Owing to the late hour of its completion and our desire to relieve our friends, and get into improved quarters, we moved into our new house late Saturday evening. The three children had gone to sleep, and were stowed away for the night, while we, their parents, devoted ourselves industriously to arranging our household effects, so that we might keep the Sabbath in a Christian way. We had provided ourselves with mosquito bars and fixtures, but supposed that in a new house, we might pass at least two nights without them. But very soon, restlessness on the part of the children, and an occasional outcry assured us that the enemy had already gained entrance, and demanded immediate attention. Not until we had surrounded our bed with mosquito bars,a nd driven out the invaders, did we dare to retire. Persons of the present day can form little idea of the annoyance produced by these insignificant pests, in those early days - insignificant in size but formidable in numbers. the usual prairie breezes kept them down in the tall grass, but in a calm sultry evening it was amusing to see milking done. It was a brush with both hands about the face and ears - then a hasty draw from the cow's udder - these movements alternating with great regularity until the work was done. Indeed, in some calm afternoons they would rise from the grass so numerous and dense as to cast a haze over the sun. they were of a prolific and sturdy species. "A great many of them would weigh a pound," and if they did not sit on the trees and bark, it was because there were no trees there. During that first summer the building of a mosquito smoke toward evening became a daily necessity. Nor would these sacrilegius pests hesitate to break in upon our devotional hours. We often found it necessary in our weekly prayer meetings to watch and fight as well as pray, and not infrequently would be heard between the ascending petitions the sweep or brush of the hand to drive away the assailing foe.

But the hot season soon passed by and the bracing winds of autumn began to whistle around our dwellings. Many were looking anxiously for the steam saw mill in expectation, that they might obtain the lumber needed to make their homes comfortable for the approaching winter. The parsonage was no exception. High enough for a story and a half, it was open from puncheon floor to the shingles on the roof, and a Stuart cooking stove, that freezes the cook, could do little toward warming properly such a house. Lumber was not obtained until late in December - not until it had become so cold that the water in our glasses at table actually froze over, while we were eating (for adhering still to our Oberlin principles we used neither tea nor coffee). Our table too was as near the stove as we could place it, and the stove as hot as we could make it. The weather was very cold. The piercing prairie winds had come down upon us in their fury, as if to destroy us. But the cold relaxed. Lumber was obtained. A floor overhead narrowed the space to be warmed, and we were more comfortable. The minister's study was the common family room. Two holes were bored in a log on the north side, at a proper height and incline, in these two wooden pins were inserted, and across these a puncheon was fastened. This was the writing desk, but, as in cold weather, this was too far from the stove, and with portfolio on his lap and inkstand on the stove or on the lid of some pot, there prepared his sermons. As the puncheon floor became seasoned, the children were greatly annoyed by the sudden disappearance of their playthings down the cracks. After adjusting matters around home and providing for the comfort and welfare of the family, arrangements were made for holding religious services abroad.

About 1849 when the wonderful stories of rich gold mines in California had crazed so many, a company of emigrants set out from Bureau county, Illinois, to cross the plains, consisting of father and mother Clark, stepson Barnes and family, two daughters, Mary and Cordelia, and their husbands Tozier and Martin, two sons, Ambrose and George, and their wives, and one unmarried son, James - thirteen adults in all, for California across the plains, but having started too late in the season to reach their destination, stopped to winter on the east bank of the Missouri river, at a point opposite the mouth of the big Platte river. There they laid out a town calling it California City. (In later years it was known as Florence.) As a company they never went farther. At that point regular appointments were made. Several of the company were professing Christians, others became interested and a little church was formed which existed for a number of years until several died, some moved away, the location went into the river and other points attracted the people.

At Trader's Point, 8 miles farther north and nearly east of Belleview in Nebraska, a place of 35 or 40 buildings, another appointment was made. Still another on Honey Creek, 18 miles above Council Bluffs. Another at Stutsman's Mills on the West Nishnabotna. Again in Cutler's camp on Silver Creek, not very far distant from Silver City. There were appointments also on High Creek, and at Linden in Missouri. Glenwood and Sidney had then no existence. Sidney was selected for the county seat in the summer of 1851, but had only a pole with the stars and stripes flying therefrom to mark the site selected. No buildings were erected on the site until the latter part of that summer.

The steam mill did not reach the settlement on the Missouri bottom until December, and was so far from complete in its parts that it was a source of great vexation all winter. The man, Mr. Lyons, sent out to set it up, could not make it work satisfactorily. It produced some lumber, but at a dear rate. Every repair was made at a great disadvantage so remote from all machine shops.

Since in the unorganized state of our country, there was no legally recognized school district, or established public schools, some of the neighbors on the bottom friendly to education co-operated, and erected a comfortable log school house about the year 1849. In this flourishing school, embracing most of the children of school age in the vicinity, was in successful progress in 1850, under Mrs. E. G. Platt as teacher. In the autumn of that year a colored family by the name of Garner came into the neighborhood, who had been known to Dr. I. D. Blanchard when in Kansas. they had been industrious and economical and bought their freedom and came to a free state to enjoy it. The children of this family were of course invited to attend both day school and Sunday school, and as they accepted the invitation, immediately up bounded the race question, which was soon practically solved by the incendiary burning of the school house, the only place in the entire settlement where either school or meeting could be held. Such was the sentiment of the executive officers of the county, and the laws of the state too, that this family was required to give bonds that they would not become a charge to the county, before they could become residents of the same. I. D. Blanchard and G. B. Gaston, became their bondsmen.

In 1851, about the time when the June rise in the Missouri river had filled its banks, we were visited with frequent heavy rains attended by sharp lightning and heavy thunder. The rains came usually in the night and often the flash of lighting was immediately followed by the thunder, quick, short, and sharp, like the explosion of a cannon. The streams from the bluffs swollen by the rains poured large quantities of water into the bottom, where meeting the overflow from the river they spread out over a large part of the lowland. It could not, however, be seen, on account of the tall green grass, which at this season completely covered the Missouri bottom. From the roof of a barn on which the parson had just been working, there was a fine view of the surrounding region as he had ever had. Northward and southward as far as the eye could reach was one sea of waving green. Eastward it was bounded by the bluffs, and westward by the forest along the river. The land of Canaan never furnished to Abraham such a view as this. But things seen are not always what they appear to be. On a bright Saturday afternoon in June, 1851, our itinerant set out on horseback for Linden, Missouri, to fill his appointment at that place the next day. He accordingly mounted his horse, and followed south along the sand ridge, on which the road ran for a mile or two until it struck across the bottom. On leaving the ridge, he had gone but a few rods before he found himself in water, four or five feet deep, with water nearly across the entire bottom, as the sequel proved, varying in depth from a few inches to half way up the sides of the horse. As the water made traveling faster than a walk impracticable, you can easily see, without much exercise of the imagination, that your itinerant had plenty of time leisurely to survey his position and prospects, while plodding his way over that not less than five miles of flooded bottom, perched much of the time like a monkey in the saddle to avoid the submerging of his nether extremities. The Missouri bottom safely passed, and Argyle's ferry on the Nishnabotna soon reached, that bottom too was found overflowed. the ferryman, however, promptly rowed his passenger over the river channel, and disembarked him in the overflowing waters on the other side, through which he slowly made his way for yet perhaps a quarter of a mile, directed by signals from the ferryman as the engineer is guided by signals from the brakeman. Once more safely on dry land the itinerant pushed on through McKissick's Grove toward Linden, but as the high waters had hindered the travel, Linden could not be reached that night, and so lodging and entertainment were kindly and generously afforded at Squire Thomas Farmer's in McKissick's Grove. The parson was ushered into a spacious, well finished room, with a small bright fire in the fire place, surmounted by a mantlepiece on which stood a bright lamp, and not a mosquito either seen or heard. this led him to reflect upon the comparative desirableness of life on the Missouri bottom, and in the bluffs. In the bottom we had no peace of our lives in the evening, and never ventured to strike a light, unless prepared to take refuge under mosquito bars. Here he could sit by the burning lamp and an open fire, which recent rains and a cool evening rendered very agreeable, and nothing to annoy or molest. What a contrast! How deeply he felt it!

The sun rose bright and clear next morning. The parson hasted forward to Linden and High Creek, filled his appointments, and effected a safe return home on Monday; but from that time the Missouri river bottom has never seemed to him the place to locate a College, and henceforth there was a strong disposition to take higher ground. In this Brothers Gaston and Adams were of the same mind.

Independence day was now near, and was observed by us in a Sabbath school picnic in Beattie's Grove, Lawyer Ford being orator of the day, and J. Todd to address the children. the former though present refused to speak, so that an address to the children, with some appropriate songs by them, constituted the services of that occasion.

As Sidney had been selected as the site for the county seat, in the summer of 1851, as soon as the road across the bottom became practicable, and lumber could be obtained, building on the town site commenced. In the after part of the summer, Rev. Wm. Simpson, of the M.E. church, with his family migrated to, and located at, Council Bluffs, and took charge of the Council Bluffs M.E. mission. In the fall Rev. G. G. Rice, of the American Home Missionary society, took uphis residence at the same place with his family.

The overflowed portions of the bottom proved to be good fishing ground. Two of our young men went out one morning equipped with pitchforks for spears, and a horse and sack to carry the fish. In a few hours they had caught as many buffalo fish, as they could carry home. They were able to follow them by the moving of the tops of the tall grass, as they wriggled their way through the water. But in the after part of the summer, as the waters began to dry up, malarial fever prevailed all along up and down the river. Very few escaped. Quinine was a common specific, and was prescribed by physicians, until the supply was exhausted. None could be had at Kanesville, St. Joe, or any of the towns around. Dr. Blanchard, as a dernier resort, and taking a hint from the Medical Journal, prescribed for his patients chloride of sodium (common salt). three teaspoons were deemed a dose, and cures were effected thereby.

As the Missouri bottom was no longer a satisfactory site to a number of the people of our settlement, various tours were taken at intervals during the summer, in search of a more eligible location. Cutler's camp on Silver Creek was looked over. Big Grove in Pottawattamie county was considered. Several points in Harrison county were visited and discussed. Finally the present site of Tabor was decided upon, and accordingly G. B. Gaston, S. H. Adams, and John Todd, with their families came to this vicinity in April, 1852. When Rev. Wm. Simpson of the M. E. church, a worthy and esteemed brother, came to Civil bend in the discharge of his duties, he came to see the writer, and in his social, fraternal manner accosted me thus: "Brother Todd, if you have got any Methodists among your people here, they belong to me." This rather relaxed the hope I had fondly cherished, that I might be able to unite in one organization, all the Christians of any given neighborhood. But we had no unpleasant words or hard feelings. He on invitation consented to co-operate in a protracted meeting in Civil Bend in the winter of 1851-52, on the express condition that he should be permitted to say "Amen" as often and as loud as he chose. This privilege was very willingly granted him and a series of meetings were held to the edification of Christians and conversion of sinners.

In coming to the vicinity of Tabor, a footing was obtained by Brother Gaston buying a timber claim of Mr. Buchler, and J. Todd buying out Mr. Frederick Argyle, who had a timber claim with two log cabins, about two miles southwest of Tabor. One of these cabins was fitted up for a school house, and in it Mrs. M. A. Todd taught the first school ever taught in Ross township. In the summer of 1852 Mr. Gaston and Mr. Adams erected the first two houses built in Tabor - Mr. Gaston's situated on the southeast corner of Park and Orange streets, now (1891) occupied by Henry Starrett, and Mr. Adams' forming part of Mr. J. L. Smith's barn and woodshed.

During the summer of 1852, Sunday school and public services were held under the shade of a basswood tree near the pastor's log cabin in fair weather and in the cabin in foul weather. There on the 12th of October of the same year, the Tabor Congregational church was formally organized, with the following members, Geo. B. Gaston, Maria C. Gaston, A. C. Gaston, Alonzo M. Gaston, Sam'l H. Adams, Caroline M. Adams, John Todd, and Rev. G. G. Rice of Council Bluffs was present by invitation, and preached on the occasion from I Cor. 2:5, "That your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God." A weekly prayer meeting on Wednesday evening, a missionary concert on the first Monday evening of each month, and an anti-slavery concert on the last Monday evening of each month, wer maintained from the beginning - the last of these was kept up until emancipation by proclamation of President Abraham Lincoln, when a jubilee of praise and thanksgiving terminated its observance.

In June, 1852, a county Washingtonian Temperance Society was organized at Sidney, which held quarterly meetings in the county, and was kept alive and running for about twenty years, mainly by the people of Civil Bend and Tabor.

Having now taken higher ground, friends from the east began to join us. In the spring of 1853, Deacon Origen Cummings and family, and Abbie, his sister, Wm. J. Gates, and family, Jesse West and family, John Hallam and Joseph Munsinger landed at Civil Bend, on the 15th day of May. S. R. Pearse and Jas. K. Gaston came also in 1853.

As the parson had brought with him the preceding spring a red cow of strong attachments to luxurious living, and tenacious memory of good grazing, no sooner had the vernal showers and balmy breezes awakened to life and fragrance the pastures along the river, than she broke away from her accustomed range and set out for the "Bend," taking her companions with her, thus leaving her owner and his family on short rations. In this plight was the parson on the morning after the landing of the friends at the "Bend." Accordingly, as he then owned no horse, he set out early that morningon foot, with staff in hand, to recover his fugitive cows. civil Bend was twenty miles distant, and on the Missouri bottom were several sloughs or ponds to be crossed, which required of the pedestrian the removal of boots and hose, and their replacement on the other side. Just as the parson had made one of these crossings and was in the act of adjusting his apparel, Deacon O. Cummings and wife drove up, on their way to Tabor to announce the arrival of their company. After a most cordial greeting and mutual congratulations, the parson trudged on, recovered his strays, and reached home again in good season the same evening, having walked forty miles and driven his cows twenty.

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