Marion Co TOC

These sketches of early life, manner of living, hardships and deprivations, also pleasant times, sport and enjoyment; before, during and just after the Civil War, as applied to Northern Arkansas and especially to Yellville and Marion county, (but applies well to all western country at that time), are taken from a series of articles that I wrote up and were published in the Mountain Echo of Yellville, Arkansas, about fourteen years ago or 1914, and with some other items added.

    As many things of interest have happened in Yellville and Marion county, or have had connection is some way of which there is no record except in the memory of some few people. And that old citizens may have a record of these things; and that the young and future generations may know these things and conditions and what deprivations and hardships their fathers and mothers and other ancestors have had to suffer, and what great changes have taken place, I write these sketches as best I can, from memory and from what I have seen myself or heard related by old settlers. (a sketch of "Wild Bill" from Springfield (Missouri) Democrat excepted)
    Now, with this preliminary, I will proceed. Some things in regard to fashion, ways and manners of living and doing things in those early days that I am going to relate, no doubt, will seem quite strange and perhaps very funny to some boys and girls of the present time, as conditions, styles and manner of living have changed so greatly.

    In those good old times, the people were all common and plain. We did not have the dudes, flirts, flappers and butterflies nor the big I's and little U's. We didn't have the high society made of wealth, sport and fine dressing, regardless of honor, character or real worth--as is often the case now. Greed, self [illegible] and speculation and profits didn't control everything then. The people were real friends and neighbors and were ever ready to assist each other. They practiced true, simple home living and everyday, old time religion. They have kept their money at home (no banks or safes) and had no fear of burglars or hijackers. They dressed for comfort rather than for show and style but they did have some fashions that were quite ludicrous. The old hoopskirts, long sweeping dresses that it took seven to fifteen yards of cloth to make (three will do the job now and maybe less next year). And the "flintlock britches" and "claw hammer coats" would surely look funny now. And the hair nets (but they might be quite appropriate now for bobbed hair) and the "bee-gum" hats that looked like a churn turned bottom up on their heads and "coon-skin" caps with the tail at the top. The old jeans leggins and blankets with a hole in the middle to slip over their heads instead of overcoats. About everything was home-made except the "bee-gum" hats and I don't think there was a "bakers dozen" of them in all North Arkansas. The people wore cotton and woolen hose then. (they must have silk now) Cheap cotton and high silk hose and so we go, you see. We raise the cotton and buy the silk so it makes cotton low and silk high, but this is an expensive and fast age.
    Uncle Wat Tolbert used to put up at our home when he came to Yellville. He said when he came to Marion county (he was one of the first settlers) they lived on wild honey, buffalo, bear, deer, turkey and other game and fish, nuts and wild fruits and made their own meal by means of a "pessel" with which they beat the corn in a hole worked out in a solid log or stump. He said they could stand in their doors and kill most any kind of game. The nearest trading point was Batesville [was known in the earliest days as Poke Bayou] about seventy miles and only one store there. Salt and coffee was valued very highly. They wore moccasins for shoes made of skins. Said he had found as high as six bee trees in one day and caught many wolves in pens. He told of many dangers and escapes. That was before Arkansas was a state. Uncle Wat lived to be very old and it was very interesting to hear him tell of these early days. Before the war and to some extent after, the people did their hauling with "tar pole" ox-wagons, two wheel ox-carts, lizzards made of forked poles and sleds. Wheat was beat out with sticks or tramped out with horses on a floor. But later on the old "ground hog" thresher came and the wheat, straw and chaff was all knocked out together on to a sheet. The straw raked off and the wheat taken up and poured into a hopper and run through a fan-mill which was run by hand with a crank like a grindstone. There was two water mills, the Wickersham, near Yellville and the Adams Mill some five miles south. The Wickersham ground wheat but the flour had to be bolted by hand also. People came to this mill for more than thirty miles around. Those from long distances came in ox-wagons or carts and would sometimes have to stay two or three days on account of grinding ahead of them or lack of water in dry seasons. Most of the nearby milling was done by boys on horse back. If there is anything more tiresome than waiting for a train it must be waiting for grinding at a humming old water mill, and I think I know for I have often tried both. These were overshot mills with large wheels about twelve or fourteen feet across with water boxes all around the outside of the wheel that caught the water from the chute at the top of the wheel and the weight of the water turned the wheel and emptied at the bottom.
    In those days people saved seed for field and garden and cabbage didn't rot and fall down as they often do now, and we buried and kept them all winter and they were so white, tender and delicious.
    The range was fine and cattle and hogs didn't have to be fed but little and that in bad winter weather. No such thing then as hog or chicken cholera. Game, fish and nearly all sorts of wild beasts and fowls were plentiful, even after the war. Deer and turkeys were often seen in great flocks and herds, and old bear hunters had great times. They would go into the bear caves, carrying rich pine torches, and if bruin, or other wild beasts were in there they could see their eyes shining so brightly that they could usually plug them between the eyes, but sometimes they failed to get in a dead shot and then it wasn't so funny. Uncle Flatty Jones nearly got his life squeezed out of him once by a big bear that had been wounded and caught Uncle Flatty in a narrow place as it was trying to get out. Talk about sport! If you think fishing, hunting, trapping, finding bee trees and eating honey, wild fruits, nuts and berries good sport, then we certainly had a sport paradise.
    When about twelve or thirteen years of age, my brother, Jim, kept a large panther up a large oak tree, with two dogs and an axe, until John Methvin went about two miles after a gun to shoot it. When it would start to come down, Jim would knock on the tree with the axe and the dogs would rally and bark, and the panther would go back up into a fork of the big tree. At last, Methvin came with the gun and shot it a vital shot but even then it came very near killing both dogs. Panthers, bears and wolves would often kill hogs, calves and sheep, even in inclosures near residences.
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    All streams were well supplied with fish and gigging in the clear streams was fine and so was fishing with hook and line, when muddy.
    Grapes, nuts, berries and wild fruits grew all over the country in abundance and, oh! that fine persimmon beer and those good ginger cakes that my mother used to make and sell. These cakes were just little better than any others I ever tasted. And the good old shortened Johnny cakes, baked on a clean oak board set slating in front of a good fire in the old stone chimney against a smoothing iron. If you don't think they were fine, ask old timers.
    And the rabbits we caught in hollow trees and logs and stretched and hung up before the fire and baked brown. The ash cakes, rolled in wet shucks and cooked in coals and embers, and the good old corn pone bread, and the sweet potatoes and fat "possums" baked together in the old fireplace ovens, with coals underneath and on the lids. But as Sambo says, "Dat's too good to talk about." And remember none of these good things were in tin cans or paper bags.
    I have seen wild pigeons (just like turtle doves) pass over for hours at a time almost in a solid sheet as far as I could see I all directions. Sometimes great swarms of them stopped and roosted in the timber; and sometimes raised their young, and squabs were sure fine eating. In those pigeon roosts, they would often bend the timber down with their weight and sometimes break off great branches. The people would take sacks and with sticks to kill them with, and pine torches to blind them, in this way killed hundreds of them. Almost all at once they nearly all disappeared and quit passing over or stopping, and we never knew what became of them.
    In 1873 the squirrels migrated from north to south and the woods was full of them. Often a dozen or more up one tree at a time. They destroyed a great portion of the corn crops. They swam the streams, and a woman who was washing on the bank of White River, killed several, as they came out of the water wet and tired, with a paddle that she was beating her washing with, as was the custom in those days.
    My father and his brother-in-law, Andy McCabe, with their families, started from Woodbury, Cannon country, Tennessee, to Arkansas in November, 1848, with oxens and old "tar pole" wagons, and landed at Yellville, Marion county, Arkansas in February, 1849, where his mother, who came with him, died about 1860 at the ripe old age of one hundred years. His father was killed at Horseshoe Bend in Alabama, in Jackson's war with the Creek Indians, when my father was about twelve years of age, and he took care of his widowed mother until her death.
    When he came to Yellville, it was just a "wide place in the road," with much brush on either side. The court house was a log building and a log stable was used for a jail. I have heard people say, old Uncle Billy Roylston was once put into this stable jail for some little offense, and he annoyed the court and amused the people so much with his imitation of stable animals, that the judge ordered him released.
    The Indians had just recently left the country and gone to the Indian Territory. They had had a village a little east of Yellville, called Shawnee Town. I remember "Ingin Tom" who remained there until about 1861 when he joined the Confederate Army and left and never returned.
    A.S. (Bud) Wood, who married my sister, had the reputation of being the first white male child born in Marion county, where he spent an eventful life of four score years. In those early days, it was quite common for old men to come to town and great drunk. Sometimes beastly drunk but young men rarely ever got drunk. And as I have heard old timers say, at one of these old men's drunken carousals, two old men fell out and got into a drunken fight, which was taken up by others, friends and relatives on each side, and that brought on the "Tutt and Everitt war" in which, several men were killed at different times, along in the forties and early fifties. Early one morning my father got up and stepped out, and the county clerk, Tom Wilson, called him over to the log court house, and there, on the floor, sided by side, lay five men, cold in death, the result of whiskey and the "Tutt and Everitt war." Uncle Hamp Tutt, was shot in the back from the bushes as he was on his way home. The Everitts left the country and came west, and so ended the "Tutt and Everitt war." But whiskey has caused many other deaths in and around Yellville.
    Old Major Tate, was one of these old fellows that often came to town and filled up on corn juice, otherwise he was a man of refinement and education and a good citizen. One day he got down in a ditch by the side of the street and couldn't get out. A warm summer shower came up and the water was running around Tate, but he managed to keep his head out. A man came along, and seeing him down in the ditch, said to him: "Major, what are you doing down there?" Tate replied: "I'm just laying here masticating my tobacco."
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    Well do I remember old Uncle Johnny Parnell, who came to town often and rarely ever failed to "tank up" and as he left town on his old gentle gray mare, he would bend forward, and as he straightened up, he would hallo, "wo-hoo-ee!" And sometimes he would reel back and fall off, but his old gray mare would stop and wait for him to get on again and carry him on home. These old fellows were good neighbors and citizens, when sober, but they, like many others, let a bad habit get control of them. I saw so much of this when a boy, that I became disgusted with drunkenness. That and profanity are both disgusting useless and very bad. Young man, shun both, and you'll never regret it, but will always be proud of you did.
    I have heard my father say, when he came to Yellville, he could buy a milk cow and calf for $5.00, and corn at ten cents per bushel, and he could buy a good farm with a horse, bridle and saddle.
    When I was about two years old, we lived near some tan vats, where they tanned leather with oak bark ooze, and it took several months to tan hides. They said, one day I went down to the bandits as I called then and was punching toads from the sides to see them swim, when into a vat of ooze I fell, with the frogs, and when, by my yells, I brought them to my relief, I was in the ooze up to my chin and couldn't get out.
    The first time that I remember going to church, I was about four years old and rode behind one of my parents, don't remember which. It was about three miles out in the country, and in a little unhewed log house, without floor, window or door shutter and the seats were round logs. W. B. F. (Frank) Treat, preached and his wife, Rebecca Treat, exhorted. He afterwards became a noted preacher in Indiana.
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    We now come to the civil war, so called, but although I saw quite a bit of it, I never could see the civil part, but I did see a lot of uncivil and cruel part. This cruel war between our own American citizens, that caused so much sorrow, suffering, death and destruction and enormous expense, that is still running on and on, was brought about by the barberous and inhuman traffic in human beings, or the capturing, importation and sale of African negroes into slavery. Strange that our patriotic forefathers, who fought so bravely for their own independence and to make this a free and independent government, should allow greedy and unprincipled profit seekers to bring in and sell other human beings into slavery. But they did allow it, and these inhuman dealers in human beings are responsible for the awful consequences and results of their awful crime against God and humanity. And in some respects, and some localities, we now have a parallel of the same conditions, on which volumes could be written. Chattle slaves had homes, clothes, provisions and medical aid furnished free. Nothing to worry about in that way. But there are millions now, both black and white, who have all these to furnish for themselves and families, and work as hard and under as hard taskmasters and as bad conditions and pay interest, tax, rent, profits and public expense besides. And besides all this, many have to move from place to place or tramp over the country hunting jobs and can't find them or the owners of the jobs will not give them work. Yes, dear reader, you know these are stubborn facts. You know something is wrong, and conditions are bad, in many ways, and you know, like every thing else, there is a cause, or causes, that produce these effects, but do you care or do you try to find out what these causes are? These are just a few side thoughts, and I will now get back to my subject.
    Oh, how well do I remember the rumblings of war. The collecting of troops and the preparation for hostilities. The parting of loved ones, many never to return and many who did return, maimed, crippled or health destroyed.
    Oh, what watching, waiting, weeping and anxiety. And oh, what sorrow, suffering, death and destruction in those dark and gloomy days, still fresh in my memory.
    Captain J. R. Dowd's company of infantry was the first made up in Marion county and in which my brother, James, enlisted and soon after enlistment this company was force-marched to "Oak Hill" or Wilson Creek, near Springfield, Missouri, where a bloody battle was fought, in which General Lyon was killed, and then the attacking forces defeated under General Sickels. Then Colonel Mitchell, made up the 14th Arkansas regiment of infantry, in Marion county in which two of my brothers, John and Edward, and two brothers-in-law, Gideon Thompson and H. R. Hutchison, enlisted. Hy Hutchison and others were captured at Fort Hudson, I think, and were taken to Johnson's Island and kept in prison the last three years of the war. Brother Edward soon died and was buried by his comrades, near his home. I witnessed the solemn occasion. He also belonged to the army of the Lord and was a beginner in the ministry. Brother John and Gideon Thompson, both broken in health, only lived a few years and rejoiced as they were nearing the port to be with the great Captain of peace, love and mercy--not war and destruction. Another brother, Nathaniel (Nat) and brother-in-law, A. S. (Bud) Wood, and nephew, J. J. Thompson, were in Colonel Snables regiment in General Joe Shelby's division. Brother Ben was in Elliotts regiment under General Cabbell. He is now an Ex-Confederate General, northwest Arkansas Division.
    Mitchell's regiment camped a while at Yellville, near our home, to drill and prepare for war. They had double barrel shot guns, old squirrel caplock and flintlock muzzle loading rifles. Single barrel cap and muzzle loading pistols, and knives, mostly homemade. Nearly all of the steel in the country, suitable was worked up into Bowie knives. Their uniforms were homespun jeans.
    In memory we can look back some sixty-six years ago and see the fathers, sons, brothers and husbands, as they marched away, in double column, following the courage inspiring music of the fife and drum, with banners flying and all keeping step to the music of war, with the inspiration of patriotism, home and country, welling up in their hearts; and with sighs, mixed with both sad and sweet remembrance for those dear ones left behind. With acheing, and as it were, bleeding hearts, fathers and mothers cast a last sad look at their departing sons; sisters gave way to uncontrollable grief; betrothed and lovers looked after the idols of their hearts, as they marched away, while they were left desolate to weep, watch and pray for their lovers safe return. The wife, with her babe in her arms, weeping as a true, loving and affectionate wife must weep, ever thinking and dreaming of the father of her children and companion of her bosom as she presses her babe to her heart and prays for strength to carry her through the great and trying ordeal. The brave soldiers go to suffer, bleed and die, for a cause they believed to be just and right, (but custom and opinion does not make things right or just). They pass through the weary marches, the pitiless storms, the cold and dark midnight watches. They suffer the pangs of hunger and thirst on forced marches and on battlefields. And as the contending forces meet in battle array, they hear the bugle notes and the exciting and encouraging war music, and the awful slaughter begins. And now, amidst the hideous and crashing roar of cannons, the sharp crack of musketry and bursting of shells, the stern command, or encouraging word of officers, the charging and mingling of contending forces, the thrusts of bayonets and clash of sabers, many fall to rise no more. With many, the lamp of life is snuffed out in a moment. Others lay on the battle fields and suffer the pangs of pain and thirst indescribable, as they think of home and loved ones that they never can see again, as their blood flows and life ebbs away. And others are carried to hospitals or prisons and many crippled for life. Oh! It's an awful picture. I could write many pages on the horrors of war, and then it would only be a faint idea of the reality and what the poor soldiers suffered, and also those left behind.
    These were exciting times and made impressions on my young mind never to be forgotten.
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    Early in the war, it was reported one day, that the "feds" were coming, and some fifty or more citizens collected in Yellville to defend the town. It was cold weather, so they built big log fires and watched for the Federals all night, but it was a false alarm and they didn't come, which was a lucky thing for the little band of undrilled and poorly equipped men.
    Marion county, Arkansas, borders on Missouri and was on the cross firing line--sometimes one side in and sometimes the other--but the worst depredations were committed by bad men, not in the regular armies, many of whom were from Missouri to Arkansas or from Arkansas to Missouri. These would make raids on the people of their former homes, and this grew worse to the close of the war.
    The first Federals that came through burned the business part of Yellville, and killed Wilse Hasting as he was trying to escape, and captured and paroled a few others and went on. Didn't even stay over night with us, neither did we beg them to stay.
    I remember well, when Shaler's command were camped across the creek south of town in the winter of '63-'64. And many of the men were ragged and almost barefooted, and how they left blood, from their bleeding feet, on the snow and ice and frozen ground, where they walked. Understand, I am not writing fiction but actual facts. These poor, half-naked men must have suffered intensely, for it was a very severe winter.
    I saw McBride's army of infantry march through Yellville to military music of fife and drum, and Oh! what a grand sight we boys thought it was. And Marmaduke camped with his artillery, right close to our house, and I wanted to camp with them. I thought it would be great, but my parents wouldn't let me. But we did have a boys company, and we camped, drilled, marched and played soldier, with wooden guns, stick horses, and old wagon thimble, mounted on trucks for a cannon and we whistled and beat on an old tin pan for music, when marching. We made tents of cedar brush, or limbs, set up and leaned against a ridge pole at the top.
    In the winter of '64-'65 Yellville was occupied as a Federal Post, and from the fall of '64 to the close of war, we had very hard and exciting times. The able bodied men were about all off in the army and the armies and robbers took a very large portion, if not most of what the women, children and old men produced. We had to hide supplies, where they wouldn't find them, to keep from starving.
    On one occasion Colonel Cameron and his men thought they had taken all the corn we had and carried if off in blankets to feed to their horses, except about five bushels which they permitted us to keep, for bread for my father's family, two daughters and their children and a daughter-in-law; but just over their heads was several pieces of bacon and about fifty bushels of corn. We had a double, hewed pine log house, with entry or hall between, and the entry was weather-boarded up, on the back side, and double door in front, a cellar underneath and cellar house on the back side, and just above the cellar house a window was but out in the weather-boarding so it would fit back just as cut out. And it did us much good service.
    My mother gave those Federals quite a scare by telling them that Snable's men were in the country (and a few were) and although they had struck camp, they pulled up and moved on in the night. As they came into Yellville, they ran Lieutenant Bud Wood, John Wood, John Briggs and Bob and Alex Hurst out and got Bob's horse and they took several shots at him, but he got away with only a sprained ankle, as he jumped off the bluff. Lieutenant Wood with a few men, hastily collected, attacked Cameron from behind trees and in the dark, some five or six miles east of Yellville, but nobody was reported hurt, except one Federal shot in the heel.
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    One time my father and brother, Bill, went to Frank Rodens to get some corn for bread, that he had promised to divide with my father. He took them out to a big rock pile in his field and began throwing the rocks off (several other rock heaps in the field). He soon uncovered a box with about ten bushels of shelled corn in it--covered, of course, to protect it from rain.
    The spring of '65 was the most trying time. People ate anything they could get to sustain life, and some starved to death.
    Old man Abee and family lived, so they said, nearly two weeks on nothing but the inside part of slippery elm bark, baked brown and crisp in an oven, like bread. Some gathered wild onions and any greens that would do to cook and eat, and cooked them in clear water without grease or salt. You may ask, why didn't they shoot game? Didn't have guns to shoot with.
    Some rubbed wheat out, as soon as it got into the dough stage, and made a soup of it and ate it, and ate so much it nearly killed them. Old Dr. Cowdrey traveled three days, hunting seed corn to plant and get a peck. Wylie Vanwinkle killed a pole cat (skunk) and buried it and in about thirty-six hours took it up and cooked and ate it; and he said was the sweetest meat he ever tasted. Some dogs got after a deer and ran it until it was nearly exhausted and it ran into a deep hole of water, for protection from the dogs and the widow Moore's girls managed to kill it. One of those girls (Sarah Ann) while getting a drink of water, by the roadside, was shot in the hip for a turkey, by Jim Adams, who ever afterwards went by the name of "Turkey Jim." The girl soon recovered.
    As the Federals came to Yellville, where they held a post the winter of '64-'65, they captured several men and guarded them in the south room of our house. Among those prisoners, was a fine looking young man by the name of William Baskett. Soon we noticed Mr. Baskett missing from among the others, and a day or two later, the Hutchison boys and I found him in the edge of the woods, shot dead and stripped of all of his clothing except shirt, drawers and vest. The three day after he was taken out and shot, on Tom Jobe (said to be a bush-whacker) was shot--forty-two balls entering his body, as I heard the count myself, being on the ground a few minutes after he was shot. They buried him in a shallow grave just as he was, that was scratched into by dogs or wolves, and citizens buried him deeper. From there the burying crew proceeded to where Baskett still lay unburied, (and we followed) and after digging a shallow grave, took him by the arms and dragged him to it, threw him in, punched his arms down with the spade and covered him with curses and a few inches of earth. (But such is war). He wore a nice suit of Federal uniform which, perhaps was the cause of his death.
    One night we were sitting on the porch at our home and saw the blaze of pistols or guns that ended the life of old man Elzy, of Springfield, Missouri, on the hillside, some two hundred yards north of the Masonic hall. It was said, that Elzy came south and left his money with a man who had him killed to get his money, but was himself killed later on, by Sam Orr, formerly of Yellville, and who was a gambler and whose father was also a gambler. Wild Bill, also a notorious gambler, witnessed this killing and Sam Orr, in turn, was hung at Mt. Vernon, Missouri for the killing.
    Two men came to Yellville and surrendered, and after being paroled, they started home, but they were followed and overtaken by some cowardly, unprincipled scoundrels and killed; but I don't think it was any regular troops that did it. There were some "deadhead" camp followers, and a company of Missouri militia, that did a lot of meanness; but the regular troops, especially from Illinois and Iowa, were honorable men and treated the people fairly well, and they despised the three above named classes or rather two classes, as camp-follower and dead-heads are about the same.
    Some of these scoundrels hung Uncle Daniel Wickersham, until nearly dead, for his money, and got $500 and then shot and killed him. The same gang also killed Uncle Carroll Whitlock, a very poor and inoffensive man, with no cause whatever, except their own lack of principle and a mania of killing.
    My brother, William, saw three rebel deserters shot, one only a boy, maybe a poor widow's only son.
    In the winter and spring of '65 we cut elm trees for cattle and horses to bud, to keep them alive until grass came. The dirt in the smoke houses, where meat had been salted and hung up to dry, and the salty brine had dripped, was dug up and put in hoppers, and water poured on, and the salty drippings boiled down to salt. I guess the dirt, in every smoke house in the country, went through this process to get salt, and only a little then.
    While the Federals were stationed at Yellville in the winter of '64-'65 many people came in and went north. Some stayed in Yellville all winter; many of whom lived in houses made of cedar brush, or limbs. A frame was made of poles and the brush leaned against these poles and piled on top for wall and roof.
    At this time, some of the country men and boys played some rather dangerous tricks on the "Feds" even slipping in of nights and stealing blankets off of sleeping soldiers, and cutting the halter reins, between a sleeping soldier and his horse, as he was holding him, and stealing the horse. And pulling shoes off of their horses, talking to some of them in the dark, and watching them through windows as they played cards or chuckaluck.
    At one time, a foraging squad of "Feds" went over into Searcy county and ran onto Colonel Jackman, and they had quite a skirmish, but not many killed or wounded. After this, and when the garrison had been depleted by removal of part of the troops; the report came that Jackman was coming, and about all of the old log houses in Yellville were torn down and a fort or breastworks made of them in shape of a rail fence, and behind this they stayed in readiness for battle, or retreat, for three days and nights; but Jackman didn't come.
    One night a big dance was going on in six rooms of a hotel, and a mischievous fellow, by the name of John Estes (my father's name but not related) went to the army doctor and got a package of cayenne pepper and tore a hole in one corner; and as he walked through each room, held it by his side and sprinkled the pepper on the floor. Pretty soon sneezing, scratching and pandemonium set in and the women got in such a hurry that they didn't wait for escorts to see them home.
    Captain Webb had a company of "bush-whackers" that killed several Federals from the brush and hills, while out scouting or foraging in the country. And just after the Federal troops left Yellville, Webb's company came into town one night and burned thirty-two houses, including the Methodist church, Masonic hall and two hotels--the Hansford and Wilson. Two of them came in our house and took fire out of the fireplace on the shovel and told my mother they would burn our house if she didn't tell them where father's money was, but she only shamed and bemeaned them, so they threw the fire back and after pilfering the house, they left and burned the other thirty-two buildings.
    In those dark days, men, and even women and children, were cruelly treated for the sake of money or plunder. Some old men's feet were baked to a crisp before a hot fire, and sometimes toe nails pulled, to make them tell where money and valuables were. Some of these bad characters belonged to Webb's company and some didn't. Just before the surrender, Captain Webb and all of his company but two, that happened to be away, were killed by regular confederate troops, in their last hiding place, in Independence county, Arkansas, near Batesville. It was said that at one time some Federals were out in the country, and one had carelessly dropped behind the others, out of sight, and one of Webb's men was hid near the road. He covered the poor fellow with his revolver and held him quietly there until the others were some distance away. Then he told him he was going to kill him. He begged for his life, but to no avail. He then begged permission to write a few lines to his wife. This his captor granted and promised to send it to Federal headquarters at Yellville. He then begged permission to pray, which was granted, and while sending his petition to the great God of love and mercy, with sure death staring him in the face, a leaden messenger, from his captor's revolver, snuffed out the light of life and the tragedy was over.
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    Oh! how heartless and reckless men can get to be in times of war and without law or restraint, for at that time, we have no law, officials or courts. Some commit crimes for wealth or gain, some for revenge, some for retaliation, some from a misconception of right and justice, or from bad training and bad company and environments, some by the urge and influence of designing men who "have an axe to grind" or use them as a tool to avoid danger to themselves, and some are just naturally depraved, without feeling or principle, and have a mania for killing both in and out of war times, as I will further show.
    One day a teamster, with an escort of ten men, was sent to the Wickersham mill (about a mile from Yellville) for a load of flour. On their way back, two of Webb's men came charging down the hillside, through the brush, yelling like Indians and shouting charge the, boys! etc., and the guard, thinking the woods was full of them, ran into town, leaving teamster, mules and flour to the bush-whackers. They killed the teamster, took the mules and what flour they wanted and escaped.
    Now we will tell you of a squad on the other side, just as bad as Webb's men were, known as Captain Hart's company of independents. This company did some very bad things, but a part of this company, led by John Ledford, did the worst. About a dozen, with Ledford as leader, ran in just before the war closed, and while nearly every able bodied man, horse and guns were away, and over ran the country as they killed every man, old or young, that they could get hold of. They seemed to have a craving thirst for blood, and a mania for killing. They killed several old men, one of which (old man Bruce) was in his yard and his poor old wife holding to him and begging for his life. Another a harmless epileptic, and several others, including old man Sims, John Adams, and Durrel Wood. Captain Bent Music, happened to be at home, on sick furlough, and he got a few men together, and they hid by the roadside and sent Jack Trate, on a very fleet mare, to lead them into the trap, which was a completed success so far, but when the scoundrels, intent on catching Tate, dashed into the trap, so well set, but few of the guns or pistols would fire; but two shots brought down two of them and killed their horses. One thigh of each man was broken. Ledford and the others kept going and didn't return. Tate got away unhurt, and Music and his little band took a scare and made all possible haste to put the battle ground at a safe distance, for they now realized that their powder wouldn't burn and Ledford might return. Their powder, like most everything else, was homemade, being made at the salt peter cave, on White River, about five or six miles from the battle ground, and it was a damp rainy day and the powder, not being very good, any way, got damp, so it wouldn't burn, and that fact gave them the scare and almost saved the lives of some more very bad men. One of the wounded men, Barker, was found behind a tree, and found to the last. They couldn't get to him until one man went back and slipped around behind him and shot him in the back. This was next day, and they found the other man, Johnson at a house nearby and took him out and finished him.
    The powder works, referred to, had recently been destroyed by a squad of Federals, that ran in for that purpose, led or piloted by a free negro, Willoughby Hall. Several men at the powder works were killed and some escaped, one of whom was Thomps McCracken, mentioned later on, also two of those killed. Hugh McClure and John Tyler. Captain [William] Carroll Pace, who was a brother-in-law of McCracken's, was being chased by the Federals, a few miles from said powder works, and one of the Federals out ran the others and shot Pace, after Pace had first turned in his saddle and shot him. Pace got away and both recovered. The wounded Federal was taken to McCracken's house by his comrades and left there, where he was protected and cared for, as I have been told, until he was able to return to his home in the north, from where he afterwards wrote several affectionate letters to his friend and protector in this time of need. It was said, that a squad of men went to McCracken's house to take this man out and kill him. But a truly brave man will defend the helpless, and cowards will abuse them, and McCracken stood them off single handed and wouldn't allow any of them to enter his yard and under penalty of death, if they tried. No wonder he loved McCracken. I have seen the helpless and prisoners abused and I learned when quite young that only cowards and unprincipled men do such things.
    I will relate another case, both similar and dissimilar. Two Federal message bearers were sent to Yellville, but when they got there the Federal troops were gone and they fell into the hands of Lieutenant Bud Wood and others, and after being held overnight, as I remember, they were paroled and turned loose on a promise to return to their homes and fight the south no more. But on their way north, they hadn't gone far until they fell into the hands of the before mentioned, Hugh McClure, and John Tyler, and Tom Parnell, who inhumanly murdered them in the lonely hills, far away from friends and loved ones, and left their bodies there for the wild beasts to feast on, and scatter their bones through the forest. But such is war insanity.
    I have heard my father jokingly say, "I ran forty Federals out of Yellville once," but he would say, "I was in the lead."
    Yes, I well remember that awful time of suspense and anxiety. It was no joke then. The report had come that the Federals were coming a day to two before and father and brother Nat, had been hiding out with the horse and mule but had come in to get something to eat; and while eating some bread and milk, the advance guard of forty men on picked horses, came dashing into town and father and Nat ran to the stable where the horse and mule were eating, with bridles hanging on the saddle horns, but when they got out and started, the front man was near my father, and Nat hardly got started on the mule when they stopped him and took the mule, a big iron gray. By the time my father's horse got down to business, the front man was about forty yards behind him and called to him to halt three times and then began shooting at him. He emptied his revolver and then his gun, and father said it seemed like the last bullet brushed his ear, but he kept going and having a better and fresher horse he escaped with him unhurt.
    Bud Wood, was at home sick and to his great pleasure and surprise was left unmolested.
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    In the war, pre-war, and to some extent after war days nearly everything we had was homemade, or home raised. Wool and cotton was carded into rolls by hand and spun into thread on the spindle of the old homemade spinning wheels, then reeled into hanks, of four cuts each, then spooled and warped, and then woven into cloth on homemade looms. Some cloth was plain and some was beautifully striped or checked. I could describe the process in detail, but it would require too much space. Jeans was for men, and linsey and cotton for women and children's clothing. They also wove blankets, counterpanes, (beautiful too), towels, sheets, etc. Girls wore cotton dresses and boys long shirts, in summer time, until six or eight years old, or older and went barefooted, in summer, until nearly grown. We had one pair of shoes for winter, that is most all of us did, and that was all we got that winter. The leather was home tanned with oak bark ooze and the shoes and boots made on home made lasts, with home made pegs. A nice jeans suit looked well, and about the prettiest thing I ever saw, was a pretty rosy cheeked (not painted) North Arkansas girl, with a beautifully striped or checked linsey dress on nicely made to fit. Ask old timers and see if they don't say the same? But now it's silk from head to foot, and that's why wool and cotton is so cheap, and many people got no more of what they actually need. For cloth of different colors, the thread was dyed before weaving. This was usually done with walnut bark or the green hulls for jeans, and white sumach berries, copperas or other dyes for the other cloth. We had homemade yarn and home knit sox and stockings. Homemade wagons, plows, hames, chains, lines, shuck collars, horse shoes and nails, shovels, hoes, axes, and furniture, such as we had. Homemade cedar tubs, buckets and pails, gourd dippers, and homemade chairs with hickory bark bottoms and three leg stools to sit on. Sorghum molasses ground on wooden mills and boiled down in wash kettles, and rye coffee, in fact about everything we had in those days was homemade, including styles, sport, enjoyments and fashions.
    First saw mill was run with oxens, (tread wheel, I suppose) and the lumber dressed by hand. Log houses for church and school, split logs with peg legs and split side up for seats, and brush arbors for summer protracted meetings. We had old time real dancing (not hugging and knee boxing). Social parties, spelling bees, log rollings, house raisings, rail splittings, barbeques, camp meetings and many other means of enjoyment or doing things worth while. Yes, we enjoyed life and had big times in many ways, that we don't have now. And we didn't have half as many things to worry about as now, and I believe, we enjoyed what we did have, and our work and lives better and worried less about what we didn't have, such as styles, sport, society, time killing and a thousand and one other things that you folks worry about now. Of course there has been great improvements, in some ways, and great inventions, both useful and detrimental. I don't remember ever seeing a cook stove, coal oil lamp or matches before the war. They cooked on the old fireplace and hearth, used tallow candles and grease lamps and kept fire by covering it up with ashes or struck fire with pocket knife, flint and spunk, a soft dry substance that grew in oak trees, or spun fire on the spinning wheels with copper as thread.
    At last, in April, 1865, the joyful news of peace, but mixed with sorrow, sadness and disappointment came. The half starved soldiers of the lost cause began to return to their poverty stricken families and desolated homes, not whipped but starved and over powered. And I believe most everybody will admit now that it is best they were defeated, for slavery is, and always was a curse and a sin and shame to any nation or people.
    After the war, we had the five cent, ten cent, twenty-five cent and fifty cent "shin plasters" but I haven't seen any of these for many years. We also had state script, worth about fifty or sixty cents on the dollar and county scrip as low as ten cents on the dollar. Prices of most everything, especially goods, were high just after the war, just like the "world war" but they didn't stay up so long, and in the nineties got down to bed rock. Corn was as low as fifteen cents, wheat fifty cents, butter ten cents, hens and fryers ten cents, or one dollar per dozen. Eggs below five cents dozen; bacon, ten cents, and pigs, one dollar a piece and the sow thrown in free. Apples, five to fifty cents per bushel and often free in the orchard, as was also peaches.
    Back in the old days, people didn't sell milk, they gave it to those needing it. This was before the railroads came. When people got sick the neighbors helped to take care of them. When the doctor came, he brought medicine with him and made a small charge. If the sick died, the neighbors got lumber and made a coffin free, dug a grave in a free graveyard and took and buried them free. Sometimes lumber was paid for and usually shroud and coffin trimmings was paid for by the family. Common labor was from fifty cents to one dollar per day or ten dollars per month. Board and washing from five to ten dollars per month.
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    Spelling, reading, writing and common mathematics made efficient and successful business men and women. No red tape, no foolishness, and no time wasted on unnecessary studies or sport. Many people then got their education, to a great extent, like the old rail splitter, one of the best presidents the United States ever had. It's quite different now, it's an armful of books and tablets, no slate, a little of everything, both practical and unpractical and not much of anything in particular, sport excepted. But, you say, this is a progressive age. So it is, but quite a lote of the progress and enlightenment is not of much practical or beneficial use. Well, excuse this diversion.
    I will omit the KKK and most of reconstruction days, for more than enough has already been said on these topics.
    In contrast with late prices of cotton seed, will say, I have seen them piled up at the gins eight or ten feet high, rotting, because people wouldn't haul them away, and as late as 1878 I gave two hundred and fifty bushels for a twenty-five dollar cow, five cents per bushel, and the price of cotton was one or two cents better.
    This was the year I was married and settled on a homestead, and began from the stump, in a little sixteen foot square log cabin. The land was heavily timbered and you may guess whether I had anything to do or not. I settled the Buck Barnet place three and a half miles northeast of Yellville.
    Parson J. H. Wade came to Yellville just after the war and held many successful revivals. At one of these revivals, just east of town, held under a brush arbor, was about one hundred confessions. He was assisted in some of these meetings by Parsons Shinn and Shook, two more of the old pioneer preachers. Nearly everybody around knew Parson Wade, who preached over the country until his death about 1893 being then about eighty years of age. W. B. Flippin, W. C. Jenkins, and Joseph Boyd were also pioneer preachers, and all of these old preachers did much good in awakening religious interest and in restoring peace and harmony among the people. May their work and memory be blessed by future generations.
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    Now go back with me to 1857, and I will relate one of the most horrible butcheries on record. Of course, you have heard of the Mountain Meadow massacre, or the murdering of about one hundred thirty-two emigrants on their way from north Arkansas to California, in September, 1857, near Salt Lake City, Utah. Only seventeen small children escaped death and two of them were shot through the arm by the fiendish monsters. This train was made up in Marion and Carroll counties. Some two years after this, those seventeen children were peacibly rescued from the Mormans and returned to relatives in what was then Marion and Carroll counties, but a part of each now constitutes Boone county. Loss McEntire, of Marion county, was one of those unfortunates. He married a young lady, who perished with him, after they started for the far west. Some of the Dunlap children, now of Boone county, escaped and were returned. There was the massacred party, it is said, some eighteen or twenty wagons, besides carry alls, etc.
    The party had about eight hundred head of cattle, besides horses, household goods and other valuables, and about seventy thousand dollars in money. It was said to be the wealthiest train that had ever started to cross the great plains of the west. They stopped to rest and recuperate their stock at a spring near Mountain Meadows, and a band of Mormans and Indians, instignated and led by John D. Lee, a Morman bishop or elder, surrounded and attacked the emigrants. The emigrants made a corral, or fort of defense with their wagons and held out against big odds in numbers for several days. Then the besiegers told them if they would surrender their arms and return as they came, they would let them go and would not molest them. They accepted the terms, surrendered their arms and started out as directed, unarmed, but while passing through a place where sage brush was very thick, the Mormans and Indians suddenly arose from their hiding place in the brush, and all but seventeen children, and perhaps a few others who escaped only to perish near by, were there massacred in the most horrible and brutal manner and their bodies left for the wild beasts to feast on and their bones to bleach and be scattered over the lonely desert, until friendly hands, some years later, gathered them up and buried them.
    In 1877 after surviving this awful crime some twenty years, John D. Lee, the leader was tried, convicted and executed by being shot to death by a detail of men, as he sat blindfolded on his coffin. But what reward, or recompense, was that to the unfortunate dead, or to the poor orphan children who had been robbed of their parents, friends and property. I read the history of this awful butchery, several times, in a booklet that my father had when I was a boy, and which I remember well. Prejudice against Mormans used to be very great in north Arkansas, but of course few were guilty then, and none of the present generation.
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    Of course you have heard and read more or less, and also more or less falsehood, as well as truth, about "Wild Bill" (Bill Hickock) the Federal Scout and as he was at Yellville some and later at Springfield, Mo., where he killed little Dave Tutt, who was raised in Yellville, I will here introduce a sketch of his eventful life. I remember how he looked and about all pictures I have seen of him were just like him. He was tall and straight, had long thin mustache and long, rather dark hair and he wore a broad brimmed hat. I believe what is said of him in the following sketch, from the Springfield Democrat is pretty truthful, but I have read a book called "The Life of Buffalo Bill" in which Wild Bill, Little Dave Tutt, and Ben McCullough, figures quite extensively, that is as false as any fiction I ever read, especially the Dave Tutt, and Ben McCullough part.
    Ned Buntline, wrote quite a lot of stuff about Wild Bill, mostly, I think fiction. The following is from the Springfield (Missouri) Democrat, which I also published myself, in the Lead Hill Sentinel in 1894 when I was its publisher.
    Everybody has read of Wild Bill and his wonderful exploits during and after the war, but everybody does not know that he lived in Springfield for a few years immediately after the suppression of the rebellion. Many old citizens like J. M. Kirby, C. C. Avery, and D. M. Coleman, remember his career here vividly having been acquainted with him, and the subjoined account of his death from the Denver Republican will be read with interest. The real name of the former comrade of Buffalo Bill and the hero of Sundry Novels written by Ned Buntline, was J. B. Hickock. At the beginning of the war he left his home in Illinois and served as a scout in the wild and wooly west, in service of Uncle Sam. When peace was declared he located in Springfield. He was a magnificent specimen of manhood, six feet tall, weighed two-hundred pounds, and always wore a smile. He is described by D. M. Coleman as a good hearted fellow who would give his last cent to anyone that needed it. He was genial and never sought a row, but always ready to take the side of the weaker party in any altercation. It was well known that he was an excellent shot and unflinching nerve, and that he killed a great many men during the war. The story of his killing of Dave Tutt on the public square of Springfield, July 20, 1865, is also well known. It was published with illustrations in Harper's Magazine sometime after. The two men had been gambling and Tutt, being the more skillful, won Bill's money and gold watch.
    Stung with chagrin, Bill told Tutt that if he humiliated him by wearing the watch on the streets, he would kill him. The two men saw each other on the square afterwards--Tutt wearing the watch. Tutt came up from College Street, Bill from the Lyon Hotel on South Street. Both drew their pistols and there was a report and Tutt fell dead, being shot through the heart. A chamber of Tutt's pistol was found empty, but there are those who believe he did not fire. Bill gave himself up to Sheriff Elisha White. He was prosecuted by Major B. W. Fyan, and defended by the late Governor John S. Phelps, and acquitted, on the grounds of self-defense. Tutt's remains now repose in Maple Park cemetery where they were removed from the old Campbell Street graveyard, by Lew Tutt.
    Wild Bill was a witness to the killing of James Coleman by John Orr in 1866 and testified at the inquest. He went in search of Orr, who had left the country, but some say aver that he did not try to find him, the two having been friends. (This was not John Orr, but Sam Orr who was also a gambler and partly raised at Yellville, and was hung for this killing, as stated elsewhere, at Mt. Vernon, Missouri.)
    One night when work on the grading of the railroad to Ash Grove was in progress, three Irish laborers became involved in an altercation with James Gardner, who kept a saloon where the Massey building now stands on Boonville street. Hearing the noise, Bill arose from bed, went down and single handed put the three men out of the house.
    There is a legend to the effect that when as special policeman, Wild Bill killed a vicious dog belonging to a doctor, and that the doctor called him all sorts of vile names, with impunity, but the story is denied, as Wild Bill would never take an insult.
    Albert Todd, colored, remembers an occurrence at Fayetteville, Arkansas illustrative of Wild Bill's character. It was during the war and in that country, negroes were not allowed to drink at the bar with white people. There was a saloon kept by a strong secessionist, and Bill took six negroes, including Todd to the saloon to treat them. The negroes hung back timidly, but Bill said, "I've got six good black republicans here and I am going to treat them at your bar." The saloon keeper, after some hesitation sat out the drinks.
    The following account of Bill's death is taken from the Denver Republican. Mr. Adler has known almost all the pioneers of the west, and was a friend of that picturesque figure in western history, Wild Bill. He was in half a dozen paces of Bill when Jack McCaull shot him in the back of the head in a Deadwood saloon. He tells the story more minutely than it has ever been told in print. To paraphrase the quaint wording of the old pioneer the killing fell about this way: Bill and McCaull occupied the same cabin together at Deadwood in 1866. Both came into camp with a notoriety that they had been acquiring in all the border towns. Bill was a gambler by profession, and a desperado by nature. He was the surest shot with a pistol in the west. He had been a marshal of Hayes City in its palmy days of lawlessness, afterward marshal of Abilene, when that city had almost as hard a name.
    He had killed so many men that he had lost the count. So when he rode into Deadwood, one day with his long yellow hair pouring on his shoulders, his sombrero cocked sideways on his head and two ivory handled pistols in their holsters swinging at either side, people were naturally very respectful. But Bill was a man to be feared rather than respected (And that fear has caused the death of many a man). He was an inveterate card player and cheated and robbed at the tables with the pleasantest grace imaginable.
    He and McCaull became chums and batched together in a cabin, McCaull had just as bad a character as Bill, but he never had the opportunities to prove it and if he had he would probably have been dead before Deadwood came into existence. At any rate he and Bill used to play brace against every one they could get to put his legs under the table with them. While this process of fleecing was going on, Bill and his partner pretended to be strangers to each other.
    One day they were at their usual trick, with a green horn, in a canvass saloon, on the main street. McCaull broke and quit the game. Directly he came up to Bill, and said: "Say Bill, give me a quarter to buy a drink." Bill looked up at him as if he had never seen him before, and said "I guess you are good at the bar." McCaull went to the bar and asked for a drink, but the barkeeper, thinking he was joking, would not let him have it. Then McCaull sulked about the store for a little while. Finally he went to Bill again, and said, "Gimme fifty cents, Bill, I want to get a meal" and Bill still carrying out his role of stranger, said with pretended heat, "Go to-----for your meal!" McCaull's face flushed. He wasn't wily enough to see what Bill was driving at. He went out of the saloon, down to his cabin and got a six-shooter. When he came back, he had it cocked in his coat pocket, with his hand on it. He walked straight up to Bill, and quick as a flash, stuck the muzzle of the pistol against Bill's head and pulled the trigger. There was a leap of fire from the barrel, a resounding report and Wild Bill fell over with his face among the poker chips, stone dead.
    McCaull was arrested and tried before a miner's court and acquitted, for the story he told was a plausible one. But one day, when in his cups, he boasted of the deed. Detectives investigated his story and found it false, and eventually he was hanged.---Springfield Democrat. So that's the way both Bill and McCaull ended up in their wild desperate and gambling career, and that's the way such characters usually end.
    Some think Lew Tutt or some friend or relative of some of Bill's victims got McCaull to kill Bill and it is quite probable, for McCaull's excuse seems rather thin.
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    Now, I will return to local matters, I will omit most of the unpleasantness of reconstruction days as I think there has been more than enough said about that by partisan politicians, already, and it is with kindest feeling toward all readers and malice toward none, that I write the unpleasant part of this bit of early history, regardless of politics or affiliation. I am only trying to give facts of interest as they occurred.
    When the war closed, the town and country had become so depopulated and desolate, and wild animals so numerous, that wolves came right into town of nights and killed and carried off pigs and chickens. I saw a wild turkey, one day, leisurely strolling down main street in Yellville, just a little west of the square. Turkey, deer, wolves and other game and wild beasts were thick.
    Those that could get seed to plant and had, or could get, something to work crops with, had no feed and made their crops on the grass, and were blessed with a fine crop year in 1865.
    Yes, we had the K. K. K. then and we have it now, but different, so I will pass that by without comment.
    About 1867 and while Baxter county was still a part of Marion, the county seat, or rather the records, were moved from Yellville to Mooney's ferry on White River; but after a short precarious existence there, they were moved back home to Yellville.
    Another just after war incident, I will mention here, to-wit: The Monks raid into north Arkansas, east of Marion county in which Captain Monks and his men committed some depredations and several men were killed. It caused much excitement, animosity and uneasiness, even in Marion county for we expected a visit and also bad consequences, for many were resentful and hot headed. But their visit was short, and that excitement calmed down and no doubt much trouble was averted. This was a time when cool heads were needed, for many times hot heads were on the eve of collisions that might have been far reaching and caused much trouble. But with the help of God and reason we got through. And how can anyone who witnessed this war and after war times, advocate war, murder and destruction with the awful resulting consequences? It is revolting and insane from a moral and humane standpoint, to say nothing of the awful sinfulness and un-Christian side of the question.
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    Just after the surrender, Abe and Tom Wood, came to Yellville one day for the purpose of killing Bud Wood, it was said, as Abe had a grudge against Bud, and vowed he would kill him. Late in the evening, at twilight, Bud, on discovering Tom about to shoot him, dodges, but was shot in the hip. Then Tom was shot through the breast or shoulder and Abe was killed after emptying one revolver and two shots from another at Bud, but although only a few yards from him, he missed with every shot. Tom died a few days later at the home of H. R. Hutchison and he sent word to Bud that he didn't blame him at all. He suffered and struggled a great deal and made a gurggling noise before he died, and later a child was born to my sister, Mrs. H. R. Hutchison, that lived about thirteen years, but was always as helpless as an infant and never could talk but only made a gurggling noise just like Tom Wood did.
    We saw the shooting from our home and my mother and I were on the ground of battle in about five minutes after the shooting. It occurred at Uncle John McVey's saloon on the bank of the creek a little east of the first Layton bank building that was burned on the east side of the square.
    Some small steamboats used to come up White River at high tide--sometimes as far up as Forsythe. They came so rarely though that we thought it a grand sight when one did come. I remember the Batesville, the Warner, and a little boat built by Tom Stallings of Centerville--later Lead Hill. He called it the "Lady Boone."
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    One very cold winter, when I was a small boy, John Thompson, my nephew, and some other man, found a fine bed of fish in a back water slough, in the cave bottom at the salt peter cave on White River, north of Flippin. The fish had gathered there and the ice was frozen so thick and fish so numb they could hardly move on the bottom, so they just cut holes in the ice and stood there and gigged them up until they had a big lot of them. They were drum and buffaloes and averaged about three or four pounds. They brought about eight or ten bushels, as I remember, to Yellville.
    Some years after that a lot us were fishing one night before daylight with drags and our hands, in a hole where Crooked creek was going dry and this same John Thompson was feeling under the bank for fish and exclaimed: "I've got one" as he drew it out of the water, but instead of a fish he had a big moccasin snake. He didn't wait to be told to drop it, and we didn't do much more hand fishing by feeling under hiding places either, especially in the dark.
    I presume you have heard of the Brooks and Baxter war--1868, I believe, both claimed the election but Baxter was seated and made us a good governor--much better, I guess than Joe Brooks would have made for he was said to be a very crooked politician. But quite an army of supporters on each side gathered at Little Rock and excitement ran high but reason prevailed and good results followed and peace and quiet was restored.
    It was during Baxter's administration that Baxter county was formed from Marion, Stone and Izard counties, and Mountain Home made the county seat. Also Boone county was formed from Marion and Carroll counties, and Bellefonte made the county seat, but later the county seat was moved, by election, to Harrison.
    W. F. Eatman, Senior, was the first clerk of Baxter county and served efficiently and creditably for fourteen years; and J. G. Byler served in the same manner as first sheriff for twelve years and quit voluntarily and under strong solicitation to run again, but he told them to try another man. The people then sent him to the legislature and later elected him sheriff of Baxter county again. And while serving this term, a vary sad and unfortunate thing happened; Sheriff Byler, having a writ to serve on Joe Twiggs, went to the Twiggs home for that purpose, and Jesse Roper, who was Joe's pal and courting Joe's sister, shot Byler from the corner of the house with a Winchester. J.G. Byler was one of the finest men and one of the best sheriffs Arkansas ever had. Roper escaped and although big rewards were offered by county and state and great effort made to capture him, he never was caught. Afterwards, an officer with a posse of men, went to arrest Joe and in the attempt Joe was shot in the shoulder and his father killed, Joe was lodged in jail but escaped.
    In the winter and spring of 1877 I was a student at Mountain Home Academy, under the instruction of Professors A. J. Truman and J. S. Howard--two noble men and fine teachers. Jesse White and Charley Lewallen, also of Marion county, were class mates with me and other noble young men of other parts whose memory I cheerish. I cheerish the memory of old friends and of associates of childhood, young manhood, school days and the long ago, and it seems like there is but few now left; but thank God and good fortune, we have new friends and pleasant associations, and without these life would be a blank. Who can estimate the worth of true friends and true companions? What is life worth without them? And what is life to those who are friends to no one? Love and friendship--what is greater? What more spiritual and inspirational, and Christ like? Imbibe it, live it and enjoy it.
    After close of school at Mountain Home, I taught a three months term of free school at Gassville and finished paying my board and tuition, and the next year I married a good woman and settled down on my little homestead where Buck Barnet now lives.
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    When I was a small boy I remember "Goggle Eye" Bill Hudson who had a blacksmith shop on the corner where the Layton store building now is, and he made keys, it was said, to unlock jail doors and let prisoners out in Marion and surrounding counties, and raised one of the meanest boys in the whole country--Little Bill Hudson--and Lark Austin, Sam Orr, and Ben Tutt, were his chums and equal.
    I wish to mention here two old timers and particular characters of Yellville, to-wit: J. H. Berry and Uncle Henderson Fee.
    Uncle Henderson Fee went with his brogan shoes untied and was just as plain and common as old corn pone bread; but he was a good business man, in his way, and always kind, pleasant, courteous and honest; and I don't suppose he had an enemy in the world. He held official positions--Justice of the Peace, county clerk, and deputy clerk, or had other business about the court house all the time and could be seen there every day in the week except Sunday. He lived to be about one hundred and raised a big family. Uncle Jim Berry was noted for his great memory. He could tell you, "right off the reel," when any notable event of the country happened--giving day, month and year. He also was a fine old man, and a fine business man, but he couldn't get around much, on account of a short withered leg and corpulency. In memory, I can see him with his pleasant look, jovial disposition and hear that little short whistle, at intervals without any tune. Lots of fine old men but none just like these two.
    In 1873, I think it was, the squirrels migrated south through the country and the woods were full of them. They were so numerous that they almost destroyed some crops. Sometimes a dozen up one tree.
    I will next give a sketch of one of the most brutal crimes ever committed in Marion county. About 1867, a man by the name of Collins hired a man by the name of Kimmins, to move him and his family from Springfield, Missouri, to some point in northeast Arkansas. It seems that Kimmins had no family, except a little girl, some ten or twelve years old, and she was with him. He had a good wagon and a fine team of mules. They camped, one night, in a grove, near the road, a little west of George's Creek, now Pangle place. In the night Collins got up and got the chopping axe and crushed Kimmins skull with it. He then dragged his victim back from the camp a little ways and placed him behind a log. He then hooked up the team and pulled out before day, telling the little girl that her father had gone on before. Up in the day, someone passing along the road, saw hogs pulling at something and went out to see what it was and found the body of the unfortunate owner of the wagon and team, on which the hogs were eating. The news spread rapidly and a posse was soon on the way after the murderer, and the number of pursuers increased on the way. About two miles east of Mooney's Ferry, in Baxter county, (then Marion) they overtook him, about sixteen miles from the camp, and one of the pursuers was so anxious to kill him that he took one shot at him anyhow, the ball passing through the flesh part of his thigh. He was brought back to Yellville, and there being no jail, it having been burned out during the war, he was guarded in the old box school house, a little north of the present jail.
    One night a mob came to finish the miserable wretch. He was laying on a bed made by turning the front of two benches together. The guards all fled, and several bullets were fired into the pillow under his head, where he quietly lay as if dead and the mob, thinking they had accomplished their purpose, retired, leaving him untouched. But some six weeks later, while a big revival meeting was in progress, just east of town, and while Uncle Isaac Wilson was leading in prayer, about a dozen shots were fired up in town and we rightly guessed that Collins had met his doom.
    I, with many others, hurried up there to see. His dead body was laying on the counter, in a house that then belonged to my father, on the south side of the square, where the guard had placed him after the killing. Old man Abee, John Covington and myself, buried him at the Coker graveyard west of town. He was an infidel and most awfully wicked, in thought, action and deed. His wife was afraid of him and said he had threatened to kill her. I think his family and Kimmins' little girl returned to Springfield.

    In May, 1875, Wash Bridges, and Henry and Bill Arterberry, his nephews, had a little shooting scrape, a few miles west of Yellville; and soon after, Bridges started to Missouri, and Henry and Bill Arterberry followed him and overtook him near Dodd City and pretending to have a writ for him, started back to Yellville with him. About half way between Dodd City and Yellville, they left the road and took him down into a big hollow, pretending to be thirsty and hunting water, and shot and left him there.
    In September, four months later, the body, or rather the bones of Bridges were located and J. G. [Joseph G] Lewallen, John Stacey, B. M. Estes, William Estes and myself, were summoned late one evening to go out into the pinery and guard the bones until a jury was impaneled next day, of which we composed a part. The balance of the jury and Justice of the Peace arrived about eleven a.m. next day, and the bones were gathered up and put into a box and we all went to Yellville with them. We had to go back next day to finish the inquest.
    Another man was with the Arterberry boys and saw all the proceedings, but said he had nothing to do with it, except, they compelled him to shoot Bridges' horse further down the hollow. We saw the bones of the horse. When this witness came in and was seated near the box containing Bridges' bones, he was as pale as death, for a while; but when he got so he could talk, he laid bare all the horrible facts in a plain and straightforward manner.
    For all of this service of two days and one night, as I remember, we got the magnificent sum of $3.00 in county scrip, worth at the time, ten cents on the dollar.
    Henry and Bill Arterberry were taken to the Harrison, Boone county jail, for safe keeping, from which they escaped. Henry was never recaptured or tried. Bill, later returned but the state witness could not be produced and he was released from custody, but remained at Harrison where, it is said, he lived a wild reckless life until he was slain by enraged men; and so he went pretty much the same way that his Uncle Wash Bridges did. Henry had once been shot in the shoulder by a mob, supposed to be from Missouri, and John McDaniels, his associate and whom they were really in search of, was killed.
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    About 1873 a local grange was organized in my father's home, where we then lived, a little northwest of Flippin, with the following charter members, as I remember: My father and mother, my brothers, Jim, Ben and Bill and wives and myself; also, W. B. Flippin, W. C. Jenkins, J. G. [Joseph G] and C. G. [Charlie G] Lewallen, Henry Burch, Asberry Johnson, William Reynolds, J. L. C. Huddleston, T. J. Sutton and wives. Later Thomps McCracken, Perry Tucker, Fed Williams and wives, and many others became members.
    A county grange was formed at Yellville with five member locals, of which many prominent Marion county citizens were members, and we sent a committee to the Yellville merchants to get bids for the grange trade. A. S. Layton, W. Q. Seawel, and H. J. Noe submitted bids, and Layton being the best bidder, got the trade; and in so doing, got many of the best customers of the other merchants, especially L. Ellenburg's, who submitted no bid; but he soon sold out to Jones and moved to Springfield, Missouri; and so Layton gained a big trade that he continued to hold after the grange ceased to function. There is no telling the great benefit it would have been to the farmers and country had the grange held together and kept building up, as they did and are doing yet in some places--the oldest and best farm organization of all.
    Big business and little business succeeds by organizing, and that is the only successful route for the farmers. Organize, cooperate and stick as others do.

    Early in the spring of 1876, my parents went to the Tom Thumb Springs, a health resort near the top of the Gaither Mountain, in Boone county. Soon after, father wrote me that my mother was sick and wanted me to come. Next morning I started early from about four miles northeast of Yellville, on foot, and walked in to Tom Thumb Springs about ten p.m. that night--about forty-four miles, and the last four very rough around the spurs and up the mountain, and by starlight alone. I stayed with my parents until they went back home, near Flippin, late in the summer.
    Old Dr. Gayland, a New York quaker and a botanic doctor had located and homesteaded the land on which these springs were. There was fine young timber there, just right for building, and he told the people to help themselves, select their locations and build houses; and when he got the patent to his land, he would make deeds to them free.
    It was generally understood that he wouldn't have or handle money, and when any one was sick and wanted his services, it was free and without charge. He gathered herbs, roots, etc., and made his own medicine. He lived by himself, in a little log cabin.
    While I was there a census of population was taken that totaled four hundred and thirty. Dr. Layton, Dr. Noe, Fletcher Noe, G. W. Hall and families, and others from Marion county were there.
    On July 4th, the 100th anniversary of United States Independence, we got an anvil and made the hills echo, from hill to hill, for many miles down the north fork of Buffalo River, which runs at the foot of this high mountain.
    In May, we saw rain, in sight of our high location, fourteen days in succession. One day a heavy cloud with thunder and lightning, and a heavy down pour of rain, lay entirely below us, while the sun was shinning brightly at the springs.
    Why Dr. Gayland wouldn't handle money, I never knew, but he surely had a reason, perhaps a very sad reason or reasons.
    He was educated and well informed, but one of the most peculiar men I ever saw; and for that reason, I suppose, the people quit going or staying there and the poor old fellow was at last left alone; and as I have been told; he went down near Marble City, or Wilcoxen, and lived by himself in a cave until one cold day in February he was out in the snow getting in some firewood and fell and broke his thigh. In this condition he was found and taken to a house where he soon died.
    No doubt, he had a very sad and interesting history, if known. He told me he had lived in New York City, where his wife and two daughters died.
    What he did for people and what he had to give was free, without charge, then how sad to think of his last days and his lonely condition in his feebleness, for he must have been around eighty years of age. Can you image his thoughts and his sufferings in body and mind--alone! Alone! Alone! No, not alone, for surely the great God of love and mercy would not leave such a benevolent man and zealous quaker, and in his pittible condition, all alone. No, God was certainly with him.
    Don't think, because of the many criminal enumerations in these sketches of early history, that Yellville and Marion county people were worse than other people; for a long period of time and a very strenuous and unusual period is covered, and such conditions prevailed elsewhere.
    Since saloons were put out, and prohibition came, conditions have changed very greatly for the better; but we now have the movies that, as they are run, I believe, are producing worse effects than the saloon or billiard halls ever did. They could be made useful and educationally beneficial.
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    While in Marion county, a few years ago, I visited the cemetery, near Flippin, where many relatives and old friends are peacefully sleeping, and as I stood by the graves of my dear father and mother, I thought of the many things they had done for me--of their love, labor, care, patience, etc., and I thought of the many opportunities I had let slip by when I could have made their lives happier and easier--of things I should have done and things I shouldn't have done. These I remembered with same and sorrow. But it was with pride and pleasure that I thought of the too few things that I had done to ease, please and brighten their lives. These opportunities were too often neglected, or unnoticed, just as is the case with other boys, girls and young men. Like you are, or should be, I loved my parents and it was a great pleasure to do things for them and to please or benefit them, but I, like you, was just too careless and unthoughted. Boys, I am an old man now and give you this with the hope that it may benefit you and your parents. Soon they will be beyond reach of your words and acts of love, cheer, kindness and helpfulness. Think and show your love and appreciation now, while they are with you and can enjoy them.
    I will close with the following little tribute to my late companion: