Mabch 13, 1897.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
203 
it might have been done in order to give me the advantage 
of an additional day on earth, or possibly in consideration of 
the luck that is supposed by some to cluster around the num- 
ber 13. 
Mrs. Warden, the first friend I met on my arrival home 
that fateful morning, has often told me that she knew I was 
born on the 14th, "because there was quite a peep o' day 
when I let my fust yell." However, a day or two, or even 
a year or two, doesn't cut mueh figure in some lives, and this 
is not intended as an autobiography except in so far as it re- 
lates to those scenes and incidents in Iowa's early history 
"all of which I saw and part of which I was." 
The first thing I recollect "for sure" is carrying a hull 
pup home. 
The difficulties I encountered in capturing the little fellow 
among the old boxes and barrels out in the back yard at our 
neighbor Beasley's made a lastia": impression upon my young 
brain, aside fro-n the exquisite pleasure 1 derived from the 
knowledire that I at last owned a pup of my own. That 
must have been in 1854, for old Cola lived fifteen years and 
died while I was away at college Jn 1869. He was strictly 
business and left a good record, not only as a farm dog, but 
in the matter of varmints. He was also one of the best re- 
trievers on water fowl I ever saw, strange as it may seem. 
But he dearly loved to hunt prairie wolves, and in this con- 
nection I might add that the next in order of my distinct 
recollections is standing by the window and watching father 
come home from across the prairie in the winter time with 
two, three, four or more wolves hanging across his horse. 
He was a dead shot, as in fact were nearly all those fron- 
tiersmen, but he never used a gun in hunting wolves. His 
arms and accoutrements consisted of a greyhound, bull dog, 
hickory club and a rattling good horse His methods were 
simple and positive. The outfit would sight a wolf; the 
greyhound would speed away and overtake nim and enter- 
tain Mm until the bull dog could get there, when the con- 
troversy was ordinarily soon settled. If the wolf happened 
to be unusually large and strong, the hickory club closed the 
arguments. Many and many a lime I have seen father come 
home with all the wolves his horse could carry. Father 
never could resist the temptation to give chase to a wolf, no 
matter what the conditions or circumstances. In those days 
people that lived within five or ten miles of each other were 
regarded as neighbors. Over on South Raccoon, some six 
or seven miles from Adel, lived a family by the name of 
Hill, with whom our folks were on very friendly terms. 
The two families visited nearly every pleasant Sunday. 
Either we would go to see them or they would come to see 
us. I remember one bright Sunday in late winter of the 
early fifties father hitched up, loaded us all in and started 
over to Hill's for the usual visit. We had nearly reached 
our destination when a large wolf crossed tlie road, and hav- 
ing reached a respectful distanc stopped and looked at us. 
Father could not resist the temptation. He jerked the har- 
ness off old Nance, tied the other horse to the wagon, and 
away he went. Old Nance was no spring chicken at the 
husiness, and entered into the spirit of the chase with all the 
ardor of a three-year-old. There seemed to be trouble on 
the wolf's mind the way he spun across the prairie, and 
father seemed to be gaining on him when they disappeared 
over the ridge. Presently father returned leading the mare 
and holding his face, which was covered with blood and 
terribly disfigured. The mare had stepped into a badger 
hole, and in falling had struck father full in the face with 
one of her hoofs. That was more than fortv years ago, and 
when I last saw father, ten years ago, that frightful scar 
was just about as much in evidence as ever. Doubtless it 
will go with him to the grave. 
Probably the abundance of raccoons in the woods along 
North, South, Middle and Main Raccoon suggested the 
names for the streams. There were coons everywhere, and, 
by the way, the streams are not called Raccoon bv the people 
living there— just plain Coon. I remember being out with 
father one day along North Coon Bottom among the elms 
and cottonwoods. We sighted a big nest of some kind up 
among the branches of a big cottonwood, and father figured 
for a long time on what it could be. To settle the question 
he sent a shot up through it, when out tumbled a big fat 
coon. We were bending over the victim and examining him 
when—spat! another big_ coon fell dead at our feet; a pretty 
good chance shot, was it not? There were plenty of fur- 
bearing animals in Iowa in those days— beaver, mink, musk- 
rat, coon, otter, and some bob cats, panther and bear. 
There were antelope and buffalo on the prairie not far west 
of us. Deer and wild turkeys were in abundance along all 
the Coon rivers, and doubtless they were equally abundant 
along other Iowa streams. When five or six years old I was 
out one day with a party of men after wild turkeys just 
above town. One of the party captured a young hen turkey 
alive and gave it to me. I took it home, put it in a pen, and 
tried very hard to raise it; but it declined to eat and soon 
died. 
One July 4 in the early '50s exuberance of patriotism in- 
duced the settlers to hire a band of wandering Indians to 
give an exhibition war dance for the entertainment of their 
families and as a manifestation of patriotic sentiment that 
could not, under the circumstances, find expression in fire- 
crackers and brass bands. 1 can only dimly recall the enter- 
taining features of the dance, but the memory of the wind-up 
is quite vivitl. The settlers became unea.sy at the earnest- 
ness with which the Indians entered into the spirit of the 
entertauament, and finally hurried their families away and 
got their rifles in anticipation of trouble. The Indians took 
the hint and moved on. 
Probably most of the older readers of Forest and Stream 
are more or less familiar with the horrible outrages and mas- 
sacres that occurred the following spring (March, 1857) at 
Spirit and Okoboji lakes, in norinern Iowa, and at Spring- 
field, in southern jyiinnesota. Chiefs Ink pa-du-tah and U tan- 
ka sa-pa (Black Buffalo) headed a band of about eighteen 
lodges of Sioux, who robbed the settlers and committed the 
most inhuman outrages, culminating in the massacres of the 
8th and Qth of March, 1857. During the year 185(5 a dozen 
or more families had settled about the lakes, w^hile along the 
valley of the Little Sioux River at Smithland, Cherokee and 
Rock Rapids there were settlements. Ink-pa-du-tah and his 
band commenced their depredations at Smithland, and pass- 
ing up the Little Sioux continued their depredations, killing 
stock, etc , but committed no murders until they reached the 
settlement at the lakes. There and at Springfield, a small 
settlement in Minnesota a few miles northeast, they killed 
forty-one, wounded three, and took with them as captives 
four women— J^Ii-8. Howe, Mrs. Thatcher, Mrs. Marble and 
Miss Gardner. Twelve persons were missing, some of whose 
remains were afterward found. Of the four women taken as 
captives two were killed on their flight— Mrs. Howe and 
Mrs Thatchfr Mrs Marble and Mi's Gardner gained their 
freedom some months afterward. The settlement on the 
lakes was entirely wiped out. Some of those bloodthirsty 
devils approached our settlement to within a few miles, and 
I well remember how father, during those trying times, 
walked the floor nights with his rifle lying across the table. 
And T remember, too, how the horseman dashed through, 
our settlement crying at the top of his voice: "The Indians 
are coming! The Indians are coming!" And how Brady 
escaped from his captors and came into the settlement nearly 
or quite naked. Twenty years later, on the bank of a little 
stream in the Black Hills, I sat and listened to the details of 
that horrible affair from the lips of a Sioux that participated 
in the massacre. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy his own 
story in all its most horrible details, and my finger played 
with the trigger of my Ballard so nervously that my com- 
panion insisted that we should move on at once, for any bad 
break on our part would certainly have resulted very disas- 
trously to us, as the Indians were "quite numerous and very 
bold ^ 
About the time of the Spirit Lake massacre, father, in 
some trade with the Indians, secured a handsome little bay 
mare. That same evening I rode her after the cows. All 
frontier boys in those days almost literally left the cradle 
for a horse. At seven I was about as good a horseman as 
any of the Indian boys of my age, was a fair shot with the 
bow, and could skate and swim — all the accomplishments 
considered necessary to gain admission to the inner circles 
of the best society, particularly among the kids. The rifle 
and lariat belonged to our elders. Well, as the sun was set- 
ting behind the grassy billows of the west, I jumped, or 
rather, climbed "the pony" and started out across the prairie 
after the cows. Evidently the pony had been used by the 
Indians in hunting buffalo or stealing cattle (probably both), 
and was right on to her job. No sooner had I turned in be- 
hind the cows than the circus commenced. And talk about 
your Iowa cyclones! That pony could have given a cyclone 
cards and spades. Away went the whole outfit on the dead 
run. Not a creature was allowed to lag behind; and if one 
showed any disposition to weaken she was brought to a 
realization of what was required of her by a vicious bite on 
the rump that started the hair if not the blood. These evo- 
lutions were something new to me. They were not down in 
my code, and right at the start I came near losing my seat. 
Hold her I could not; she paid no more attention to my 
earnest efforts than she would have paid to the attack of a 
buffalo gnat, probably not as much. We were more than a 
mile from home, and I could plainly see that the programme 
meant the fulfillment of more than the ordinary circus ad- 
vertises—three rings under one tent and something new and 
novel transpiring in each ring without delays. I dropped 
the reins and hung on to her mane for dear life. And let me 
say right here that I came in along with that circus, and sitting 
right up in the band wagon The cloud of dust that loomed 
up ominously in the west admonished father that something 
was wrong, and he came out to meet us, but he quickly got out 
of the way and let the procession pass, while his anger gave 
place to anxiety. I didn't see him for, I was otherwise en- 
gaged, and found no time to view the scenery or engage in 
conversation. When we reached the corral the whole thing 
was over with the pony in a second, and as for the poor cows 
you could have lassoed their eyes with a grape-vine, and I 
really do not remember whether their milk was saved that 
night or not. A strange feature of the whole business was 
the fact that mother and the girls could all pile on that pony 
at once and she would go along like an old sheep, but the 
moment a man bestrode her she was like a whirlwind let 
loose. She died from lockjaw after a fifteen-mile run after 
a wolf one sleety day of a winter late in the fifties, and there 
was mourning in our family — at least among the women 
folks. I felt bad enough, of course, but it wouldn't have 
been "manly" in me to cry, you know. Her colt, Gip, a 
bright iron gray, fell to me as a matter of course. A boyish 
claim of that kind ia seldom disputed until later on. Ordi- 
narily it is a case of "baby's pig and daddy's hog.'' But in 
this particular instance I asserted and continued to assert my 
claim to Gip with so much earnestness and confidence that 
it was finally conceded by everybody, even father himself. 
Gip was a dandy in his class, and I cannot remember the 
last time I rode him. He had some peculiarities, however, 
which I never felt inclined to encourage. He would carry 
me like the wind until he took a notion that he had gone far 
enough. Then he would stop And 1 might add that that 
stop was generally suggestive of the point of contact between 
a catapult and a stone wall. Ordinarily I could not bring 
myself to the same mental conclusion and physical condition 
simultaneously with his aforesaid conclusion and condition, 
and the result was that I would go over his head like a rocket. 
Then he would look at me in a knowing sort of way and go 
to eating grass. But if I stuck he would buck, and generally 
Gip came out winner. We were great friends nevertheless. 
There was politics even in those good old Whig and 
Democratic days, and embryo Presidents (in their own 
minds) were just about as numerous as nowadays. I well 
remember at least a dozen of our old frontier neighbors, all 
of whom were thoroughly qualified (in their own minds) to 
fill any office in the gift of this great republic. There was 
Bob Bailey, 0. D. Smalley, Jerry Perkins, L. D. Bums, 
Squire Babb, George B. Warden, two or three Millers and 
others, and even father was not averse to holding office 
when called, like Cincinnatus, from the plow. I think 
father was Dallas county's first prosecuting attorney, and I 
know that he was in the Legislature of the State two terms 
during the fifties. 0. D. Smalley and Bob Bailey were both 
Democrats and warm friends. Perkins was a consistent 
Whig, and 1 remember that at one of the early elections 
Smalley and Perkins were opposing candidates for some 
office, county judge, I think. Smalley lived over on the 
Des Moines River, and had shortly before this election killed 
a very large bear. Some orator from Fort Des Moines had 
come up to Adel to present the political issues of the day 
from the Whig standpoint. He was very gushy and let the 
eagle soar pretty high. Incidentally he proceeded to give 
his friend Perkins a send-off for county judge, and Bob 
Bailey was coirespondingly mad. "Gentlemen and fellow- 
citizens." said the orator, "it is with pride and pleasure that 
I take this opportunity to remind you, my fellow-citizens, 
that you have among you a gentleman and a statesman of 
whom you should feel justly proud, one who is most capable 
and willing to serve you in the capacity of county judge. I 
need not speak his name, fellow citizens, for you all know 
of whom 1 speak, Jerry Perkins." Bob was gettmg madder 
and madder. ' 'FeUow-citizens, " continued the orator, ' 'there 
is a man blessed nqt ovij witlj great learning, bi^t witl^ 
quickness of perception, great penetration of mind and the 
faculty of nice discrimination. He came among you when 
the country was young, when you needed bold and deter- 
mined men; he drove back the howling wolf and killed the 
bear." Bob could stand it no longer. Bob was nothing if 
not dignified. He arose with all the dignity of a Soman 
senator and said: "Mr. Chairman, I rise to a point of per- 
sonal privilege. It wasn't Perkins that killed the bear; it 
was Smalley." g. h. Greene. 
Portland, Ore., February. 
ON THE POTOMAC. 
If we take into consideration the great length of time 
which has elapsed since the lands bordering oh and adja- 
cent to the river Potomac have been permanentljr colon- 
ized and cultivated, in connection with its central and ac- 
cessible location, there is no other river in our country 
which retains to such an extent its original features, or 
presents to the eye such a primeval aspect as this grand 
old historical stream. There are numerous points alon^ 
its meandering course where jutting headlands or a series 
of rugged hills have been neglected and unimproved to this 
time, and are still crowned with some of the aged mon- 
archs of the forest primeval. Many of the decayed and 
massive trunks of once towering oaks, whose foliage shel- 
tered the aborigines, coeval with the earliest settlers, still 
remain, though bereft of vitality. The cause of the appar- 
ently immutable condition of those points spoken of may 
be accounted for in the immense extent of the domain of 
the early colonists, who selected from their countless acres 
the most accessible and easily cultivated, a practice which 
has been continued by their descendants. Consequently 
those neglected places which meet the eye of the tourist 
stand out in bold relief as mementos of the early days in 
the history of the Old Dominion. 
If permitted to draw a simile in connection with the 
text of this article, I would say that the banks of the Hud- 
son represent the progress and refinement of the present, 
while those of the Potomac retain unequivocal evidence 
and mementos of the past; representing the time and lo- 
cation where our earliest great statesmen lived, meditated 
and counseled together to devise and implant principles 
in the political body of our infant republic which would 
make its future, if possible, indestructible. 
In fact, there is scarcely any portion of the river be- 
tween Arlington and Wakefield that is not teeming with 
historic lore. Therefore it may be styled the classical 
river of North America with as equal propriety as that 
appellation has been conferred upon the Eurotas of Greece 
or the Tiber of Rome. 
The above general description I propose to supplement 
with more definite details of personal experience about 
sixty years ago. As a great many incidents in connection 
with transactions of those halcyon days have, from the 
lapse of time, become dim, I concluded to revisit the local- 
ities with the view of restoring to memory some of the in- 
cidents nearly obliterated. Therefore, with anticipated 
pleasure of gazing upon and wandering once more amid 
those sylvan scenes of boyhood, I set out from Washington 
during the last days of October to accomplish my tour by 
crossing the Potomac. The first notable object which 
meets the eye on the Vu-ginia hills is the stately mansion 
at Arlington. This fine old colonial edifice, apparently 
gazing down upon the Federal city, was once the home 
and patrimonial estate of G. W. P. Custis, the ado.pted son 
of George Washington, and more recently the residence of 
Gen. Robert E. Lee, the son-in-law of Mr. Custis, from 
whom the general inherited it. The spot is now in posses- 
sion of the IJnited States, and a part of it has been con- 
verted into a national cemeterv. 
The next point of interest in the tour, about six miles 
^below Washington, was the ancient city of Alexandria, 
'now sleeping on the banks of the Potomac, which sixty 
years ago was a scene of animation, and one of the princi- 
pal business marts of foreign commerce. This city was 
also a center of social refinement from its earliest history. 
Among the prominent residents sixty years ago were 
many of the descendants of those who ardently and con- 
spicuously contributed their wealth and intellectual ability 
to advance the revolt of the colonies from its conception 
through the darkest days of adversity to its ultimate tri- 
umph. A few of those family names are still fresh in my 
memory: the Herberts, Taylors, Brents, Fitzhughs, Lees, 
Dulanys, Fendalls, Thorntons, Vowells, and others. In 
addition to the coterie of brilliant resident magnates, there 
was a large number of distinguished transient visitors, 
whose frequent presence contributed greatly to the social 
intercourse of the city. It was here that the wealthy 
planters of the northern neck of Virginia, and also those 
from the Maryland banks of the Potomac, shipped the sur- 
plus products of their plantations— tobacco, grain, etc. — and 
received in return products of foreign climes. Those busi- 
ness transactions and familiar visits were carried on for 
years prior to the Revolution as well as subsequent there- 
to, and history informs us of the character and ability of 
the planters along the Virginia banks of the Potomac, and 
also of those residing on the green hills of Maryland 
adjacent to this majestic river; and in the catalogue of 
visitors to this ancient and hospitable city we find 
thfr name of Washington at a time when the site 
for the city which now bears his name was a 
howhng wilderness. George Mason, the author of the 
bill of rights and of the constitution of Virginia, upon 
which the constitution of the Republic was founded; Col. 
Fairfax, whose plantation joined that of Mount A^ernon, 
and who voluntarily abandoned his inheritance and title 
as one of the lords of England's realm to spend his days 
in the wilds of America; Philip H. Lee, the father of the 
late Gen. Robt. E. Lee, who, by his splendid horseman- 
ship and heroic exploits during the Revolution at the head 
of his cavalry, acquired the significant title of Light Horse 
Harry; John Randolph, of Roanoke, the talented and ec- 
centric Virginian who had the reputation of successfully 
answering iti six words— "The Greeks are at your doors" — 
a speech which Mr. Clay was two days in delivering in 
favor of an appropriation for the suffering Greeks; in fact, 
all the prominent men who had occasion to ti-avel north 
from the western or southern portion of Virginia neces- 
sarily came through Alexandria. Therefore we find em- 
blazoned upon the pages of history numerous names of 
those who honored tlie city with their social familiarity, 
and whose fame will increase as years roll on. 
In addition to the distinguished men who conferred 
J^onor upon the ancient city there are many interesting 
