will stay if you want some fun, 
but don't nominate me." 

They said, "No, surely not." 

When we convened after dinner, the hall was full 
of all sorts of fellows — doctors, lawyers, farmers, 
tradesmen. They worked in another candidate and 
there was no end of speechmaking. Next in order 
was balloting for state senator. When the votes 
were counted I got all but three. 

Then I got up and said, "Gentlemen, you have done 
it. If you want me elected, just pull off your coats 
and get at it; I don't want to spend a day or a cent 
of money. 

"You are a stranger with us," the Henry county 
folks said, "if we pay you for your time and ex- 
penses, will you come over and get acquainted with 
our people?" 

"Yes," I said, "but don't throw away your money. 
There is no show for an election. They have over 



seven thousand majority over me and the Democrats 
have no candidate and some of them will vote for the 
other candidate; they don't like my political com- 
plexion. I am in favor of the government controlling 
the railroads by a commission and opposed to the Na- 
tional banking system, and in favor of a flexible cur- 
rency issued by the government, and the common 
people are too green to understand it; and my oppo- 
nent is a nice fellow and a bright man." My oppo- 
nent was secretary of the Haxen Steam Company, a 
concern owned by the railroad company. 

In September they sent me a draft for $40.00 and 
asked me to come to Kewanee in Henry county. I 
went and met some of the fellows that were at the 
convention. I told them that perhaps they had better 
call together some of the friends — I did not wish to 
deceive them — and I would outline my policy as to 
what I would do and would not do, if elected. They 
called a meeting at some hall. I think they had 
drummed up everybody in the town, for the hall was 
full. They had a doctor for chairman, who had been 
at the convention, and he gave me a flourishing intro- 

I told them it rather embarrassed me to face such 
an intelligent crowd; that my education was limited, 
having acquired the biggest part of it driving oxen 
to a breaking plow ; and then I went on and gave 
them my views — what I would do if elected and what 
I would not do. Now and then I would tell them a 



little yarn to keep them awake. It seemed that I had 
captured the crowd. They told me to go and make a 
talk in every town and school-house in the county — 
that I would be elected; but I did not have the faith. 

I told my friends that I would like to make the ac- 
quaintance of my opponent. They said, "He won't 
look at you ; he wears a stove-pipe hat." 

"It makes no difference," I said, "what he wears, 
I want to see him." 

I went to see him and introduced myself, and told 
him if he came to Rock Island to come and see me 
and I would make him acquainted with some of his 
friends. He never looked up at me. He said he did- 
n't have the time and he didn't have to ; they knew 

The next day he heard of the meeting we had had. 
That kind of woke him up. The day after the meet- 
ing I started for home. On the way I stopped at 
every town, for a day, to get acquainted. At the sec- 
ond station I met Mr. Mock, the state's attorney, 
whom I told in the grand-jury room, if his father had 
paid for his education, he had better get his money 
back. While we were talking, along comes my oppo- 
nent. Mr. Mock introduced him to me and said to 
him, "John, don't you ever talk to this fellow in the 
presence of anybody about the political issues of the 
day." My opponent and I got real chummy before 
the campaign was over. Two weeks before election 
he told me I would beat him. 



"Don't fool yourself," I said, "you will get there." 

"If I do, it will be your fault," he said. 

I did not take my friends' advice; I got beat eight 
hundred votes. My county gave me fourteen hun- 
dred and forty majority. I could have been elected 
if I had taken my friends' advice; but to overcome 
such a large majority seemed a miracle to me. There 
were three townships in Henry county, with over 
seven hundred votes, where I never put in an appear- 
ance. I got one vote in one, four in another and 
seven in the other. 

In 1877 I became a Freemason of the Third De- 
gree. In 1880 I was a charter member of Elm Camp 
Number 43 of the Modern Woodmen of America. In 
188 — I became a member of the Farmers' Mutual 
Benefit Association (the same as Farmers' Alliance). 
In 1890 I was elected delegate to the state association 
meeting. There I was elected a delegate to the na- 
tional meeting to be held in Indianapolis, Indiana ; 
but I declined to go and substituted William Letch of 
Hampton in my place, to which they agreed. 

At Indianapolis I was elected a delegate at large 
from Illinois to a meeting to be held in St. Louis in 
February, 1891, where all farm and labor organiza- 
tions of America would be represented. I attended 
this meeting — the largest I was ever in. Everybody 
was there — even the women advocating women's 
rights. There were over sixteen hundred of us. Lots 
of smart men were there — even such as Jerry Simp- 


son from Kansas. There were ninety-six colored 
people there from the South — some pretty bright fel- 
lows among them. I was on a committee on resolu- 
tions for the Farmers' Mutual Benefit Association, 
which was in session a half day and night. There is 
where we organized the Populist Party. The meet- 
ing at St. Louis was in session four days. These 
farm organizations have educated the farmer*. I 
know the time, when I was a young man, when only 
two men in our township knew enough to call a meet- 
ing to order or put a motion. Now almost any school- 
boy can do it. 

From 1886 to 1897 I bought hogs and cattle to ship 
to Chicago. I would feed one load of cattle one year 
and the next year two loads. I kept from thirty-five 
to forty cows. I raised the corn and fodder to feed 
them. I was about the first one around here who had 
a Shorthorn bull. I would feed from two to three 
carloads of hogs a year. 

In 1890 I was a delegate from our Burr Oak Camp, 
No. 43, of Modern Woodmen of America, to the head 
camp at Springfield, 111., and had the honor of nomi- 
nating Maj. C. W. Hawes of Rock Island, for the head 
clerkship. We elected him and he continued in that 
office 24 years. He asked to be relieved from it in 

My wife and I attended the World's Fair in Chi- 
cago in 1893. Mr. and Mrs. Tom Quick, whose farm 
joined ours on the east, were with us. We got rooms 



at a private residence. The ladies roomed together 
and Tom and I were together. On October 9 was 
Chicago Day, the biggest day of the fair. That morn- 
ing the ladies knocked at our door and said to hurry, 
it was getting late ; we must be on our way to the 
Fair. None of us had a watch or clock. We got up 
in a hurry and when we got to the restaurant we 
found it was only 2:00 o'clock. We got our breakfast 
and went on down to the Illinois Central station on 
the lake front and had to wait a couple of hours be- 
fore the first train started for the Fair. 

There was an immense crowd. The figures showed 
they had 716,881 in attendance that day. More than 
twice as many as they had any other day. We car- 
ried a lunch for dinner, but Mrs. Quick could not eat 
any of it. There was no chance to get to the eating 
places, it was so crowded. Towards evening, when 
we wanted to go to our rooms, the trains were so 
crowded we did not get away until nine o'clock. It 
was nearly 24 hours between meals for her. She had 
been a sickly lady for many years, but stood the 
sightseeing better than any of us. She was the only 
one of the four of us who wanted to stay longer. The 
rest of us were glad to get back home. 

Father died March 14, 1886, at his home on the 
farm that he had pre-empted from the government in 
1853, in section eleven. He was in his 79th year. 
Mother died October 10th, 1896, in her 86th year. 
They are buried in the Lutheran cemetery that wa? 



laid out on my farm. Their children who survived 
them were : Myself, the oldest ; Brother Dave ; Eliza- 
beth, wife of Dietrich H. Bracker; Catherine, wife of 
Charles G. Walther, and Margaret, wife of Fred H. 
Schroeder. My oldest sister, Dores, the wife of Gott- 
lieb Stilz, had passed away some years before. Their 
descendants are scattered, and in all kinds of occu- 
pations: farming, teaching, law, medicine, mercan- 
tile, farm advisory and other pursuits. Pictures of 
members of our family are in this book, except Fath- 
er's. He left no picture of himself. 

In 1886 I got into financial trouble. It seemed that 
every note I had signed with anybody came to life 
and I had it to pay. Before this I had always thought 
a man was as honest as he looked; but I found out 
otherwise. About half of them are honest and the 
other half will steal if they get a chance ; and further- 
more, you do not know who is your friend until you 
try him. I had friends who ought to have thanked 
me for their well-being — whom I had helped when 
they were in trouble — who did me all the dirt they 
could ; and I had friends who helped me all they could 
just to see how much they could get out of me. A 
prominent Moline plow manufacturer was the worst 
of the last-named kind that I had any experience 
with. He has passed to his reward, and I will not 
say more than that his trying to beat me out of what 
I had cost me about three thousand dollars. I threat- 



ened to shoot him once which helped things along 
toward a settlement. 

War began on me in earnest after the plow manu- 
facturer got his hand in. I borrowed $2,000.00 of A. 
B. E. Adams of Rapids City, a gentleman of the first 
class, on my personal property. He stayed by me 
and even borrowed money to help me, when I got 
pinched too hard. Before I got everything paid up 
it cost me over $18,000.00 as costs and interest; but 
I did not get down on my knees to anybody. I looked 
everybody straight in the face. If I hadn't — and 
got weak-kneeded — I would have gone under. 

When trouble comes it comes all over. When I 
was in the worst of it my cows got in the corn while 
we were away at the Fair, and eighteen of them died 
— good, graded Shorthorns. My hogs got the cholera 
and I lost two hundred forty-four out of 268, each 
weighing about 250 pounds, but I saved three hun- 
dred acres out of the wreck, of what we had been ac- 
cumulating for forty years. 

When I come to look around, I do not know but 
that we have about as much as the best of the other 
fellows, and a good deal more than some of them. 

In 1912 my wife and I celebrated our Golden Wed- 
ding anniversary. We had a big crowd. Among them 
were many who had come to the Upper End in the 
'50s and had helped to turn the wilderness here into 
one of the finest farming districts in the world. 
Among the guests were two old settlers who were 



above ninety years of age, Henry Sadoris and David 
S. Metzgar. We had one couple who attended our 
wedding in 1862, Mr. and Mrs. William Oltmann of 
Hampton. Our Frels' and Hauberg relatives were 
present and others we had known as neighbors for 
nearly sixty years. 

The Upper End did well in the World War. Every 
campaign was a success — Red Cross, Y. M. C. A., 
Liberty Loans, War Savings Stamps, olds clothes for 
Europeans, and all other things. 



Front row, left to right: David Crawford. John Smith, Ed. Slilinger, Manly 
Boardman and Frank Bnner. 

Middle row: Charles Mead. Raymond Leathern, John Slock, William Schwen- 
neker, Harry Orr and Frank Smith. 

Standing: Ralph Berht. Freedom Franklin. Chester Reeves, Merrill Trow- 
bridge, Harry Engdahl, Alfred Bntzer. Harry Buckley. Bernard C.erken. Daniel 
Sachau, Charles Seams and Leo Brennan. 



Coe Town had a great barbecue celebration for the 
returned soldiers, at Fairfield school, on July 24th, 
1919. A two-year-old beef was cooked whole, and 
everybody got some of it for dinner. There was a 
large crowd. The Red Cross ladies served a fine din- 
ner for the soldier boys. There was speaking by Rev. 

The Coe Town Barbecue for the World War soldiers at Fairfield school and 

chinch, July 24, 1919. Placing- the beef upon the carving: table. 

R. W. Babcock, of Moline, who had served with the 
Y. M. C. A. in France, and by George Coe, who was 
in the fighting over there and w T ho spent some time in 
a German military prison, and by J. D. Barnes, of 
LeClaire, la., a Civil War veteran, who spoke about 
the battle of Shiloh. Music was furnished by the 
Hillsdale Brass Band, and by the United Sunday- 
school Band, a fife, drum and bugle corps, of Rock Is- 
land. The field north of the road and west of Fair- 


field church, was used for parking automobiles. 
There were hundreds of them. 

It was fortunate that the war ended when it did. 
In our neighborhood so many of the young men had 




Front row, left I" right: Mrs. A. E. Genung, Miss Ma!.el Wells. Miss Klsie 
Wells. Miss Bertha McConnell, Mrs. Joseph McConnell, Mi-- Haze] McConnell. 

Middlt row, seated: Mrs. William Moody, Mrs. Gust Kruckenberg, Mrs. Harry 
(."In. Mrs. W. II. Dickson, Mrs. Allen Meyer, and Mrs. Thomas McCall. 

Rear run. standing: Mrs. Charles Nelson, Mrs. George Guinn, Mrs. W. I. 
Nicholson, Mrs. Charles Sample, Mrs. A. Saddoris, Mrs. John Calsen, Mrs. 
William Groh and Mrs. Charles Broquist. 

gone, that on an average we had only one able-bodied 
man for every 140 acres of farm land. This was not 
enough to keep all the land going. 

My wife and I made it a practice for several years 
to attend the Old Settlers' meeting at the Black Hawk 



Watch Tower. On September 3d, 1919, I was elected 
president of the Old Settlers' Society of Rock Island 
County, being the fifty-fourth person to have that 
honor. Phil. Mitchell of Rock Island is custodian of 
the gold-headed cane. On the head and ferrules of 
this cane is engraved the name of every Old Settler 
Association president. It now has the following 
names, and the year that each was president, as fol- 

1st P. Gregg 1866 

2nd J. W. Spencer 1867 

3rd Jacob Norris 1868 

4th Lucius Wells 1869 

5th John H. Eby 1870 

6th John A. Boyer 1871 

7th David Hawes 1872 

8th Wm. Bell 1873 

9th A. K. Philleo 1874 

10th W. E. Brooks 1875 

11th Isaac Negus 1876 

12th James Taylor 1877 

13th Elton C. Cropper 1878 

14th Frazer Wilson 1879 

15th N. Belcher 1880 

16th Charles Laflin 1881 

17th Adolphus Dunlap 1882 

18th Daniel Mosher 1883 

19th E. P. Reynolds 1884 

20th John Lusk 1885 

21st Ira L. Whitehead 1886 

22nd A. M. Hubbard 1887 

23rd Orrin Skinner 1888 

24th Wm. H. Edwards 1889 

25th L. D. Edwards 1890 

26th Wm. Miller 1891 

27th D. N. Beal 1892 

28th M. Hartzell 1893 

Memoirs. 12. 


29th S. W. McMaster 1894 

30th James G. Blythe 1895 

31st Thomas Merrvman 1896 

32nd Charles Titterington 1897 

33rd J. L. Bean 1898 

34th Daniel Gordon 1899 

35th G. H. Edwards 1900 

36th E. J. Searle 1901 

37th Henrv S. Case 1902 

38th R. G. Hollister 1903 

39th M. C. Frick 1904 

40th John H. Cleland 1905 

41st Jacob H. Marshall 1906 

42nd Josiah G. Heck 1907 

43rd Cvrus Valentine 1908 

44th YVm. Coyne 1909 

45th Jas. A. Searle 1910 

46th Wm. H. Lyford 1911 

47th Mathew Robison 1912 

48th Geo. W. McMurphy 1913 

49th Chas. W. Hawes 1914 

50th David Sears 1915 

51st William Payne 1916 

52nd Thomas Campbell 1917 

53rd John T. Kenworthv 1918 

54th M. D. Hauberg 1919 

I was personally acquainted with every one of the 
above-named old-settler presidents, except John A. 
Boyer. I do not distinctly remember him. Tom Boll- 
man of Rock Island succeeded me as president. 

The same evening that the Old Settlers' meeting was 
over, in 1919, I started on a trip west, to visit my rela- 
tions and my old friends. I arrived in Denver, Colo., 
the second morning, took in the sights of the city ; had 
dinner at the National restaurant, and after dinner I 
took a street car for Boulder. Arrived there at 2:00 



' 1 

1 *^ ill 

1 jfr '" 

;~ ^"^ 


Seated from left to right: George Lukens, M. D. Hauberg, Arthur Mead, 
Win. McConnell and E. B. McKeever. 

Standing: M. -J. MeEniry, M. R. Metzgar, Geo. E. Bailey. J. W. Welch, J. 

Stuart, Dart, Daniel Montgomery, George X. Babcock, Rufus Walker, A. M. 
Brunei' and T. J. Murphy. 

o'clock and went to Green's Garage. My son-in-law, 
William T. Schmoll, who runs an auto express, leaves 
there at 3:00 p. m. for the town of Ward. Arrived 
in Ward at 5:00 o'clock and stayed over night at the 
Columbia hotel, which is owned by my daughter, Mrs. 
Emma Fairhurst. I visited my two daughters, Mrs. 
Schmoll and Mrs. Fairhurst, and then left for Peace- 
ful Valley, situated in a gulch between the mountains. 
It is peaceful, I dare say. I do not think the wind 
ever blows there. A Mr. Roberts has a little store 



there, and a hotel. From there I went to Allen's 
Park. Not much doing there, but they have a good 
hotel. From there I went to the Rocky Mountain 
National Park. Had dinner at Mr. Enos Mills' hotel. 
It is rustic like and is very fine. He also has a very 
good museum of mountain relics. From there I went 
to Estes Park, which is similar to an eastern town, 
being mostly on the level. The mountains around it 
are very rugged. They advertise big and receive a 
great many tourists. Living is pretty costly there. 
They have a very fine hotel if you have the price : 
from five to ten dollars a clay, and not much to be 
seen. I came back to Ward. In my opinion Ward 
beats them all. It is a mining town up in the moun- 
tains, over 9,000 feet altitude. The people there are 
civilized. They have two good hotels, the C. & N., 
and the Columbia, and for sport Ward is hard to 
beat. For anybody that likes fishing they have Gold 
lake, Brainerd lake, Tomlinson's lake, Red Rock lake. 
Stapps' lake and Long lake, all stocked with moun- 
tain trout and within two to six miles from town, and 
the mountains are rugged. They look like a Holstein 
cow, a patch of snow and a patch of green. I jumped 
across a creek and got my feet wet. I didn't jump 
far enough. I pulled off my shoe and sock and laid 
them on a rock on a snowbank to dry while we ate 
our dinner. William T. Schmoll has a garage there 
and has a touring car and a truck, and carries pass- 
engers to Boulder or any other place over the moun- 




Front row, seated, left to right: J. D. Barnes, J. E. Tavenner, Stephen Allen, 
Henry Tomer, Josiah Stratton and Rev. Henrj C. First. 

Rear row, standing: James Swisher, Rense C. Heeren, Cbarlej Wilson, Wil- 
liam Orr, Pleasant F. Cox and Theudus Ward. 

tains. He also has ponies to ride where you can not 
go with a car. Ward also has a very good store 
where you can buy anything "from a needle to a 
threshing machine," as the saying is. 

From Ward I went to Boulder to visit my old 
friend, William Danefaltzer, formerly from Henry 
county, Illinois. Then to Denver, where I visited 
with my grand-daughter, Miss Hazel Schmoll. She 
is the Assistant Curator of the Natural History sec- 
tion in the State Museum. We took in the sights, the 
Chamber of Commerce, the U. S. Mint and the city 



parks. We also saw and heard President Woodrow 
Wilson speak in the auditorium, on the League of 
Nations. There were about ten thousand people 
there but they did not seem to be interested in his 
talk. It was his last speech on that trip. He was to 
speak the next day at Pueblo, Colo., but he cancelled 
the date. Some said he was sick, and some said the 
people would not listen to him any more. The people 
here were strongly opposed to his plan to have the 
United States join the European countries in a world 
league. From Denver I went to Tecumseh, Neb., to 
visit my old neighbor, William Hahn, and other 
friends and relatives who had gone out there from 
the Upper End of Rock Island county in the late '60s 
and during the '70s to take up land from the govern- 
ment. They were the pioneer farmers there. In the 
early days they had some hard times. Some of them 
lost all they had and stayed there because they were 
too poor to move. About all my relatives and friends 
there are farmers and live in the country. William 
Hahn has six sons. The morning after I arrived 
there one of his sons took me around in his auto to 
visit others. My cousin, Christina Hauberg, now 
Mrs. Fred Broady, has six sons, and I was taken 
around to visit them. I stayed overnight with the 
William Broady's and he took me in tow for about 
three days, all over the country visiting his brothers 
and other friends. I stayed over night at my cousin's, 
Mrs. Broady, and visited my cousins, Eggert Hau- 



berg at Graff, Neb. ; Henry Hauberg of Johnson 
County, Neb.; and James Stoltenberg, who married 
a cousin of mine, Catherine Hauberg. She is now de- 
ceased. On Sunday they had a party for me at my 
cousin's, Lena Hauberg's, now Mrs. Charles Ernst. 
The folks we had missed on our tour over the coun- 
try we met there. The next clay I had dinner with 
Mrs. William Ernst, formerly Louisa Hahn, at Te- 
cumseh, Neb., and then took the train for Omaha, 
where I visited my niece, Mrs. Odelia Stilz Kuhn. 
Her husband is Rev. Albert Kuhn, a minister there 
of a Presbyterian church and professor in the Univer- 
sity of Omaha. Also called on Walter Brandt and fam- 
ily, a grand-nephew, formerly of Port Byron, 111. I left 
Omaha at 5:30 p. m., just in time to miss the riots at 
the court house, where they burned up about all the 
county records. The county jail was on the third floor 
of the court house and the mob was trying to lynch a 
negro who was accused of assaulting a white woman. 
The mob blew up the court house to get the negro. 

Next I went to Sioux City and spent a night with 
my old friend James Puck. His son took me in his 
car next morning and showed me all over the city. 
From there I took the train to Mitchell, S. D., to visit 
my daughter, Mrs. Rosena Furland, and next I went 
to Mt. Vernon, S. D., and visited my daughter Ada, 
now Mrs. John E. Furland. Here I stayed a week, 
and left for Algona, la., to see my nephew Herman 
Hauberg and wife. Then to Waterloo, la., to visit 



my old schoolmate from Germany, Henry Kahler, 
veteran of the Civil War, and retired blacksmith. 
He at one time had his country blacksmith shop 
where Adelphia school house now stands, in Coe 
township, Rock Island county, and sold the shop to 
Diedrick H. Bracker, a blacksmith who later married 
my sister Elizabeth. Then I went to La Porte, la., 
and visited the Claus Schleuter's, Schnoor's, Wand- 
schneider's, and James Kahler's, all of them formerly 
Upper End people of Rock Island county. Also vis- 
ited Fred Walther's. Next I went to Mt. Auburn, 
la., and visited John Wiegant, who as a boy stayed 
with us for six years. While there Frank Graven- 
horst came after me in his car and I spent three 
nights and days with him. He is a son of Captain 
Joe Gravenhorst, who enlisted in 1861 from our log 
house. He took me all over the country to visit the 
younger generation. Then I visited old friends at 
Cedar Rapids, la. ; then to Maquoketa, la., to visit 
Fred Gurius, formerly of Moline; then to Davenport, 
la., to visit Catherine Kahler, now Mrs. Henry Wiese, 
who lived next neighbor to us when we were all liv- 
ing in log houses in Sugar Grove. I came back home 
about the first of November, a happy man. I found 
all my relatives and friends prosperous and well-to- 
do, and good, moral citizens. This America is the 
greatest country in the world. 

There has been a great change in almost every- 
thing since we came here in 1849. At that time the 


Tri-cities were small places. I knew almost every 
man, woman and child in Moline when we lived there, 
the town was so small. There were no railroads — 
only stage coaches and steamboats. There was no 
telegraph or telephone. To-day even the farmers 
have telephones, electric lights and moving pictures 

Threshing outfit 1890. The C. G. Walther and Alt'. Wainright machine. 
Many improvements have been made since then. 

in the country schools and churches. Last year when 
I was at Ward, Colo., a small town away up in the 
mountains, I talked by 'phone with my folks in Rock 
Island, Illinois. It sounded as plain as if we were 
next door to each other. We now have aeroplanes 
flying east and west over the 'Docia every day, car- 
rying mail from Omaha to Chicago. 

Our first harvesting was done with the cradle or 
scythe; then came the McCormick and other makes 



of reapers that took four horses to pull one of them, 
and five good men to keep up with it, binding "sta- 
tions." Next was when our neighbor, James V. Bail- 
ey, got a Marsh harvester. Three men rode on the 
machine ; one of them drove the horses and two did 
the binding, and threw the bundles off when they had 

The "Horse Power" ol the C. G. Walther and Alt. Wainrighl threshei - 

them bound. Then came the wire-binder. It was 
like our present twine binders except that a fine wire 
was put around the sheaf and the ends twisted to 
hold it. Then the Appleby knotter was invented and 
made it possible to use twine. 

The change has been just as great in threshing ma- 
chinery. It was not many years before they improved 
threshing machines so that it threshed the grain from 
the straw; fanned it and run the clean grain into a 
bushel measure, and elevated the straw and carried it 



away from the machine. But even that took from two 
to a half dozen men in the straw pile ; two band cut- 
ters and two men to change off, feeding the machine. 
To-day the straw is blown so that no one has to work 
in the straw pile, and no band cutters and no feeders 
are needed and the grain is automatically meas- 
ured and elevated into the wagon, clean enough for the 
market. If it was' not for all this improved machinery 
there would hardly be men enough in the United 
States to harvest and thresh the small grain grown in 
this country. 

In fencing the farms there has been a big change 
also. The rail fences and ditch-and-wall fence got out 
of style when the saw mills began to turn out fencing 
in enormous amount. We got white pine boards, 1x6 
inch.xlG ft. and made fences four and five boards 
high. Not a fence is made with that kind of material 
any more. About the same time that we used pine- 
board fencing, we began to set out Osage-orange 
hedges, and for a while after pine boards got scarce 
at least two-thirds of all the fences were hedge, and 
the barbed wire was invented. To-day the farmers 
are using woven wire with barbed wire, and the 
hedges are being grubbed out everywhere because it 
takes a lot of trimming every year to keep them look- 
ing good and in repair, and besides they take too much 
strength out of the ground near the fence. 

In the late '60s and early '70s agents began coming 
around to sell willows. They would carry cross-sec- 


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tions of willow trees showing how fast they grew. 
They would show that a two-foot saw log could be 
grown in twenty years, and lots of farmers would get 
bundles of slips 500 to a thousand to a bundle. They 
were called "Irish gray willows" and came in sticks 
about 14 inches long. We set them out mostly in low 
places and in line with the fences. Lots of farmers 
who had prairie farms, without timber, grew all their 
own stove wood, and some set out hard wood and grew 
posts. I set out several acres of soft maples. We got 
the seed along Rock river below Hillsdale, and planted 
them in 1867. We dug up small maples to plant 
around the house. The largest of these trees now 
measures nine and one-half feet around at its smallest 
girth. About the same time my hired man and I came 
from work one day. He had a willow stick and I had 
a poplar. We stuck them in the ground back of the 
stone residence and they grew. The poplar died years 
ago, but the willow is still there and is nine feet 
around at its narrowest girth. 

When we came to the High Prairie they had stage 
lines from Chicago, via Dixon and Erie to Rock Island, 
and Galena to Rock Island. The one from Chicago 
crossed the Docia at Hillsdale, and the Galena stage 
crossed the Docia at its mouth below Albany, but when 
the Mississippi and Rock rivers were high both these 
stage lines crossed at the Middle Crossing, which is 
the highest ground in the Docia and headed for Port 
Byron, which was their first station on this side. A 



deep roadway is still to be seen through our woods in 
the southeast quarter of section one, Coe township. 
The old road from the other side, struck the bluff at 
the south side of the Docia near the section line be- 
tween sections five and six, Canoe Creek township, 
then came westward along the foot of the rocks and 
then turned southwest across Sugar creek and through 
our woods in section one, Coe town, and on across our 
north field in section twelve, and struck the top of the 
hill about a quarter of a mile south of the Amos Gold- 
en stone house in section eleven. It kept on the top 
of the ridge southwesterly, and crossed the corners of 
the four sections — 9 and 10 and 15 and 16 — and by the 
Henry Sadoris house in section 16, and then angled 
on to where the Coe fair used to be held in the north 
center of section twenty, where it followed the road 
to Port Byron as it is now. They always drove four 
horses over this course, and if it was extremely wet, 
they simply carried the mail on horseback. I had a 
horse race with the mail carrier once. He was mak- 
ing fun of my horse, and I ran him and beat him. 
The coaches they used were the "Concord" coach, with 
the driver sitting on a high seat. 

Harvey Tanner was one of the stage drivers. He 
afterwards settled on a farm in Canoe Creek town- 
ship. His son, Charlie Tanner, has a driver's con- 
tract. It is a printed form. It reads as follows : 

"This is to certify that Jacob Graham commenced 



driving for M. 0. Walker on the 1st day of January, 
1858, on the following conditions: 

"Any driver who gives his team poisonous medi- 
cines, or dope, or receives fare without accounting for 
the same, shall forfeit all dues, and be subject to pay 
for all further damage. And every driver who leaves 
the Way Bill is to forfeit and allow One Dollar every 
time the Way Bill is left. Also to allow on account of 
services for all damages occasioned by carelessness or 
neglect ; and Five Dollars for every instance of under- 
taking to drive when intoxicated from the use of ar- 
dent spirits. First month's wages not payable until 
final settlement. No payments to be made under any 
circumstances, except this certificate is presented, and 
the amount paid endorsed at the time of payment. 
Wages to be $14.00 per month." 

The above certificate has two endorsements of 
money received, from A. B. Emons, who probably was 
one of the cashiers of the stage company. 

One of the greatest changes here is in the Docia. It 
used to be a big swamp. You could stand on a bog 
and shake an acre of ground. There were millions of 
wild fowl, and thousands of muskrat houses. Hunt- 
ers flocked here from everywhere. Some made good 
money trapping muskrats. If there was ice they 
would spear the muskrats instead of trapping them. 

In the spring of the year when the June rise came, 
the Docia would often be a big river. All of it except 
places like Philleo's Island and Buck Island would be 



under water. There would be a strong current at the 
Middle Crossing, and men would sometimes stand in 
it with shotguns and shoot fine big buffalo-fish. The 
water would sometimes come to within a few feet of 
the rocks at the stone quarry (in fractional section 5, 
Canoe Creek township). Once I saw a large pine log 
where Andrew Marshall's lived. It had come in there 
from the Mississippi with the high water. 

During the ordinary dry seasons the Docia slough 
was a good place to fish. After father retired from 
farming it was his favorite pastime, and he would 
donate his fish to the neighbors if he had extra good 
luck. Our whole relationship would have a fishing 
party. The best place for bullheads and pickerel was 
at what was called "The Catfish Hole," in the north- 

it fish hole" of i] Id 'Docia Slough. 



east quarter of section 35, Cordova township. We 
would catch sun-fish, bull-heads, pickerel, and some- 
times dog-fish and gar, which were no good. The 
slough had a sluggish current, with clear, open water 
in the middle. The sides were lined with some kinds 
of moss or other water growth. 

Every fall or winter we could see the big prairie 
fires, when the rank swamp growth would burn. Most 
of the farmers would make wild hay, and their stacks 
would be in danger. One time I went down to save 
our stacks, and my wife thought I was burned up. I 
back-fired around the hay stacks and saved them. It 
was not easy to do unless you knew how. The fire 
would get away from you in the wrong direction. 

About 1896 they built a dyke at the mouth of the 
Docia, below Albany, to keep the high water of the 
Mississippi out, and put in a large pump to clear the 
Docia of surplus water, and at the Middle Crossing 
another dyke was built to keep out Rock river in case 
it got high. Drainage ditches have been put through, 
and to-day some of the best farming land in the coun- 
try is where the old swamps used to be. 

An acre of Coe Town land to-day will bring as 
much as we had to pay for a quarter section when we 
first moved here. 

Hillsdale, III., January, 1923. 



Abbott, Alec, 62. 
Abbott, Jim, 103. 
Adams, A. B. E., 172. 
Adelphia school, 91, 184. 
Aeroplanes, 185. 
Albany, 111., 156, 189, 193. 
Algona, la., 183. 
Allen, Archie, 118. 
Allen, Mrs. Mary, 82. 
Allen, Stephen, 181. 
Aliens Park, Colo., 180. 
Allsbrow, Lorrin, 74. 
Appleby, Knotter, 186. 
Andersen, Henry, 58. 
Anderson, Mr., 58. 
Andrews, Lemuel, 101. 
Armstrong, John James, 28. 
Arndt, Sam, 29. 
Arp, John, 79, 86, 87. 
Ashdown, Alex, 146. 
Ashdown, Ed, 66, 117. 
Ashdown, George, 91. 
Ashdown, Henry, 117. 
Ashdown, Mark, 145, 152. 
Ashdown, Richard, 65. 
Ashdown, William, 145. 
Askew, Joe, 28. 
Askew, Steve, 28. 

Babcock, Rev. R. W., 175. 
Bahlman, Anna, 93. 
Bahlman, Castina, 93. 
Bahlman, James, 93. 
Bahlman, Mrs., 93. 
Bahlman, Reimer, 93. 
Bailey, James V., 186. 
Baker, Volney, 66. 
Baker, l! F., 88. 
Barstow, 50, 121. 
Barnes, J. D., 175, 181. 
Baumgartner, Roy, 174. 
Beal, D. L., 177. 
Bean, J. L., 178. 
Beardstown, 121. 

Beckman, or Beekman, Hans, 

93, 103. 
Becht, Ralph, 173. 
Belcher, Nathaniel, 75, 177. 
Bell, Geo. W., 30. 
Bell, Roger, 95. 
Bell, Rosa, 32. 
Bell, Wm„ 177. 
Benson, Geo. L., 58. 
Berger, — , 29. 
Bettendorf, 52. 
Beyer, Mr., 25. 
Black Hawk Township, 155. 
Black Hawk Watch Tower, 176. 
Blackman, N. J., 139, 140. 
Bleuer, "Old man," 136. 
Bluff School, 82, 84, 87, 126, 148, 

Blythe, James G., 178. 
Boardman, Manly, 173. 
Bollman, Tom, 178. 
Boulder, Colo., 178, 180, 181. 
Bowles, Madison, 93, 158. 
Boyer, John A., 177, 178. 
Bracker, D. H., 75, 149, 171, 184. 
Bracker, Herman, 188. 
Brady St., 177. 
Brainerd Lake, 180. 
Brandt, Walter, 183. 
Branding, 147, 148. 
Brennan, Clarence, 174. 
Brennan, Leo, 173. 
Broady, Fred, 124. 
Broady, Mrs., 182. 
Broady, William, 182. 
Brooks, Wm, 27, 47, 54, 177. 
Broquist, Mrs. Charles, 176. 
Brown, Gregory, 174. 
Bruner, Frank, 173. 
Bruner, Sam, 154. 
Brush dam, 25, 53. 
Bryant, George, 135. 
Buck Island, 191. 
Buckley, Harry, 173. 



Buckley, Leo, 174. 
Burgh, Capt., 161. 
Burr Oak Camp, 169. 
Butzer, Alfred, 173. 

Cains', 67. 

Cain, Hiram, 62. 

Cain, Wesley, 66. 

Cain, Will, 188. 

Calsen, Albert, 174. 

Calsen, John, 188. 

Calsen, Mrs. John, 176. 

Camp, James, 139, 140. 

Campbell, Thomas, 178. 

Canoe Creek, 66, 67, 73, 75, 79, 

92, 126, 127, 138, 151, 155, 161, 

190, 192. 
Carbondale, W. & R. Ry., 70. 
Case, Henry S., 178. 
Catfish Hole, 192. 
Catrina, 45. 
Cedar Rapids, 184. 
Cemetery, Lutheran, 170. 
Chamberlain & Dean, 53. 
Chicago, 142, 143, 154, 169, 185, 

Chicago Day, 170. 
Chicago & R. I. Ry, 102. 
Cholera, 85. 

Church, 59, 63, 81, 87, 88. 
Cincinnati, 24, 131. 
Civil War, 122, 181, 184. 
Clark, neighbor, 118, 119. 
Cleland, John H , 178. 
Cleveland, 111., 53, 141. 
Cleveland, 111., mill, 134. 
Clinton, la., 151, 152. 
Coal Valley, 155, 158. 
Coaltown, 49. 
Cody, "Buffalo Bill," 36. 
Cody, Sam., 36, 37. 
Coe Fair, 145. 
Coe, George, 174, 175. 
Coe Protective Association, 148. 
Coe Town, 40, 59, 65, 66, 72, 73, 

79, 80, 84, 89, 103, 126, 135, 

155, 176, 190, 193. 
Coe Town barbecue, 173, 174, 

175, 176, 181. 
Coldwater River, 128. 
Cold spell, 134. 

Colliersville, 127. 

Collins, Mr., 55. 

Colorado, 178, 182, 185. 

Columbia Hotel, 179. 

Comfort, Cy, 82. 

Comfort, Louise, 82. 

Como, 111., 78. 

Company "M", 123. 

Concord coach, 190. 

Cook Co., 142, 143. 

Cook, Harris, 50. 

Cook, Harry, 72. 

Cook, Mrs. Harry, 176. 

Cool, Johnty, 32. 

Cools', 64. 

Cordova, 28, 32, 72, 83, 97, 98, 

99, 100, 103, 149, 150. 
Cordova Township, 64, 155. 
County grange, 154, 155. 
Coyne, Wm , 17S. 
Cox, Pleasant F., 181. 
Craig, Charles, 174. 
Craig, Robert, 174. 
Crawford, David, 173. 
Cropper, Elton C , 177. 
Curtis, Corinth P., 29. 

Dailey, Jesse, 145. 

Danefaltzer, William, 181. 

Dam, Moline brush, 25, 53. 

Davenport, Iowa, 24, 25, 27, 33, 
37, 41, 49, 53, 55, 59, 60, 93, 
96, 100, 114, 121, 124, 126, 129, 
130, 135, 145, 184. 

Davenport, Bailey, 25, 30, 55. 

Davenport, Col., 55, 57. 

Davenport, Henry, 55. 

Davenport House, 57. 

Davenport, Lizzie, 55. 

Davis, Bill. 29, 34. 

Dayton, O., 55. 

Dean & Chamberlain, 53. 

Deer, 55, 161, 119. 

Deere, Charles, 107. 

Deere, John, 51, 52, 111. 

Democrats, 158, 161, 162, 166. 

Denver, Colo., 178, 181. 

Decatur, Ala., 12, 13, 22. 

Denmark, 5, 9. 

Diamond Jo, 97, 98. 

Dibbern, 35. 



Dibbern, Charles, 35, 59. 

Dibbern, C. H., 105, 106, 112. 

Dickson, Mrs. W. H., 176. 

Dillins', 64, 93. 

Dillon, C, 139, 140. 

Dixon, 111., 71, 72, 73, 189. 

'Docia (Meredocia), 76, 80, 127, 
147, 149, 150, 151, 153, 185, 
189, 190, 191, 192, 193. 

Dodge, George, 123. 

Doescher, Rev. F., 83, 87. 

Donahoo, E. C, 73. 

Donaboo, John, 73. 

Donelson, Fort, 123. 

Drainage ditches, 193. 

Drake, Mr., 160. 

Drury Township, 155. 

Duck Creek, 44. 

Dunker, Mr., 51. 

Dunlap, Adolphus, 177. 

Dyke, 193. 

Dysart, Sam, 142. 

East Moline, 30. 

Ely, John H., 177. 

Eckhardt, F., 136. 

Edgington Settlement, 87. 

Edward, Prince of Wales, 80. 

Edwards, G. H., 178. 

Edwards, L. D., 155, 158, 177. 

Edwards, Wm. H., 177. 

Eges', 64. 

Eipper, Vergil, 174. 

Elm Camp, M. W. A., 168. 

Elmschenhagen, 10. 

Elfsleth, 134. 

Engdahl, Harry, 173. 

England, 9. 

Enterprise school, 80, 126. 

Erie, 111., 103, 151, 189. 

Ernst, Mrs. Charles, 183. 

Ernst, William, 136. 

Ernst, Mrs. William, 183. 

Estes Park, 180. 

Fairfield, 65, 66, 120, 175. 
Fairhurst, Mrs. Emma, 179. 
Farmer's Alliance, 168. 
Farmer's Mutual Benefit Assn. 

87, 168, 169. 
Farmer's Store, 134. 

Feaster, Ida, 74. 

Feaster, Wm., 74, 138. 

Fewces, 6, 7, 67, 68, 187. 

Ferkel, Mr., 55. 

Fielding, Mr. and Mrs., 135. 

Fife, John, 65. 

First, James, 58. 

First, Rev., Henry C, 79, 181. 

Five Points, 58. 

Fleming, Clyde, 84. 

Fleming, Dr. Wilson, 84, 145. 

Flickenger, Jacob, 64. 

Flickenger's, 64, 65. 

Forsythe, Earl, 174. 

Fort Armstrong, 56, 163. 

Fort Henry, 123. 

Fourth Illinois Cavalry, 123. 

Fowler, Wm., 84. 

Fowler, Tom, 62, 66. 

Frankfort-on-the-Main, 134. 

Franklin, Freedom, 173. 

Frels, Alvin, 67, 79. 

Frels, Anna Margaret, 50, 88, 

Frels, Fred, 50. 
Frels, Henry, 49, 50, 87, 88, 133, 

134, 158, 173. 
Frels, Henry (a nephew), 124. 
Freemasons, 87, 168. 
Frick, Abram, 54. 
Frick, M. C, 178. 
Frick's Hill, 54. 
Friedrich, Rev. G. Chr., 86, 87. 
Furland, John E., 183. 
Furland, Rosena, 183. 

Galena, 27, 60, 134, 189. 
Gamble, Mr., 29. 
Garrison's, 64. 
Garrison, Thurlow, 62, 66. 
Gates, Fred, 63. 
Geneseo, 69, 77, 164. 
Genung's, 64. 
Genung, Mrs. G. E., 176. 
Genung, Cassius, 188. 
Genung, George, 123, 145. 
Gerken, Bernard, 173. 
German paper, 162, 163. 
German Lutheran, 81, 82. 
Germantown, 128. 



Germany, 5, 14, 15, 22, 25, 45, 
67, 70, 85, 123, 127, 131, 134, 

Gest, Judge W. H. ( 125. 

Gilbert, Mr., 53. 

Glenn, Major, 155. 

Gode, Henry, 151. 

Golden's, 64, 82. 

Golden, Amos, 75, 79, 82, 136, 

Golden, Claire, 174. 

Golden, William, 75. 

Golden wedding, 172. 

Goose Creek, 38. 

Gordon, 31, 32. 

Gordon, Daniel, 31, 178. 

Gottsche, Paul, 79, 93. 

Graff, Neb , 183. 

Graham, Jacob, 190. 

Grangers, 87, 154, 156, 158. 

Grant, Judge, 33. 

Grantz, Mrs. Conrad, 58. 

Gravenhorst, Joe, 123, 184. 

Gravenhorst, Frank, 184. 

Graves, squire, 15, 19. 

Grensman, John, 188. 

Greenbackers, 158, 161. 

Gregg, Dr. Patrick, 124, 177. 

Grey, Charley, 97. 

Griese, Clement, 9. 

Griese, Doris, 10, 11, 21. 

Griese, Margretha, 109. 

Griese, Marx Clement, 10. 

Griese, Marx. 

Griffin, Mr., 49. 

Grilk. Claus, 58. 

Groh, Mrs. Wm , 176. 

Gruber. Rev., 83, 87. 

Guinn, George, 80, 114. 

Guinn, Mrs. George, 176. 

Cumber, Nick, 125. 

Gurins, Doris, 111. 

Gurins, Fred, 111, 184. 

Hahn, Doris, 79. 

Hahn, Elizabeth or Louisa, 79, 

136, 183. 
Hahn, James, 78. 
Hahn, John, 78. 
Hahn, John Jr., 78, 139. 
Hahn, William. 78, 182. 

Hahn, Wolf, 60. 

Hamburg, 9. 

Hampton, 49, 88, 111, 116, 134, 
155, 168, 173. 

Hampton Bluff, 49, 86, 87, 88, 
120, 124. 

Hanssen, 96. 

Harbison, Robert, 71. 

Harms, Lothar, 136. 

Harris, Frank, 156. 

Harte, W. H„ 80, 81. 

Hartzell, M. J., 30, 51, 177. 

Harvest Home, 138. 

Hasson, Alex., 79. 

Hasson, George, 79. 

Hasson, James, 79. 

Hasson, John, 79. 

Hast, Claus, 41. 

Hauberg, Ada, 183. 

Hauberg, Catherine (sister), 
85, 122, 171. 

Hauberg, Catherine (cousin), 

Hauberg, Christina, 182. 

Hauberg, Doris, 10, 28, 120, 171. 

Hauberg. Eggert, 134, 182. 

Hauberg, Elizabeth, 30, 58, 85, 
122, 171, 184. 

Hauberg, Henry, 183. 

Hauberg, Herman, 183. 

Hauberg, Jergen D. (Dave), 10, 
28, 33, 46, 60, 67, 73, 85, 95, 
117, 122, 125, 133, 136, 139, 
140, 146, 171. 

Hauberg, .Joachim, 9. 

Hauberg, John D. (Father), 6, 
15, 17, 18, 20, 22, 23, 24, 25, 
28, 32, 33, 59, 60, 62, 67, 71, 
73, 76, 77, 81, 82, 85, 89, 90, 
92, 102, 109, 131, 170, 192. 

Hauberg, Mrs. John D. (Moth- 
er), 4, 17, 21, 28, 32, 33, 68, 
80, 85, 170. 

Hauberg, John D. G, 125. 

Hauberg, John H., 21. 

Hauberg, Lena, 10, 13. 

Hauberg, Lena (cousin), 183. 

Hauberg, Lpuis D., 188. 

Hauberg, Margaret, 65, 85, 122, 
134, 171. 

Hauberg, Marx (uncle), 7, 8. 



Hauberg, Mrs. M. D., 3, 176. 
Hauberg, Rosena, 183. 
Hauberg, Walter M., 161. 
Hawes, Major C. W., 169, 178. 
Haxen Steam Co., 166. 
Heck, Josiah G., 178. 
Heeren, Rense C, 181. 
Heerens', 121. 
Henry Co., 153, 164, 165, 166, 

168, 181. 
Henry, Fort, 123. 
Henry, George, 158, 159. 
Higb Prairie, 60, 70, 79, 80, 83, 

86, 88, 189. 
Hillsdale, 121, 144, 189, 193. 
Hillsdale Brass Band, 175. 
Hillsdale Fair, 139, 145, 189. 
Hobarts', 188. 
Hofer, Chris., 136. 
Hofer, John, 135. 
Hoke, Dr., 154. 
Hollister, Ab , 145. 
Hollister, R. G., 178. 
Hollister, Rube, 65. 
Holmes, Daniel, 50. 
Holmes, George, E., 84. 
Holstein, 67. 
Horse power, 186. 
Hubbard, A. M., 177. 
Hunters' Lodge, 79, 80. 
Huntley, Geo., 174. 
Huntoon, Jonathan, 48. 

Illinois, 59. 

Illinois Central Ry., 170. 

Indiana, 168. 

Indinapolis, 168. 

Indians, 37, 38, 69, 119, 137, 138. 

Iowa City, la , 69, 100, 101. 

Jack Oak, 99. 

Jackson Co., 150. 

Jackson, Wm„ 52. 

Jarvis, 158, 159, 160. 

Jersey Row, 97. 

Johnson Co., 183. 

Johnson, Mr., 58. 

Johnson, John A. (Big John), 

139, 140, 14G. 
Johnson, Peter, 188. 
Johnson, Col. Wm., 64, 91, 135. 

Johnson, W., 160. 
Joslin, N. B., 139. 
Joslin Fair, 141. 

Kahler, Catherine, 78, 184. 
Kahler, Henry, 60, 67, 78, 123, 

Kahler, James, 78, 123, 183. 
Kahler, John, 78. 
Kahler, Matthias, 58, 78. 
Kentucky, 12, 22. 
Kenworthy, John T., 178. 
Kerr, James, 174. 
Kewanee, 111., 166. 
Kiel, 5, '7, 8, 9. 
Kingston, Tenn., 13, 16. 
Kirche, Stadt, 9. 
Klattenhoff, Henry, 132. 
Klebe, Gust, 124. 
Knock,, Henry, 60, 64. 
Knoxville, 13. 

Kramhoft, Christian, 85, 86, 93. 
Kramhoft, Mrs., 85. 
Krabbenhoeft, C, 72, 78. 
Krabbenhoeft, Ira, 78. 
Krebs, John, 79. 
Kruckenberg, Mrs. Gust, 176. 
Kuehl, Mrs. Henry, 87. 
Kuhn, Rev. Albert, 183. 
Kuhn, Odelia Stilz, 183. 
Kyte, Chas., 155, 156, 157. 

Lambert, Calvin, 82. 

Lambert, John L., 79. 

Laflin, Charles, 177. 

La Grange, 128. 

Lamp, Mr., 55. 

Lands, Military Bounty, 71. 

Land office, 72. 

Langmaak, Claus, 58. 

Langmaak, Hans, 58. 

Lanterns, 132. 

La Porte, la., 184. 

La Rue, Geo. W., 145, 150. 

La Rue. James, 154. 

La Rues, 64, 66. 

Lascelles, Henry, 89. 

Launspach, 134. 

League of Nations, 182. 

Leathern, Raymond, 173. 

Le Claire, Antoine, 55, 56. 



Le Claire House, 56. 

Le Claire, la., 36, 83, 84, 96, 175. 

Lee Co., 142. 

Legnat, Mr., 155. 

Letch, Wm., 168. 

Lewis, Mrs., 25. 

Liberty loans, 173. 

Liitt, Katie, 55. 

Liitt, Wolf, 25. 

Lime kiln, 157. 

Lincoln Township, 42. 

Lindau, 123. 

Liphardt, Herman, 139, 146. 

Liphardt, John A., 79, 139, 140, 

144, 146. 
Littig, John, 52. 
Long Lake, 180. 
Loptien, Christian, 57. 
Loptien, James, 111. 
Loptien, Joachim, 58. 
Louisville, 24. 
Lovelace, Melvin, 174. 
Lower rapids, 70. 
Lukens, Geo., 179. 
Lundy, Mr., 161. 
Lusk, John, 71, 177. 
Lustigen Bruder, 5. 
Lutheran, German, 81, 83, 87, 

Lutheran, Swedish, 30, 88. 
Luther's Catechism, 86. 
Lutz. Mr., 147, 148. 
Lyford, Dr. Wm. H , 84, 178. 
Lynch, N., 71. 

McCall, Hugh, 145. 
McCall. Thomas, 145. 
McCall, Mrs Thomas, 176. 
McConnell, Bertha, 176. 
McConnell, Hazel, 176. 
McConnell, Mrs. Joseph, 176. 
McConnell, William, 179. 
McCormick, 185. 
McEniry, John, 60. 
McEniry, Matt. J., 60, 179. 
McEniry, Mollie, 60. 
McEniry, William, 30, 60. 
McEniry, William Jr., 60. 
McFaddem, Edward, 89. 
McGuffy's school books, 32, 82. 
McKeever, E. B., 179. 

McMaster, S. W., 178. 
McMurphy, George W., 178. 
McNeal, George, 153. 
McNeals', 118. 
McRoberts, 65, 145. 
McRcberts, James, 66. 
Madison, Fielding, 52. 
Mandler, Catherine, 134. 
Mangelsdorf, Anna, 88. 
Maquoketa, 184. 
Markets, 7. 
Marshall, Andrew, 192. 


ney), 75, 82, 97 
75, 103 


75, 103 


74, 94. 




s Cordova, 67, 74. 
Charles B., 75, 149. 
Charles B. (attor- 

George, 66, 75. 
John ("Gooseneck"). 

Johnty, 75. 
William "(Squire 
75, 97, 103. 
Lawyer, 74. 
Anna, 74. 
Brice, 62. 
Isaiah, 62, 66, 67, 73, 

Jane, 74. 
Joe, 62. 
John, 62. 
Mary, 74. 
Priscilla, 74. 
Sarah, 74. 
William, 62. 
s Prairie, 74. 
Henry, 75. 
Jacob, 75 ,178. 
John, 74, 79, 90, 91, 

Lettie, 75. 
William G. ("Billy 

G."), 67, 73, 75, 77. 

Theodore ("Dora"), 

s', 64, 74, 82. 
s Grove, 138. 
Marsh Harvester, 186. 
Martin, David M., 61, 62, 67, 

140, 146, 149. 
Martin, James, 62. 



Martin, Joe, 62, 67, 139. 

Martin, John, 62. 

Martins', 67. 

Martin's Grove, 139. 

Mathis, Mr., 139. 

Mead, Arthur, 32, 179. 

Mead, Charles, 173. 

Melodeon, 84. 

Memphis, 129. 

Mennicke, Rev. C. A., 87, 88. 

Meredocia, 76. 

Merryman, Thomas, 178. 

Metzgar, David, 64, 173. 

Metzgar, M. R., 179. 

Meyer, Mrs. Albert, 176. 

Meyer, Dr. R. C. J., 111. 

Middle Crossing, 72, 103, 149, 

151, 189, 192, 193. 
Milan, 35. 

Military Bounty land, 71. 
Mill, Cleveland, 
Mill, William, 92, 149. 
Mill, Mrs. Wm., 32. 
Miller, Henry, 124, 125. 
Miller, William, 177. 
Mills, Enos, 180. 
Milwaukee, 131. 
Minute men, 149, 150, 151. 
Mississippi River, 69, 81, 103, 

134, 152, 189, 192. 
Mississippi, State of, 128. 
Missouri Synod, 82, 87. 
Mitchel, George, 151, 152. 
Mitchell, Phil, 161, 177. 
Mitchell, So. Dak., 183. 
Mock, Mr., 167. 
Modern Woodmen of America, 

87, 168. 
Moline. 111., 22, 25, 26, 27, 29, 

30, 31, 47, 49, 53, 54, 56, 62, 

69, 71, 77, 78, 87, 92, 97, 103, 

112, 120, 132, 153, 161, 162, 

175, 184, 185. 
Moline City Hall, 31, 47, 60. 
Moline Plow Co., 47. 
Moline Tool Co., 28. 
Moline Wagon Co., 54, 58. 
Montgomery, Daniel, 179. 
Montgomery, Thomas, 174. 
Montgomery Ward & Co., 154. 
Moody, John, 73. 

Moody, Mrs. William, 176. 
Moore, George, 123. 
Morgan, Isaac, 52. 
Morgan, Dr. J. W., 53, 154. 
Morgan, Wallace, 174. 
Mosher, Daniel, 177. 
Mt. Auburn, la., 184. 
Mt. Joy, la., 38. 
Mt. Vernon, So. Dak., 183. 
xMulholland, John, 152. 
Mumm, Hans, 111. 
Murphy, Mike, 65. 
Murphy, Thomas J., 179. 
Muscatine, 87. 
Muskrats, 76, 191. 

Naeve, August, 78. 

National banking system, 166. 

Negus, Isaac, 177. 

Nelson, Mrs. Charles, 176. 

Nelson, Ed., 188. 

Nerga, 14, 15, 20. 

New Jersey, 64, 83, 97. 

New Orleans, 24. 

New York, 11, 64. 

Nicewanger, Daniel, 48, 149. 

Nichols, John, 58. 

Nichols, Mina, 58. 

Nicholson, Mrs. W. D., 176. 

Noel, Mr., 3 7. 

Norris, Jacob, 177. 

Oath of office, 89. 

Obermeier, 25, 27, 30, 77. 

Ohio, 64, 153. 

Ohio River, 134. 

Old Settlers' Association, 176, 

177, 178, 179. 
Oldenburg, Germany, 134. 
Oliver, Leslie, 174. 
Oltmann, William, 173. 
Omaha, 183, 185. 
Opendike, Henry, 135, 139, 140. 
Orion, 164. 
Orr, Harry, 173. 
Orr, William, 181. 
Osage orange, 187. 
Osborn, Charles, 188. 
Owens, Fred, 72, 73, 149. 

Paducah, 12, 22, 23. 
Paris Exposition, 142. 



Patterson, 29, 30. 

Payne, William, 178. 

Peaceful Valley, 179. 

Pearsall, Jere, 135, 145, 154. 

Pearsall, Luther S., 135, 145. 

Pearsall, Nathaniel, 66. 

Pearsall, Deacon Wm. C, 135. 

Pearsall, Willie, 67. 

Pearson, Jerry, 73. 

Pender, or Penter, 13, 18, 22. 

Penrock ferry, 14. 

Pennsylvania, 66. 

Penn Township, 76. 

Petersen, 40. 

Philadelphia, 11, 66, 79. 

Philleo, A. K., 177. 

Philleo's Island, 103, 149, 151, 

Pitts, Gilbert & Pitts, 53. 

Pittsburg, 11, 12. 

Pittsburg Landing, 123. 

Populist Party, 169. 

Port Bvron, 111., 28, 53, 63, 65, 
70, 73, 75, 76, 77, 81, 84, 86, 
94, 95, 96, 97, 116, 118, 120, 
121, 123, 152, 153, 154, 157, 
183, 189, 190. 

Port Byron bluffs, 86. 

Port Hudson, 129. 

Prairie fires, 81, 193. 

Pratt, Ira, 32. 

Preetz, 5, 9, 25. 

Prescott, Rev. Asa, 83. 

Priest, Fritz, 48. 

Priest, John, 48, 49. 

Prince of Wales, 80. 

Probstei, 33, 41, 121. 

Prussia, 5. 

Puck, James, 183. 

Pueblo, Colo., 182. 

Quick, Garrett, 153. 
Quick, Henry, 82. 
Quick, Herbert, 188. 
Quick, John, 82, 150, 152. 
Quick, Phoebe, 82. 
Quick, Raymond, 188. 
Quick, Tom, SI, 169, 170. 
Quick, Tunis, 66, 81, 82, 83. 
Quick's, 64, 67. 

Railroad, 11, 12, 22, 69, 70, 99, 

101, 102. 
Raisdorf, 5, 6, 7, 123. 
Ransom, Capt. Wm., 158. 
Rapids City, 111., 172. 
Reapers, 186. 
Rebellion, 81. 
Red Cross, 173, 175, 176. 
Red Rock Lake, 180. 
Reese, Charley, 103, 111. 
Reeves, Chester, 173. 
Reimers, Claus, 111. 
Reimers, Mrs. Reimer, 58. 
Republicans, 158, 161, 162. 
Reynolds, E. P., 177. 
Riewerts, Jake, 188. 
Riewerts, John, 188. 
Riewerts, William, 85. 
Road Commissioners, 89. 
Roberts, Charley, 123, 128. 
Roberts, Mr., 179. 
Robinson, Floyd, 174. 
Robison, Matthew, 178. 
Rocker, John, 65, 66. 
Rockford, C. & W. Railway, 70. 
Rock Island, 111., 25, 27, 47, 49, 

54, 70, 71, 81, 87, 97, 102, 116, 

118, 121, 129, 130, 134, 136, 

145, 146, 152, 153, 155, 160, 

162, 164, 165, 167, 169, 175, 

177, 178, 185, 189. 
Rock Island Advertiser, 69. 
Rock Island Agricultural 

Board, 139. 
Rock Island County, 87, 142, 

153, 163, 164, 177, 182, 184. 
Rock Island County Historical 

Society, 69, 85. 
Rock Island House, 158. 
Rock Island (island of), 25, 55, 

56, 57, 163. 
Rock River, 49, 53, 69, 77, 189, 

Rock River bottom, 47. 
Rogers, Dr. E. E., 154. 
Roggenkampf, 8. 
Rohlf, Matthias J., 33, 39, 43, 

45, 46, 59. 
Rohlf, Mrs. M. J., 43, 44, 45. 
Rural township, 155. 



Rusch, Nicholas J., 41. 
Russell, Erwin, 188. 
Rutledge, Rev., 83. 

Sacliau, Ben, 174. 
Sachau, Daniel, 173. 
Saddoris, Arista, 65, 66, 145. 
Saddoris, Mrs. Arista, 176. 
Saddoris, Henry, 40, 76, 101, 

145, 173, 190. 
Sample, Mrs. Chas., 176. 
Sanders school books, 82. 
Sand prairie, 135. 
Saw mill, 54. 
Schafer, Truman, 174. 
Schindler, Thomas, 155. 
Schleswig-Holstein, 5, 9. 
Schleuter, Claus, 184. 
Schlodtfeldt, Hans, 58. 
Schloepel, 96. 
Schmidt, Amos, 58. 
Schmidt's brewery, 97. 
Schmoll, Hazel, 181. 
Schmoll, Wm. T., 179, 180. 
Schmoll, Mrs. Wm. T., 179. 
Schneider, Nick, 188. 
School, 5, 6, 31, 32, 47, 50, 51, 

60, 79, 80, 82. 
Schnoor, Claus, 79, 184. 
Schroeder, Fred H., 171. 
Schroeder, Mrs. Fred H., 134. 
Schryver, Dan, 147. 
Schultz, 124. 
Schwenneker, Wm., 173. 
Scott County, la., 114. 
Seams, Charles, 173. 
Searle, E. J., 178. 
Searle, James A., 178. 
Sears, Dave, 29, 178. 
Sears, D. B., 54. 
Selle, Rev. C. A. T., 81, 82, 87. 
Sell, Jasper, 139. 
Sextons', 64. 
Shanks, A. B., 123. 
Shepherd, 117. 
Shiloh, 123. 
Shuler, Charles, 124. 
Sidlinger, Harry, 174. 
Silvis, Ship (T. S.), 155, 157, 

158, 159. 
Simpson, Jerry, 168. 

Simpsons', 64. 

Sioux City, 153, 183. 

Singing school, 83, 84. 

Skinner, Orrin, 177. 

Slilinger, Ed., 173. 

Slock, John, 173. 

Smallpox, 85. 

Smith, Clyde, 174. 

Smith, Frank, 173. 

Smith, John, 173. 

Snakes, 40, 41, 42, 53. 

Snaphase, Mr., 90. 

South Moline, 155. 

Spaeth, John, 135. 

Spaids', 64. 

Speck, Mrs., 111. 

Spencer, John W., 54, 177. 

Springfield, 111., 142. 169. 

Stage lines, 185, 189, 190. 

Stapps Lake, 180. 

State museum, 181. 

Steele, Henry S., 72. 

Steffen, Claus, 123. 

Sterling, 111., 124. 

Sterling & R. I. Railroad, 99, 

Stephens, George, 47. 
Stevens, A. C, 155, 156. 
Stevens, Constable, 114. 
Stilz, Gottlieb, 79, 83, 120, 171. 
Stokes, Eph., 53. 
Stokes' flour mill, 141. 
Stokes, Young, 53. 
Stoltenberg, James, 183. 
Stone house, 135, 190. 
Stotmeister, Andrew, 125. 
Stout, Levi, 82. 
Stratton, Josiah, 181. 
Stroehle, Joseph, 136. 
Stromer, Gustave, 123, 128. 
Struve, Henry, 79. 
St. James Hotel, 25, 46. 
St. Louis. 24, 71, 131, 169, 169. 
Sugar Creek, 61, 62, 190. 
Sugar Grove, 61, 121, 184. 
Swander. Alex., 30, 71, 114. 
Swander, Mrs. Alex., 114. 
Swisher, James, 181. 
Sylvan Park, 28. 



Talcott, D. W„ 139, 140. 

Talcott's ferry, 77. 

Tanner, Charlie, 190. 

Tanner, Harvey, 190. 

Tavenner, J. E., 181. 

Taylor, James, 177. 

Taxes 76. 

Tecumseh, Neb., 182, 183. 

Te°~eler 155 

Tennessee, 12, 14, 24, 32, 61, 65. 

Threshers, 77, 136, 154, 185, 

186, 188. 
Tippecanoe, 22. 
Titterington, Charles, 178. 
Tomer, Henry, 181. 
Tomlinson's Lake, 180. 
Torpin, Henry, 79. 
Torpin, Jennie Ann, 127. 
Torpin, Joseph, 79, 82. 
Torpin, Lambert, 79. 
Torpin, Richard, 79, 114, 118. 
Torpin, Richard Jr., 79. 
Tri-cities, 185. 
Trowbridge, Mrs. David, 74. 
Trowbridge, Merrill, 173. 
Turkeys, wild, 55, 119. 
Turner, — , 73. 
Turner, Tom, 73. 
Tuscumbia, Ala., 12, 22. 
Twine binder, 186. 

University of Omaha, 183. 

U. S. Land Office, 72. 

U. S. Mint, 181. 

United Sunday School Band, 

Untiedt, 33. 
Upper End, 158, 172, 173, 182, 

Upper rapids, 70. 

Valentine, Cyrus, 178. 
Van der Veer park, 37. 
Vermont, 84, 85. 
Vicksburg, 128, 129. 
Vieths, Claus, 37. 
Vieths, Ditmer, 29. 
Virginia, 66, 134. 
Volks Zeitung, 162. 

Wagner, George, 96. 
Wagon factory, 54, 58. 

Wainwright, Alf., 186. 

Walker, Hiram, 62. 

Walker, John, 62, 67. 

Walker, M. O., 191. 

Walker, Rufus, 179. 

Walker, Tom (J. T.), 61, 62, 

139, 140. 
Walker, Sam, 62. 
Wallace, Hugh, 71, 73. 
Walther, Fred, 184. 
Walther, Charles G., 171, 186, 

Wandschneider, Fritz, 123, 129. 
Wandschneider's, 184. 
Ward, 179, 180, 181, 185. 
Ward, Theudus, 181. 
Wards, 64. 

Warnock & Ralston, 157. 
War Savings Stamps, 173. 
Warsaw, 70. 
Warsaw & Rockford Ry., 70, 

101, 102. 
Wartburg, 13, 14. 
Wiishburne, Elihu B., 60. 
Wassell, Elmer, 174. 
Waterloo, 183. 
Watertown, 118, 119. 
Weckel, John, 47. 
Weckel, Louis, 58. 
Weideman, Harvey, 174. 
Weideman, William, 174. 
Welch, J. W., 179. 
Wells, Uempsey, 174. 
Wells, Elsie, 176. 
Wells, Lucius, 177. 
Wells, Mabel, 176. 
Wessel, Dr. P. H., 58. 
Western House, 103. 
Wethersfield, 164. 
White, Spencer H., 53. 
Whitehead, Ira, 177. 
Whiteside Co., 78, 152, 153. 
Wiegant, John, 136, 137, 184. 
Wiese, Anna, 78. 
Wiese, Frederick, 78. 
Wiese, Henry, 78. 
Wiese, Mrs. Henry, 184. 
Wiese, John, 78. 
Wiese, Marx, 78. 
Wiese, Peter, 123, 128. 
Wild fowl, 76, 91. 



Williams, Mr., 52. 
Williams, Phil., 107. 
Williams, White & Co., 29. 
Williamson, Sam, 123. 
Willows, Irish gray, 189. 
Wilson, Charley, 181. 
W T ilson, Frazier, 177. 
Wilson, Lewis, 155. 
Wilson, Phil, 136. 
Wilson, Tom, 136. 
Wilson, Woodrow (President), 

Wiltamutho, 92. 
Winter, Rev. Louis, 87. 
Winterfeldt, John, 78. 
Wire binder, 186. 
Wisconsin, 147, 150. 
Wisconsin, Steamboat, 24. 
Withrow, Julia Ann, 32. 
Woodburn, John, 73. 

Wool carder, 74. 
World War, 173. 
World's Fair, 169. 

Yost, Rev. George, 13. 
Young Men's Christian Ass'n, 
173, 175. 

Ziegler, Adam, 125, 126. 
Ziegler, Ben, 125. 
Ziegler, Charley, 125. 
Ziegler, Dave, 125. 
Ziegler, Ira, 174. 
Ziegler, John, 125. 
Ziegler, Nick, 125. 
Ziegler, Solomon, 125. 
Ziegler, William (Bill), 125, 

Zieglers', 64. 
Zuma Township, 32. 




Marx D. Hauberg, the author 2 

Mrs. M. D. Hauberg, wife of the author 3 

Mrs. John D. Hauberg, mother 4 

Public school, Raisdorf, Germany 6 

Village scene, Raisdorf 7 

Church at Preetz, Germany 9 

Elmschenhagen smithy 10 

The old family kettle 21 

Moline in the Fifties 26 

The Gordon school 31 

Antoine Le Claire 56 

Col. George Davenport homestead 57 

The log cabin at Sugar Grove 63 

Remains of ditch-and-wall fence 68 

Mother's spinning wheel 70 

Military bounty land certificate 71 

The wool carder 74 

An 1854 tax receipt 76 

The melodeon 84 

1857 confirmation certificate 86 

Henry Frels 88 

Diamond Jo warehouse at Cordova 98 

Warsaw & Rockford Railway, stock receipt 101 

Mr. and Mrs. Gottlieb Stilz 120 

Three sisters, Catherine, Margaret and Elizabeth Hauberg. . 122 

Mr. and Mrs. Jergen D. Hauberg and son 125 

Early day lanterns 132 

The Henry Frels homestead 133 

The stone residence 137 

Officers' race, Hillsdale Fair 139 

Flour mill at Cleveland 141 

Officers, Coe Fair 145 

The branding iron 148 

At the Middle Crossing 151 

Lime Kiln at Port Byron 157 

Old Fort Armstrong 163 

Returned soldier boys of the World War 173, 174 

The barbecue at Fairfield 175 

Red Cross ladies • 176 

Old Settlers' Association group 179 

Group of Civil War veterans 181 

A threshing machine of 1890 185 

The "Horse Power" 186 

A thresher group 188 

The "catfish hole" 192 


3 ■<