Person:Joseph Pletcher (2)

A PIONEER'S STORY By Joe Pletcher, told August 5, 1905 Mr. Joseph Pletcher, now living near Pierceton, was one of the early settlers of Whitley county, coming here from Ohio in 1843. Mr. Pletcher was in Columbia City last Thursday and gave Mr. S. P. Kaler an interesting written account of his experiences. He also made a pleasant and all too short call at the News office, extending his subscription another year. Although over seventy years of age, he is still very active and seems to be nearer fifty. His story as given to Mr. Kaler follows: I will give a little historical sketch of our settling in Whitley county. My father's name was John Pletcher. We moved to Whitley county from Wood county, Ohio, in 1843, June 10th of that year being the first time I saw the little town of Columbia, now called Columbia City. Although father was a Dutchman, he had some Yankee traits, as he moved here with two yoke of oxen to a wagon. I remember fording the Maumee river; an Indian took mother across in a canoe, and father waded across by the side of the oxen, and had hard work to keep the lead cattle headed across the river when they came to the place where they had to swim. He was in water up to his arms, but managed to get across all right. We were on the road about fourteen days and had lots of mud to contend with, as the roads were new and rough. When we landed at Columbia it was about sundown. There were two taverns in the town at that time; taverns they were called then and if anyone used the word hotel he would not be understood. A man by the name of Long had his building where Brand's drug store now is, but it was not yet ready for business. Jake Thompson's tavern was about where the Clugston block now is and there we stayed all night. The next morning we pulled out to our claim, two miles west of town. Father had been there the year before and entered a quarter section where Dennis Walters now lives. I was eight and a half years old when we came, and can remember the Indians were here, a part of two tribes, the Pottawattamies and the Miamis. I don't remember how long they stayed after we came here, but I think about two or three years. A man by the name of French took the contract to move them west of the Mississippi river. As much as I can remember about the town of Columbia is that what is now South Main street was full of chuck holes with a good many beech and sugar maple stumps in the way. There was one store in the place, owned by John Rhodes. Mr. Rhodes worked at the carpenter trade and his wife kept the store. We used to pick roots, such as seneca snake roots and ginseng, and wild berries and trade them for goods. In regard to the seneca snake root, I don't think any of the middle-aged people of the county know anything about it, as it disappeared a few years after we came here. More about the town: A two-story frame building, west of the public square, where the engine house now stands, was the courthouse, or was used for that purpose. It was moved down on East Van Buren street and the last I knew of it, a few years ago, it was used for a dwelling. There was a jail made of square hewn logs. An interesting incident took place in this old jail one evening. There were tow Indian prisoners, John Turkey and Penimo. The latter concluded he had stayed there long enough, so he piled some stove wood against the wall and set it on fire, intending to burn a hole large enough to crawl out. When the fire began to make fair progress, Turkey became alarmed and began to gobble for help, awakening the sheriff went in to give them their supper, they made a spring for the door and made good their escape. The Penimo was a Pottawattamie and he had sworn vengeance on the Miamis, saying he would kill the whole tribe. He did start out and killed two or three and the Miamis got so they were afraid to go to sleep in their cabins. They called on the authorities for protection and said they would give four hundred dollars to have him captured. This reward caused him to leave the neighborhood, but it was not long till he was taken prisoner down at Winamac, brought back to Columbia and put in jai. The Miamis were in great glee over it, and I remember two old braves being at our place one day who were pretty well tanked up, as the saying goes, and were telling how white men were going to hang Penimo. They would go through the motions of putting a rope around his neck and then would jump up and give a whoop. But when the bad Indian broke out, they did not jump so high; they said that's the way the white men do, feedum, getumfat and letumgo. They said if they had him they would torture him to death in a very cruel way. Now I will tell of an experience we had with Indians on our farm. My brother Eli, when about four or five years old, happened to fall into the hands of two young Indians about eighteen or nineteen. He had started to follow mother to a spring that we carried water from, about a half mile south of the house. She told him to go back, but he waited till she got out of sight, then started to follow and got lost. He came out on the road that ran across from the squaw-buck road to the Warsaw road where Levi Mosher lived. The boys were just drunk enough to not care what they did and when he saw them he hid in some weeds. They decided to have some fun with him, so they caught him and used various means to frighten him. Finally one of them held him while the other beat him on the head with a club. He has the scars yet and could show them if he were here, but he is in Pasadena, Cal. When mother came back from the spring she asked my sister and me where Eli was and we told her he followed her to the spring. My sisters and I started out to hunt for him, but we did not find him. Father and a neighbor were stacking marsh hay down on what we called the big marsh, where the great sink on the Pittsburg Railroad is now. The boys came along to where father and Mr. Smith were at work and talked with them a little and offered them something to drink. They went south about eighty or 100 rods, where they found Eli. It was right about where the barn now stands on the Samuel Scott farm, west of town two miles. When the lad got up after they got through with him, he happened to take the road to where father and Mr. Smith were working. When father saw him bloody from head to foot, he said that those Indians had been handling the boy, and after picking him up and taking him home, took his rifle and hunting knife and started out after the Indians. He hunted for them until eleven o'clock that night, but did not find them, and it is well that he did not, for he would have killed them or they him. In the morning the boy was quite well and father had cooled down, but he went after them and found them about five miles south of our place, on what is now the Christ Kourt farm, where they had a big dance or dum-dum. He went up the one he was acquainted with and as soon as he began talking the boy broke down and was very penitent, laying all the trouble to bad whiskey. Father said he would forgive him, but his companion was very sullen and could not be made to apologize or say anything. The first fellow then made a proposition to settle the matter by giving father $10 and a new Indian blanket. My brother kept the blanket until a few years ago, but finally got to using it and it went to pieces. I could give a good many details on these Indian narratives, but will cut them short. I saw the account Mr. Liggett gave about the wheat crop forty years ago, ant I will go back to the year 1852. That year the wheat was good. My uncle, Henry Mowrey, had out forty acres on the Curtis farm south of Larwill, which is now Press Patterson's farm. He hauled it to Fort Wayne and got forty cents a bushel for it. there are quite a number of birds that used to be here that are gone out and we will hear their songs no more. The quails, too, will soon be gone, if the number of bird dogs and hunters increase. It is music to the ear now to hear one lone Bob White whistling, but makes one feel sad not to hear a reply. If I could have my way there would not be any bird dogs in the state at the end of three months. I often think when I hear boys talking about hunting and how many rabbits they killed, that they don't know anything about the turkeys, pheasants, black and gray and fox squirrels we used to kill when we were boys. We paid no attention to rabbits, but of course they enjoy their sport now as much as we did in the old days. (Taken from Letters & Stories; Pletcher geneology)

1. ↑ Pletcher/Askey Geneology.