History of Lake, Porter, and LaPorte, 1927County history published by the Historians' Association . . . .
Source Citation:
Cannon, Thomas H., H. H. Loring, and Charles J. Robb. 1927.
History of
the Lake and Calumet Region of Indiana, Embracing the Counties of Lake,
Porter and LaPorte: An Historical Account of Its People and Its Progress
from the Earliest Times to the Present.
Volume I. Indianapolis, Indiana: Historians' Association. 840 p.
HISTORY OF THE LAKE AND CALUMET REGION OF INDIANA
CHAPTER XI.
PIONEER LIFE.
MAKING NEW FRONTIERS -- DAILY LIFE OF THE PIONEER -- TRAVELS OF HARRIET
MARTINEAU IN THE LAKE AND CALUMET REGION -- NOTED PIONEERS -- SOLON ROBINSON
-- JOHN BROWN -- DARIUS P. BLAKE -- JAMES MONAHAN -- ANNA MARIA GIBSON
(GIBSON INN).
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It took great faith and courage, a hope and a vision, to leave the comforts and conveniences of civilization and trek over the Alleghenies through swamps and jungles and swollen streams to found new homes in the wilderness. Almost indescribable in severity were some of the hardships suffered by the early pioneers, many of whom came hundreds and in some instances more than 1,000 miles, enduring all kinds of weather in their slow and toilsome journey over mountain, valley and plain. The impulse which caused this great pioneer movement from the Atlantic Seaboard to the unknown West had behind it a desire for greater opportunities; to establish homes in a new and virgin territory where land hunger could be satisfied and where a foundation could be laid for the creation and acquisition of sufficient material wealth that the children of the pioneers could enjoy abundant privileges, comforts and happiness. This goal of their ambitions, which was eventually realized by many, was not attained, however, excepting by long years of toil and constant privation and sacrifice.
The life of the pioneer and his family in the Lake Region was one of sustained inconvenience and even hardship. Oxen were almost an essential in hauling. The roads were almost impassable at times and as they became quickly worn the routes had to be frequently changed, and as long trips had to be made to get many needed supplies, annoyance and even sufferings were many times endured before the wants of the settler were relieved. In the prairie districts the matter of clearing the ground for cultivation was comparatively an easy matter, but where the land was covered with a growth of timber the preliminary labor involved in some places took a considerable period of time. There was a generous spirit of cooperation among neighboring settlers, the rich sharing with the poor, and mutual assistance was an established custom.
Settlers came for miles to assist a newcomer in preparing a clearing in the timber for his home and helping him to erect a log cabin which, when properly built, was a comfortable habitation during the severe winters.
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The door in the cabins was usually hung on wooden or leather hinges and provided with a wooden latch, to which was attached a string which ran through a small hole in the door. To gain entrance one had but to pull the string and lift the latch. At night the string was drawn inside and the door was locked. This custom gave rise to the expression “the latch string is always out,” to indicate that one would be welcome at any time. These frontier cabins were often constructed without the use of nails or hardware in any form and the clapboards forming the roof were held in place by poles fastened at each end with wooden pins.
As there was very little money in circulation it was the custom among the settlers to trade the products of their farm at the trading center or store for other goods needed. It also became a custom to exchange work and sometimes an entire neighborhood would go from house to house taking care of the corn crop, laying in the supply of winter fuel, and joining in wood chopping and corn husking. Women gathered together for quilting, rag cuttings, wool pickings, and, in some sections, apple parings.
Cooking was done in the most primitive utensils at the huge fireplace. The large iron kettle suspended in the fireplace often carried boiled meat and several kinds of vegetables at the same time. Bread was baked in a long-handled iron skillet which was placed over a bed of coals. The dough was placed therein and covered with an iron lid upon which hot coals were heaped so the bread might bake from top and bottom at the same time. The keeping of fire was a very important item with the pioneers. There were no matches in those early days and all the cooking was done with the fire in the fireplace, as there were no stoves. The fuel was wood and it required skill to fix a wood fire so it would keep over night. If the fire died out at night it had to be procured in some way before there could be any cooking in the house. If the pioneer family had flint and some inflammable material on hand a fire could be started, but if there was a neighbor within a mile or two they would go to them for fire. One of the earlier pioneers, in reminiscences of his childhood days, tells of one cold morning when his father went to three homes scattered over the country before he found one that had fire, and enough was procured on a shovel to keep alive on the return journey to the household.
The spinning wheel and loom were to be found in almost every household. Nearly every settler kept a few sheep or obtained wool from his neighbor which was dyed with indigo or native bark and woven into cloth. Homespun or hand-made clothing was the rule — “store clothes” being extremely rare. Light was furnished by tallow candles, although at times many settlers had to depend upon the open fire for light. The open air life and labor of the settlers gave them great endurance qualities and their sports were of an outdoor character like foot racing, wrestling,
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pitching horseshoes and shooting matches. Dancing was frequently indulged in and a “house raising” was followed by a “house warming,” which meant a generous meal and a few hours spent in dancing the minuet and Virginia Reel, with music furnished by the “fiddler.” Beds, chairs, benches and tables were made of the best materials at hand and it was not an uncommon thing to see a bedstead made of poles, the ends driven into the logs and one leg out in the room held up the ends of the poles. With an axe and a few other tools a one-legged bedstead could be made in a few hours.
As the majority of the first settlers lacked means, only the help of their more fortunate neighbors made it possible for them to live through the first and second years. A few of the settlers had oxen, but there were few horses and many settlers had neither. There were no pastures and as the animals were turned out it took hours sometimes to find them, and hunting them in the wet tall grass and sloughs was far from pleasant. There were no steel ploughs and harrows were of the most primitive type, including the home-made variety with wooden teeth. There were no mowers and no reapers and pitchforks used were crude and clumsy and made at a blacksmith shop. It was the axe that made pioneering possible and with it almost insurmountable obstacles were overcome. In Northern Indiana, settlers were isolated from the outside world for months at a time, due to the closing of lake navigation and the difficulties in land communication during winter. Only hard knocks and constant labor made progress possible until the railroads came, which completely changed the life of the settlers.
The hard life of the pioneers, with its long hours of toil and with only a few simple pleasures, is in striking contrast to the modern enjoyments and conveniences of the life of the present day period and no word picture can express what succeeding generations owe these courageous men and women, who faced the perils of the wilderness with its wild beasts and wilder men and who, with tireless energy and many sacrifices, laid the foundations of civilization on each succeeding frontier. Their memory should always remain fresh and green and pride of ancestry can have no more secure foundation than the pioneer, who blazed paths in the forest, built the roads, bridged the rivers, and endured countless perils and sacrifices, that their descendants and others may enjoy the fruits of their labor.
The following extract from “Society in America,” which recounts the travels of Harriet Martineau, one of the leading English women of her time, gives an excellent description of pioneer life in Northern Indiana, with a striking word picture of a lake sunset, and is published through the courtesy of Samuel J. Taylor, Historian, of Michigan City.
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FROM MICHIGAN CITY TO CHICAGO IN 1836 — HARRIET MARTINEAU.
“Niles is a thriving town on the river St. Joseph on the borders of the Potowatomie territory. Three years ago, it consisted of three houses. We could not learn the present number of inhabitants; probably because the number is never the same two days together. A Potowatomie village stands within a mile; and we saw two Indians on horseback, fording the rapid river very majestically, and ascending the wooded hills on the other side. Many Indian women were about the streets; one with a nose-ring; some with plates of silver on the bosom and other barbaric ornaments. Such a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning came on, with a deluge of rain, that we were prevented seeing anything of the place, except from our windows. I had sent my boots to a cobbler, over the way. He had to put on India rubbers, which reached above the knee, to bring his work home; the street was flooded. We little imagined for the hour the real extent and violence of this storm, and the effect it would have on our journeying.
"The prairie strawberries, at breakfast this morning, were so large, sweet and ripe, that we were inclined for more in the course of the day. Many of the children of the settlers were dispersed near the road-side, with their basket, gathering strawberries; they would not sell any; they did not know what mother would say if they went home without any berries for father. But they could get enough for father, too, they were told, if they would sell us what they had already gathered. No; they did not want to sell. Our driver observed that money was “no object to them.” I began to think that we had, at last, got to the end of the world; or rather, perhaps, to the beginning of another and a better.
“No plan could be more cleverly and confidently laid than ours was for this day’s journey. We were to travel through the lands of the Potowatomies and reach the shores of the glorious Lake Michigan, at Michigan City, in time for an early supper. We were to proceed on the morrow round the southern extremity of the lake, so as, if possible, to reach Chicago in one day. It was wisely and prettily planned; and the plan was so far followed, as that we actually did leave Niles some time before six in the morning. Within three minutes, it began to rain again, and continued, with but few and short intervals, all day.
“We crossed the St. Joseph by a rope ferry, the ingenious management of which, when stage-coaches had to be carried over, was a perpetual study to me. The effect of crossing a rapid river by a rope-ferry, by torch-light, in a dark night, is very striking; and not the less so for one’s becoming familiarized with it, as the traveller does in the United States. As we drove up the steep bank, we found ourselves in the Indian territory. All was very wild; and the more so for the rain. There were many lodges
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in the glades, with the red light of fires hanging around them. The few log huts looked drenched; the tree-stems black in the wet, and the very wild flowers were dripping. The soil was sandy, so that the ugliest features of a rainy day, the mud and puddles, were obviated. The sand sucked up the rain, so that we jumped out of the carriage as often as a wild-flower of peculiar beauty tempted us. The bride-like, white convolvulus, nearly as large as my head, grew in trails all over the ground.
“The poor, helpless, squalid Potowatomies are sadly troubled by squatters. It seems hard enough that they should be restricted within a narrow territory, so surrounded by whites that the game is sure soon to disappear, and leave them stripped of their only resource. It is too hard that they should also be encroached upon by men who sit down, without leave or title, upon lands which are not intended for sale. I enjoyed hearing of an occasional alarm among the squatters, caused by some threatening demonstrations by the Indians. I should like to see every squatter frightened away from Indian lands, however advantageous their squatting may be upon lands which are unclaimed, or whose owners can defend their own property. I was glad to hear today that a deputation of Potowatomies had been sent to visit a distant warlike tribe, in consequence of the importunities of squatters, who wanted to buy the land they had been living upon. The deputation returned, painted, and under other hostile signals, and declared that the Potowatomies did not intend to part with their lands. We stopped for some milk, this morning, at the ‘location’ of a squatter, whose wife was milking as we passed. The gigantic personage, her husband, told us how anxious he was to pay for the land which repaid his tillage so well; but that his Indian neighbors would not sell. I hope that, by this time, he has had to remove, and leave them the benefit of his house and fences. Such an establishment in the wild woods is the destruction of the game—and of those who live upon it.
“At breakfast, we saw a fine specimen of a settler’s family. We had observed the prosperity and cheerfulness of the settlers, all along the road; but this family exceeded the best. I never saw such an affectionate set of people. They, like many others, were from one of the southern States; and I was not surprised to find all emigrants from North and South Carolina well satisfied with the change they had made. The old lady seemed to enjoy her pipe, and there was much mirth going on between the beautiful daughter and all the other men and maidens. They gave us an excellent breakfast in one of the two lower rooms; the table being placed across the foot of the two beds. No pains were spared by them to save us from the wet in the stage; but the rain was too pelting and penetrating for any defence to avail long. It streamed in at all corners, and we gave the matter up for the day. We were now entering Indiana; and one of our intentions had been to see the celebrated Door
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Prairie; so called from exquisite views into it being opened through intervals in the growth of wood with which it is belted. I did obtain something like an idea of it through the reeking rain, and thought that it was the first prairie that I had seen that answered to my idea of one. But I dare say we formed no conception of what it must be in sunshine, and with the cloud shadows, which adorn a prairie as they do still water.
“We reached Laporte, on the edge of the Door Prairie, at three o’clock and were told that the weather did not promise an easy access to Michigan City. We changed horses, however, and set forward again on a very bad road, along the shore of a little lake, which must be pretty in fine weather. Then we entered a wood, and jolted and rocked from side to side, till, at last, the carriage leaned three parts over and stuck. We all jumped out into the rain, and the gentlemen literally put their shoulders to the wheel, and lifted it out of its hole. The same little incident was repeated in half an hour. At five or six miles from Laporte, and seven from Michigan City, our driver stopped, and held a long parley with somebody by the road side. The news was that a bridge in the middle of a marsh had been carried away by a tremendous freshet; and with how much log-road on either side, could not be ascertained till the waters should subside. The mails, however, would have to be carried over, by some means, the next day; and we must wait where we were till we could profit by the postoffice experiment. The next question was, where were we to be harboured? There was no house of entertainment near. We shrank from going back to Laporte over the perilous road which was growing worse every minute. A family lived at hand, who hospitably offered to receive us; and we were only too ready to accept their kindness. The good man stopped our acknowledgments by saying, in the most cheerful manner, ‘You know you would not have staid with me, if you could have helped it; and I would not have had you, if I could have helped it; so no more words about it; but let us make ourselves comfortable.’ His wife won our hearts by the beauty of her countenance, set off by the neat plain dress of her sect (Tunker Baptist). She was ill; but they made us thoroughly comfortable, without apparently discomposing themselves. Sixteen out of seventeen children were living; of whom two sons and five daughters were absent, and six sons and three daughters at home, the youngest was three years old.
“Their estate consists of eight hundred acres, a large portion of which is not yet broken up. The owner says he walks over the ground once a year, to see the huckleberries grow. He gave the upset price for the land; a dollar and a quarter an acre. He is now offered forty dollars an acre, and says the land is worth fifty, its situation being very advantageous; but he does not wish to sell. He has thus become worth 40,000 dollars in the three years which have elapsed since he came out of Ohio.
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His sons as they grow up, settle at a distance; and he does not want money, and has no inducement to sell. I have no idea, however, that the huckleberries will be long permitted to grow in peace and quiet, in so busy a district as this is destined to become. The good man will be constrained by the march and pressure of circumstances, either to sell or cultivate.
“The house, log-built, consisted of three rooms, two under one roof; and another apparently added afterwards. There were also out-houses. In one of these three rooms, the cooking and eating went on; another was given up to us ladies, with a few of the little children; and in the other, the rest of the family, the gentlemen of our party, and another weatherbound traveller, slept. Huge fires of logs blazed in the chimneys; two or three of the little ones were offered us as hand-maidens; and the entire abode was as clean as could be conceived. Here was comfort! As we warmed and dried ourselves in the chimney corners, we looked upon the clear windows, the bright tin water-pails, and the sheets and towels as white as snow.
“Our sleep, amidst the luxury and cleanliness and hospitality, was most refreshing. The next morning it was still raining, but less vehemently. After breakfast, we ladies employed ourselves in sweeping and dusting our room, and making the beds; as we had given our kind hostess too much trouble already. Then there was a Michigan City newspaper to be read; and I sat down to write letters. Before long, a wagon and four drove up to the door, the driver of which cried out that if there was any getting to Michigan City, he was our man. We equipped ourselves in our warmest and thickest clothing, put on our India rubber shoes, packed ourselves and our luggage in the wagon, put up our umbrellas, and wondered what was to be our fate. When it had come to saying farewell, our hostess put her hands on my shoulders, kissed me on each cheek, and said she had hoped for the pleasure of our company for another day. For my own part, I would willingly take her at her word, if my destiny should ever carry me near the great lakes again.
“We jolted on for two miles and a half through the woods, admiring the scarlet lilies, and the pink and white moccasin flower, which was brilliant. Then we arrived at the place of the vanished bridge. Our first prospect was of being paddled over, one by one, in the smallest of boats. But, when the capabilities of the place were examined, it was decided that we should wait in a house on the hill, while the neighbours, the passengers of the mail-stage and the drivers, built a bridge. We waited patiently for nearly three hours, watching the busy men going in and out, gathering tidings of the freshet, and its effects, and being pleased to see how affectionate the woman of the house was to her husband, while she was cross to everybody else. It must have been vexatious to her to have her floor
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made wet and dirty, and all her household operations disturbed by a dozen strangers whom she had never invited. She let us have some doughnuts, and gave us a gracious glance or two at parting.
“We learned that a gentleman who followed us from Niles, the preceding day, found the water nine feet deep, and was near drowning his horses, in a place which we had crossed without difficulty. This very morning, a bridge which we had proved and passed, gave way with the stage, and the horses had to be dug and rolled out of the mud, when they were on the point of suffocation. Such a freshet had never been known to the present inhabitants.
“At half-past two, the bridge was announced complete, and we reentered our wagon, to lead the cavalcade across it. Slowly, anxiously, with a man at the head of each leader, we entered the water, and saw it rise to the nave of the wheels. Instead of jolting, as usual, we mounted and descended each log individually. The mail-wagon followed, with two or three horsemen. There was also a singularly benevolent personage, who jumped from the other wagon, and waded through all the doubtful places, to prove them. He leaped and splashed through the water, which was sometimes up to his waist, as if it was the most agreeable sport in the world. In one of these gullies, the fore part of our wagon sank and stuck, so as to throw us forward, and make it doubtful in what mode we should emerge from the water. Then the rim of one of the wheels was found to be loose; and the whole cavalcade stopped till it was mended. I never could understand how wagons were made in the back-country; they seemed to be elastic, from the shocks and twisting they would bear without giving way. To form an accurate idea of what they have to bear, a traveller should sit on a seat without springs, placed between the hind wheels, and thus proceed on a corduroy road. The effect is less fatiguing and more amusing, of riding in a wagon whose seats are on springs, while the vehicle itself is not. In that case, the feet are dancing an involuntary jig, all the way, while the rest of the body is in a state of entire repose.
“The drive was so exciting and pleasant, the rain having ceased, that I was taken by surprise by our arrival at Michigan City. The driver announced our approach by a series of flourishes on one note of his common horn, which made the most ludicrous music I ever listened to. How many minutes he went on, I dare not say; but we were so convulsed with laughter that we could not alight with becoming gravity, amidst the groups in the piazza of the hotel. The man must be first cousin to Paganini.
“Such a city as this was surely never before seen. It is three years since it was begun; and it is said to have one thousand five hundred inhabitants. It is cut out of the forest, and curiously interspersed with little swamps, which we no doubt saw in their worst condition after the
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heavy rains. New, good houses, some only half finished, stood in the midst of the thick wood. A large area was half cleared. The finished stores were scattered about; and the streets were littered with stumps. The situation is beautiful. The undulations of the ground, within and about it, and its being closed in by lake or forest on every side, render it unique. An appropriation has been made by Government for a harbour, and two piers are to be built out beyond the sand, as far as the clay soil of the lake. Mr. L_________ and I were anxious to see the mighty fresh water sea. We made inquiry in the piazza; and a sandy hill, close by, covered with the pea vine, was pointed out to us. We ran up it, and there beheld what we had come so far to see. There it was, deep, green, and swelling on the horizon, and whitening into a broad and heavy surf as it rolled in towards the shore. Hence, too, we could make out the geography of the city. The whole scene stands insulated in my memory, as absolutely singular; and at this distance of time, scarcely credible. I was so well aware on the spot that it would be so, that I made careful and copious notes of what I saw; but memoranda have nothing to do with such emotions as were caused by the sight of that enormous body of tumultuous waters, rolling in apparently upon the helpless forest — everywhere else so majestic.
“The day was damp and chilly, as we were told every day is here. There is scarcely ever a day of summer in which fire is not acceptable. The windows are dim; the metals rusted, and the new wood about the house red with damp. We could not have a fire. The storm had thrown down a chimney, and the house was too full of workmen, providing accommodations for future guests, to allow of the comfort of those present being much attended to. We were permitted to sit around a flue in a chamber, where a remarkably pretty and graceful girl was sewing. She has a widowed mother to support, and she ‘gets considerable’ by sewing here, where the women lead a bustling life, which leaves no time for the needle. We had to wait long for something to eat; that is, till supper time; for the people are too busy to serve up anything between meals. Two little girls brought a music book, and sang to us; and then we sang to them; and then Dr. F. brought me two harebells — one of the rarest flowers in the country. I found some at Trenton Falls; and in one or two other rocky and sandy places; but so seldom as to make a solitary one a great treasure.
“Our supper of young pork, good bread, potatoes, preserves, and tea, was served at two tables, where the gentlemen were in proportion to the ladies as ten to one. In such places, there is a large proportion of young men who are to go back for wives when they have gathered a few other comforts about them. The appearance of health was as striking as at Detroit, and everywhere on this side of Lake Erie. Immediately after
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supper we went for a walk, which, in peculiarity, comes next to that in the Mammoth Cave, if indeed, it be second to it. The scene was like what I had always fancied the Norway coast, but for the wild flowers, which grew among the pines on the slope, almost into the tide. I longed to spend an entire day on this flowery and shadowy margin of the inland sea. I plucked handfuls of pea-vine and other trailing flowers, which seemed to run all over the ground. We found on the sands an army, like Pharaoh's drowned host, of disabled butterflies, beetles, and flies of the richest colours and lustre, driven over the lake by the storm. Charley found a small turtle alive. An elegant little schooner, ‘The Sea Serpent of Chicago,’ was stranded, and formed a beautiful object as she lay dark between the sand and the surf. The sun was going down. We watched the sunset, not remembering that the refraction above the fresh waters would probably cause some remarkable appearance. We looked at one another in amazement at what we saw. First, there were three gay, inverted rainbows between the water and the sun, then hidden behind a little streak of cloud. Then the sun emerged from behind this only cloud, urn-shaped; a glistening golden urn. Then it changed, rather suddenly, to an enormous golden acorn. Then to a precise resemblance, except being prodigiously magnified, of Saturn with his ring. This was the most beautiful apparition of all. Then it was quickly narrowed and elongated till it was like the shaft of a golden pillar; and thus it went down square. Long after its disappearance, a lustrous, deep crimson dome, seemingly solid, rested steadily on the heaving waters. An inexperienced navigator might be pardoned for making all sails toward it; it looked so real.
“We walked briskly home, beside the skiey sea, with the half-grown moon above us, riding high. Then came the struggling for room to lie down, for sheets and fresh water. The principal range of chambers could have been of no manner of use to us, in their present state. There were, I think, thirty, in one range along a passage. A small bed stood in the middle of each, made up for use; but the walls were as yet only scantily lathed, without any plaster; so that everything was visible along the whole row. They must have been designed for persons who cannot see through a ladder. When I arose at daybreak, I found myself stiff with cold. No wonder: the window, close to my head, had lost a pane.
I think the business of a perambulating glazier might be a very profitable one, in most parts of the United States. When we seated ourselves in our wagon, we found that the leathern cushions were soaked with wet; like so many sponges. They were taken in to a hot fire, and soon brought out, each sending up a cloud of steam. Blankets were furnished to lay over them; and we set off. We were cruelly jolted through the bright dewy woods, for four miles, and then arrived on the borders of a swamp where the bridge had been carried away. A man waded in, declared the depth
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to be more than six feet, how much more he could not tell. There was nothing to be done, but to go back. Back again we jolted, and arrived at the piazza of the hotel just as the breakfast-bell was ringing. All the ‘force’ that could be collected on a hasty summons — that is, almost every able-bodied man in the city and neighborhood, was sent out with axes to build us a bridge.
“We breakfasted, gathered and dried flowers, and wandered about till ten o’clock, when we were summoned to try our fortune again in the wagon. We found a very pretty scene at the swamp. Part of the ‘force’ was engaged on our side of the swamp, and part on the other. As we sat under the trees, making garlands and wreaths of flowers and oak-leaves for Charley, we could see one lofty tree-top after another, in the opposite forest, tremble and fall; and the workmen cluster about it, like bees, lop off its branches, and, in a trice, roll it, an ugly log, into the water, and pin it down upon the sleepers. Charley was as busy as anybody, making islands in the water at the edge of the marsh. The moccasin flower grew here in great profusion and splendour. We sat thus upwards of two hours; and the work done in the time appeared almost incredible. But the Americans in the back country seem to like the repairing of accidents — a social employment — better than their regular labour; and even the drivers appeared to prefer adventurous travelling to easy journeys. A gentleman in a light gig made the first trial of the new bridge; our wagon followed, plunging and rocking, and we scrambled in safety up the opposite bank.
“There were other bad places in the road, but none which occasioned further delay. The next singular scene was an expanse of sand, before reaching the lake shore, sand so extensive, hot and dazzling, as to realize very fairly one’s conceptions of the middle of the Great Desert; except for the trailing roses which skirted it. I walked on, ahead of the whole party, till I had lost sight of them behind some low sandhills. Other such hills hid the lake from me; and, indeed, I did not know how near it was. I had ploughed my way through the ankle-deep sand till I was much heated, and turned in hope of meeting a breath of wind. At the moment the cavalcade came slowly into view from behind the hills; the laboring horses, the listless walkers, and smoothly rolling vehicles, all painted absolutely black against the dazzling sand. It was as good as being in Arabia. For cavalcade, one might read caravan. Then the horses were watered at a single house on the beach; and we proceeded on the best part of our day’s journey; a ride of seven miles on the hard sand of the beach, actually in the lapsing waves. We saw another vessel ashore, with her cargo piled upon the beach.
“The single house at which we were to stop for the night, while the mail-wagon, with its passengers, proceeded, promised well at first sight.
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It was a log house on a sand bank, perfectly clean below stairs, and prettily dressed with green boughs. We had a good supper (except that there was an absence of milk), and we concluded ourselves fortunate in our resting place. Never was there a greater mistake. We walked out, after supper, and when we returned found that we could not have any portion of the lower rooms. There was a loft, which I will not describe, into which, having ascended a ladder, we were to be all stowed. I would fain have slept on the soft sand, out of doors, beneath the wagon; but rain came on. There was no place for us to put our heads into but the loft.
“On our road to Chicago the next day, a road winding in and out among the sand hills, we were called to alight, and run up a bank to see a wreck. It was the wreck of the Delaware, the steamer in which it had been a question whether we should not proceed from Niles to Chicago. She had a singular twist in her middle, where she was nearly broken in two. Her passengers stood up to the neck in water, for twenty-four hours before they were taken off; a worse inconvenience than any that we had suffered by coming the other way.
“Chicago looks raw and bare, standing on the high prairie above the lake shore. The houses appeared all insignificant, and run up in various directions, without any principle at all. A friend of mine who resides there had told me that we should find the inns intolerable, at the period of the great land sales, which bring a concourse of speculators to the place. It was even so. The very sight of them was intolerable; and there was not room for our party among them all. I do not know what we should have done (unless to betake ourselves to the vessels in the harbor), if our coming had not been foreknown, and most kindly provided for. We were divided between three families, who had the art of removing all our scruples about intruding on perfect strangers. None of us will lose the lively and pleasant associations with the place, which were caused by the hospitalities of its inhabitants.”
NOTED PIONEERS.
SOLON ROBINSON, the founder of Lake County, was born October 21, 1803, in Tolland, Connecticut. His early education was limited to irregular attendance at the nearby country school. At the age of fourteen he became a carpenter apprentice and developed great efficiency, but abandoned the trade on account of his health and then became a salesman for a number of years. He was married to Mariah Evans in Philadelphia in 1830 and soon after moved to Jennings County, Indiana, where his son Solon Oscar was born in 1831, and a daughter, Josephine, in 1833. The family decided to move to Northwestern Indiana and located in a grove on the edge of what became later known as Robinson's Prairie. There two more children were born, Lulu in 1835, and Charles in 1836.
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Josephine married J. S. Holton of Crown Point and was the mother of two daughters, Belle, and Jennie. Belle married John J. Wheeler of Crown Point October 27, 1870, and four children ware born to them: Harold of Crown Point, and one of its most popular citizens who died in 1913; Fred, postmaster at Crown Point, where his great-grandfather was first postmaster; then Jennie and Josephine.
When Solon Robinson came to what is now known as Crown Point he entered into partnership with his brother, Milo, and established a store and traded with both Indians and white settlers who were then quite numerous and especially at McGuinnes Village, Wiggins Point now Merrillville, and at Red Cedar Lake where there were Indian village, burial grounds and mounds. Solon Robinson’s cabin was erected across the street from the northwest corner of the courthouse square, and a marker dedicated to him was set near the site by the Old Settlers and Historical Society of Lake County in August, 1921, and before a large gathering of Lake County citizens, the Hon. A. F. Knotts of Gary paid to the memory of this wonderful man a well deserved tribute. From Mr. Knotts’ address on this occasion most of the information in this story is obtained. From time to time additions were made to the original cabin and it was of considerable size in 1882 when it was torn down to make room for a modern building. He took an active interest in the Indians as well as the white settlers and all loved him.
His natural ability soon gave him leadership in the community and his distinguished talents were always at the service of the pioneer who found him a wise counselor. He was elected first justice of the peace for Center Township in 1836 and the same year was appointed postmaster. The settlement was known as Lake Court House as he had built, at his own expense the first courthouse in Lake County, at a cost of $5,000, which was used as a community center where court, schools, Sunday schools, temperance meetings, elections and public gatherings were held. He had to carry his own mail from Michigan City and his receipts and salary from March 1 to October 1, 1836, were $15 and for the next quarter $8.87.
In 1836, the Government surveyed Lake County and announced that the land would be sold at LaPorte. While land in the Northwest Territory could not legally be entered or settled upon until title had been obtained by the Government from the Indians and the land surveyed, no serious attention was paid by settlers to this observance and the “squatters” on favorable sections, who had preceded the Government, found when they attended land sales to purchase the land on which they had settled, that speculators were there to bid on improved land and obtain title and sell, after purchase at the land sales, to the original “squatters” or to other settlers at an advanced price. As would naturally be ex-
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pected there was a most pronounced feeling of hostility against the land speculators on the part of the settlers and Solon Robinson determined that in the case of Lake County no injustice to the settlers would be permitted, nor the fruits of their hard earned labor be jeopardized.
An organization was perfected among the settlers for mutual cooperation and Solon Robinson was elected president. When the land sale was held at LaPorte, Robinson handed the land speculators present a list of land entries upon which settlers had made improvements or had established their homes, and very politely but very firmly informed them they were not expected to bid on these lands and as all the settlers carried guns it may be unnecessary to state that Robinson’s request was respected. From this incident Robinson became known as the “Squatter King” and had the undying gratitude of his neighbors and friends.
In 1837 when Lake County was regularly organized, Robinson was elected first county clerk. Then came the selection of county seat, fully described in the chapter on county organization. George Earle, another distinguished pioneer, favored Liverpool. Benjamin McCarthy who had helped locate the county seats of South Bend, LaPorte and Valparaiso, was now judge in Lake County and favored West Point. When finally settled and Lake Court House was made county seat, George Earle suggested that the name be changed to Crown Point, “The King’s Point,” in honor of the “Squatter King,” Solon Robinson, and the suggestion was adopted and Crown Point has continued to be county seat since that time. Very shortly after Robinson’s arrival in what is now Lake County, he suggested Oakland County as a fitting name for the new county which was soon to be made, on account of the large amount of oak timber prevailing, but this suggestion was not adopted and Lake County was the name later given to it.
Although busy with many duties he already began to contribute articles to the Albany, N. Y., Cultivator, and in the early ‘40s to the New York Tribune, at that time the leading paper in the United States. In 1841 he originated the National Agricultural Society at Washington, D. C., and it soon had many state and county branches. While at Crown Point he wrote “The Will” and “The Last of the Buffaloes” which were well received. He was invited to become editor of the Agricultural Department of the New York Tribune and went to New York in 1848, returning occasionally to Crown Point until 1852, after which time he resided in New York permanently.
While in New York his agricultural and other writings attracted national attention and one of his books “Hot Corn” or “Street Scenes in New York” went through several editions — 60,000 being sold in the first six months after issue. He practiced throughout his life what he taught in one of his works, that happiness and not wealth should be the aim
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of all and that no man should allow himself to be happy without he is, doing something to promote the happiness of others.
In a book containing sketches of seventy-five great men of that period Robinson is mentioned particularly for his versatility of talent. “He could build a ship or a log cabin, write a Phillipic or a sermon, set the table in a roar or draw tears from a full house. People have wondered how a man could write so well about farming, who could give such graphic description as he does each week of the cattle and horse market, and should also have the power to draw tears from the millions with the story of Little Kate.” It is not to be wondered that Robinson was classed with the great men of his day when one considers the many subjects on which he wrote, and the general excellence of his work. His was a great mind developed by research and study as a man and his great accomplishments and the high standard he attained in the broad field of his later activities, attest the wonderful versatility of his genius — rare among men. He died in Jacksonville, Florida., November 3, 1880.
In the language of Mr. Knott, Solon Robinson will be better known and more highly appreciated by the people of Lake County when the marker dedicated to him shall have been crumbled by slow degrees to dust. His books and writings will have been collected and preserved, more widely read and appreciated. He will then be truly known for what he did for Crown Point, Lake County, for the world and for his fellow men.
JOHN BROWN, Crown Point, who died in 1924, was one of the pioneers who contributed much to the upbuilding of Lake County and who left behind him a proud record of good citizenship and civic accomplishments. He was born in a log cabin at South East Grove, October 7, 1840. His father, Alexander Brown, came to Lake County the year it was organized and was a friend and associate of Solon Robinson. John G. Earle and others of that period. John’s father was killed in a runaway accident in 1849 leaving five children of which John was the eldest. John was only able to attend school three months each year and grew to manhood with limited education. The school he attended was conducted in a log cabin at South East Grove and his first teacher was Cynthia Wallace. In these pioneer schools with their rough walls, puncheon floors and plain oak benches, many of Lake County’s past generation of great men received their early education. There were wide cracks in the floor and the children often saw bull snakes three to five feet long crawling through them and up and down the walls. As the door sill was on a level with the ground, frogs and toads would hop into the room. One day John saw a toad beneath his bench and gave it a gentle tap with his quill pen and the toad emitted a squeaking noise. For this the teacher took John to
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the center of the room and gave him a good trouncing which he never forgot.
In his recollections of the pioneer period written for James W. Lester, president of the Gary Historical Society Mr. Brown said, “There were a great many massassaga rattlers on the prairies. They were small, generally a foot or two long, but very poisonous. I often ran across them, but was never bitten. My mother often told me of my brother, Barringer, crawling about the yard, and getting near a rattler. She was badly frightened but managed to gather him up before the snake had a chance to strike. Game was plentiful — ducks, geese, sand hill cranes and deer. The deer kept together in winter and I have seen as many as forty in a herd. I killed a few deer but generally hunted wild fowl. I kept the game and cattle out of the wheat fields for father and in return he would take me to Chicago, where he sold his grain. This was a great treat for me and the trip took four days going and returning. We generally stopped at the Half-Way House on Ridge Road near Ross. Chicago at that time seemed about like Crown Point now. In the summer I worked on the neighbors’ farms, helping William and Thomas Fisher to gather broom corn and also drove oxen for the regular wages paid to boys at that time, which was 25 cents per day. We broke the oxen by hitching a well trained team in front, a fairly well trained team in the rear, and the unbroken team in the center. It was a lively job but we managed all right. We attended the Presbyterian Church at Indian Town, now Hebron, taking our luncheon along and eating it in the wagon.
The Earles were pioneers of Liverpool and Hobart and I knew Earle well and did considerable business with him. He was a tall man, had lots of force and acquired considerable property around Liverpool and Hobart. I knew Mrs. Marie Gibson and often stopped at her tavern which was built within the present limits of Gary. She was a fine lady. The Ball family early settled at Cedar Lake. Timothy Ball was a preacher and writer. He wrote a history of Lake County and some other works. He preached in a church at Shelby and I often saw him walking there from Crown Point, a distance of sixteen or seventeen miles. I enlisted in Company I, Fifth Indiana Cavalry and served with General Stoneham. I was captured and imprisoned at Andersonville where there were 36,000 prisoners at one time and 13,719 were buried there. After seven months we were liberated by Stoneham’s command and I was without a change of clothing during that time. After three years to the front and marching with Sherman to the sea and taking part in a number of battles I. returned to Crown Point.
Before the war the family had no buggies or carriages. I worked for low wages and had but little education and what I now have was obtained since I grew to manhood. I was nominated for county treasurer and won
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by ninety votes over my daughter-in-law’s father. When I took office I could hardly write a tax receipt but after two terms as county treasurer I served two terms as auditor. In 1874 some men from New Castle came here and associated themselves with a few of our local men and started a bank — the first in Lake County. I bought some of the stock and later, with other stockholders, bought out the New Castle interests. The first president was Judge David Turner who held office for several years, when I was elected and have been president ever since. I am also president of the Commercial Securities Company of Gary. My son, Neil, looks after my banking interests at Crown Point.”
Mr. Brown early saw that the elevation of the Kankakee swamps made certain that sooner or later they would be drained and he acquired 6,000 acres near Shelby always worth the very highest farm land prices since the ditches were open. On his ranch on Curve Island is the celebrated fortification and Indian battle ground from which many flint arrow heads and hatchets were taken, also a number of skeletons were removed which were found buried in an erect position. They had their knees drawn up under their chin and their hands back of their head. Not an acceptable conjecture has been advanced as to the probable origin of the old fortification and not even the Indians had any traditions bearing upon it or the battles which were fought there.
DARIUS P. BLAKE, of Cooley, Porter County, is one of the second generation of pioneers with interesting recollections of the early settlement days. His grandfather, Jacob Blake, and his father, Perry Blake, came in a prairie schooner to Porter County in 1833 from Jackson County, Ohio, and located near Westville, but soon had to move as a land speculator with an Indian warrant took their land from them. They next located at what is now Garyton and when his grandfather died he was the owner of 600 acres of land. When they first arrived at Westville by way of Fort Wayne and South Bend, one of the first acquaintances met by the grandfather and father was George Earle, grandfather of William Earle of Hobart, who had just arrived from Philadelphia. It was George Earle who built the log courthouse at Liverpool and also a log store, hotel and about ten to fifteen log residences in a clearing near the river in the ‘30s.
In his recollections of the pioneer days written for James W. Lester, president of the Gary Historical Society, Mr. Blake said, “In the fall of 1868 I was working for a man named Bowers who had 300 head of sheep and at night I drove them into the old Liverpool hotel and residences so the wolves would not get any of them. I could not use the old courthouse because the roof had fallen in. It stood on the west side of the road nearest the river and was a two-story building and about thirty feet square. The hotel was on the east side and the residences on both sides
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of the street. The road was formerly the Pottawattomie trail and later became known as the Detroit-Chicago stage route. You can see it yet near Camp 133 by the bridge. Solon Robinson removed the old courthouse and some of the other buildings were also removed. A few buildings were there for forty years and were then either burned by forest fires or were torn down by farmers.
The Pottawattomie trail crossed Willow Creek on the north side of the present Calvary cemetery, then ran between the rear of my house and outbuildings direct to Liverpool through the present East Gary and then along Ridge Road to Chicago. It came south from Michigan City and then directly west. The trail was much used in the old days to take furs to Bailly Town where Mr. Bailly had his trading station. There was another road called “The Old Sac Trail” that started away down on the Kankakee River and came to the present site of Valparaiso, then turned one mile south to Wheeler, then through the Hoosiers Nest, to Deep River or Woods’ Mills to Merrillville. From Merrillville it ran to Chicago Heights, Blue Island and Chicago. Right north of where I live the Holmes Tavern was located on the old stage route.
The first mail route between Detroit and Chicago was by horseback along the beach, changing horses and drivers at Michigan City. A stage line was put on this route about 1830, but the road became too heavy and the stage route was changed to the hard ground on the south side of the river and by way of Liverpool to Chicago. In 1840 the stage route was again changed and ran along the Pottawattomie trail in the rear of my house. The marks of the old route are still there. Later it was partly changed and ran about seventy-five feet in front of my home.”
JAMES MONAHAN, of Michigan City, was one of the few men who have been permitted to enjoy a century of life and ninety years of his career were spent in the Lake and Calumet region of Indiana. Coming to Michigan in 1835 as a boy, ten years of age, with his aunt and uncle, he was among the very first of the settlers and the last one of that period to pass away. He saw the last of the Indians, the herds of deer, the mink muskrat, wolves and bear and the countless wild fowl for which the region was famous. He saw towns and cities arise as though by magic; mighty industrial plants employing thousands of workmen appear almost overnight; hundreds of thousands of acres of marsh where once the wild life made their home or frequented in season, now producing bounteous crops through engineering skill in solving drainage problems. He saw the little village of Chicago grow into one of the greatest cities of the world and a dozen steel arteries of travel cross the region where once the tired and weary voyager tramped the Sac and Pottawattomie trails. He saw his own Michigan City rise from a little village to a modern
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municipality and its citizens enjoying the most beneficent effects of civilization’s best efforts. It is no wonder that Mr. Monahan in his “Recollections of a Century,” given to Mr. James W. Lester, president of the Gary Historical Society said, “I have truly lived in a wonderful age of invention and progress and have been permitted to see some of the most remarkable changes in all frontier history.”
In Mr. Monahan’s recollections he says: “I was born near Springfield, Ohio, on March 1, 1825, when Monroe was turning over the Presidency to John Quincy Adams. I came to Wills Township, LaPorte County, in 1835. My father was Irish and very well educated and my mother was French and English. When I came here there were more Indians than whites. An Indian named Saugausee was a large land owner, but dressed in the regular Indian fashion with blanket, leggins and moccasins. Saugausee had two brothers-in-law who had been educated at Carlisle, Pennsylvania. One of them named Rice operated a store at Hudson Lake and Fuller, the other, was a most competent farm hand and general workman and the best Indian to work I ever saw. Throughout LaPorte County were many indications of former Indian camps. There was evidence of a large one having once existed at Colorado Springs and several of them near Sauktown and also evidence of a battle near the latter place as the farmers frequently ploughed up gun barrels, kettles, arrows and ornaments.
When a boy I had an interesting experience with an Indian. One of our neighbors was sick and my aunt and uncle were rendering aid to the patient and as it was night and raining I went to bed. I was awakened by the tinkling of a bell and knew an Indian was coming, for I had often seen them with bells on their bridles. Soon the door opened and in walked an Indian carrying his bridle and blanket. I was frightened naturally but he handed me his gun, knife and tomahawk and asked for something to eat. I furnished him a bowl of milk which he ate and then told me to go to bed while he wrapped himself in his blanket and lay on the floor and went to sleep. In the morning before leaving he pointed his gun at me and when I looked frightened he laughed and left without doing any harm. Several years later I was in a store when he came in and recognized me. He told me his name was McSabbie. About 1838 he, with a large number of other Indians, were taken to Kansas. My uncle, Jonathan Dudley, had the contract to remove the Indians to the Indian reservation and so I went to Plum Grove to see them start on their journey. It certainly was a sad sight. The Indians loved their homes as we love ours. They sat around in their blankets looking sorrowful and dejected. Some of them broke down and sobbed. One poor fellow was over 100 years old and he looked sick and sad sitting on a log with his eyes fixed on the ground. The next morning he died there and was
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buried beside the log where he had collapsed. I stayed until they started for the West. The line was several miles long and reached from Plum Grove to LaPorte. Plum Grove is near Boot Jack. When McSabbie came along he stopped and urged me to go with him and offered to buy me a spotted pony like the one he was riding if I would join him. I liked the looks of the pony but realized I was too young to go and therefore parted from him. Most of the Indians were on foot and but a small proportion had ponies.
When I came to Michigan City I bought a barn and lot from Tall Chief, an Indian doctor. Among the early white settlers were William Shumway of Vermont who had a blacksmith shop where the Rumley office is now at LaPorte. John Young had a gunsmith shop in Michigan City. He and his brother were here when I first came, having moved to Michigan City from Kingsbury in this county. John Kip was a Michigan City fur trader and bought many furs from Maria Gibson of the Gibson inn. John Tucker and his brother with Alvin Jessup put the roof on the first cabin in Michigan City in 1831 or 1832. I saw the grading done for the Buffalo and Michigan City Railroad. They used wooden strips on which steel straps were fastened for rails. The grading was finished as far as the Charles Ames farm. While building the road between Michigan City and LaPorte a financial crash came and it was never completed. The Hickory Mill was built on the Kankakee River about 1835 or 1836 and was operated by Gile, Root, Graham and Gosset. The Gossets settled near Deep River and their place was known as Gosset’s Mills. The Blairs had a pier which ran far into the lake and Chaunsey Blair had one of the finest homes in Michigan City. The old Lyman Blair house is still standing on Second Street.”
GIBSON INN.
Gibson Inn, one of the first taverns in Lake County and the first white man’s dwelling on the site of Gary, was erected in 1838 at what is now the corner of Madison Street and Fourteenth Avenue — directly opposite the Froebel School. It was a two story hewn log building with two long rooms on the first floor — the sitting and dining rooms — and two large rooms on the second floor which were curtained off by flowered goods similar to cretonne and providing space for high-post hardwood beds. There was a lean-to at the rear of the building where men could congregate. The claim on which the building stood contained forty acres and is described in the county record as “The S. E. one-fourth of the N. E. one-fourth of Section 9, 36-8” and was not recorded for many years after the building was erected. Today much of the forty acres which comprise the Gibson farm is used as a campus for Froebel School, and residences and flat buildings stand where once was the door yard of the stage house,
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while paved streets and automobiles have supplanted the old trail which turned north around the Inn and the lumbering stage coach, whose coming was announced by its echoing horn calling for the relay horses to continue the journey.
Mr. James W. Lester, president of the Gary Historical Society, in his very interesting story of the Gibson Inn, says: “Prior to 1830, travel to and from the East and Central West was intermittent. For years, a motley lot of voyagers had followed the trail along the southern shore of Lake Michigan. Were it possible to reproduce the beach scenes of those days, a panoramic view would include the following: a solitary brave paddling his birch canoe along the shallow waters; a venturesome fur trader stumbling under his pack of furs and trinkets; groups of painted Indian warriors riding on spotted ponies, and followed by heavily burdened women and wide-eyed children; mounted officers in British, French, Spanish, or American uniforms, leading bodies of jaded soldiers; trains of covered wagons drawn by swaying oxen and guarded by weather-beaten men in slouch hats and homespun clothing. Some of these travelers were destined for Fort Dearborn, or Chicago, which furnished a market for the wares of the hunter, trapper and trader, and which offered a temporary haven for the soldier; others were seeking new homes in the frontier states of Illinois and Wisconsin.”
In the ‘30s the opening of the West began in earnest. But travel was difficult, for long distances intervened between the few stopping places. A pioneer of Illinois, who, in 1833, drove an ox team from Michigan City to Chicago, wrote in his reminiscences of the trip, that there was at that time but one tavern along the beach between those two villages; and that this place, known as the Mann Tavern, was situated at the mouth of the Calumet River, and about 30 miles west of Michigan City. About 1833 a company composed of three men, Hart, Steel and Sprague, started to operate a stage line between Detroit and Chicago. Shortly afterward, stage owners opened a route farther south, and still later opened new routes, the most popular of which was the one following the old Pottawattomie trail through Michigan City and the villages now known as Crisman and East Gary. It still is popular. Many miles of the new “Dunes Highway” are now being built over that trail. In the late ‘30s, thousands of passengers were being carried by stage across this south shore region and travel steadily increased until 1850, when the Michigan Central Railroad was constructed. The time extending from 1833 to 1850 might be termed “the stage-coach period.” During that period numerous taverns were opened in both Lake and Porter counties.
Among the first of these taverns to be opened was one conducted by Thomas and Annie Maria Gibson at what is now the corner of Fourteenth Avenue and Madison Street. The site was well chosen and soon the Gib-
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son Inn became one of the most popular taverns on the road. It was a regular relay station and usually the one stop made between Michigan City and Chicago. “With the dooryard,” says Mr. Lester, “brightened by a variety of wild flowers, ranging from the yellow puccoon of Spring and the blue lupine of early Summer, to the orange and scarlet bitter-sweet of Fall, the Gibson place, shaded by stately oaks, presented an inviting aspect to the tired traveller.” As Thomas Gibson was a man of weak constitution, his wife, who possessed energy and adaptability to a high degree, relieved him of many responsibilities and at his death in 1850 took entire charge of the business. She succeeded in increasing the popularity of the tavern and building up a fur trade with the Indian and white trappers. She also found time to administer to the needs of others and gained a favorable reputation as a nurse, going without fear into the homes of those afflicted with contagious diseases, including smallpox. So popular did the Inn become that frequently travellers made special arrangements to stop over in order that they might enjoy the hospitality of “Mother” Gibson. The Bailly family of Bailly Town were regular visitors there and Mrs. Henrietta Gibson of Gary recalled many occasions when Rose and Frances Bailly, beautiful and cultured girls whose clear-cut features revealed their ancestral strain of Indian blood, came to see her.
One may get an idea of the menus served reading the copy of a menu supplied by John Nelson or Munson, whose father conducted a tavern along the trail at Oak Hill in 1856.
Pork Pheasant
Quail Prairie Chicken
Buckwheat Cakes with Maple Syrup
Potatoes
Bread and Butter Honey
Tea Milk
The charge for a meal at the Oak Hill Tavern was 25 cents and lodging 50
cents. Rates at the Gibson Inn were probably the same as the menu and
charges were nearly standard among the inns. Mrs. Gibson continued to
operate the tavern until 1860. She was a little Irish woman, born in Belfast
on March 8, 1813, and came to America with her mother when she was thirteen
years old and settled in Columbus, Ohio. Her pleasing personality won for
her not only numerous friends but a good husband. She was the first white
woman to reside on the soil destined to become a part of Gary and the Gibson
Tavern was the first permanent structure erected on the site of the city.
She died July 14, 1900, in Chicago, and her body lies in the cemetery at
Tolleston not far from the site of the historic old Gibson Inn.
NAVIGATION OF
HISTORY OF THE LAKE AND CALUMET REGION OF INDIANA
FOREWARD
AN APPRECIATION
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I - Geology and Topography
CHAPTER II - The Mound Builders
CHAPTER III - Days of Indian Occupancy
CHAPTER IV - Early Explorations
CHAPTER V - Border Warfare
CHAPTER VI - Lake and Calumet Region Becomes Part of United States
CHAPTER VII - After Wayne and Greenville - Tecumseh and the Prophet
CHAPTER VIII - Indian Peace
CHAPTER IX - Early Settlements and Pioneers - County Organization
CHAPTER X - Townships - Towns - Villages
CHAPTER XI - Pioneer Life
CHAPTER XII - The Lake Michigan Marshes
CHAPTER XIII - Agriculture and Livestock
CHAPTER XIV - Military Annals
CHAPTER XV - The Lake and Calumet Region in the World War
CHAPTER XVI - The Newspapers
CHAPTER XVII - The Medical Profession
CHAPTER XVIII - The Bench and Bar in the Lake and Calumet Region
CHAPTER XIX - Churches
CHAPTER XX - Schools
CHAPTER XXI - Libraries
CHAPTER XXII - Social Life
CHAPTER XXIII - The Dunes of Northwestern Indiana
CHAPTER XXIV - Banks and Banking
CHAPTER XXV - Transportation and Waterways
CHAPTER XXVI - Cities
CHAPTER XXVII - Industrial Development
CHAPTER XXVIII - Chambers of Commerce
Transcribed by Steven R. Shook, December 2022