The Story of a Friendship, Nerve, Intrigue and Interesting Early-Day Incidents

​​Youth Envisions the Future-Age Glories of the Past
By Bert E. Quick
In Three Parts
​Lowell Ledger 8.6.1931

Chapter I

  Iwas born in Lowell on November 6, 1866, and my earliest recollections are from our little home on Jefferson Street, the first house south of the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Wadsworth. My birthplace, however, was the one story wing of the domicile of Dr. Shepard.  

     As I came into this world soon following the close of the Civil War, and my father having served three and one-half years as an officer in Co. I 26th Mich. Inf., it naturally followed that my earliest years,  so impressive, were filled with war talk and stories that were exchanged by veterans of Co. I which was recruited largely from Lowell boys; and our yard on summer evenings usually found a number of them congregated, fighting over again the “Wilderness,” “Spotsylvania,” the “Mine Run” and in fact all of the battles and campaigns participated in by the famous 26th Michigan Infantry.

     When four and one-half years old my parents moved to the “mill house” which stands near the east bank of Flat River on Avery Street. Father sold the home on Jefferson Street together with the other house and lot, adjoining on the south, and engaged in the retail lumber business. After one season of rafting lumber down the river from “Richardson’s Mill” (now Belding) and Greenville, a sawmill was acquired and manufacturing started. It was in the following Autumn of 1871 that my story was enacted.

     Our home was filled with boarders employed in the sawmill and on the river. Mother kept one girl to assist with the housework while the “barn man,” a French Canadian, attended to the “chores,” that is, milking and seeing that the wood boxes were kept properly filled water pumped, etc. For several years, from April to November, my mother with assistance did the work for twenty-eight boarders. Supper for the day shift was served at noon and midnight. This was followed by a breakfast-supper combination at 6 0’clock in the morning.

     At that late date the propaganda sent broadcast throughout the north kept the animosity of the ex-soldiers against the “Rebels” at fever heat. It was during this period of political crime, the regime of the “carpetbagger,” preying upon the broken and depleted south; the picture we always wish we could turn to the wall, but a picture from life of rotten political system that came to us by inheritance. 
    
     When mustered out of the service at the close of the war, a secret service was put in force and many former officers were made members of that organization, the main object being to report to the government any seditious movement of the “Rebs” or “Copperheads” of the north. Lists of the members came into possession of the local authorities throughout the north and these lists were evidently freely used to trace petty offenders as well as those wanted for major infractions of the law. My father was constantly receiving descriptions of fugitives wanted for every crime from murder to stock or horse stealing, all of which was very interesting to us youngsters, but of no interest to him. Then, on an October day a telegram came. It was from J.F. Wyckoff, sheriff at Grand Rapids, and addressed to Theodore Nelson, deputy, ordering the arrest of Henry Richards for the sheriff of Boone County, Kansas, on a warrant for horse stealing, stating that he and the Kansas sheriff would arrive in Lowell about 9:30 that evening. Henry Richards was only nineteen and just retuned home from Kansas where he had gone the previous spring, following that “urge” of youth to see the world and prompted no doubt largely by the fact that a former neighbor had recently taken up a farm in Kansas and had written the Richards family glowing accounts about the future prospects of that wonderful locality. Henry hadn’t found the unsettled conditions of that uproarious frontier to his liking, and in August had started to work his way home where he had arrived less than a week before. George Richards, Henry’s father, had been a private in Co.I, 26th Mich. and had an unblemished record as a soldier. The family lived in the village during the war, but soon after they moved to a farm on the west side of the Flat River near Fallasburg. Ellen Richards, Henry’s mother, and my mother had been very close friends during their heart breaking years and it had been quite the custom for two or three of the “war widows” with their children to stay together nights at one of their homes. Ellen was a little older and her cheerful disposition and resourceful mind did much to drive away the gloom that was sure to settle in a cloud upon receipt of any news of fighting in which the Army of the Potomac was engaged. 

     It must be remembered that all means of communication were very slow in those days, and often it would be a week or even two before any details of an engagement of the forces were received.
   
     Telegrams were quite a novelty and a message was always regarded as of great importance, but in the face of that fact, the agent at the D & M Depot had received a wire from the Kansas sheriff from Kalamazoo addressed to Capt. E.W Avery, which had been sent the night before, but had not been delivered until the one from the Kent County officer was received. The agent was his own messenger boy and with the two telegrams he met Capt. Avery at the post office and handed him his message, also informing him of the content of the one for the deputy sheriff. Capt. Avery was a quick thinker and after reading his message, told the agent that Mr. Nelson was in the country and would not be back until late, and as they were neighbors he would deliver the message as soon as the deputy drove in. With the two telegrams in his pockett Capt. Avery came immediately to our house to consult my father.

     Horse stealing in the frontier states and territories was in those days usually followed by what was termed a “Necktie Party”or in other words a lynching, if the culprit was caught. Justice by court procedure was too slow and vigilante committees were organized upon a moment’s notice when the occasion arose. To Captain Avery and my family of course the charge against Henry was preposterous. He was not that kind and had always been of a likable, quiet, unobtrusive disposition and a favorite, especially with his mother’s wartime friends with whom as a youngster he had been as one of the family.

     Capt. Avery was a heavy man and as he came toward our house his stride was quickened and both my father and mother arose from the supper table and met him at the side gate in front of the dining room table. Without a word of greeting or loss of time or motion, he handed the two messages to my father who in turn passed them to mother as soon as read. Not a word was spoken but as of one accord they fled around the side of the house to the front door and entered the parlor or front room which with the two adjoining bedrooms was the only private part of the house with its many boarders.

     Mother was crying and looking appealingly from father to Capt. Avery, while they stood looking at each other, I, as a child of five, had followed unobserved and only knew that some important calamity had come; maybe the Rebels were coming or the President had been shot again or maybe they must go and fight at the Wilderness once more.

     “By God, they won’t get him.” 

     It was my father’s voice, husky and low, as if more in thought than speech, but clearly audible and carrying a note of finality that in after years I learned to recognize as the last word. Mother seem to be waiting for that word; she hastily wiped away the tears with her apron and with tightly drawn lips, a signal of decision, she turned and entered her bedroom, but soon reappeared with her hat and paisley shawl.


Chapter II

  Capt. Avery was an old friend of our family and knew mother's determination was inflexible; however, he smiled and said, "You can't do it, Jane this is a man's job."

     "I can't?... A man's job! yes, but a woman is going to do it! Do you think I'll stand here and see them take Ellen's baby and murder him? Do you think I won't help her now when she needs me? Who was it"... she was crying now, sobbing and shaking as father placed his arm about her waist... "who was it when you both at Spotsylvania, and I alone with my two little ones... and my baby died...he died in my arms. She...she was with me all the time, day and night. She dressed him...and...my God! The whole 26th Regiment can't stop me! Reuben, have the black mare hitched to the buck-board and mind you both, keep those officers in town until I get back. A man's job it may be for you, but keep them here!" 

     The black mare was a quarter thoroughbred, bred by Dr.Peck and was a three-year-old. She had run away on two occasions and always appeared to be anxious to try it again. She was kind, could travel fast and far, but regarded as unsafe and for a woman to drive unthinkable! Father and Capt. Avery remonstrated and pleaded, explained that it was a prison offense to lend aid in a case like this and if she would leave it to them they would get Henry spirited away and the risk would be nominal, but her only reply was, "I am going to Ellen if I have to go on foot!"

     Father went to the barn and in the meantime mother took from the cupboard a few lumps of sugar and a $10.00 gold piece, the nucleus for her ingrain parlor carpet; and carefully tying the money in a handkerchief she put it with the sugar in the pocket of her skirt. Soon, the barn man appeared with a buckskin horse hitched to the buckboard, but father was not in sight. 

     "Take Jimmie back and hitch up Kit and do as I tell you, and don't let anybody interfere. Now hurry and tell Reuben I want him!"
 
     It was no use; father soon appeared leading the black mare whose eye seemed to be trying to locate something to get scared at. Mother hastily grabbed my coat and hat and as we went out said to my father, "I'll take Cotton with me."

     I was called Cotton when a child on account of my super blonde hair and as long as Dr. Peck, Homer Avery, or Capt. Avery lived they always called by that name.

    Father used every argument he could bring to bear to mother from making the drive, but make it she would, and did.

    As we came out of the gate Capt. Avery picked me up and placed me on the seat while mother walked around to the mare's head and for a short time stood stroking her and talking to her in a voice that was almost inaudible, and then she took from her pocket a lump of sugar and gave it to her. When she gathered up the reins, it seemed that the black mare sensed a mission with no fooling. She had never been driven by a woman, but in the short time we had owned her, mother had made a pet of her, giving tid-bits of cake and sugar, and when she was in the small yard adjoining her stall, she had learned to expect some delicacy when she heard the kitchen door open. I learned a lesson from my mother's next remark that I never forgot and all horsemen know it.

     Father stood by the side of the buckboard after helping mother in and as a last effort said, "Jennie, if you get hurt I shall never forgive myself for permitting you to take that mare."

     To which she replied, "Kit is quiet now, and if I don't get nervous she won't."

     Her parting remark was full of hidden meaning, which was made clear to me only in after years when father would kid her about being an aid to law violators and maybe ask her if she could be a member of the W.C.T.U. with a clear conscience and advocate getting sheriff's drunk, so they couldn't discharge the duties of the office. 

     In those days of unimproved roads, the usual route to Fallasburg or North Keene from the village was by the county line road, a mile east of the M.E. church. It was a laborious trip at the best, deep sand and a zig zag trail up and down hill until the junction of what is now M-66, where we turned west for half a mile and the followed the road down along the west side of the bluff to the water's edge, and the trail there led across the old ford to the west bank of Flat River.

     As we turned into Main Street and started east, Capt. Tate on the way to his livery stable, turned and almost shouted to Harry Wickman, owner of Black Shark, a stallion of local note: "God Almighty! Harry, has Rube gone crazy to let Jane drive that mare?"

     Isaac White came out of his checkered front shoe store where for years hung the big leather shoe as a sign and as he met V.D. Young on his way home from his grocery, remarked in his quiet refined manner speech, "I am afraid Jane didn't let Rueben know that she was going to drive that mare."

     Charles Blass, having had an early supper, was on his way to the post office smoking and wheezing with his asthma, remarked to James Amphlet as he stood in front of the wagon and carriage factory operated by King & Amphlet, "Some folks invite death and destruction, act as though they can't wait for it."

     On past the hotel, with the wooden pump in the street, in front sat the numerous horse jockeys, each of whom knew every characteristic of every horse in Eastern Kent. Stories of trades by that bunch of high-binders in those days would fill volumes.

     The hotel stood on the site now occupied by the residence next east of Dr. McQueen's, and the barn and grounds extended through the street south. Stallions traveling through the county furnished the incentive for the congregation of farmers with their mares at certain seasons, which in turn offered many opportunities for horse trading. This made the hotel a bivouac for the professional jockey or trader.

     I will digress here just to tell one little story that happened about four or five years later than the time of which I am writing.

     Charles Morse was running the hotel and was one of those keen, shrewd horsemen who could look right through a horse and spot any defect. As a boy of nine or ten I often went into the country with him when on some business. I guess he liked my company on account of my proclivity to ask questions. Charles Morse had one habit when trading horses that was quite a joke among his acquaintances. It was just one line of a song he would always sing, when looking over or examining a horse before trading. Thus ran the words: "Remember , sinful youth, you must die."

     One day we had been south of town to Pratt Lake, and on our way home we met a farmer who had been to the village with a load of hay. As we pulled out of the track to let the wagon pass, the following scene was enacted:

     Mr. Morse: How do?
     Mr. Farmer: How do? The team came to a stop.
     Mr. Morse: How would you like to trade that sorrel for my bay gelding to match up your off horse?
     Mr. Farmer: How old is she?
     Mr. Morse" Six in the spring. ( Trading stock was never over six.)
     Mr. Farmer: Is he sound?
     Mr. Morse: Sound as a dollar look him over. 
     
   Both got down and began examining the horses. Mr. Morse started his song.

     Mr. Farmer: How'll you swap?
     Mr. Morse: Want fifteen dollars to boot.
     Mr. Farmer: Won't give a cent. I'll trader even up, but no boot.   Ought to be on the other foot.
     Mr. Morse: Well, if you bring the sorrel down tomorrow, I'll trade, (climbed into the buggy still humming in a low voice, "Remember, sinful youth, you must die.")

     The farmer climbed into the hay rack and unwound the lines as we started on towards home. In a minute the farmer yelled: "Hey, Hey there!"

Mr. Morse stopped the team and answered back, "What is it?"

     Mr. Farmer: What did you say your name was?
     Mr. Morse: Charles Morse, run the Clifton House at Lowell.
     Mr. Farmer: Oh Hell! I won't be down.

Preface to Chap.III
    The story of the attempted horses  trade in the previous chapter followed my allusion to the professional jockeys and hang-about traders. Charles Morse was not of that type; he was a horseman in every sense of the term.  The Morse family were always highly respected in this community. B.E.Q. 

Chapter III
     It was not until we had reached the Baptist church that mother allowed the mare to go faster than her  spritely walk. She had kept up a constant talking to her in a quiet soothing tone and now that the road ahead was clear she let the mare assume her natural trotting stride, only curbing her by the most gentle tightening of rein and by word of mouth.

     On the corner by the Methodist Church was a group of boys...one rather tall and dark, who in after years was destined to perfect the telephone in general use by the Bell Telephone Co., up to the birth of the present automatic. 

     On beyond at the foot of Peck's hill, coming from the river was another group a little older, one of whom as years invented the Burroughs adding machine. See...Collections & Research...ABC's of Lowell...Volume 5...Burroughs

      Farther on we passed a man on foot, following  the by-path, rather small of stature, his light red-brown hair hanging to his shoulders in waves. His name was M.B. Kerekes, a carriage painter, and an artist on the guitar. After he had become well along in years, it was brought out that he had been a Hungarian patriot, at one time private secretary to Louis Kossuth, fleeing from his mother country an exile. 

      As we turned north on the county line road, we met a one-horse wagon loaded with brick, just turning into the road from Helmer's brickyard. On the wagon beside the driver sat a youngster of my age. Red hair, stub nose, freckled faced Peddy Graham, one of the most famous present day architects, senior member of the firm of Graham Anderson and Probst, designer of the $25,000,000 post office building now under construction in Chicago. Strange how one little incident of minor importance sometimes shapes the destiny of one's life.

     Ernst Graham was one of five of us boys  who were suspended from school at the same time. It was necessary to go to the moderator, which office on the school board was held by Robert Graham,, Ernst's father, and offer an apology for our refraction, which of course would be accepted with a lecture, and then we were granted permission to return to school. Four of us returned, but Mr. Graham being a brick layer by trade seemed to think Ernst should learn to lay brick, and as he was then building the three story block building the store now occupied by R.D. Stocking, he placed his son under the supervision of Vet Brower, who was in charge, and Ernst started on a career that has led to some of the greatest construction in America. When he was up on the wall the rest of the bunch would file down from school and stand there on the walk yelling "mort!" "mort!" (the cry of the mason to the hod carrier for more mortar.)
See Collections & Research...ABC's of Lowell...Volume 2...Ernest

     Up the hill and down dale the winding sand track led; oak                             grubs and hazel brushes swishing our faces and the side of the buck-board. The black mare, full of life and energy, had been given a free rein and with the air full of smoke from the many forest fires in the north, by the time we reached the turn on what is now M-66 she had spent some of her ambition. As we turned west a flash of lightning warned of the approach of a storm. It had been very dry all that season and to almost every one the increasing peals of thunder were a welcome omen. Mother was looking anxiously at the east approaching storm clouds and for the first time urged the black mare on. We turned to the right on the road high up above the river and skirted the hillside down to the ford just as the storm broke. As we came to a stop at the river's edge she climbed down and went to the mare's head, released the check rein and after stroking her face and  talking quietly for a moment, she took from her pocket another lump of sugar which seemed to convey that fearless confidence so much desired at the time. As she stood there talking quietly to the mare, she had taken off her hoops and gathered her skirts about her waist which she fastened and with the caution to me to"hang on tight," she took the mare by the bit and we started across the river, slowly, all the while petting the mare's nose and talking to quiet her. The thunder was pealing and rolling and the lightning was shooting across the sky, forking and flashing, but the rain was spasmodic with the wind coming in more and more frequent gusts. Slowly she led the mare, now in water to her knees, then through a hole where she would stop and feel with her foot for a shallow passage. When half way over she again stopped and brought out another lump of sugar, and she waited for a moment after, the mare stretched out her neck and drank. From then on the trip was continuous, the buck-board came up into the road and after adjusting her skirts mother climbed in and in a short time we were at our destination.

    Henry Richards and his father had just finished the chores and were on their way from the barn with milk pails in each hand as we drove into the yard. George Richards sat his pails on the ground and hurried to where mother was tying the mare to a hitching post, as Ellen came from her kitchen, both asking excitedly what had happened to bring us here at that hour. In as few words as possible, after entering the house, she told them and between sobs, she asked for Henry just as he entered the room. Ellen, dry-eyed, stood with  her hand resting on the back of a chair, her face white and staring apparently into space. Henry's father dropped into a chair and steadily stroked his beard. Henry came over to mother and as always been his custom kissed her and asked her what had happened. She placed both hands on his shoulders and in a broken voice said, "Henry, look Aunt Jane straight in the eyes, tell me truthfully, did you take anybody's horses, or know about anybody's horses in Kansas? Don't answer me, Henry, unless it is with the whole truth.I know you didn't, Henry, but you must tell me so."

     Henry's mother came forward, her face white, and placing her arm about her son's neck she laid her cheek against his and said in a low dull voice, "Dearie, you always said that you have never told me a lie. Tell us the truth, Henry dear, if you never do again, tell us." It was too much for her and Henry caught her in his arms as his father jumped up from his chair. They placed her on a couch an in a short time with mother working over her she revived. Until the mother's question had remained unanswered, but Henry now taking his mother's hand he placed it over his heart and kneeling beside the couch he raised his right hand and said, "Mommee, in your presence, before father, Aunt Jane and God, I swear I know nothing of what you are talking about."

     In a low voice mother then told him of all the circumstances leading up to our trip, and urged him to make haste in getting together his belongings, all the time trying to think of just the place for him to hide out while the search was on. Without notice and like a flash of lightning from a clear sky came these words, "Py Goll! I ged you 'Enry, py my 'ouse, oop stairs, I kep you mit us, py golly!" It was Frank Geil. He had come into the kitchen and stood in the doorway thus overhearing Henry's oath and mother's story.

     Frank was a German who ran a blacksmith and wagon shop just north pf the forks on the Lincoln Lake road above Fox's corners. He was well known for is  honesty and integrity and the neighbors all about were his friends. As it was not far from the Richard's home Frank's invitation was accepted and in a short time they were on their way, cross-lots, watching for any sign of travelers who might see them and later on give out the information. Henry's exile only lasted about ten days, when a wire to the deputy sheriff announced the recovery of the stolen horses in Kansas and the capture of the culprit.

     During Henry's isolation Frank who had learned to make as well as take "practical jokes" got a great kick out of telling him about what big rewards were offered for his capture and it was only after Henry's father had been over one night that the tables turned. Then Henry told Frank that he didn't realize that he was liable to be arrested and sent to prison if it ever became known that he had harbored a fugitive, and so went the battle of wits.

     In those days there lived in that neighborhood several families at times interested friends to participate in spiritualistic seances; frequently, noted mediums would come, and there would be quite large meetings. R.N. Goodsell  was quite a leader and as Frank Geil's shop was quite a hangout, many experiences were there recited. Frank was invited on many occasions, but had never attended until one day a medium arrived and Frank's friends urged him to attend. He consented and when evening came Mr. Goodsell stopped and Frank accompanied him to the meeting. It was all strange to Frank and his understanding of language and customs was none too keen. After several demonstrations by the medium, Frank was asked if he wished to converse with any of his departed friends, and he decided to talk with his father.  Finally the contact was made and through the medium he asked various questions and then he inquired about how his father's bad leg was getting along, to which he was informed that all ills and troubles left when he departed from his life. Frank jumped up and exclaimed, "Is't 'ter 'o lman led?" to which he was answered by a defensive question, "Why yes, isn't he?" "Vel he didn't vasder last ledder I ged from em!'

     Mother's wet skirts, shoes and stockings were replaced by some belonging to Ellen, and the storm had proved a mere gesture as we started on our homeward journey through Fallasburg and by the way of the Keene church, thus avoiding the ford. (See foot note.)

     The black mare seemed to have spent some of energy and was satisfied to take a steady gait all the way to the village. Nearly a mile north on the county line road we met father with the barn man. He got into the buck-board with us and told mother that the sheriff's wouldn't be going out to the Richard's farm until next day, as some of the "boys" had called an impromptu political meeting to which both were invited, and that the officers were, when he left, being taken the rounds of the saloons and introduced to the influential politicians of the village.

     It was after eleven o'clock when we drove in and found much excitement over the news of the burning of the city of Chicago.

      (Foote note.)....Several years later this mare bolted at this spot and ran half way across Flat river on a jam of pine logs.







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