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WILLIAMS COUNTY was formed from old Indian Territory, April 1, 1820, and organized in April, 1824. The surface is slightly rolling or level. In the west are oak openings with a light sandy soil. The soil is generally of a clayey nature, a portion of it sandy loam. In the north is a rich black soil.


Area about 420 square miles. In 1887 the acres cultivated were 125,634; in pasture, 34,071; woodland, 54,858; lying waste, 1,198; produced in wheat, 433,241 bushels; rye, 1,199; buckwheat, 7,434; oats, 615,682; barley, 2,690; corn, 720,331; broom corn, 2,000 lbs. brush; meadow bay, 19,460 tons; clover, 12,921 bushels seed; potatoes, 48,898 bushels; butter, 587,400 lbs.; cheese, 38,280; sorghum, 1,888 gallons; maple syrup, 6,153; honey, 8,852 lbs.; eggs, 816,312 dozen; grapes, 17,330 lbs.; wine, 196 gallons; sweet potatoes, 207 bushels; apples, 219,933; peaches, 250; pears, 971; wool, 145,870 lbs.; milch cows owned,  6,697. School census, 1888, 7,574; teachers, 254. Miles of railroad track, 71.



And Census




And Census












Mill Creek,






North West,












Saint Joseph,



































Population of Williams in 1830, 1,039; 1840, 4,464; 1860, 16,633; 1880, 23,821; of whom 18,407 were born in Ohio; 1,520, Pennsylvania; 690, New York; 486, Indiana; 122, Virginia; 19, Kentucky; 896, German Empire; 299, France; 117, England and Wales; 85, British America; 82, Ireland; 22, Scotland, and 3, Norway and Sweden. Census, 1890, 24,897


DAVID WILLIAMS, one of the three captors of Andre, from whom this county was named, was born in Tarrytown, N. Y., October 21, 1754, and died near Livingstonville, N. Y., August 2,1831. He enlisted in the Revolutionary army in 1775, served under General Montgomery at St. John’s and Quebec. During his service his feet were badly frozen, and this partially disabled him for life.


After the war he bought a farm near the Catskill mountains. Williams being of generous disposition endorsed freely for friends, and was obliged to mortgage his farm, but managed to retain possession of it through the aid of $200 per year received from the government. The estate is now in the possession of his grandson, William C. Williams. Williams was given a silver medal by order of Congress, and also received in New York city a cane made from the cheval-defrise for obstructing the Hudson at West Point. In December, 1830, he visited New York by invitation of the mayor, who gave him a carriage, horse and harness, and the pupils of one of the city schools presented him with a silver cup. A monument has been erected to his memory by the State at the stone fort near Schoharie court-house: The captors of Andre, viz., Williams, Paulding and Van Wert, were of Dutch lineage, and neither of the three could speak English well.


This county was much reduced in 1845 by the formation of Defiance, to which the townships of Defiance, Delaware, Farmer, Hicksville, Milford, Tiffin and


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Washington, now belong. The population were principally from Ohio, New England, New York, Pennsylvania and Germany. Previous to 1835 there were but few families within its present limits.


Two lake beaches cross the county, the upper of which is the highest of the series. It is nearly straight, and passes with a northeasterly course just west of Bryan, while Williams Centre and West Unity are situated upon it. The second beach is parallel to the upper and a mile farther east.


The first discovery of artesian water, now obtained in so many parts of the Maumee valley, was made in Bryan in 1842. The mineral water discharged from the deep well at Stryker is of a different character; it was struck, at a depth of 230 feet below the surface. It does not overflow in virtue of its own head, but is thrown out periodically, by violent discharges of hydro-sulphuric acid gas. This is constantly rising in some amount through the water, and at intervals of about six hours finds vent in great volume from some subterranean reservoir, and throws out in a foaming torrent many barrels of water. The water possesses medicinal properties of high value.


Among the first settlers in Williams county were James GUTHRIE, who settled in Springfield township in 1827; Samuel HOLTON, who came to St. Joseph township the same year; John ZEDIKER, John PERKINS, Josiah PACKARD, Rev. Thomas J. PRETTYMAN, Mrs. Mary LEONARD and her three sons-in-law, James OVERLEAS, Sebastian FRAME, John HECKMAN, John STUBBS.


The Indians that the whites found in this county were of the Ottawa, Miami, Pottawatamie and Wyandot tribes. In St. Joseph’s township, below the site of the village of Denmark, and on the western bank of the St. Joseph river, is a low piece of meadow land, called the “Indian Meadow,” on which the Indians raised corn.


Bryan in 1846.—Bryan, the county-seat, is 173 miles northwest of Columbus and eighteen from Defiance. It was laid out in 1840, and named from Hon. John A. BRYAN, formerly auditor of the State, and later charge d’affaires to Peru. It is a small village, containing perhaps forty or fifty dwellings.—Old Edition.


From the organization of Williams the county-seat had been at Defiance, until removed to Bryan. Williams Centre and Pulaski were strong competitors for the seat of justice, when John A. BRYAN donated the ground for its location on the site bearing his name. The surveyor was William ARROWSMITH, and he recorded the town plat November 24, 1840.


BRYAN, county-seat of Williams, about 135 miles northwest of Columbus, 54 miles west of Toledo, is on the L. S. & M. S. R. R. County officers, 1888: Auditor, Albert C. MARSHALL; Clerk, Wm. W. DARBY; Commissioners, Walter I. PEPPLE, Archibald PRESSLER, Wm. A. BRATTON; Coroner, Clark M. BARSTOW; Infirmary Directors, Jacob CLAY, George A. BURNS, Thompson L. DUNLAP; Probate Judge, George RINGS; Prosecuting Attorney, Thomas EMERY; Recorder, Eli SWIGERT; Sheriff, Miller W. BURGOYNE; Surveyor, John C. GRIM; Treasurer, George RUFF. City officers, 1888: H. H. CALVIN, Mayor; Silas PEOPLES, Clerk; W. E. STOUGH Treasurer; John YATES, Street Commissioner; August HEIDLEY, Marshal. Newspapers: Democrat, Democratic, Robert N. PATTERSON, editor and publisher; Maumee Valley Prohibitionist, Prohibition, Harry L. CANFIELD, editor; Press, Republican, Simeon GILLIS, editor and publisher. Churches: 1 Presbyterian; 1 Universalist, 1 Methodist Episcopal, 1 Baptist, 1 Lutheran, 1 German Lutheran and 1 Catholic. Banks: Farmers’ National, John W. LEIDEGH, president, E. Y. MORROW, cashier; First National, A. J. TRESSLER, president, D. C. BAXTER, cashier.


Manufactures and Employees.—Niederauer Brothers, lumber, shingles, etc., 10 hands; Scott & Powell, flour, etc.; Bryan Plow Co., plows, 32; Bryan Manufacturing Co., wheelbarrows, 32; G. Lockhart, pumps, etc.; M. C. Moore, flour, etc.; Halm’s Fountain City Brewery, beer, 20 hands; E. Harrington, wagons, etc.; Lindesmith Bros., carriages, etc., 12. State Reports, 1887.


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Top Picture

J. E. Beach, Photo.



Bottom Picture

J. E. Beach, Photo





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Population in 1880, 2,952. School census, 1888, 825. Capital invested in industrial establishments, $229,200; value of annual product, $291,200.—Ohio Labor Statistics, 1887.


Census, 1890, 3,068.






When Bryan was laid out in 1840, a native forest of immense trees, bearing evidence of the natural wealth of the soil, covered the ground for miles around; but in Williams county, as in many others, the first settlers had but slight conception of the importance of preserving the native timber. Forests that would have great value, and an important influence on the climate at the present day, were ruthlessly destroyed to make way for the plowed field. These forests contained an abundance of game; deer and bear were numerous, and many are the tales of deer-killing and bear-fighting experiences that have been handed down. It is related that one autumn two pioneers, George W. BIBLE, of Superior township, and Frederick MISER, of Centre township, tried to see who could kill the largest number of deer within two months’ time. Mr. BIBLE killed ninety-nine and his opponent sixty-five. Mr. BIBLE was anxious to make it an even hundred, and was disappointed in his failure to do so. The skins and part of the flesh were sold, while the hams were salted down.


The early history of every township in the county is replete with BEAR STORIES. Bruin was very fond of young pig, and it was no unusual experience for a pioneer to be roused in the night by a terrible commotion in the neighborhood of his pig-pen. Bruin might be frightened off for the time being, but was almost sure to return the next night. On his second visit, however, the settler would have his bear trap set, and rarely failed to secure a supply of bear meat. The bear trap was what is called a “dead-fall,” and was constructed as follows:


A log about a foot in diameter was fastened upon the ground at a suitable place, and wooden pins were driven into holes bored on the upper aide, after which the upper ends of the pins were sharpened. Another log, fully as large, was partly, suspended over the lower one, and provided on the lower side with sharpened pins, as above described. A trigger was made and baited with a portion of a dead hog, and arranged in such a manner that the bear must stand directly over the lower log and under the upper to secure the meat. To get the bait the bear must necessarily pull the trigger, which would cause the upper log .to fall, thus pinning the animal like a vise between the two logs, and piercing it with the sharp pins. The trap worked like a charm, and when examined at the proper time, the bear would be found dead between the toga, pierced through and through by the pins.




A very remarkable adventure with a bear is related in the “Williams County History.” It occurred near Mill Creek river, in Mill Creek township. The hero of the adventure was John GILLET, and no one ought to doubt the accuracy of the account, for it is related in the hero’s own words, as follows:


“I had known for some time by the signs that there was a nest of cub bears somewhere in the neighborhood, so one day I concluded that I would put in my time finding them as a party in Adrian wanted a pair to send over to Baltimore to a friend who was fond of outlandish pets. You see, it was along about the first of September, and pretty warm at that and after walking up and down the creek, I began to get pretty tired; so I sat down by the side of a smooth stump, about twelve or fourteen feet high, to rest. I hadn’t been there more than a minute until I heard something inside the stump, and soon made out that it was a couple of cub bears playing with one another. I looked on all sides of the stump to find an opening, but none was to be seen. Then I happened to notice the marks of claws up the side of the stump, and I understood it. The hole went in at the top. I set my gun against a bush, up-ended the branch of a tree, and was soon at the top of the stump, looking in at the two cubs, which were about the size of full-grown rat dogs. I was so excited that I jumped down into the stump and grabbed the cubs. They at first, began to squeal, and then turned on me for fight. But they were small enough to handle, and in a minute or two I had their mouths tied so they could not bite, and their feet fastened so they could not scratch.


Terrible Predicament.—I knew that the old bear would be along pretty soon and make it hot for me if she found me in the nest; so I swung the youngsters into my buckskin belt, preparatory to getting out.


Get out? Did I get out? Land of love! It makes me shiver to think of it yet. I could no more get out of that stump than I




could fly. The hollow was bell-shaped, larger at the bottom than at the top—so large, in fact, that I could not put my back against one side and my feet and hands against the other, and crawl up, as rabbits and other animals climb up inside of hollow trees. In no way could I get up a foot. There were no sticks inside to help me up, and I made up my mind I had to die certain. About the time I came to this conclusion I heard the old bear climbing up the outside of the stump. With only my hunting-knife as a means of defence, and in such close quarters, you may possibly imagine the state of my feelings. The old bear was not more than half a minute, at the outside, climbing up the stump; but it seemed like a month, at least. I thought, of all my sins a dozen times over. At last she reached the top, but she didn’t seem to suspect my presence at all, as she turned around and began slowly descending, tail foremost. I felt as though my last hour had come, and I began to think seriously about lying down and letting the bear kill me, so as to get out of my misery as quickly as possible.


“A Valuable Idea.—Suddenly an idea struck me, and despair gave way to hope. I drew out my hunting-knife and stood on tip-toe. When the bear was about seven feet from the bottom of the hollow I fastened on her tail with my left hand with a vise-like grip, and with my right hand drove my hunting-knife to the hilt in her haunch, at the same time yelling like a whole tribe of Indians. What did she do? Well, you should have seen the performance. She did not stop to reflect a moment, but shot out at the top of the stump like a bullet out of a gun. I held on until we struck the ground. Then the old bear went like lightning into the brush and was out of sight in half a minute. I took the cubs to Adrian the next day and got five dollars apiece for them and in those times five dollars were as good as fifty dollars are now.”


A Boy Murdered.—The “County History, also gives an account of a brutal murder which occurred in Jefferson township. That was the murder of the son of Peter D. SCHAMP by Daniel HECKERTHORN and A. J. TYLER as acceasory, which occurred about the 20th day of June, 1847, on the farm now owned by John H. SCHAMP. TYLER professed to be a fortune-teller, and came to the house of Mr. SCHAMP and told him his fortune; thence he came to where HECKERTHORN lived, told his fortune, and made inquiry if SCHAMP was not a man of money. Receiving an affirmative answer, he told HECKERTHORN if he would kill SCHAMP’S boy and hide him in a secret place (known to Tyler), that SCHAMP would come to him and pay him a large sum of money to tell him where the boy was, and he give him money enough to go back to Wayne county, Ohio.


On the next Sunday morning, according to previous arrangement, HECKERTHORN came to SCHAMP’S and, decoying the boy from the house (he being but six years old), took him to the large woods north of SCHAMP’S He there took the boy by the heels, and struck his head against a knot on a beech tree, and killed him. The knot was subsequently chopped out of the tree and brought to court. The boy’s hair was seen on it. He then placed him in a hollow tree, put old rotten wood on him, and placed green brush on it. Sunday afternoon the search commenced by some of the neighbors, and on Monday it became general.


The Fortune-Teller Consulted.—At night SCHAMP went to see TYLER, to ascertain if he could tell the whereabouts of the boy. He said he was near water, and under rotten wood and green brush. The excitement became general. On Tuesday men and boys came for miles to hunt, but obtained no tidings. On Thursday the woods for miles were full of people. In the afternoon suspicion fastened on HECKERTHORN, and Jacob BOHNER and the writer (M. B. PLUMMER) found HECKERTHORN at his brother’s house concealed. He was taken into custody, and finally confessed the guilt of himself and TYLER. The same day George ELY, then a justice of the peace for Brady township, issued a warrant for the arrest of TYLER and HECKERTHORN. They were committed to jail, taken to Bryan at the fall term of the Court of Common Pleas, and indicted separately.


The Murderers Convicted.—TYLER elected to be tried by the Supreme Court. The jail at Bryan was not safe, and they were taken to Maumee City and remained there until the fall of 1848, when TYLER was tried for murder in the first degree, was found guilty and sentenced to be hanged Jan. 26, 1849. J. DOBBS was prosecutor, assisted by C. CASE.  S. E. BLAKESLEE was attorney for the defendant. Daniel LANGLE was at the time sheriff, and made an inclosure in which to hang TYLER. On the evening of the 25th the people came and found there was an inclosure set up during the night. They demolished it, and TYLER was hung in public. At the spring term of the Court of Common Pleas HECKERTHORN was tried and found guilty of murder in the second degree, and sentenced to the penitentiary for life.


The history of all pioneer settlements is replete with stories of children lost in the woods, and not only children, but of grown people with considerable knowledge of woodcraft. One of the most touching of these stories is related in the Centre township chapter of the “County History.”


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One day in early times a small boy, about four years old, belonging to a family which lived in the southwestern part of the township, became lost. The mother had gone to one of the neighbors, and the child had attempted to follow her. The loss was not discovered until the mother returned, about dark. Search was immediately instituted, the neighborhood was aroused, and soon the woods were filled with anxious searchers. Torches were carried, and the search continued all night; but the morning dawned, and the first day passed without success. The mother was almost distracted with grief and nervous anxiety. People came by the score to assist in the search, some as far distant as five or six miles; but, although more than a hundred active searchers were present, no concerted and organized effort was made, strange to say, until the third day. On this day a long line was formed, the men and women being stationed sixty feet apart, and the word was given by the captain to march.


Found Dead.—It was not long before the little boy was found. He was dead, but his body yet contained warmth, showing that death had occurred only a short time before. The spot where the little fellow had slept each night was found. When night overtook him, he had, as was his habit, taken off his clothes, thinking that he must do so in order to go asleep. It was October and the nights were quite cold, and the little wanderer could not survive the chilling weather. When he arose the first morning he was unable to put on his clothes properly, and thus wandered about half clad. Had the search been organized, as it should have been, on the second day, the little boy would have been found alive. It was the easiest thing in the world even for grown people to get lost in early days. The sensations on such occasions are described as terrifying. The mind and senses become wild with bewilderment, see familiar objects under new and strange aspects, and refuse to recognize trees and paths known for years. Old settlers, lost, have been known to pass within a few yards of their own doors without recognizing a single familiar object.




The outcome of the story we have here related is sad indeed. We here relate from “Perrin’s History of Starke County “a story of a search for lost children, not so sad, but which is told with such clearness of statement as to give it place among the best narratives of the kind extant.


About the year 1821 two small children, a brother and sister, the former six and the latter eight years of age, belonging to a family in the southern part of Portage county, became lost while after the cows. The children tried to drive the cattle to what they thought was home, but in reality was in a different direction; and, as the animals refused to go as desired, were abandoned by the children. Had they but followed the cows they would soon have reached home.


The cows went home, and the children wandered farther into the tangled wilderness. As night closed around, and the cows came home without the children, the parents became alarmed, and immediately surmised that they had become lost. The county was new and thinly settled, but the parents hurried around and roused what few neighbors they could. Guns were fired, horns were blown, but no tidings came of the wanderers. The morning dawned, and quite a number of the neighbors assembled from far and near to begin the search in a systematic manner. A few traces of where the children had been were discovered, and a long line formed to pursue the march southward.


If slight but sure signs of the children should be discovered the horn was to be blown once, if good signs twice, and if the children themselves three times when all the searchers were to gather together. The search was given in charge of a hunter who had the ability to track game by very slight signs. All day long the search was continued. During the afternoon the hunter saw a footprint made by one of the children. The horn sounded the news along the line. The track was near a large tree that had been cut for a bear, and after a few moments the hunter held up a bit of calico that had been torn from the dress of the little girl.


The horn again carried the tidings along the line. The excitement became intense, but none were permitted to leave the line. The parents were excluded from the line and left at home, for fear that when a few signs were discovered they in their eagerness would rush forward and obliterate them. For the same reason the line was ordered not to break, until the horn was sounded three times in succession. The old hunter and a few competent assistants took the advance, and announced their success to others who were beating the bushes for a mile or more on each side.


Darkness again came and the search had to be abandoned, save continued soundings of the horns and reports of the guns.  The


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line was taken up again in the morning, and continued with occasional successes until nearly night. The searchers passed southward through Lexington township, Starke county, into Washington of the same, advancing as far as section fourteen, very near where Mr. TINSMAN lived.


Here the old hunter picked up a piece of spicewood that bore upon it the marks of teeth. One suggested that it had been bitten by a deer, but the old hunter proved that to be impossible, as on the limb were marks of upper teeth.


The horn again rang out the welcome note. The line moved on, and soon came to a “slashing” of some five acres. Here the old hunter plainly saw marks of where the children had walked in. They had followed on an old deer-path that led to the centre of the slashing. This was a splendid retreat for the animals when they were attacked by swarms of flies, as the place was thickly covered with weeds and undergrowth.


What was to be done?” was the question. The old hunter was told to enter, which he did, and as he passed along the path he saw an object bound off a log and rush towards him. It was the little girl, paying no heed to his questions, and seeming to fear him although she had run into his arms. He asked where her brother was, but she did not appear to understand him, and made an effort to leave and run off into the underbrush. The search was continued in the slashing by the hunter and his assistants and in a few minutes the little boy was found fast asleep under the protecting aide of a large log.


He was roused up, but was as wild as his sister. The horns rang out three times in succession, and the overjoyed settlers in a few minutes gathered together. The children were taken to Mr. TINSMAN’S house, but refused to eat, and made continued efforts to rush out into the woods. A little nourishing food was poured down their throats, and then they were taken rapidly towards their home.


The parents heard the horns and shouts, and were overwhelmed with joy when their children were placed in their arms: The little boy and girl did not recognize them, but stared wildly around. They were put to bed, and were soon asleep. Early the next morning the little boy called out, “Where’s my little axe? The little girl awoke and called for her calico dress, the one that had been torn in pieces in her rambles. The children were all right, and strange to say could not remember anything of having been lost. Other instances of a similar nature are, says the county historian, related.


When people are lost they become so bewildered that they often fail to recognize objects with which they are perfectly familiar. PERRIN relates the case of a Mr. JOHNSHON, who having become lost wandered about in a bewildered state, when he finally came to a stable in the yard of which was an old horse. The animal was poorer than Job’s turkey, and Mr. JOHNSON wondered why in the name of humanity the owner did not feed the poor creature and take better care of the yard. He moved on a little farther, saw a log-house and near it a woman, who when she saw him asked, “What have you there?” It then dawned upon the bewildered Mr. JOHNSON for the first time, that his own wife was talking to him, and that the horse and stable-yard he had seen were his own. These bewildered, dazed mental states find an illustration in the old story of a wight who, on discovering his house to be on fire, threw a looking-glass out of the window and carried a tea-kettle out into the yard.




Early in the spring of 1862 General Mitchell with 10,000 men was moving southward from Murfreesboro through the mountains of Tennessee. Buell had joined Grant, and was moving down the Mississippi; General Morgan was at Camberland Gap ready to march on Knoxville, and General McClellan was preparing to advance on Richmond. The Confederate General Beauregard was at Corinth; General Leadbetter with about 3,000 men occupied Chattanooga; General Kirby Smith was at Knoxville; General Bragg had evacuated Kentucky; but the Confederates held the railroad from Richmond to Knoxville, and thence via Chattanooga to Corinth. All the Confederate stores had been transferred to Atlanta, and from thence forwarded over the Western and Atlantic Railroad to Chattanooga as needed. Supplies, reinforcements and communication between the South and its armies in Tennessee depended entirely upon the Western & Atlantic Railroad, and to cut it off meant a serious blow to Beauregard’s army at Corinth, and Kirby Smith’s at Knoxville.




Captain Andrews’ plan was to secure the destruction of the thirteen wooden bridges on the Western & Atlantic Railroad, which spanned the Chickamauga river, and thus render the road useless to the Confederacy for and indefinite period, as they had no facilities for replacing them before the results aimed at could be accomplished.  This plan was submitted to General Mitchell by Captain J. J. Andrews, a Virginian by birth, but a



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citizen of Fleming county, Ky., at the outbreak of the war. He was a model of physical as well as intellectual and moral manhood; polished and courtly, courageous and determined, with a voice as soft and winning as a woman’s, he was withal as true and generous as he was brave. His plan, which for shrewdness and boldness of conception remains unequalled in the annals of the rebellion, was approved by General Mitchell. Accordingly, on April 7, 1862, his call for volunteers was responded to by nine men from the 21st Ohio, seven from the 33d Ohio, and seven from the 2d Ohio. They met that night in a small clearing in the forest near Shelbyville; the service was explained to them, its perils fully portrayed, and all who desired given leave to withdraw. Every man promptly expressed his willingness to go, and amidst the crashing of thunder and flash of lightning of an approaching storm, they solemnly pledged their lives to the success of the enterprise. They then separated, each dressed in citizen’s clothes, with ample money for expenses, and arrived the following Friday at Marietta, a station twenty-one miles north of Atlanta on the Western & Atlantic R. R.




It had been previously arranged to meet at Marietta on Thursday night, but wet weather had delayed Captain Andrews’ men. On this, as proven by subsequent events, hinged the success of the expedition for had they had any other man to contend against than Captain W. A. Fuller, the conductor of the train they boarded, the expedition would probably have been successful, and the cause of the Confederacy received such a blow as to have changed the entire subsequent history of the rebellion. However, according to previous arrangements they boarded the early north-bound train at Marietta, which stopped at Big Shanty (about ten miles from Marietta), where the conductor, engineer and train hands proceeded to get breakfast; and while they were eating, Captain Andrews’ men took the places assigned them, quietly uncoupled the engine and three forward cars (empty box cars), and in the presence of hundreds of soldiers in the adjoining Camp McDonald sped away like the wind.




Conductor Fuller while eating breakfast was informed of what had occurred, and supposing the runaways were deserters, who after proceeding a few miles would desert the train and take to the woods, started off on foot in pursuit, followed by his engineer and one train hand, amid the derisive cheers of the soldiers of Camp McDonald, who sympathizing with. the supposed deserters called out: “Go it, old long legs! You’ll catch ‘em, if your wind holds out! Arriving at Moon’s station, two miles distant, he met some track hands, who informed him of the number of the fugitives, and that they had taken their tools from them and cut the telegraph wires. Realizing that these were not the acts of deserters, he conceived some idea of the real purpose of the fugitives and with a fertility of resource, courage and determination entered into a chase which was as remarkable on the part of the pursuer as the pursued, and brought it to a culmination that would not have been reached by one man, in 10,000 under similar circumstances. Taking a hand car the track hands had been using Fuller with his companions, now nearly fagged out, continued the chase, Fuller propelling the car by pushing, ,for it had no other propelling power, with occasional relief from his companions. At one place, where the fugitives had removed a rail, the car and load went pitching into a muddy ditch, but no serious damage was done.


At Etowah river was a short branch road leading to Cooper’s iron works, and when Fuller arrived here he found an old switch-engine called the “Yonah.” The Yonah was already fired up, and Fuller continued the pursuit at the rate of 60 miles an hour When the fugitives left Big Shanty they proceeded moderately, stopping several times between stations to cut the telegraph wires, and when obliged to atop at stations Captain Andrews explained to the station master that he was transporting three car-loads of ammunition to General Beauregard, and that Fuller’s train would follow. Andrews was familiar with the schedule, and was aware that a local freight would be met at Kingston, thirty-two miles from Big Shanty.


After passing this he intended to proceed with increased speed, burning the thirteen bridges as they passed over them. Fearing no pursuit, no precautions were taken, except cutting the wires and removing- one rail until Kingston was reached.




Arriving at Kingston Andrews learned of two extra freight trains, of which he had no previous knowledge, and was delayed more than an hour waiting for them to pass. This was a trying ordeal, for the station was surrounded with citizens and soldiers, who plied him with questions, and were with great difficulty prevented from opening the doors of the box cars in which were concealed twenty of his comrades. Andrews’ coolness and courage during this trial was sublime. Finally they succeeded in leaving the station, and after proceeding a few miles they stopped to cut the wires and tear up the track, and then started on at full speed.


About this time Fuller met the first freight coming out of Kingston. Jumping from the Yonah he and his men ran to the station and secured an engine just come in on the Rome branch, and followed on. Coming to where Andrews’ men had torn up the track, they again abandoned their engine; running ahead until they met the local freight which the fugitives had passed at Adairaville; backing


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II  the train to the siding, t they continued the pursuit with the engine.




In the meantime drew had stopped a short distance beyond Calhoun to cut the telegraph wire and remove a rail; just ahead was the first bridge they expected to burn. Not being aware of any pursuit, they were struck dumb with amazement at hearing the whistle of an approaching engine. Hastily boarding their train, they smashed the sides and end of the rear box car into kindling wood and piled it up ready to light when the. bridge was reached, expecting to have ample time while the pursuing party were engaged in replacing the rail they had removed, which they had rendered extra difficult by taking it out of curve. To their amazement, however, they saw the smoke of the pursuing engine looming up in the distance, haying passed over the curve without derailment. Nothing daunted, the kindling was removed to a forward car and the rear ear uncoupled to collide with the pursuing engine. Fuller reversed his engine met it without shock, and pushed the car before him; a second car was uncoupled with a like result. Relieved of the two cars, the Andrews party commenced to gain on their pursuers, so that after passing Resaea, they stopped again to cut the wires and place obstructions upon the track, which failed of the desired result. On and on the chase continued, the fugitives exerting every ingenuity for defeating the pursuit, but without effect. A singular fatality seemed to pursue the Andrews party, precautions that seemed certain of checking the pursuit failed; while every circumstance seemed to bend to the favor of the pursuers.




The wire was cut and the track obstructed for the last time just beyond Dalton, but too late to prevent a despatch from Capt. Fuller to Gen. Leadbetter, at Chattanooga. The remaining car was now cut loose and set on fire in the covered bridge beyond Dalton, but owing to the late frequent rains did not ignite the bridge before it was removed by the pursuing engine. Upon reaching a point twelve miles from Chattanooga, Capt. Andrews’ fuel and steam were exhausted, and it became necessary to abandon the engine and take to the woods separating, in hopes that some of the party might escape; but they were all captured, being tracked by dogs and overtaken before the Federal lines could be reached.




About two weeks after the capture, Capt. Andrews was tried upon the charge of being a spy and condemned to death. Seven others were tried on the same charge with the same result; of the remaining fourteen, eight escaped in Atlanta in Oct., 1862, and six were exchanged in March, 1863. A few days before the date set for the execution of Capt. Andrews he and John woolam escaped from their prison by cutting a hole in one of the planks in the wall of their prison, but were recaptured and brought back. A scaffold was erected for Andrews at Chattanooga, but owing to the fears of interference by sympathizing citizens (the daring exploit of Andrews and his companions having excited the admiration of the people) he was removed with his companions to Atlanta. On their arrival they were conducted to a building near at hand, while a brief consultation was held by those having the management of the affair. Soon a squad of soldiers led Capt. Andrews away. The parting scene was affecting in the extreme; his low, sad farewells were spoken in the calm, sweet tones characteristic of him.




A few days before his execution he had written a letter to a friend, in which he said: “I was captured on the 14th of April, 1863. I am satisfied I could easily have got away had they not put a pack of dogs on my trail; it was impossible to elude them. The death sentence seems a hard one for the crime proven against me, but I suppose the court that tried me thought otherwise. I have now calmly submitted to my fate and have been earnestly engaged in preparing to meet my God in peace, and I have found that peace of mind and tranquillity of soul that even astonishes myself. I never supposed it possible that a man could feel so entire achange under similar circumstances . . ..  Hoping that we may meet in that better country, I bid you along and last farewell.”


He was heavily ironed, placed in a carriage and hastily driven to the scene of execution, followed by an eager crowd, and his companions taken to the city jail.


The gallows had been erected in a small opening  in the forest, outside the city limits. The doomed man was allowed to make a few parting remarks; this he did in a calm, unimpassioned manner, saying that he had devoted his life to his country, and he was willing, if Providence so decreed, that it should be sacrificed. His manly words and proud bearing produced a profound impression, and the managers of the affair realizing the influence it was creating on the on-looking crowd, hastened the ceremony to prevent interference.


His remains were buried near the spot of his execution, but have since been removed to the National cemetery at Chattanooga.




On the 18th of June his seven companions who had been tried and sentenced were led out for execution; a brief time was allowed for prayer and the utterance of farewells. Little ceremony was used. The nooses were adjusted and all launched into eternity together. One of the number was so ill of fever that it was found necessary to hold him upright until the fatal moment arrived. An-


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other, William CAMPBELL, fell to the ground by the breaking of the rope; he was quickly carried back and hung again, not being allowed a moment’s respite for prayer, which he begged for. The only notice the local papers gave of the affair was that “seven more of the engine thieves were hung this morning.”


Following is a list of Capt. Andrews’ little band of heroes:


Executed in Atlanta: Wm. CAMPBELL, Geo. D. WILSON, Marion A. ROSS, Perry G. SHADRACK, Saml. ROBINSON, John SCOTT, James J. ANDREWS, Saml. SLAVENS.


Escaped in Atlanta: W. W. BROWN, engineer, Wm. KNIGHT, engineer, J. A. WILSON, J. R. PORTER, Mark WOOD, M. J. HAWKINS, John WOLLAM, D. A. DORSEY.




W. J. KNIGHT, the engineer in charge of the locomotive in the Andrews raid into Georgia, is now a resident of Stryker, Williams county, Ohio. Mr. KNIGHT wears the gold medal voted the raiders by Congress, which reads as follows:

                 The Congress

To Private William J. Knight, Company E,

Twenty-first Regiment, Ohio Volunteers.


Mr. Knight has prepared an illustrated lecture on the incidents of the famous raid, which has been delivered quite extensively for the benefit of Grand Army Posts in different localities.


Rev. Wm. PITTINGER, another of the survivors, and now a resident of New Jersey, has given a detailed account of the experiences of himself and fellow-raiders in a work entitled Daring and Suffering.”




Bryan has a neat, domestic. air, and is New England like in its general appearance. The court-house square is large and well shaded. It is the north-westernmost court-house in Ohio, and therefore it is but a short distance into the realms of Michigan, the land of the wolverines, and Indiana, the land of the Hoosiers, with the people of whom those in this corner of Ohio have more or less of business and social relations. The entire county, at the time of the issue of my first edition, had but about 6,000 population, and Bryan but a few hundred. Being densely wooded, emigrants passed this region of Ohio for the more easily tilled prairie lands farther west, and so it slowly filled up as recompense it got a solid, sturdy body of pioneers ready to swing axes into some of the hardest sort of wood. In the afternoon of November 23d I rode in a hack to West Unity, distance about ten miles, to see Dr. Frank O. HART, an active member of the Ohio Historical Society, and who has a fine cabinet of ancient relics. The ride over was pleasant, through a rich, level country. The farms are large, the farm-houses white, the barns have windows and are often painted red. As the landscape, woods and fields were brown and sere, the red barns enlivened the scenery. Many of them were immense, and filled with the fat of the land in the line of corn, wheat and oats. The wind pumps to draw the water were unusually plentiful. They add to the picturesque; so white farm-houses, red barns, apple orchards, wind pumps, level fields, tall woods and a gloomy November sky after a morning of showers, were objects to occupy my eyes as I passed along.




My companions were a single passenger, a young man, and the driver. In a few miles we came to a hamlet named Pulaski, the scene of a catastrophe the week before. A cyclone had passed over it like an infuriated demon, and seizing the church steeple in its fingers had twisted it off, and dashed it, as it were, contemptuously on to the ground. We passed by the ruins. It was, the driver said, the tallest steeple in the whole country around, and then he told me that four miles above was another church with a very tall steeple, and a farmer who was attending that church, and lived half way between the two, when this was erecting, promised that if the would build the steeple of the new church taller than the other he would leave that and contribute seventy-five dollars to the expense and take his family here “to meeting.” This they had done.


An old friend of mine in the long ago, when learning of a stranger coming into his village, never asked with the usual curiosity of a Yankee rustic, “What is he worth?” but “ Where does he go to meeting? “ And now that the tall steeple has gone it is a natural question to put, “Where does that half-way farmer now, go to meeting?”




Beyond the hamlet we passed a country graveyard with some ambitious monuments, for they were solid granite, with epitaphs glittering in gold. In the olden time it was considered morally wrong to speak in praise


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of a man to his face; it was ministering to vanity and pride, which was sinful. But when one was dead and buried, and good words were of no earthly comfort to him, they often made up for it by extravagant eulogy, which led an honest-spoken man, on visiting an old-style graveyard, to say, “Here lie the dead, and here the living lie.”




The country is level, giving broad views, with not much left in forest. The early settlers seemed to have such a spite against the woods that there is not, I am told, left a single one of the old magnificent forest trees in a village in the county, and probably not one before the door of any farm-house. There was altogether too reckless a swinging of the axe, and now they are all sorry. The country originally was well filled with black walnut trees, which, if left, in many cases would to-day have been of untold value. A single black walnut grown in this county—a veritable monarch of the forest—a few years ago, under competition from buyers, it is said, brought $1,000. We passed by a fence bounding the roadside, perhaps a quarter of a mile long, with palings of black walnut and posts of cedar. That fence was forty years old, and yet so valuable was it regarded after this long use that its owner refused to exchange a new fence of ordinary wood and one hundred dollars in cash. In the fields back of the fence were some of the stumps of the original black walnuts, and they are of much value. I am told that they are taken by car loads from this, the Black Swamp region of Ohio, to the eastern cities and sawed into veneering strips for furniture, the roots being rich in hue and beautiful in graining.




On my arrival at West Unity I found the doctor had gone up into Michigan on business, and yet there were many deaths on that very day in the village. The subjects, however, were not a kind to require his professional services, although they averaged at least one to each household. The explanation of this is that it was on the eve of Thanksgiving. As Yankee Hill used to slowly drawl it out as a piece of impressive wisdom:


When we are in Rome we must do

    as the Romans do;

And when we are in Turkey we must do as

    the Turkeys do.”


So when in a Christian land we must do as the Christians do; that is, on Thanksgiving Day eat the turkeys. That was what these West Unitarians, being thoroughly orthodox, were preparing to do, smacking their lips withal, as it were, in anticipation.


I know of no prettier, morally grateful sight than the gathering at the Thanksgiving board of old and young, with their happy, smiling face in the beginning of the feast, their eyes fastened in expectancy upon some huge gobbler lying upon an ample platter ready for their service; lying flat on his back, his legs well up in the air, and he looking so dainty, well stuffed and cooked, and “done to a T,” with that nicely browned coat upon him, where shade blends into shade of varying beauty tints. They talk about the Bird of Paradise, but he is nowhere compared to the Thanksgiving turkey, which, being offered up as a heart oblation, should be called the Bird of Gratitude.




It was not until the close of the neat day, Thanksgiving, that the doctor arrived from the land of the wolverines and after a ride of thirty-five miles over a frozen hobbly road and in a cruel, chilling wind. He had caught a severe cold, but by the free use of quinine and onion pellets prevented its tarrying. Onions are a great nervine and refreshment. In a tiny onion pellet is the concentrated strength of an entire onion. A department commander, who had great experience on the plains, told me that after a hard day’s march nothing was so refreshing and invigorating to the soldiers as the eating of a raw onion. A drink of raw whiskey was nothing to it as a restorer from extreme fatigue. He did not, however, commend either alone, or even the union of both, as altogether judicious for a breathing emanation prior to one’s entree into a polite assemblage.




The doctor is a lover of animals, and. this to any one enhances the interest in life. He gave two or three anecdotes, which I repeat for the amusement of my children readers.


The first is a cat story. In the course of this work are plenty of stories of bears, wolves, snakes, and children getting lost in the woods, and these will help out the variety. It all appertains to life, the animals having taken passage in the same boat with ourselves.


Tom, the doctor’s white cat with the beautiful fur, was present, and came rubbing against me, tail up and back arched, when the doctor said: “When I take my easy-chair Tom is fond of jumping into my lap He does not like cigar smoke very much, and when I’m smoking watches me until I finish and have thrown the end away, when up he comes.




One day I sat smoking, and being busy in meditation I dropped off into a sort of doze. My cigar went out, and I remained holding the stump between my lips. Seeing my somniferous condition Tom gave a spring into my lap, crawled up to my face, and then turned partly round, and with a poke of his paw knocked the stump out of my mouth on to the floor. Then, he cuddled down into my lap and began purring. I never was more


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surprised. I felt almost like stopping smoking at the thought of a dumb animal like Tom teaching me such a lesson.”




It was a good cat story, but I thought I had a better, and thus told it. “My once city home had a cellar-kitchen, an abomination from which you country folk are free. To get out of it into the back yard were three steps. The yard outside was on a level with the kitchen window. The kitchen table where food was prepared was on a level with and against the window. Our ‘Old Grey’ was a mother cat. Over her eyes as over all grey cats, were some black lines forming the letter W, which might have signified war. However that may have been, she had much of what is called ‘character,’ and, as this incident I now relate shows, an innate sense of the proper and fitting. The time of this incident was a summer morning Our girl Mary was at the table preparing food for breakfast; I think they were cod-fish balls. Old Grey was seated demurely on the kitchen floor watching her. There appeared at the window outside the last of Old Grey’s kittens that had escaped the drowning. It came in, and annoying Mary she gently put it down on the floor, for she was fond of kittens, when it ran out up the steps into the yard and again came into the window, Old Grey still watching in all her furry dignity. Mary again gently put it on to the floor, when it again ran out and appeared at the window the third time, Old Grey still watching. Then she acted as though she had thought: `Now I’ll stop this impertinence. Mary is a good girl; you sha’ n’t bother her so; she will never be able to get her breakfast ready in this world.’ So she sprang up on to the window-sill, met her kitten, boxed its ear, drove her back, and it came no more.” Here were exhibited the identical qualities of the human mind—observation, reflection and judgment; and yet a president of one of the first colleges of our land once said to me, “Animals have no reflection.”


Poor Old Grey not long after this considerate act act left these mortal scenes. She was seized with an incurable and infectious disease, so the doctor said, and that it was dangerous, as she might communicate it not only to other animals, but to human beings. That opinion was her doom. It was a dreadful thing to do; but somebody had to do it, so I took a tin boiler, put in it a sponge saturated with chloroform, and called her to me.She came with alacrity at my summons, looking upon me as her best friend. She lay in my arms gentle as a lamb, all confidence, supremely happy, and purred in joy. Proceeding but a few yards I laid her softly in the bottom of the boiler, shut the cover down tight, and awaited the event. In a few moments there was a great rustling noise inside as though there was some object there going round and round, and then it suddenly ceased. The I knew Old Grey had been overcome by the fumes and was passing away. A grave was made for her in the garden, and with some of the bystanders there was a swelling of the throat, and their eyes yielded the tribute of a tear. And to this day none of us who knew Old Grey can think of her without a pang. And it did us no good afterwards to learn that the medical man was one of those who knew altogether too much; the disease was not dangerous to any one, and was easily cured. The heart that cannot feel another’s woe, even if it be but an humble, dependent animal, will never see the kingdom of heaven, at least that part of it that sometimes bends down to earth.




The doctor followed with a wolf story: “In 1882 a friend sent me from Kansas a babe wolf, and so young that it had not opened its eyes. It grew to be a very kindly, timid and frolicsome animal. When I entered the house it sprang to meet me with all the joyous manifestations of a dog. It was very fond of my little girl, and once seized her doll and ran with it under the table. Upon this she sat down on the floor and cried. Taking pity upon her the wolf brought it back and laid it at her feet. Then when she took it up again he jumped and capered around her, as though he could scarcely contain himself for joy.


“The wolf followed me about the streets like a dog. Few, however, reccgnized it as a wolf; strangers generally thought it a new variety of the dog family. His weight was about forty pounds; but if he heard any unusual noise he would run to me for protection, being exceedingly timid. I taught him to howl, so that he would do so by a mere wave of the hand. It was a most horrid noise, which became at last such a nuisance to ourselves and neighbors that we were obliged to get rid of him.”




As the doctor finished the wolf anecdote, I changed for one of a different character, and said: “Last Sunday I dined with a young couple who had married but a few years before, and then as usual started on their wedding tour. Not a soul could have guessed its objective point for the .passing their ‘honeymoon.’ It is not probable any other couple living has had such an experience. It was to the White House that they had been invited by their friends, its occupants, Mr, and Mrs. Hayes. On telling me this the lady followed it with another. ‘When I was a little girl, going home from school with other girls we passed by a door where General Grant was sitting quietly smoking his cigar. He stopped us, chatted a while, and finally took me in his arms and kissed me. Nothing exactly satisfies in this world, for when I had ran home and told my mother, she expressed her regret that I did not have on my pretty new dress.’ ”


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After giving these incidents of proud memory, to relate I trust in the coming years to her grandchildren, her youthful husband invited me to an after-dinner walk. As from the grave to the gay is the usual ending on the mimic stage, i here reverse it, and go from the gay to the grave. It was to the only spot where on a Sunday in my early days one could go for a stroll without, in the opinion of some estimable people, violating “God’s holy day”—a graveyard.


The day was what is called a weather breeder—clear, sunny, still—and the graveyard old and little, and near the banks of the Sandusky, and here I copied this quaint inscription:


“Prince Howland, Jr. Died October 7, 1817,aged 24 years.


“DEATH, bungling archer,

Lets his arrow fly; Misses old age,

And lo a youth must die.”


WEST UNITY is ten miles northeast of Bryan, on the L. S. & M. S. R. R. Newspaper: Chief, Independent, C. F. GRISIER, editor and publisher. Churches: 1 Methodist Episcopal, 1 United Brethren; 1 Presbytertan, and 1 Church of God Bethel. Population, 1880, 884.School census, 1888, 265.


PIONEER is fourteen miles north of Bryan. It is an important wool market, and a large creamery leads in its industries. Newspaper  Tri-State Alliance, Independent Republican; C. J. DeWITT, editor. Churches: 1 United Brethren 1 Methodist Episcopal; 1 Baptist. Population,1880, 754. School census,18885 189.


STRYKER is nine miles northeast of Bryan , on the L. S. & M. S. R. R. News-paper: Advance, Independent, Kitzmiller & Son, editors and publishers. Churches: 1 Universalist; 1 Methodist; 1 United Brethren; 1 Catholic.Poplation, 1880, 662. School census, 1888, 367; W. A. SAUNDERS, superintendent schools. .


EDGERTON is ten miles west of Bryan, on the L. S. & M. S. R. R. Newspaper: Earth, Independent, Charles W. KRATHWOHL, editor and publisher. Churches: 1 Methodist Episcipal; 1 Presbyterian; 1 Disciple; 1 Lutheran; 1 Catholic and 1 Reformed. Bank: Farnham & Co. Population, 1880, 782. School census, 1888 328; J. R. WALTON, superintendent schools.

MONTPELIER is eight miles northwest of Bryan, on the St. Joseph’s river and W. St. L. & P. R. R. Its principal industries are the manufactures of oars and handles, hardwood lumber, flouring, brick and tile. Newspapers: Democrat, Democrat, WILLETT & Ford, editors and publishers; Enterprise, Republican, Geo. STRAYER, editor and publisher. Churches:1 United Brethren; 1 Methodist; 1 Episcopal; 1 German Lutheran and 1 Presbyterian.Bank: Montpelier Banking Company; James DROGOO, president; M. E. GRISHWOLD, cashier.Population, 1880, 406. School census, 1888, 324.


EDON is fifteen miles northwest of Bryan, Population, 1880, 513. Sohool census, 1888, 194.


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