250 - DARKE COUNTY "Of the 373 front-line rank ahead of all the other counties in the state. We quote from the general secretary's report to the State convention at Dayton in June, 1911 "Of the 373 front-line schools in Ohio, 243 are in twelve counties and about one-sixth of these are in Darke county, which has seventy-four schools, and forty-one are proven-up front-line. This remarkable record has been achieved largely ti rough the plans and labors of Professor Rover, who philosophically reasoned that the pathway to front-line townships and to front-line county was by making all the schools front-line. It is therefore not surprising to find that of Darke County's twenty townships, ten are front-line. This record old be duplicated in every county in Ohio if rhe county officers would seek to make both the townships and the county front-line by working the problem from the end of the frontline school." Some Workers in the Revival of 1890. Adams- S. D. Kissel, J. T. Hershey, P. B. Miller, James H. Stoltz, J. C. Harmon. Allen—A. J. Bussard, S. A. Ross, Philip Heistand, William Ewry, Joseph Zerbe. Butler—Calvin North, Joseph Jordon, Mrs. Harvey Fellers. Brown—O. F. Johnson, R. P. Vernier, P. C. Zemer, E. Schmidt, George Rahn, John Gange. Franklin-Monroe—A. A. Penny, E. E. Beck, Levi Minnich. Greenville—A. J. Mider, I. N. Smith, W. D. Brumbaugh, A. H. Maurer, Lloyd Brown. German—William Ludy, H. H. Webb, Elijah Wilcox, Lee Woods, Ellen Perry. Harrison—Isaac Wenger. R. E. Thomas, W. C. Mote, D. W. Threewits, J. W. Ketring. Jackson—William B. Foutz, M. F. Oliver, A. A. Hoover, William Arnold. Mississinawa—Ed Miller, Gabriel Reigle, C. R. Reprogle, David Minnich. Neave—Fred Wagner, John North. Patterson-J. W. Keckler, Dottie Meek (Miller), H. Swallow, J. N. Supinger. Richland—M. L. Shafer, James Reed, G. H. Mills, B. F. Beery, Dennis Shafer. Twin—Ezra Post, S. Rynearson, B. F. Keller, Ella Townsend. DARKE COUNTY - 251 Van Buren—William Albright, J. C. Trick, James Routsong. Washington—E. C. White, C. E. Daubenmire, B. F. Skidmore, William Weidman. Wayne—J. S. Wade, M. A. Stover, Horatio Dye, James T. Stewart. Wabash—C. A. Sebring, L. M. Carter, F. M. Birt, Job Goslee. Since the revival of 1890, J. S. Royer, I. S. Wenger, Ezra Post, W. D. Brumbaugh, C. B. Douglas, F. M. Shults, D. T. Bennett, J. A. Pantle, William Underwood, A. L. Detrick and others have acted as superintendent; while Mrs. J. C. Turpen, Mrs. John H. Martin, Mrs. E. M. Miller, O. E. Harrison, Ella Calderwood, Norman Selby, Mrs. E. Foutz and Fannie Hayes acted as secretary. Annual meetings have been held mostly in the towns throughout the county, in which state workers have taken a prominent part. Mrs. C. J. Ratcliff of Greenville has been the efficient and enthusiastic secretary for several years. The officers at present are: President—A. L. Detrick, Rossburg. Vice-President—A. F. Little, Bradford. Secretary—Mrs. C. J. Ratcliff. Treasurer—P. B. Moul, Gettysburg. Superintendents of Departments—Elementary: Mrs. M. If. Corwin, Savona. Intermediate: Odessa Bussard, Ansonia. Adult: J. A. Westfall, Bradford. Teacher Training: Dr. J. A. Detamore, Hill Grove. Missionary: Mrs. Lewis Erisman, Gettysburg. Home and Visitation: Mrs. A. L. Neff, Greene ville. Temperance: Dr. W. B. Graham, Arcanum. CHAPTER XI. RANDOM SKETCHES From the "Darke County Boy." The editor of this work has been led to compile a chapter under the above heading from the voluminous contributions of George W. Calderwood, the far-famed "Darke County Boy," who has written articles for the Greenville Courier, of which he was once editor, at irregular intervals for over thirty years, writing probably fifteen hundred or two thousand columns to date. Mr. Calderwood is the son of the late Judge A. R. Calderwood, a brother of Mayor E. E. Calderwood of Greenville, and of John Calderwood, editor of the Courier, and a brother-in-law of the late Barney Collins and Samuel R. Kemble. He was born in 1848 at Matchetts' Corner, about seven miles south of Greenville, and was raised in the county seat. He was a vigorous and jolly boy, keenly enjoying the sports of the days of his youth, and a close observer of the people and customs of those interesting times before the war. He possesses a versatile mind, is gifted with humor, pathos and a remarkable and retentive memory, making his writings a veritable mine of information and a source of much sentimental enjoyment to others. George was a drum-major when but thirteen years old and acompanied his father with the Fortieth Ohio which was largely recruited in Darke county. He also served in the One hundred and fifty-second and One hundred and ninety-third regiments, and knows the ups and downs of soldier life. As a temperance orator for the National Prohibition organization he attained an extended reputation. In build he is stout and stalky and bears a striking resemblance to his distinguished father. As a sentimental lover of the comrades and associations of bygone days, and a fluent, ready and persistent writer of pioneer lore he has no equal in the county. Accordingly this chapter is dedicated to him by one who knows the meager appreciation accorded the unselfish chronicler of local history. 254 - DARKE COUNTY On account of the diversity of topics treated, the matter selected can only be roughly classified and is accordingly arranged trnder the following heads: SOCIAL LIFE. Winter Sports. We will now have an old-time winter talk: All Mud creek is overflowed and frozen up from Tecumseh's Point to far above Bishop's crossing. Hundreds of muskrat houses are to be seen stretched along the way. The ice is covered with snow, and rabbit tracks are seen galore. Greenville creek is also frozen up from Dean's mill to Knouff's dam and beyond. Skaters everywhere. The snow isn't deep enough to annoy any one. Pete Marks leads off, because he is the "champion skater of the west." George Smith is next, then comes his brother Ben. Hen Tomlinson swings in fourth, followed by Bill Creager, Tip King, Dave and Bob Robey, George Coover, Les Ries, Clay Helm, Ed Connor, Ike Kline, Jerry Tebo, "Jont" Gorsuch, Jack Clark, Ike Lynch, Ed Tomlinson, Gus Rothaas, Bill Collins, Frank (Alex) Hamilton, and a dozen others. Every muskrat house is assaulted and several animals are dead and lying on the ice. Bonfires are blazing and rabbits are being roasted. A lot of fish have been killed either by the snare, or stunned by the pole of an ax. The day is one of feasting, and fun of all kinds is on tap. Supper time finds everybody at home, but none so tired but that they can take in the Thespian or the dance in Weston & Ullery's hall. If the snow is deep enough, the older boys will be out sleigh-riding with the girls, while we smaller kids can be seen coasting down the hill towards Greenville bridge, but scooting off to the right of it and plunging down onto the ice in Greenville creek. On moonlight nights the hill behind Robey's house (now the Bause home on Sweitzer' street), found us coasting down it, the sleds often running as far out in the prairie as the old race track. One thing the boys wore in those days that I seldom see now, and that is knit comforts of red, yellow, green and blue. DARKE COUNTY - 255 The boy that had the most colors in his neck comfort was envied by all other boys. Neither do I see so many fur caps. A rabbit skin cap or a squirrel skin cap was not to be sneezed at in those days. The boy whose parents were rich enough to buy him a pair of buckskin gloves, or "mits" was envied by all boys who had to wear the "mits that mother knit" or go without. The "holidays" in the 50's lasted from Christmas until New Year. That was the great dance and "festival" week—oyster suppers at the churches and other places. It was the great coming out season for boys who could afford overcoats, fur caps, skates and neck comforters. Later on it became fashionable or rather aristocratic for boys to wear gloves----fur gloves at that—and the way they would put on style was a caution. Bear's oil was the favorite grease for the hair, provided it had plenty of cinnamon drops in it. Nearly every boy in town wore a round-a-bout. Long-tailed coats were for men only. Not every boy in town was accustomed to a pocket handkerchief. His coat sleeve was good enough. He would use first one sleeve and then the other. That kind of boy seems to have gone out of fashion. Singing School. Every community in Darke county had a "singing teacher" and of course a "class" of singers—or those who felt that they had voices that should be heard around the world. The first thing to learn was the scale: "Do-ra-me-fa-la-se-do Do-se-la-fa-me-ra-do." That was about all they sang the first night. Most of the teachers had a little steel prong that they would tap on a table in order to get the right "pitch." Holding this to his ear the teacher would open his mouth as wide as the room would permit and then out would come his voice until the whole room was full of music. Organs and pianos were scarce in those days but melodions were plenty. As soon as the class was drilled sufficiently a concert would be given, the receipts of which went to the teacher as payment for his valuable services. He would then visit another neighborhood and "get up a class" and so on throughout the county. These teachers did lots of good and seldom any harm. 256 - DARKE COUNTY "School Brats." All those who were "school brats" from 1865 backward are requested to bring their "McGuffey's Readers," "Webster's Elementary Speller," "Ray's Third Arithmetic," "Stoddard's Mental Arithmetic," '`Mitchell's Geography," "Bullion's Grammar," and "Payson's Copy Book." Of course each one is expected to bring a slate and a pencil. Don't forget your lunch baskets. See that they are well filled, as you may want to eat a bite at recess. The "girls" will be expected to wear sunbonnets, gingham aprons, short dresses (ladies'. or course) and pantalettes with ruffles at the bottom. Those that have coppertoe shoes should wear them. Mohair garters are always in style—so that those who can't get coppertoe shoes should wear garters with rubber stretchers on each side. The "boys" should come barefooted, if possible, but in case they have bunions they should wear red top boots. When the spelling class is called every one should he prepared for it. There will be some jaw-breaking words, I know, such as Lat-i-tu-di-na-ti-on, Mn-com-pat-i-bil-i-ty, In-com-prehen-si-bil-i-ty, O-pom-po-noo-sol, Con-sti-tu-ti-on-al-i-ty, and Ir-re-spon-si-bil-i-ty. Dancing. When I was a boy everybody knew what a fiddle was, but nowadays they call them violins—a name that was too hi-faloo-tin for the pioneer dances in Darke county. It was a common thing in early days at a country dance for one fellow to lead as chief fiddler and one or two others to play "second fiddle." Later on the big bass fiddle was added, as was also a horn, and then the outfit was called the "orchestra." The orchestra business killed off the old country fiddlers, and as a feature at country dances they have passed into history. I don't know where the folks kick up their heels in Greenville of late years, but when I lived there, Weston & Ullery's hall was the most popular assembly room in the town. It was as cold as a barn in the winter, although two stoves were kept red hot all the time. Still, everybody enjoyed themselves, whether the occasion was a dance, church festival or magic lantern exhibition. I was most interested in the dances, for my girl was always there—about six of her. But I couldn't dance at all compared to "Yune" Bowman, Bill Studabaker and Jim Devor (Big Jim). Taylor Fitts was an excellent dancer, and DARKE COUNTY - 257 so was Alf Hyde, John Deardourff, Pete Lavin, Lew Elliott, Tip King and several others. Among the girl dancers were Mollie King, "Node" Craig, Susan Minser, Mary Scribner, Julia Burge, Susan Gorsuch, Nettie Martin and Molly Sebring. Of course there were many others, but I name the above as the constantly "engaged" set. Then take the dances in Ullery & Emrick's hall. Those were the jolliest dances ever held anywhere. The Greenville "Crumrine Club" was composed of men of mark, viz.: Moses Hart, Michael Spayd, Ed Putnam, Charley Calkins, Eli Helm, Jack Sweitzer, Eli Hickox, Henry Horning, Dan King, John King, Enos Shade and General Spiece. Soup for everybody. Toasts and speeches. Frogs' legs and catfish. "Yum, yum." I wasn't old enough to be a member, but I was old enough to eat at many of their feasts. Circus Lore Nearly every circus that came to Greenville in those days came from Winchester, Ind., and we boys would get up early in the morning to see the elephant. Sun-up generally found a dozen or more of us (no breakfast, mind you, for boys in those days hadn't time to eat on circus day) out on the pike by John H. Martin's setting on the fence waiting for the procession to form. We followed close to the elephant and when he got to the Mud Creek bridge he would refuse to cross it, but preferred to wade through the water instead. When he got in the middle of the stream he would stop and squirt water for several minutes and then meander up the bank and into the procession. We boys would trail after the elephant or band wagon all over town and then hurry back to the show ground and ride the horses to water. This would insure us admission to the show. We all "belonged to the show" for that day at least. The next morning we would be on the ground bright and early hunting for money, which we never found. I have never found any since. The Buckeye Hotel burned down in 1856. The following year Spalding & Rogers' circus and Van Amburgh's menagerie exhibited in Greenville on the same day. The circus was given on the corner of Main and Elm streets, on the corner where the late Michael Miller erected his residence. The menagerie canvass was stretched on the ground where the high school stands on Fourth street. (17) 258 - DARKE COUNTY With one of these shows was a side-show that opened on the lot where the Buckeye Hotel had stood and on the present site of William Kipp's Sons' drug store, Broadway and Public Square. The first Japanese I ever saw was with this show. His "Skit" was to throw a number of daggers and stick them into a board close to the neck and head of a man who stood up in front of the board. The man had his back to the board and the Jap would take up a dagger and throw it and stick it "Ker chuck" close to one side of the man's neck. Another dagger was stuck into the board close to the other side of the man's neck. A third and fourth dagger was fastened into the hoard above the man's ears, while the fifth dagger was driven into the board close to the top of the man's head. Eli Bowman, the legless man, was another feature of the show, and the third one was John Allen, the armless man who wrote with his toes. Rowdyism. Another important event took place in Greenville, a year or two after the completion of the Greenville & Miami Railroad. A crowd of Dayton roughs came up to Greenville for the purpose of licking the "backwoodsmen" of Darke county. Instead of licking them they got most beautifully pummelled themselves. Theodore Beers, Ed. Potter and Bill Dewire licked about 16 apiece and sent them back to Dayton with black eyes and sore bones. About 17 or 18 years later the "Dayton Rounders," headed by Lum Cathcart, came up to get revenge. Cathcart got shot in the neck, and a stray shot hit Dave Wise (proprietor King's Hotel) in the neck also. A third important event took place when several soldiers were at home on a furlough, and taking umbrage at the attitude of the Darke County Democrat on the war question, threw the material of that office out of the window on to the sidewalk in front of Weston & Ullery's hardware store, corner Third and Broadway. Still another "important event" might be mentioned. The old "Butternut Corner," a building on the corner where Weisenberger's drug store now is, was the rendezvous of the Darke County "Copperheads." A lot of soldiers went out "skylarking" one night when it occurred to them that it would be a good idea to "bombard the fort." Preliminary to the attack a line of boxes was extended across Broadway, from Jim Sum- DARKE COUNTY - 259 merville's corner (now Koester's block, Third and Broadway) to Moore's corner. The sharpshooters crouched behind the boxes and at the word of command the fusilade began. Brickbats, stones, clubs, and tin cans were fired at the "fort" until those on the inside began to escape by twos and threes. An. occasional shot was fired into the air by some fellow for pure devilment, and some cuss had the audacity to scalp wound Bill Barwise with a half spent bullet. It was fun for the soldiers but it was a close call for Barwise. Fall Pastimes. In the fall of the year we hunted red and black haws, hickory and walnuts, yes, and hazelnuts galore. The roof of our kitchen was covered with nuts laid out to dry. The walnut stain stuck to our hands until the "cows came home" and longer. Cider making time was here, and often we would walk out to Billy Bishop's and suck cider through a straw. Then came applebutter making and more cider to drink. When corn cutting season was over and the pumpkins were gathered, we would go to the woods with our little wagon and gather hickory bark for morning kindling. I yet can hear it cracking under the hack-logs. Soon the apples, potatoes, cabbage and turnips would be unloaded in my father's garden, and us boys were put to work burying them for winter. But when we saw load after load of wood being corded up in the lane we would become seriously afflicted with mental rheumatism. Oh! the excuses we did make! The sawbuck was always broke and the saw needed filing. New saws, new bucks and new axes every fall, and still it was a difficult job to get us to saw enough wood at one time to cook breakfast and to keep the family warm during the day. Cabbage enough was always saved out to make a barrel of sourkraut, and the man that made ours was "Old Dutch Thomas," as we boys knew him. That work done, "Pap" as we called our father, was ready to kill his hogs. He never failed to kill from two to four every year. When the butchering was over then came sausage making and the salting down of a barrel or two of meat. The hams were "smoked" in the smoke house near the well. We boys who helped (?) do so much (?) work scrambled hard for the pig tails. These we roasted on the stove and the feast of eating them was 260 - DARKE COUNTY most enjoyable. When there wasn't pig tails enough to go around, the thought would come to me that if ever I became a farmer I wouldn't raise any pigs but two-tailed kind. Butchering time was when mother saved up fat for soap. We had an ashhopper in our yard and a big iron. kettle to boil the fat out of the meat. Then came the "cracklings." I am not so fond of them as I once was, but many is the crackling I have "scratched," as mother used to say. Soft soap was all the go in those days and our folks always made enough to last a year. Children's Pastimes. The children in those early days who were too small to attend the revivals were left at home sitting in front of the old fireplace, cracking nuts and eating apples. Methinks I can hear those little tads singing at times: "When the north winds do blow, Then we shall have snow, Oh! what will the poor robin do then, poor thing? It will sit in a barn To keep itself warm," etc., etc. Or they may sing: "I want to be an angel And with the angels stand; A crown upon my forehead, And a harp within my hand." That was about the only religious song children knew in tin se days. When we got tired of singing we'd play "Button, button, .A loo's got the button," or we'd recite some pieces. "Mary had a little lamb" was a good one, "Albert Ross and his dog `Dash"' never failed to bring down the house. "Jack and Jill went up the hill" was never lost sight of. Another one of our "classics" was: " I wish I had a little dog, I'd pat him on the head, And so merrily he'd was his tail Whenever he was fed." DARKE COUNTY - 261 Next a boy and girl would stand out on the floor facing the others and the boy would take a sugar kiss (3 for a cent) out of his pocket and slowly unwrap the paper and pick out the little verse and read to his girl this beautiful two-line stanza: "As the vine grows 'round the stump, You are my darling sugar lump." Then the little girl would blush and wiggle her body a bit and take a verse from her sugar kiss and read it: "If you love me as I love you— No knife can cut our love in two." That was a clincher. Every boy in the room was envious of that one boy. Then would come this, that and the other until bedtime. The other would be: "Monkey, monkey, barrel of beer, How many monkeys are there here? One, two three—out goes he !" Then this "Hick-o-ry, Dick-o-ry, Dock The mouse ran up the clock, The clock struck one, The mouse ran down, Hick-o-ry, Dick-o-ry, Dock." Of course larger boys and girls--girls who were big enough to have beaus—would sing one or more of the following: Ben Bolt, Suwanee River, Nellie Gray, Mocking Bird, Annie Laurie, Comin' Through the Rye, Little Brown Jug, The Last Rose of Summer, Willie, We Have Missed You, Paddle Your Own Canoe, Swinging in the Lane, The Girl I Left Behind Me, Wait for the Wagon, etc., etc. When it came to recitations the big boys and girls could beat us little folks every time. Their favorite pieces were: The Burial of Sir John Moore, Cassabianca, Old Grimes is Dead, That Good Old Soul, Charles D. Moore's Remorse, Lord Ullom's Daughter, etc., etc. 262 - DARKE COUNTY Sunday Observance. What a quiet town Greenville used to be on Sunday! There was nothing to do but drink whisky, play poker, fight roosters, go fishing, swimming or skating (according to weather), run horses, pitch horse shoes, or—go to church. I almost forgot the latter. And yet the churches were well filled—more so than they are today, considering population. After the roads were graveled there was considerable buggy riding. In the spring, Sunday was a great day to gather "greens," and at other seasons of the year go to the woods for haws and wild plums. Sassafras diggers were also plentiful at times. I suppose that the mania today is auto-riding. Games. Townball used to be a great game. The "commons" was the ball ground. "Anthony" over was another game, the "mumbbly" peg, quoits, seven-up in the hay mows, matching big copper cents, plump for keeps, hully gull, hop-scotch, and jumping the rope. At school it was "Ring around the rosy," "Blackman," "King William was King James' Son," and "Come Filander." I pine for just one minute of those old days again. Drinking. Whisky in the '50s was very cheap—only twelve and one-half cents a gallon—good whisky at that. Farmers bought it by the barrel—especially in harvest or log rolling time. The best of whisky cost from $5.25 to $8 a barrel. In those days Darke county had a large crop of drunkards. For ten cents a man could stay drunk a whole week, but now a "week's drunk" would cost from $25 up. I don't think there were as many "crazy" drunkards in early days as there are now, because whisky in those days was pure, while the whisky of today never saw a still house. The Old Band. There are some things about Greenville that I never fail to recall with a recollection born of boyhood sentiment. Take the old band, for instance: There was none better in Ohio. Henry Tomlinson was the leader—great big-hearted, noble DARKE COUNTY - 263 man. Alf Hyde, his assistant—good as they made cornet players in those days; Tip King, Major Hickox, Dan Zimmerman, Msaac Leonard, Ike Lynch, Billy Waggoner, Ed Tomlinson, John Deardourff, Les Ries, John Fryberger, Dave Vantilburgh, Abe Huffman and the writer. Ah, me, but those were happy days! Sometimes Jack Sweitzer and Colonel Frizell would meet with us in the room over Hufnagle's store, and then out would go the big water-can over to King's Hotel (now the Wagner House) and when it came back we would sing, "Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot," etc. Early Fairs. It hardly seems a fact, but it is, that the first "Darke county fair" was held forty years ago. What an insignificant thing it was then, compared with the exhibits of the present day! Then a few hundred people made up the attendance; now they come by thousands. Then the sheds, halls, stables and fences were made of wide pine board and sold to the highest bidder after the fair; now everything in that line is of a permanent nature, and in some instances the buildings are substantial and becoming. Then the cattle were of the "old brindle cow" stripe; now the exhibit contains the finest in the land—Shorthorns, Herefords, Jerseys, Gallaways, Polled Angus, Holsteins, Durhams, etc. The old elm-peeler hog has been superseded by the Poland-China, the Berkshire, Chester White, Victorias, Duroc Jerseys, Essex, Suffolk and other breeds. Sheep likewise have been wonderfully improved since the days of 1855. The chicken flocks have undergone wonderful changes, especially in varieties, but it is doubtful whether any of the new breeds surpass the old "dunghill" for eggs and good meat. The rest of the fowl creation has kept pace with the improvement spirit in other lines, and contrasts most admirably with the "bloods" of forty years back. In farm implements the advance has been astonishing. From the old man-killing cradle mode of harvesting advance was made to the reaper without a rake-off; then came the automatic rake-off, followed by the wonderful self-binder. The sulky corn plow, the revolving and various other styles of harrow, corn planter, hay baler, hay carrier, hay loader, and many other like improvements for the farmer. The improvements in grain, in fruits, in potatoes, etc., have been as great, but in nothing has improvement and genius been so extensive and so surprising as in farm implements and machinery. 264 - DARKE COUNTY With all this for the present day, the people enjoyed the "Darke- county fair" of forty years ago quite keenly. 'Twas the best they had ever witnessed, and the exhibits were up to the times—better, perhaps, considering the comparative advantages, than those of today. The two-forty trotter was a wonderful nag in those days, and he was groomed and praised as must as the two-ten horse is of today. The forty years have not diminished the ambition among the people for county fairs in the least. The season is one of recreation and pleasure to farmers especially, and they enjoy these annual exhibitions, and they come, regardless of the weather. They have kept pace with the world of improvement, and their lands, their crops, stock, farm implements and buildings evidence the universal ambition to keep up with the procession. Log Rollings and Hooppoles. It won't be many years before the timber will be thinned out so that the wild game will be scarce. Go into the country in any direction and you will see gangs of men at work burning down trees so as to get them out of the way. Timber is an awful nuisance in this county, and it's so thick down around Arcanum that cattle and hogs get lost for days at a time. Then it's awful muddy down there, too, but they will have good roads one o' these days, for I understand they are cutting down all the small trees and making corduroy roads with them. There is some talk of the sawmill at Sampson doing nothing but saw heavy boards to pin down along the roads, and then there will be nothing but plank roads all over the county. There is a nice corduroy road between Dallas and Lightsville. It was thought here at a time that there was plenty of gravel to be had in this county, but it was all they could do to get enough to build the Winchester and Gettysburg pikes. There is timber enough in this county to make plank roads everywhere. They will be much "smoother" and cheaper than gravel. Was you ever at a log rolling? Well you ought to go once and see what an amount of work neighbors will do for one another. When a settler gets hold of a quarter section, or even forty acres of timber land and wants to build a house or a barn, or both, all he has to do is to let his neighbors know it, and they will come even ten miles to help him. DARKE COUNTY - 265 Nearly all the log houses in Darke county were built in that way—neighbor helping neighbor. Look yonder! There comes a half dozen teams down the hill over there by 'Squire Doty's, every wagon loaded with hoop-poles. They are taking them to Cincinnati to the big cooper-shops where they make the pork barrels for the big packing houses there. Those hooppoles come from away up in Mississinawa and Allen townships, where young hickory trees are so thick that a deer can't get through them. Those teams will all be driven into Mark's barnyard, corner of Fourth and Broadway, and rest up tonight, and early tomorrow morning resume their journey. They will drive to Eaton tomorrow, and the next day to Hamilton, and the following day they will land in Cincinnati. They could easily make the trip in two days if they could travel on corduroy roads, and if on plank roads they could do it in less time. I expect to see the day when there will be a plank road from Greenville clear to Cincinnati. There is timber enough in Darke county to do it, and it wouldn't be missed. A good plank road from Greenville to Cincinnati would bust trp that railroad that was built from Dayton up here a few years ago. Railroads will never amount to much in this country. They are very unpopular and extravagant; besides the whistle on the engine scares all the horses, and not long ago the engine ran into a drove of cattle belonging to the Studabakers and killed about $100 worth of steers. An Old Huckster. You see if we had plank roads in this county, Huggins' huckster wagon (he has four of 'em,) could travel all over Darke county and gather in eggs, tallow, beeswax, calamus rcot, coon skins, deer hides, sassafras bark, and leave with the settlers coffee, tea, sugar, thread, pepper, salt, calico, and other store goods in exchange. With plank roads running all over the county we won't have any use for railroads. There comes a four-horse team down Main street. The wagon is loaded with lumber. It came all the way from Spartansburg, Indiana. The fellow sitting on the saddle horse jerking the rein is J. Wesley Clemens, from near Tampico out in the colored settlement. He is hauling that lumber down to the fair ground (you can see it yonder in that bunch of oak trees on the Jefferson road) to build the fence. Allen LaMotte has the job of building the fence, and when the fair is over 266 - DARKE COUNTY they sell the lumber to Nick Kuntz who has that saw mill you see yonder on the banks of Greenville creek. Kerosene and Telegraph. Did you see that stuff they had at Burtch's grocery the other night for making light? It's a fluid of some kind that soaks into a wick and you get it afire and it burns very bright; but it is dangerous and expensive stuff. There has been a great improvement on candles here of late. They've got candle moulds down at Carter's candle factory in Huntertown that will turn out twelve candles at a pop. I understand the Studabakers and other rich people have moulds of the same size. They cost about $2.50 and poor folks who are unable to own even a four candle mould can get along very well with the tallow dip. A person can buy a dip at Allen's tin store for twenty cents that has a spout on it for the wick to come through and a handle on it the same as some tea cups have. There is an oil used in some of the big cities that is called kerosene, but it blows up and kills people. There ought to be a law against selling such dangerous stuff. I heard Thomas P. Turpen say that when he stopped in New York city on his way home from South America that he saw lights on the corners of the streets that were made out of some kind of gas, and even some of the big hotels had it to light the dining rooms. * * * * * * Have you ever been to that telegraph office over Workman's and Daily's dry goods store? There's a machine up there that a long strip of paper run through and it has a Iot of dots and dashes on it that take the place of letters. They are getting pretty hard up when they have to use signs instead of the plain a, b, c's. I heard Dan R. Davis say that when he was in Dayton not long ago he saw a man that could tell what message was coming over the wire just by the sound it made; he did not have to look at the strip of paper at all. Well, when they get to doing that it will he pretty near time for the world to come to an end. An Old Fiddler. One of the old "land marks" of Greenville yet remains in a log cabin standing at the extreme south end of Euclid avenue, a little to the east. The writer first saw the cabin forty-five years ago, and it was then an old structure in appearance. A DARKE COUNTY - 267 family by the name of Quick lived in it, the father and two sons earning a livelihood by cutting cord wood and splitting rails for the farmers nearby, this part of the country being then a comparative wilderness. Nine-tenths of Greenville of today was at that time "in the woods." One of the Quicks, Aaron, was a "fiddler" (called violinists now), and he made the "wild west" resound with "Old Dan Tucker," "Old Rosin the Bow," "Jennie Put the Kettle On," and the Arkansaw Traveler. Aaron was a cripple, and he done little else but play the fiddle in a genuine old backwoodsman style. He had no fiddle "larnin," but nevertheless he could find an audience of considerable size whenever he would come up" to town—Greenville was then a "town." Aaron made many a quarter playing to a street audience and was in great demand at the numerous country dances of those days. The old cabin ought to be photographed as a relic before it gives way to "fate." It is not improbable that the structure is nearly, if not quite, sixty years old, as that part of Greenville is quite "aged," and was "organized" by a Mr. George Hunter, an Englishman, house painter by trade, that part of the town bearing his name to this day, as "Huntertown." "Coonskin" Brown. While we are sitting here in this belfry, we might a well look at some of the persons who cross the public square or come in or go out of town. We can't find a better place to see what is going on. There comes a man on horse-back around the corner at Fitts' tavern, corner of Broadway, that used to be called Mark's Tavern. That's "Coonskin" Brown; you've heard of him, haven't you? He's one of the odd characters of Darke county. I guess he's got about a hundred coonskins strapped to his horse. He traps them down there in the neighborhood of New Madison and when he gets one hundred or so he fetches them to town and sells them to Allen LaMotte. That's Allen's place right down there to the left on Broadway, where you see that pile of pelts. You see this county is nearly all woods and wild game is plentiful. Up around Dallas there's lots of deers and wild turkeys—in fact there are wild turkeys all over the county. Then there are lots of mink, muskrats, foxes, and a few wildcats, and as fast as the settlers can kill them off they bring their pelts into Greenville and sell them to LaMotte. 268 - DARKE COUNTY While "Coonskin" was a great coon hunter—the most successful in the county—he was also fond of honey. "Joe" Bloom owned a good bunch of trees not far from New Madison and in one of these trees was a nest of bees. Bloom made up his mind to get hold of that honey in some way, but he was.a little slow in doing it. However, the time came when he concluded to make an effort and engaged a couple of men to assist him. The three of them went to the woods to find that some one had chopped the tree down the night before and robbed the bees nest of the honey. Bloom ripped and snorted and possibly cussed a little—not because the honey was gone—but because the tree had been cut down. He had his suspicion as to who the guilty person was, but he couldn't prove it, and being a responsible man, he kept quiet for fear of a libel suit in the event he might be mistaken. One day he met Brown and said to him: "Coonskin," somebody cut down a bee tree of mine a few nights ago, and if you will find out who it was I will give you $5." "Give me your $5, Mr. Bloom, and I will tell you right now who cut it." "Are you certain, `Coonskin?' I want you to he sure because I don't want to cause an innocent man any trouble," said Mr. Bloom. "Oh, I am as certain as certain can be, Mr. Bloom, and I wouldn't tell you a lie for $50," said Brown. "Well, here's your $5, now tell me who it was." "Coonskin" took the $5 and slowly folded it up and after putting it into his pocket looked at Mr. Bloom and laughed. "Well, who was it?" said Bloom. "I tut your bee tree, Mr. Bloom—now prove it," said "Coonskin." Brown couldn't talk very plain but Mr. Bloom understood him and then the matter dropped. DOMESTIC LIFE. Early Mothers. The housewives of Greenville "before the war" days, had their full share of hard work as well as their husbands. No sewing machines, no washing machine, no laundries, no dressmakers, no milliners, no bar soap made lots of hard work for them. They couldn't phone to the grocery or store and have goods delivered to them on the double quick. Some one had DARKE COUNTY - 269 to "go up town" with the market basket and tote home all the supplies for the family. No gas or coal stoves—all used wood, and sometimes when there was no wood, they had to gather chips, and when the chips were all gone they had to carry wood or chips from the woods near by. I don't say that all had to sit up late, at night mending her children's clothes, or might run short of capital letters. Many and many a mother had to sit up late at night mending her chiidren's clothes, or making new ones for them to wear to school next day. She would work until late in the night—husband and children asleep—and then be the first one out of bed in the morning to get breakfast and get the children off to school, then she turned her attention to dishes and washed them. Next she had to make the beds, sweep the house, feed the chickens, slop the pigs (of course she milked the cow while the water in the tea kettle was heating), darn stockings awhile, sew a little on her new calico dress, then hurry and peel potatoes and get other things ready for dinner for the children will soon be home from school. About this time she discovers that there isn't a hit of lard or sugar or coffee in the house. She can't go to the grocery and she can't find any one to send; what does she do? She borrows coffee from one neighbor, lard from another and sugar from another. You see those days neighbors were neighbors, and not mere "howdy-do" acquaintances. Friendship was door-wide in every house in the town. When the children got home from school they were dispatched to the grocery immediately for sugar, coffee and lard and the neighbors were paid back in full; and thus it went until after the war. Then strangers began pouring into town, Some were good and some weren't; some were honest and some weren't; and an atmosphere of suspicion and distrust prevailed the whole community. * * * * * In the boyhood days in my homeland it was the custom for women to smoke Of course there were exceptions, but my recollection is that the majority of the older women in Darke county in those days smoked pipes. If I should tell you their names you would be surprised, and yet I could name a dozen or more of them within yelling distance of our old home. Women have as much right to smoke as men have. I do not think it a bit becoming for a woman to chew tobacco and let the "juice" run out of the corners of her mouth and trickle down her chin, yet I can see no harm in it. if her husband or 270 - DARKE COUNTY lover chews. A man who smokes or chews should never marry a woman who neither smokes nor chews, and vice versa. I hold the same opinion as to drinking or gambling. A tobacco-using or whisky-drinking woman is generally as clean as a man with like habits. Clothing and Fashions. You see there were no dressmakers in Greenville before 1860, and the fact of the matter was that it was cheaper and better in every way to engage a dressmaker from Dayton or Cincinnati to cut and fit garments for all these families, than for them to go to the city at the expense of car and hotel bills. But because they hired city dressmakers they were called "big bugs." The first Greenville dressmaker, to my recollection, was Sarah Shade, sister of Enos Shade, and it was along about 1860 that she opened a shop. The first milliner of my recollection was Mrs. Long—wife of Sheriff Ol Long. After she began trimming hats, Sarah Shade added millinery to her dressmaking business. In those days there were no such things as ladies' coats or jackets—no, indeed. Every woman in town wore either a shawl or mantello. Another thing I remember very distinctly, and that was the women had but two ways of fixing up their hair. One way was to part it in the middle and comb it down as flat as a pancake over the ears, hiding them completely; the other way was to curl it in spiral rolls and let it hang all around the head like icicles from a rain spout. One thing I forgot to mention about the style of dresses is that in those days styles did not change from season to season, as many styles lasted two or three years, and few women were so curious as to have their hats retrimmed more than once a year; so you see there was no flubdubbery in the "fifties" about headgear or wearing apparel. * * * * * * * It used to be the custom in Darke county for newly-married Dunkard women to wear capes to distinguish them from the unmarried. I don't now whether, that custom prevails today or not. Darke county was blessed with a large number, of Dunkard families. Better farmers, better citizens never Iived than the Dunkards. Hundreds,. yes thousands, of these DARKE COUNTY - 271 thrifty people have recently located in California. The more the better for the state. * * * * * * * There were no store clothes in those days, and Sunday suits were a variety. "Lintsey woolsey" for the women and homespun jeans for the men, constituted the clothes of the realm. Coonskins were currency, and butter and eggs were a drug on the market. The young men all wore "wamuses" and galluses of the home-made variety. Only '"dudes" wore white shirts, and they weren't always starched. Husking bees, log rollings, quilting parties and apple-butter making were the amusements of those days. Log barns, log houses, log churches and log school houses—all patterned after one style of architecture. In school or church the females sat on one side and the males on the other. Some of the children had to go miles and miles to school, and many had to go the same distance to church. There were no county roads—but here and there logs were laid down in the muddy spots (and in the winter and spring all spots were muddy) and over these corduroys, it was jolt, jolt, jolt. Household Equipment. That was the period of big iron kettles used by nearly every farmer for cooking feed, food, and boiling clothes. There were a few copper kettles in the county and these were usually rented out at twenty-five cents a barrel for cider in apple butter seasons. They were also used for cooking fruit for canning purposes. The cans were made of tin by either a Mr. Allen, I. N. Beedle, Billy Stokeley, or Fred Rehling. The latter, T think, struck Greenville in 1854. These cans were closed with red sealing wax. Those were also the days of sickles, scythes and grain cradles —the days of back-logs and andirons—the days of the spinning wheel—the days of candles and tallow dips—the days of the knitting needle, when every mother knit socks, stockings, and mittens for the whole family—the days of quilting, when the neighbor women all congregated at some house and helped the wife make her quilts. Many top quilts in variegated colors were woven by some women who owned a loom. That was the time when wool was taken to some woolen mill and carded into strings two or three feet in length, and these strings would he attached to the spinning wheel and converted into yarn. 272 - DARKE COUNTY There were very few stoves in Darke county up to 183-4. Many farmers' wives had to cook in the fireplaces. Pork, beans, hominy, potatoes, onions and mush constituted the "grub" leaders in many homes. Soon after out-door ovens became popular and numerous. Nearly every family had an ashhopper from which they drained lye to make soft soap with, and this was used for all purposes. Wild turkeys, wild geese, wild pigeons and pheasants were plentiful, and every Sunday game would be found on the tables. There were plenty of deer in the neighborhood of Dallas (Ansonia). Lots of coons, minks, foxes, muskrats, rabbits and squirrels in all parts of the county, and their hides could be seen nailed to nearly every barn. The woods were full of hickory nuts, walnuts, butternuts, haws, wild cherries, plums, Mayapples, mulberries, blackberries, hazelnuts, etc. Wild flowers, roses especially, were abundant. All these are gone I understand—nothing but a sweet memory of them remaining. Log houses, log barns, log schoolhouses and log churches, once prevalent in the county have all passed into history. So have the flintlock guns, the smoothbore rifle and the tube guns that were fired with "SB" caps. The old crane wells have gone the same way. Boots are no longer in style, and the fish oil with which they were greased is seldom seen nowadays. The only outside newspapers ccming to Greenville in those days were Greeley's New York Tribune, Sam Medary's Ohio Statesman, and the Cincinnati Weekly Gazette. Could the pioneers of the days I have recalled gaze upon Greenville and Darke county today they would say: "Evolution, hast thou no end!" There were no restaurants or laundries in those days. Housewives, as a rule, done their own washing every Monday. Nearly every yard had a well or cistern, and there were many ash hoppers scattered over the town. Bar soap was a rare article, but soft soap was abundant. There were possibly 100 or more soap kettles in town. Very few persons were able to buy petroleum oil, but nearly every family in town owned a pair of candle moulds. Many of the aristocratic families were able to own brass candle snuffers. Some didn't own any snuffer at all—they either snuffed the candle with a pair of scissors or wet their thumb and finger and snapped off the DARKE COUNTY - 273 wick. Candlesticks were plentiful—most of them were made of tin, some of brass and a few were coated with German silver. There were one or two families that owned candlesticks that held two or more candles. Such were considered extravagant people. * * * * * There were no wood or coal yards in Greenville in the fifties. I don't think I ever saw a load of coal in Greenville until after the war. The family that didn't own an ax, a sawbuck and saw with a woodpile in front of the gate, wasn't in style in those days. It became fashionable later on to have woodsheds. Horses, cattle, sheep and hogs used to roam the streets and often break into a garden and get a "belly full" of garden truck before they were discovered. It used to be the custom for the owner of the garden to hold the stock in "hock" until the owner came and paid the damages and took his animal away. * * * * * * There used to be a fluid sold in Greenville—the name of which puzzles me. It was for lighting purposes, and was used in lamps before I ever heard of gasoline, petroleum, kerosene or coal oil. I know that people were afraid of it, although I never heard of it exploding. It was soon taken off the market when kerosene came, and if it had not been for the smell I would have said that it and kerosene were one and the same. The kerosene lamps were made beautiful to behold by putting different colors of yarn in the bowl of the lamp. The family that could afford most colors got the most praise. Then along came the lamp shades. My, but they were pretty —all colors and many of them escoloped around the edges. Of course there was one way to make them safe from explosion and to make them burn brighter, and that was by putting a little salt in the bowl of the lamp. When kerosene lamps and kerosene lanterns became popular in Darke county it made the candle-makers mad and Greenville's only candle-maker—Thomas Carter—got disgusted and moved back to Kentucky where he learned the candle-making business. * * * * * * There were a great many teams of oxen in Darke county in the fifties. It was always claimed that a team of oxen could pull a heavier load than a span of horses. I don't know whether than was so or not, but I do know that a. good team (18) 274 - DARKE COUNTY of oxen was kept at much less expense than a team of good horses. There was no trouble to yoke up a pair of oxen.. All you had to do was to hold up one end of the yoke, and say "Come, Buck," and the near ox would juke his head under the yoke, and all you had to do was to slip the little "neck" yoke up through the holes in the big yoke—stick in the wooden pin and Buck was "hitched." Then you called "Breck," the "off" ox, and he went through the same program. Of course every driver used an ox gad, that is the whip ten or fifteen feet in length often, and mounting the wagon away you went. The team was guided by the voice: "Gee Buck—gee there!" or "haw, Buck, whoa haw!" that is all there was to it. It always paid to give your oxen plenty of water, for if you didn't, they'd get it if they had to run off the road with the wagon, load and all, and rush down hill into the creek. When a farmer had a lot of "clearing" to do he generally used two or three yoke of oxen to haul the logs to the log heap where they were burned to get them out of the way. I guess there are not many log heaps burning in Darke county today. Nearly every wagon in those days, '54 to '60, had a coupling-pole that usually stuck out behind from three to six feet, and on this pole hung the tar bucket which was used to grease the wagon wheels. I haven't seen a tar bucket on a wagon in an old coon's age. Some of the Pennsylvania Germans, especially the Dunkards of early days, owned big wagons with beds on them large enough to hold the furniture of an ordinary hotel. The tires on the wheels were broad, and each wagon bed had a feed-box on the rear end of the bed and a too] box on each side, and also a box in front for curry-comb, harness grease and brushes. All such wagons were made in Reading, Pennsylvania. Those were the days for elderberry and dried apple pies. Many times I have seen the roofs of houses covered with elderberries and apples drying in the sunshine. Applebutter pies were also quite popular. But the great royal dish for children was mush and milk. Many was the time I made my supper on mush and milk and my breakfast on fried mush and cane molasses. I made many a five-cent piece digging sassafras root and selling it to families for tea. Speaking of dried apples: It used to be the fashion to give DARKE COUNTY - 275 an apple-cutting party at some house where all the girls and boys of the neighborhood would gather and make love, tell stories and peel apples. An apple would be sliced into several pieces, and the pieces would be strung on thread or cotton string in bunches about six feet long, and these bunches would be laid on the roof to dry or hung up in some out-of-the-way spot. I have seen them strung from wall to wall in bedrooms, kitchen and garret. Perhaps that was what made dried apple pie such a favorite in the way of "dessert." Early Notables. For a little town—a town in the backwoods—a stuck in the mud town, Greenville had more lively boys and girls than many towns double its size. It had a Thespian club, a military company, a debating society and several mite societies. There were some mighty good lawyers in Greenville, too: Judge Beers, Judge Wilson, Judge Meeker, Judge Calder-wood, Judge Wharry, Judge Allen, Riley Knox and Charley Calkins, either of whom would have ranked high with the best lawyers in any large city. There were also several "long headed" men in. Greenville who did not belong to any of the professions, namely: Moses Hart, Manning Hart, John Huffnagle, Enos Shade, Allan LaMotte, Eli Helm, Wash. Weston, Sam Ullery, Henry Arnold, Henry Garst, William Morningstar, the Katzenberger brothers, George W. Moore, Michael Miller, John Spayde, Isaac Rush and T. P. Turpen. And where will you find better physicians than Dr. Gard, Dr. Otwell, Dr. Lynch, Dr. Licklider, the Drs. Matchett and Dr. Miesse? The latter paid no attention to local practice, but his name and fame was scattered all over the country and he grew rich while few persons in Greenville had but little idea of his extensive practice abroad. Gavin Hamilton was the best auctioneer. Bill Williamson was the best horse-trader. Ezra Sharpe was the best constable. William Laurimore was the best squire. (Nobody knew what J. P. meant in those days.) Linus Purdy was the best bricklayer. Hezekiah Owings was the best marshal. John Wharry was the best surveyor. 276 - DARKE COUNTY Old-Time Carpenters. 1854-1876—Washington and Mathias McGinnis, Enos Shade, Harve House, Fred Kissel, John Frybarger, David Hoovler, Luther Robinson, Leonard Stebbins, Al Hardman, Reuben Kunkle, Jacob Meybrun, Daniel Lecklider, Daniel Larimer, Jack Scribner, William Tate, Alexander and William Kerr, Manning F. Hart, Alonzo Shade, Daniel Neiswonger, Harve Robinson and Jerry Sanson. Who have I left out? Old-Time Painters. The back yonder painters of Greenville were: George Hunter, Bob Brown, Henry Shamo, John Cox, Bill Cox, Hen Low, D. O. May, L. O. Galyan, Dr. J. L. Garber, Joe Nickodemus, John Boyd, Lum Clawson and Bill Knight. Who have I missed? Old-Time Bricklayers. From 1854 to 1876 I recall Linus Purdy, Thomas Stokeley, Benjamin and Egbert Reed, John Krause, John Hamilton, Cash Baxter and Ike Smith. Who have I missed? An Early Shoemaker. Talking about early shoemakers, it is well to remember that William J. Bireley came here as a cobbler in 1830 and worked for William Martin, Sr. Early Superstitions. I didn't hear of any ghosts, haunted houses or Jack O'Lanterns when I was in Darke county last summer. There used to be lots of them there when I was a boy. I didn't see or hear of any witches either. They used to be very plentiful too—to hear about. I don't think the county was any more superstitious than other counties in early days, but there was a plenty of it just the same. I will note a few: To kill a snake and leave it belly up to the sky was sure to fetch rain. To tramp on a toad and crush it would cause the cows to give bloody milk. To spill salt was sure to bring disaster. To pick up a pin—head toward you—was bad luck. To hear a rooster crow at the door, or drop a dish rag was a sure sign of some one coming. To hear a dog howl under the window was a sign that some one near was going to die soon. To DARKE COUNTY - 277 leave the house and forget something and go back after it, denoted misfortune of some kind. To hoist an umbrella in the house was serious disappointment if not worse. To see the new moon over your left shoulder was bad luck, but to see it over the right shoulder was good luck. To dream of the dead, denoted a wedding. To put on socks or stockings wrong side out and not know it at the time was sure to bring the best sort of luck. To sing before breakfast denoted sickness. To spit on fish worms and give them "dutch hecks" insured a good catch of fish. To plant potatoes in the "dark of the moon" was sure to impair them with "dry rot." The above were some of the "superstitions" that once prevailed in Darke county. Others I may take up at another time. Here are a pair of superstitions that people believed in fifty years ago and in many places outside of Darke county they still believe in them, namely: If a ground. hog sees his shadow there will be, six weeks more of winter. This superstition is proverbial in many states, so much so that "groundhog day" is a fixture in the vocabulary of each community. The other superstition that has hung fast to so many persons all these years is this: "Look out for a long and severe .winter when the squirrels begin to carry nuts and corn to their dens in the trees or ground." It was a bad sign for any one to make you a present of a knife, for it always "cut friendship." It was a bad sign to drop your fork at the table, unless the point happened to stick into the floor. In that case you would have "sharp luck all day." It was generally good luck to put on your left boot first, but if you happened to put on your hat wrong end first "great disappointments" were ahead of you. It was dangerous to wear hoopskirts with steel springs in them in rainy weather as they were "sure to draw lightning," and many was the time that the "belles" of Darke county would jerk off their skirts on the double quick and hide them somewhere if a rain storm was approaching. And often and often when visiting friends of an evening, if a streak of lightning appeared or a roll of thunder was heard, the visiting ladies were sure to leave their hoopsirts with their friends and go home without them. When anything was lost it was best to spit in the palm of your left hand, hit it with the forefinger of your right hand, and in whatever direction the spit flew there you would find your lost article. 278 - DARKE COUNTY When fishing it was always good policy to throw the very small fish back into the creek as soon as you took them off of the hook, for if you didn't the big fish wouldn't bite at all. Obsolete Trades, Customs, etc. There is not a cooper in Greenville—that is, a hoop-pole cooper. When wooden hoops gave way to iron ones, the draw knife cooper went out of business. Brick moulders are just as scarce and with them went the "off-hearers." Greenville used to have quite a number of brick moulders. The hotel gongs and dinner bells—first and second—are no longer heard in Greenville. It's lonesome without them. Cows no longer march single file through Broadway on their way to the creek to drink as they used to. Even the "town pump" is no more. The squeaking of the handles was exceedingly musical (?) in days gone by. Boys no longer play marbles on the public square nor do men get out and pitch horse shoes there as they used to. Greenville has "society" now but there was a time there when "we uns were just as good as you uns" and a darned sight better. Greenville is very much cityfied now and societyfied as well. During my last visit to Greenville I missed hearing any one sing: "Oh landlord fill the flowing bowl Until it does run over. For tonight, tonight, we'll merry, merry be, And tomorrow we'll get sober." Or: "We'll harness up our hosses, Our business to pursue And whoop along to Greenville As we used for to do." Or: "From Waddleton to Widdleton it's eighteen miles. From Widdleton to Waddleton it's eighteen miles." Or: "We're bound to run all night, We're bound to run all day; I'll bet my money on that bob-tail hoss, Who'll bet on the bay?" DARKE COUNTY - 279 Or: "It's many days you've lingered Around my cabin door. Oh, hard times, hard times, Come again no more." Or: Roll on silver moon, Guide the traveler on his way Roll on, roll on, roll on." Or: "There is the landlord Who'll feed your horse oats, corn and hay— And whenever your back is turned He'll take it all away— In these hard times." I didn't see a yoke of oxen during the whole of my stay there. There used to be scores of ox teams in Darke county. I didn't hear the crack of an ox whip, and not once did I hear any one say: "Whoa there, Buck. Gee there, Bessy." Not a boy in the whole town did I see walking on a pair of stilts. Nor did I see a game of mumble-dy peg. Nor a game of horse-shoes. I did not see a single tin lantern with holes punched through it. I didn't see a candle stick nor a tallow dip. Not even a pair of candle moulds could be seen. I didn't see a cooper shop in the town. Nor a gunsmith shop. I didn't see a pair of red-top boots on the feet of any boy or anywhere else. I didn't hear a Jew's-harp. I didn't see a package of saleratus. Nor a plug of dog-leg tobaco. I didn't see a goose-quill pen. There were lots of things I didn't see that used to be plentiful. 280 - DARKE COUNTY Events of 1856. The Courier was not in existence then, but the editor, John Calderwood, was and had been here some nine years. He remembers two big events in that year (1856). One of them was a Democratic barbecue, held in Armstrong's "big woods," near the spot where Mrs. William Schnouse now resides (314 Washington avenue, near Cypress street). There was a big ox roasted that day and there was a big crowd to eat it. One of the "big" speakers was Samuel Medary. The other big event was a sort of double show day, that is to say, two shows were held here on the same day, namely, Spaulding & Rogers' circus and Van-Amburg's menagerie. The circus was held where the Michael Miller residence now stands, and the menagerie was held near where the high school building now stands. That year, 1856, was a great year for noted events. The presidential election was held that year, and John C. Freemont was the republican candidate, and James Buchanan the democratic candidate. Among the "big" men who spoke here during that campaign were Tom Corwin, Salmon P. Chase and Sam Galloway. Corwin was the leader—the most popular. Ohio never produced his equal as a stump-speaker. For that matter, no other state could show an equal to Corwin. Ingersoll, the greatest orator that ever belonged to the United States, said of Corwin: "He stood peerless and alone in a class by himself." ANCIENT LANDMARKS AND LOCALITIES. "Kentucky Point." Where is Kentucky Point? Gone! 'Where was it? It was a quarter of a mile west of the old fair grounds, and the waters of Mud creek surrounded it on three sides when the floods come. I do not know who gave it the name of "Kentucky Point," but I do know that no spot of land in Darke county produced more grapes than those few acres of land. There was prairie on three sides of it full of mud and tussicks, but on the south side was dry walking to the top of "Bunker Hill," a quarter mile south. I suppose half of the wedding engagements in those days were first "whispered" on that hill. It was the one-and the only one - romantic spot near town DARKE COUNTY - 281 The hill was probably one hundred feet high, which was very "mountainous" to we boys then. Lovers could climb to the top and gaze up the prairie many miles, and see the big hill on Peter Weaver's farm, four miles away, and then they could "see all over" Greenville, and see "Turner's mill on Martin's Hill." This "mountain" was densely wooded and "lovers' paths" leading hither and thither to ideal spots in which to tell to each other as to "how happy my love will make you." * * * * * * Another wild pigeon roost was over on "Kentucky Point," in Mud Creek prairie. That "point" was about one-half mile due west of the south end of the old fair ground. Enos Shade and Jack Switzer used to kill pigeons by the hundreds at that place. That prairie used to be full of rabbits in the winter time, and the creek used to be full of muskrats. I think I have seen as many as fiffty muskrat houses projecting through the ice from Mud creek bridge to Bishops Crossing. There used to be lots of mink in those days. I can remember seeing the pelts—several of them—of otters killed in Darke county. Allen LaMotte had them in a huge pile of other pelts that he had stacked on the sidewalk in front of his store on Broadway. "Big Jack" Smith, who lived in the "Beach," told me that he killed a prairie wolf on his father's place when he was a boy. There used to be lots of foxes in Darke county. Yes, and lots of deer, too. There were wild deer in that county when I was a boy. Wild turkeys were also plentiful. There were lots of wild geese and wild ducks flying all over the county no so many years ago. I don't think there ever were any bear in Darke county—at least during my boyhood. "Armstrong's Commons." 'What a little bit of a Jim Crow town Greenville was in '65! Now it is putting on city. airs with several kinds of gas, electric lights, fire department, water works, telephones, and a street railway—electric line, I believe. "All that part of town south of Fifth street was a barren tract of land, known as `Armstrong's Commons.' Before the war of the rebellion, it was covered with a thick forest. At the left of Central avenue, before it crosses the railroad, was a huge pond of water—now filled up and I undertand covered with dwelling houses. West of that street, where there is now a long row of houses, was Jonathan Gilbert's brick 282 - DARKE COUNTY yard, afterwards leased by Manning Hart and later to John Harry for brick-making. Mr. Hart finally sold it off in lots." "I can look back to the time that all that part of Greenville was a dense woods. I can remember when Ed Cline and Bill Creager shot a pheasant at about .where the Pennsylvania depot stands. I give both of them credit for killing it as both shot at it at the same time. A little north of that stood several dead trees in a bunch where wild pigeons by the hundreds used to roost. It was great sport for the Greenville sports in the '50s to shoot the pigeons on their roost. "There were but two kinds of guns in those days—the smooth bore rifle and the single barrel shotgun. The double barrel shot gun was a rare article. The possessor of a double barrel shot gun was envied on all sides. There were quite a number of flint locks too in those days. Wooden ramrods were in time displaced by iron ones. A gun with an iron rain-rod was worth twice as much as it would be if it had a wooden rod. Just why I can't say, but a fellow with an iron ramrod to his gun wouldn't trade that gun off for a gun with a wooden rod unless he got the worth of the other gun in cash to `boot.' All that section of territory south of Martin street and east of Central avenue, was a dense forest at that time, and many times did I carry the game sack for hunters in that woods. There used to be a brick yard on that plat of ground now occupied by the residences of Manning Hart, George Ullery and the Widow Meeker (200 Central avenue, opposite Firth street) and more than once have I tracked rabbits in and out of that yard. Jim Collins was my running mate in those days, and while we were both good hunters, we never caught a single rabbit to my recollection. Yet the sport was great, and I look back upon those rabbit tracks with a fond memory. I was considered some "punkins" in those days as a wood-sawyer, and I shall never forget the day I was sawing wood for Mr. Dorman and succeeded in sawing one of my big toes nearly off. Taylor Dorman and Volney Jenks assisted me in bandaging up the toe and then helped me home, where I remained for several weeks. "Old Orchard" and "Spayde's Woods." By the way, how many of the boys and girls of Greenville have knowledge of the fact that all that block west of Mrs. DARKE COUNTY - 283 Judge Sater's house (218 West Fourth street) was once an orchard? Another thing the school children of 1856-1860 will recall is the fact that from Lucas's corner (southwest corner of Fourth street and Central avenue) to the railroad on Central avenue there wasn't a house, but back a bit from the street was huge brick yard. And right (about) where Mrs. Lizzie Shepherd lives (201 Euclid avenue) was the center of Fletcher's nursery. And about one hundred feet south of the residence of Chant Roland, Sr. (corner Fourth street and Switzer street), was a tombstone factory, also owned by Mr. Fletcher. There was a grove of trees that extended along the side c the hill in the rear of the residence of the editor of the Cour ier, where the boys and girls of 1856-1860 used to assemble in winter time and coast clown hill. In summer time it was great place for picnics and political meetings. Corwin, Chas( Galloway, and many other distinguished orators addressed. large audiences there. Another picnic and public meeting ground was "Spayde's Woods," a little east of where Lee Chenoweth and Newt Arnold live (I am taking it for granted that they are still living where they built many years ago). "Goosepasture" and "Bunker Hill." But one house existed east of the D. & U. railroad—south of Martin street. "Martin's Hill" rose fifty or seventy-five feet and opposite the old Martin tavern stood Turner's distillery—all gone! There was no "Mackinaw" railroad in those days. No Union school house or high school. No city hall, no free turnpikes, no opera house, no daily papers, no stenographers or typewriters or telephone girls. The prettiest part of Greenville today was known as "Goosepasture" in '65. The bridge at Broadway over the Greenville creek and the one over the same stream at East Main street were both covered. The latter was called the "Dutch" bridge, because so many Germans crossed it to and from their homes a few miles east of town. Mud creek was not ditched in those days, and every spring the water overflowed the whole prairie from Morningstar's to Weaver's Station. "Bunker Hill" was the only real "mountain" in the county, but now it is no more forever—only as it lies spread on the streets of Greenville and 284 - DARKE COUNTY on the railroad. At the head of the prairie was another large hill, near the Peter Weaver farm, but it was chopped down and hauled away to ballast the Panhandle railroad. Wayne Avenue and Wayne's Treaty. What is now called Wayne avenue in Greenville, was the outpost of the old fort. What was known for years as Armstrong's Commons was once heavily timbered, but was "cleared" off by citizens of Greenville for firewood, etc. The Indians were very treacherous in those days, and had sneaked in and murdered a number of persons throughout the county, who had been working in their cleared patches of ground. Abraham Studabaker never went into his cornfield without his flint lock rifle. When I left Greenville in 1877, the trenches dug by Wayne's soldiers were still in evidence along what is known as Wayne avenue, and the huge rock that I spoke of in former letter as having been buried at the crossing of Fifth and Sycamore streets, was one of "Mad Anthony" Wayne's landmarks. I went over this ground pretty thoroughly in 1873, in company with David Baker of Mercer county. Mr. Baker was then about eighty years of age, and he had the benefit of his parents' personal knowledge of what he told me, and which he afterwards published in The Courier in 1875. I think Mr. Baker was a grand uncle to Jake, Van and Evan Baker. I asked him to point out to me the exact spot where Wayne held his treaty with the Indians, in 1795; he walked about for awhile, and finally struck his cane on the ground and said: "This Iooks to me as the spot my father declared that he saw the Indian chiefs and their tribes sitting in a circle when General Wayne and his aids came down from the creek bank or the old fort, I can not now say which. But father said all the chiefs were smoking long pipes filled with tobacco General Wayne had given them." In company with my son George to Greenville in 1904, I took him down to show him where the treaty of Greenville was held, and found the ground was occupied by the residence of Monroe Phillips (Sycamore, Fifth and Devor streets). That is the spot where Mr. Baker said: "Greenville will some day build a monument to General Wayne, and I hope it will be done during my lifetime." DARKE COUNTY - 285 Mr. Baker died the following year, I believe, near Coldwater, Mercer county. Old Court House and Market House. The entrance of the old court house of my childhood faced Main street on the west. Originally a wide hall passed through it from east to west, but the east end was shut off to make room for the auditor's office. Immediately on the left as you entered the building was the stairway leading to the court room above. The front door to the left as you entered the hallway was the treasurer's office. Jim McKhann, George Martz, Thos. P. Turpen, Eli Helm were the treasurers in those days. The recorder's office was entered by a door facing on the north side, east corner of the building, and the recorders, as I remember them, were Edington, Robison, Shepherd, Beers and Medford. The auditor's office, facing on the east side of Broadway, was presided over in succession by George Coover, D. B. Clew, E. H. Wright, O. C. Perry and Dr. John E. Matchett. The clerk's office faced Broadway on the west side and Doc Porterfield, Henry Miller and Ham. Slade were from time to time the occupants, Slade, I think, going from there into the new building. The east side of the old court house was always a shady spot in the summer afternoons and many a political meeting was held there. I have heard such men speak there as Salmon P. Chase, Thomas Corwin, George H. Pendleton, Sam Cary, Sam Hunt, C. L. Vallandigham, Durbin Ward, Senators Thurman and Sherman, Lewis D. Campbell, George A. Sheridan, General Gibson, Governor Tod, Governor Dennison, General Noyes and many other orators of national reputation. Corwin, of course, was the greatest of them all, America never having produced his equal on the stump. Great as Ingersoll was in his prime, he could not sway the masses as Corwin did. * * * * * * Then the old market house stood north of the old court house (now the site of the city ball). "Many were the nights" I played "London Loo" on that historic square and around that old market house. Well do I remember the great bonfires we used to build there on election nights. 286 - DARKE COUNTY "Quicks' Spring" and "Big Woods." I suppose that "Quicks' Spring" has been dry many years. Where was it located? Just take a walk to the foot of the hill on the Jefferson pike to where it crosses a ravine, south of the old residence of the late Isaac Rush, south of the Brethrens' Home, and follow the rivulet in that ravine eastward to its source, and you will come to the Quick Spring, or where it used to be when I was a boy. Many and many a time have I rolled up my pants and waded in that stream, from Rush's culvert to the Eaton road. Great place that was for boys to build small dams and operate "flutter mills" made of cornstalks. I can remember when it was all "woods" from our home (where Smith O'Brien now lives), to the present fair grounds, and on to Fort Jefferson, with very slight breaks. In later years, when the trees were all cut away, mullein stalks grew up there so thick that we boys often "charged upon them" with sticks and beat them to the ground—mowing then right and left, as we "moved forward in solid phalanx upon the foe." Then House's "thicket," where the fair grounds are now located. There is where we boys of 1857-8-9 and '60 used to go hunting rabbits. Bishop's mill-pond (north of Prophetstown) was always an objective point in winter when the skating was good. I think Noah Helm was the best skater in Greenville after Bob Roby left. Bob was the champion, if my memory is correct. Henry Tomlinson and his brother Ed were both good skaters. Indian Trail. (By Mrs. Barney Collins.) "One of the last spots I visited about old Greenville, in company with two of my children, was to follow the old Indian trail as far as I could trace it, out the Panhandle railroad tracks, which followed and destroyed the trail for a long distance, just west of what is now Oak View. The trail then was as plainly to be seen as the public road, worn deep into the foot of the hill that skirts Mudcreek prairie by many Indian feet that trod it, single-file, as the tribes traveled from point to point in those wild days. "From the hillside trail we crossed over past the spring (yet bubbling from the earth just below Oak View, I am told DARKE COUNTY - 287 north, on edge of prairie) and found the old bridge and road built across the prairie by General Wayne's men to reach the block-house on the old Devor farm, just west of the prairie. The logs in the house were (1850) in a good state of preservation. Some of them were deeply imbedded in the soil, while others lay out plainly as though but recently put there. That old trail led on north along the brow of the hill a few steps west of where Sweitzer street now is, ending, as far as I recollect, at what is known as Tecumseh's point, at junction of Greenville and Mud creeks." "Beech Grove" and "Matchett's Corner." When in Darke county last summer I looked in vain for the "Beech." It was gone—cleared off into farms of the most productive kind. Even the corduroy road was gone that stretched for two miles below Matchett's Corner, toward Twinsboro. Even Twinsboro is gone. Sampson is gone and Karn's school house is no more. Judge D. H. R. Jobes used to teach school in that old log building. I can see it now with its two big windows on one side and its big fire place in the center. And the benches—wooden ones without a back, lined up in front of two long tables that sloped to one side. I don't remember whether there was a blackboard in the house or not, but I do know that there were slates galore. Somewhere in the neighborhood of Matchett's Corner, crossing of Eaton and Ithaca pikes, in the Reigle district, I think--was an old church that had been converted into a "college," by the Martz Brothers—George H. and Jacob T., —and for the life of me I can't remember the name of that college. Perhaps it was Otterbein. No, that can't be, for there was a college at Westerville by that name. That was in the days when Hen. Wikle drove stage (hack) from Lewisburgh and Euphema to Greenville twice a week. Several Greenville girls attended that college—among them my sister Lucinda—and these girls always rode to and from college in Wikle's hack. When the roads were good the hack reached Greenville about five in the afternoon, but in had weather it seldom got in before ten or eleven at night. From the time these girls would leave the college until they reached Greenville they would sing such songs as: 288 - DARKE COUNTY Roll on, silver moon, Guide the traveler on his way, Roll on, roll on, roll on, etc. "Where was Moses when the light went out?" "Home, Sweet Home," "A life on the ocean wave," "Annie Laurie," "I'll hang my harp on a willow tree," "Nellie Gray," "Suwanee River," "The last rose of summer," "Wait for the wagon," "Willie, we have missed you," and many other old-time songs. I wish some reader of The Courier would send me the words to the following sons: "Welcome, old rosin, the bow," "Pat Malloy," "Roll on, silver moon," "Kitty Wells," and "Daisy Dean." I have tried a number of places to get those songs, but failed. Neimeier's Pottery. While we are standing on this corner (Vine and Main streets) let's take a peep up and down this (Vine) street. That house you see standing across Mud Creek yonder is where 'Squire Morningstar lives. He is one of the best fiddlers in town. He calls off the dances while he is fiddling and dancing himself. That's gretty good, isn't it? That's a steep hill that goes down to the bridge. The farmers often get stuck there when they're hauling in wood or maybe pumpkins. That little house to the left on the brow of.the hill is where Sam. Musser lives. He's a tailor and he can swear like sixty; but he's so "Dutch" nobody can understand his cuss words, and they are more amusing than profane. That frame house standing away back there to the left is Neimeier's pottery, and if we had time we'd go over there and see him make crocks. He's got lots of clay over there and he's got an iron rod that stands up about a yard, and on top of that rod is the top of a table, which isn't over a foot and a half in diameter. Then he has two dogs, and he keeps 'em in a box that tips up at one end. There's a floor in the box that moves under the dogs' feet every time they try to walk. There is a big strap that is fastened to a big wheel on the side of the box and it runs over to a small wheel that turns the little table-top around about a hundred times a minute. Then he pulls a wedge out of the side of the dog-house and the weight of the dogs makes the floor move under their feet and the dogs just keep a runnin' their legs so's they won't fall down. An’ when the table gets to spinnin' real good, Mr. Neimeier picks up a "hunk" of clay about as big as a brick and he puts it on the DARKE COUNTY - 289 table. Then he pushes his fingers into the center of the mud and the sides of it begin to grow right up as. high ,as a. crock. He puts a little paddle inside this hollow place, he's made in the mud, and he makes it as smooth as this board here on the fence. He makes about one hundred and mebbe more of 'em in a day, and then he puts them in a furnace and bakes them as women do bread in their ovens in the yard. When they are baked, real hard he ,takes them out one at a time and dips them in some red stuff in a big box, and they come out all colored up. I'll bet them dogs get awful tired, for when he lets them out their tongues lall out of their mouths. I heard he was going to get a horse machine that will beat that dog machine all hollow. I hope he will, so's to give the dogs a rest. You see there are no more houses on that vacant lot, but I heard that Lawyer Devor, who lives down in Huntertown, was going to build a frame house right there on that corner. "Huntertown," It was the opinion of many folks in Greenville that the "tribe" living in Huntertown didn't amount to much. But do you know, my dear reader, that right in that one spot of Greenville, more young men and boys responded to their country's call in its hour of need than any other one spot perhaps in this whole country of ours. Think of it, will you, and then count them over? Stewart Buchanan, Melvin Shepherd, Wikoff Marlatt, Billy Marlatt, Jerry Tebo, William. Stokeley, Henry Shamo, George Perkins, Thomas Hamilton, Frank Pingrey, Philip Ratliff, Warren Ratliff, David Ratliff, Elijah Ratliff, Firman Sebring, Lafayette Huff, George Calderwood, John Calderwood, Enos Calderwood, Andrew Robeson C-alderwood, Willard. Pember, Daniel Nyswonger, William Musser, Isaac Briggs, Thomas McKee, William Miller, Barney Collins, Adam Sonday, John Hutchinson, Fred Reinhart, Mayberry Johnson, William Musselman, James and Isaac Pierce; John Hamilton, Tom McDowell and Thomas F. Boyd. Fourteen of the above named belonged to the Fortieth. Ohio Volunteer Infantry. The only men left behind were John Wilson and Wallace Shepherd, Thomas Stokeley and his father (too old for war), John Kahle. "Dutch" Thomas, Linus Purdy, David Welch, Bob Brown and George Tebo. (19) 290 - DARKE COUNTY John Schnause would have been credited to the list of volunteers above named, but he enlisted in an Iowa regiment, and at that time was a resident of the Hawkeye state. I doubt if any other town can show the same percentage of enlistment as that one little spot in Darke county. Then why shouldn't I always be proud of the fact that I was a member of the "tribe of Huntertown." The founder of the "town" himself (George Hunter) had been a soldier in Great Britain. So as a military center "Huntertown" is not to be "sneezed" at. Studabaker School House. No one has dared to tear down that old school house—a brick one at that, and the first brick school house in Darke county. Where are the boys and girls who once learned to "figger" there as far and no farther than the "Rule of three?" Webster's Elementary Speller, with its "in-com-pre-hen-sibil-i-ty" words—to all but the older schloars—was the greatest book of its day in any school. The spelling matches of fifty years ago are as potential in my mind now as they were then. The recollection of those days has found a tender spot in the heart of George Studabaker and he has kept them intact. Money can not buy them nor modern ideas efface their historic caste as long as he lives. I hope he will make a hundred years beg his pardon as they pass by. The Old "Fordin'." There isnt' one of the "old boys" of Greenville but will regret to learn that the old sycamore tree that stood on the north side of Greenville creek at the "fordin' " was blown down by a storm this week, and floated down creek. Under the shade of that old tree the "kids" of the town used to go in swimming, piling their "duds" on the beautiful lawn on the hank. In that old swimmin' hole about all the boys in Greenville in the days of forty years ago, learned to swim. The bottom of the creek was always delightful at this point, and the depth of water varied from "knee deep to neck," just the sort of place for amateur swimmers. Fifty yards down the stream is where they would go for "crawdads," after swimming was over for the day; and just above the "swimmin' hole" was a small district that was literally lined with stone toters, sucker fish and leeches; and it was always the "un- DARKE COUNTY - 291 tutored" lad who ventured into that district; and when he did he invariably came out calling for help. "Come take these leeches off'n me quick !" After two or three years' sojourn in this place, the boys who had become expert swimmers—that is, could "float with both feet off the bottom," why they would move on up creek a few rods further, to the Morningstar and Seitz swimmin' holes, and their places at the old fordin' would be taken by the ever-coming and anxious new kids. Several limbs of the old tree hung out over the deep water, and the just-learning-to-swim boy would grab a limb and use it as a derrick to lift him up and down in the deep water. It was a brave lad who could make his own way out to these limbs from the shallow water on the south side of the creek. My, how many changes have taken place around that old swim-min' hole; in fact all along the old creek's banks in that neighborhood! The sites of the old ice house, slaughterhouse, tannery, etc., have given way to cozy homes and beautiful streets. CHAPTER. XII DARKE COUNTY DURING THE .CIVIL WAR. We have noted the mixed character of Darke county's early population, its early isolation, and backward development. By 1860, however, great improvements had been made, railway and telegraphic communications had been established with the older communities and the weekly "Democrat" and "Journal" kept the people well informed on the happenings of the outside world as well as on those of a local nature. The firing on Fort Sumpter, on April 12, 1861, and Lincoln's first call for volunteer troops on April 15, 1861, were soon heralded in Greenville. Had the inhabitants been imbued with the spirit of national patriotism, and would they respond to the President's appeal? An extract from Beer's "History of Darke County" answers these questions and gives a graphic description of the enthusiasm of the times. "The response from Darke county was prompt, determined and practical. Union meetings were held at Greenville, Union and Hill Grove. Speeches, fervent and patriotic, were delivered, and within a few days three full companies of volunteers had, been raised. On Wednesday afternoon of April 24, three companies had left the county—two from Greenville, led by Capts. Frizell and Newkirk, and one from Union, under Capt. Cranor, aggregating full three hundred men. These troops were mustered into the United States service as Companies C, I and K of the Eleventh Ohio, and on April 29, went into Camp Denison, where they rapidly learned the discomforts and expedients of military life, shouting and cheering as they marked the arrival of fresh bodies of improvised troops. At home, the people manifested their zeal by generous contributions for the support of soldiers' families. One hundred and sixty citizens of Darke are named in the Greenville Journal of May 8, for a sum subscribed to that end of $2,500. The mothers; daughters and sisters sent to camp boxes of provisions; the men freely contributed of their means to aid the loyal cause. Bull Run was fought, and soon three months had gone by and the volunteers returning to Greenville were discharged only to re-enter the service for a longer term. Two companies were soon ready for 294 - DARKE COUNTY the field. As the magnitude of the struggle developed, the people of Darke county became yet more resolute in their desire to assist in restoring the union of the States. Meetings continued to be held; addresses full of fervid appeals were uttered, and a continuous stream of men gathered into camps, were organized and moved southward. The enlistments in the fall of 1861 were for three years. The Fortieth Regiment contained about two hundred men from Darke. In the Thirty-fourth was a company of eighty-four men who were sent with their regiment to Western Virginia. In the Forty-fourth, a company went out under Capt. J. M. Newkirk. On October 28, the ladies of Greenville met at the court house and organized as "The Ladies' Association of Greenville for the relief of the Darke County Volunteers." They appointed as officers, President, Mrs. A. G. Putnam; secretary, Mrs. J. N. Beedle, and treasurer, Mrs. J. L. Winner, and formed a committee to solicit donations of money and clothing. Public meetings continued to be held at various points; recruiting was stimulated, and on November 6, it was reported that the county had turned out 200 volunteers within twenty days. Letters came from men in the field descriptive of arms, tents, rations, incidents and marches. Novelty excited close observation, and there were reports of duties, health, and all too soon came back the news of death. Heavy tidings is always that of death, and a sad duty to the comrade to tell it to the one watching and waiting at home. This was often done with a tact, a kindness, a language that honored the soldier writer, and tended to assuage the grief of the recipient. Such was the letter penned by Thomas R. Smiley, of the Thirty-fourth, from Camp Red House, West Virginia, to Mrs. Swartz, telling of her son's death, by fever, and closing with these words: "Hoping and praying that God will sustain you in your grief, I most respectfully subscribe myself your friend in sorrow." No wonder the right triumphed, upheld by men of such Christian and manly principles. "The families of soldiers began in midwinter to suffer, and the following extract from the letter of a wife to her husband, a volunteer from Darke county, will show a trial among others borne by the soldier in the sense of helplessness to aid his loved ones. It is commended to the perusal of any who think war a pastime. She wrote: "I have so far been able to support myself and our dear children, with the help that the relief committee gave me; but I am now unable to DARKE COUNTY - 295 work, and the committee has ceased to relieve me. I am warned that I will have to leave the comfortable home which you left us in, and I will have to scatter the children. Where will I go and what will become of me? Don't leave without permission, as it would only be giving your life for mine. I will trust to God and live in hope, although things look very discouraging. Do the best you can, and send money as soon as possible." During the earlier part of the war, letters told of minor matters, but later accounts were brief and freighted heavily with tidings of battles, wounds and deaths. "In July, 1862, the clouds of war hung heavy with disaster. East and West, terrible battles were fought, and the Southerners, with a desperate, honorable courage, forced their way into Maryland and Kentucky. New troops volunteered by thousands, and joined the veterans to roll back the tide of invasion. At the time, John L. Winner was Chairman of the Military Committee of Darke county, whose proportion of the call for 40,000 men from the State was 350 men for three years. The following shows by townships the number of electors, volunteers and those to raise: Electors. Volunteers. To raise.