Throwback Thursday

Family of John and Ellen Cole.
 Ben, Kate, William,  ? ,  Liz
Lew,  ? , Clarence (my Grandfather) Ellen, Avis, John

The Cole Story

As set down by Henry S. Cole in the winter of 1926 -1927.

        

         William H. Cole was born April 21, 1811 near Great Barrington in western part of Massachusetts.

His father was Leander Cole and his mother’s maiden name was Candace Huggins, who died at the age of 28 after giving birth to William H. and Aliva, a year or two older.

Aliva married a man named Fuller, and lived her married life and died in Rome, New York. She had a daughter, Jennie.

Leander Cole married a second time and his wife survived him many years. His death occurred July 7, 1822.

By his second wife he had three sons, Joshua, John, and Alvin.

I remember this woman; she came to Ohio and kept house for Joshua about three miles from our place. She died there when I was a small boy and was the only grandparent living when I was born.

Leander Cole died when William H. was 11 years old (July 7, 1822). Leander was cared for by his grandfather; Asa Cole

When he, William was 21, he became master of the sum of five thousand dollars from his father’s estate, and at once started west to seek his fortune.

The Erie Canal was then the only route by which one could travel west. It started at the Hudson in New York and ended at Buffalo on Lake Erie.

He took passage on a canal boat, as he could not walk and carry his luggage, and most of the way was through dense woods.

I have often heard him tell of getting off the boat with a companion or two, and walking along the tow path until tired, then sitting down to rest and wait for the boat to catch up.

Arriving after a long time at Buffalo he took passage on a sailing vessel for the Village of Cleveland, across the lake, in Northern Ohio. This was considered fast traveling, but he did not enjoy it, for the lake was rough and he heaved with the vessel.

He finally reached Cleveland, and hearing of some people from Massachusetts, who had settled east of Cleveland, he went eight miles in that direction and bought 80 acres of heavy timbered land. This was 1833.

Settlers were few and far between, with only a few acres cleared on which to raise food, so they lived largely on game, which was very plentiful.

My father started clearing land by felling the trees in windrows and burning them when sufficiently dry.

I have seen much country but never have I seen such heavy timber as grew in Northern Ohio. There was beech, yellow poplar, chestnut, hickory, and much hard or sugar maple. The poplars grew largest, some a hundred feet high and seven feet across, with scarcely a knot, and few limbs. They made the lumber and shingles known as Whitewood.

Chestnuts also grew very large; these made the rails for rail fences, and furnished nuts, which were good eating.

My father built a small log cabin, and, when he was 25 he married Lavina Gleason, then 18 years old. She had moved to the Big Woods with her parents when she was 2 years of age

.

They also had come from Great Barrington, Massachusetts, but were not known to my father, (William) there.

If there is any glory in being a Yankee we have it to the limit.

I will say of our mother that she was the best women who ever lived and each of her 10 children fairly worshipped her.

William Cole and Lavina Gleason were married in 1836.

Children

Mary, 1837 - 1902. Married D.W. Gage.

Aliva, 1839 -?, married Lee Davis.

         Alvin, 1842 – 1924, married Ann Durant

         Susan, 1842 - 1907, married Homer Foster.

                   (Alvin and Susan were twins.)

Candace, 1843 – 1845

The family now had a frame house, 20’ x 32”.

         Laura, 1844 -?, married Ellsworth Holmes.

         *John, 1846 - 1925, married Ellen Gordon, died in 1913.

         Henry, 1848 – ?, married Mary A. Perkins. (The author of this history.)

         Arthur, 1853 – 1906, married Margaret Graham.

         William, 1855 - 1922, married Louise Perkins

         Julia, 1857 – 1892, married Vanderlin Chamberlain.

        

         About 1854 my father William, who sometime before acquired 20 adjoining acres of land, built a sawmill, also a shingle mill. The mills were owned jointly with Milo Gleason, who was the eldest of my mother’s brothers.

         Again the house was enlarged by building to both the rear and the front.

         A large barn and a corn barn were built. Already there had been two large barns with hog houses and sheds, and from a distance the place looked like a village.

         The house had 16 rooms, not including closets. It faced south and had a porch 32’ long. One room upstairs was called the chamber and was 20’ x 32’. This room contained the beds of the male members of the household and the hired men.

         It was very warm, as through it rose the great chimney that served the fireplaces that heated the dining room and one parlor. The dining room was 20’ x 32’ and the two parlors were each 25’ x 25’.

         The ashes dropped from the grate to a vat in the cellar and in the spring this was the leaching vat where the soap was made.

         The beds were straw filled ticks on supports of rope criss-crossed over the bed frame.

         The house was always well painted, and surrounded by a picket fence enclosing a yard about an acre in extent, with shade and fruit trees.

         It was the largest house in many miles and was well furnished.

         We had boughten carpet and upholstered furniture and a stove in the best parlor.

         When I (Henry) was a born my father bought another 60 acres and had one of the two or three largest farms in Warrensville Township, Cuyahoga County, Ohio.

         Farms in Ohio were generally small, but there was no race suicide, most families having a dozen children. “Race Suicide” is the voluntary failure of members of a race or people to have a number of children sufficient to keep the birth rate equal to the death rate.

         One of my earliest recollections is of lying in a homemade cradle, in the shed and being butted by an old ram, and of being rescued by my brother John, only two years older. He was always very strong for his age, and he straddled the ram’s neck and jammed his head in the ground, asking, “Who are your bunting?” That ram was a holy terror, and when I or either Mary, Aliva or Laura appeared he would charge, and we hiked up for the house.         Susan, who was strong and courageous as a boy, and John could master him. I think my father kept him for the humorous situations he created.

         Our schools were much the same as those in Iowa; ours were in the center of the township and was once taught by James A. Garfield (president of the U.S. March 1881 – September 1881) He was not considered any great shakes then. He was a tall green chap with light complexion. I could relate things not greatly to his credit, but I suppose all great men have their failings.

         The school was a long, low frame building with a partition across the center; two teachers were employed.

         I (Henry) was not named until I was five years old, but went by the name of “Baby Cole”. When Arthur was born, the family, knowing it would be confusing to have two babies “Cole” had me choose a name; my father suggested Henry, so I chose that.

         Teachers were poorly paid. Male teachers got about $15.00; $18.00 (week or month?) was the top. Female teachers rated a $1.75 per week. We always had men teachers in the winter, and they were chosen more for their muscle than their learning. Muscle was a great factor in the government of country schools at this time, and I have known three different men to be tested in one term, before finding one that would do.

         I remember one teacher named Perry who enlisted the interest his school, and created an enthusiasm for learning. He used moral suasion, but he kept a bunch of hickory switches on hand in case of emergency. I was about seven and became interested in learning because he offered twenty-five cents for the best speller in my class, which stood in a row nearly the length of the room. I won the prize, and my father gave me another quarter. Quite a piece of money.

         I was a bit of a family pet until Arthur was born, then I was made a useful member of the household.

         We kept about forty milk cows, and I was wheedled into trying my had on a gentle heifer and when I succeeded in coaxing milk from her, I was proud and bragged and showed how I did it; and found I had a permanent job which was never relinquished until I left the farm.

         It was my job to drive the cows to and from pasture half mile away. As small stones were numerous, I amused myself on the way, and became rather an expert. I could kill birds and squirrels, and step up the laggards in the herd. I once killed a cow with a small stone. She had turned around in the gap and prevented the other cows from going through, so I hurled a stone. I was alarmed when the cow fell down that I abandoned the cattle and cut across for home, where I expected a licking. The family was at supper and when I told them there was a cow down at the gap and my father asked what had happened and I said I knocked her down, he want at once with my older brothers. To my amazement I was not even scolded.

         The war came on, and during 1862 – 3 – 4 we made pretty good money. The two older boys having enlisted, I had much work to do. Now we had no hired men, but there was always a hired girl or two who helped with the milking. We raised little cultivated stuff, three or four acres of corn and oats, and our own vegetables. In addition to other work, I chopped and hauled wood to Cleveland during the winter. I think I worked as hard, and as much entitled to a pension as my brothers in the army, but so far the ungrateful government has not seen it that way.

         My brother John was only 16 when he enlisted, but he was pretty husky. He stood 6’2” in his stockings at the time. My mother worried much over her two soldier boys, and she sent many boxes of butter, cakes, and maple sugar, and other luxuries the government did not provide.

         The country was not in good shape for war, and communities were not organized to help, until late in the war. The first men faired fairly badly. There were stirring times, and I was of an age (14 – 16) to be deeply impressed.

         The Battle of Bull Run cast a gloom over the country – many feared the rebels were going to invade the north, and burn the cities; and, if they had realized the advantage they had, they would have taken Washington.

         My sister, Mary, married at the age of 18. She married a young lawyer, D.W. Gage. He had previously been a school teacher in our district. I am greatly indebted to both of them, for I lived with them as a member of the family and obtained the finish of my education during the three years I spent with them. (Note; At this time he attended Cleveland U.)

         I had gone to school both summer and winter until I was 14, then I was needed on the farm summers but went to school winters and as I absorbed learning easily, I was rather well advanced. When I was 15 a female teacher, Martha Hewett, taught our school and I was the most advanced pupil. I got more than my share of her attention, and was much indebted to her for taking me rapidly forward. She was a graduate of Cleveland High School, nice looking, and though much older than I, I thought I was in love.

She advised me to apply for a teacher’s certificate which I did. I went up for examination, passed and received a certificate to teach when I was 16. I was at once hired to teach the home school. I taught the first term at $25.00 per month, the next term I received $30.00.

In 1865 the boys came home from the army. Alvin had married Ann Durant who had come with her parents from England. They had a child, Alice.

John was 19, and as fine a specimen of physical manhood as I have ever seen. He neglected his education so he now attended a select school. He was naturally bright but could not boast of much progress in school.

Laura married Ellsworth Holmes who at the time was a mail carrier in Cleveland. They had four children who at the time of this writing were all dead.

Susan married Homer Foster, afterwards a successful commission merchant on South Water Street Chicago.  A girl, Ruth is living of this family – two boys are dead.

My (Henry) father (William )was 54 when he caught the western fever, sold the home farm, and with Alvin started to reconnoiter for another location.

They went first to Muskegon, Michigan where among sand and giant pines, they found my uncle Ryan on a homestead, living on turnips which grew scantily in the sand.

My father wanted none of it so returned – then with my mother looked over Illinois. Here they liked it better but not enough to buy.

In the winter of 1865, father and Alvin took a trip to Iowa; liking the central part, father bought 390 acres near Ames, after he bought 80 acres north of Nevada. He paid $4600.00 for the 390 acres.

We lived stayed in the old house with the other family, but there was plenty of room. In early spring we began to get ready for the trip west.

We boxed most of the household goods, and took everything including the cook stove and barrel of pork.

Alvin and I (Henry) were selected to come with the car, which also contained the horses. I had seen railroad cars but never been on one and Alvin’s experience was the same. We were told the car would start from the junction on the west side. A switch engine was pulling some cars about, one of which was ours. We learned that when the train was made up a caboose would be would be attached in which we would ride, so we eased up a bit to wait, then watched the train pull out, sans way car and us.

A man told us the train was pulling out, when the rear and was not far past. We took a run for it. At first we gained and could almost touch the last car, then it became an even race and we buckled to it desperately. Then the train began to gain, and after a half mile or strenuous running we gave up, feeling decidedly foolish.

We took a passenger train which overtook the freight about half way to Toledo. There was still no caboose, so we rode the top of the car. It was April 17, (1865) and was cloudy, damp, and we rode for hours, through and extensive swamp, filled with water, vegetation, and chills and ague. We nearly perished, but no way to get out of it, so we rode to Toledo. There we got off the train we determined to keep our car in sight. When the switch engine whisked it away, we raced back and forth with it, among the thousands of cars in the yards. Finally it eluded us and a man who saw us frantically searching, told us to go to a lighted building where we would find a string of cabooses and we could get into the one whose number gave us, and go to sleep. As there was nothing else we could do, we did as he advised and when we woke up, we were in southern Michigan.

We had brought food and pails of water for the horses but we were to eat where the trainmen did. Our experiences mad us wary of leaving our car, and we had nothing to ear for over twenty-four hours. The fare we got then was stinking steak and rotten eggs, but we were hungry.

In Chicago we changed from the M.S. + N.I. to the C + NW. Ry. At the Wells Street station we got the C + NW car, unloaded out goods and repacked them.

 We had unloaded the horses in the yards and led them to a stable. Chicago at the time had no hard surfaced streets, at least where we were, some were planked, but we led our horses through miles and mile and mud like black tar. We were misdirected or misunderstood directions several times. We got comfortable bed and good meals at a hotel and next day we started on, and had a comfortable bed and good meals at a hotel next day we started on, and had a comfortable trip as far as DeKalb. Here we found one of the horses very sick and kicking things to pieces, so we had the car set out and got the horses unloaded. Although it was midnight, we found a Veterinarian who took the horses to his barn, and cared for them. We went to a hotel, and next day being Sunday, we were unable to leave until evening.

At Clinton we dipped water from the river for the horses. At Belle Plaine the caboose was a box car which was very uncomfortable; it had hard wooden seats and not enough of them. An emigrant family was added to our fellow travelers. An old lady wore the pants and had a gift for making known when she was abused, and the way she went for the car, the railroad company and it’s employees was both entertaining and satisfactory. So much so that the engineer of a push engine threatened to run his engine under the caboose and shove it from the track if she did not cease her tirade.

We got to Ames after 7 days, arriving in the middle of the night. I jumped off the train and landed in water to my knees. There were few houses in the town, and we bunked on the floor at the home of the agent. Nothing since has tasted so good as the ham and eggs we had for breakfast. There was no depot at Ames, no platform where could unload. We borrowed some plank at the lumber yard, and made sort of a ramp and led the horses down and got the wagon off and put it together and were loading the household goods when my father came. He had come ahead of the train. A man standing by told Father not to load too heavily, or we might get stewed. We, never having heard the term applied to mire, felt insulted as where we came from it meant getting drunk, we paid no heed to the advice. We started off, and coming to an innocent looking patch of moist ground, drove on unsuspecting. Soon both houses were down. We got them unhitched and extricated, but the state of the wagon seemed hopeless. Among the effects was a log chain, a long one. We led the horses far enough away to be sure of firm footing, and attached the chain to the end of the wagon tongue. The horses were large and strong, so succeeded in pulling the wagon out. Without any more trouble, we reached our new home, a two story log house on a bluff overlooking the Skunk River.

I had one place pictured in my mind, but it did not resemble what we found. There was a family of five still living in the house, and they continued to live there until mid-summer.

Mr. Riddle, from whom we bought the land, was confined to the house in the last stages of consumption, and a girl about 24 died in the house a few days after we arrived.

A week later the rest of the family arrived, and the house was crowded. There were Father, Mother, Alvin and his wife and Alice, Aliva, John, myself (Henry), Arthur, William, and Julia. Mary, Susan, and Laura were married and living in Cleveland.

The house was in the timber. We had 200 acres of it, mostly hardwood, oak, and hickory. We could have bought land on the prairie for half as much, but no one lived on the prairie; although that would have been a better investment at the same price as timber. There was no income from the timber, except the scanty pasture, and what we needed for fuel.

There was 75 acres in cultivation and we proceeded to plant corn with a hoe as we had in Ohio. We had a fair crop.

The Agricultural College was only foundation high and I was anxious to finish my education. My father was going back to attend to some business so I went back with him to Ohio and stayed with my sister Mary and her family while attending college.

The next year (1866) I went out and taught the old home school, boarding year round, so long for each pupil. Boarding year round was not unpleasant, most people expended themselves and put out the best for the teacher, but there were few Germans whose food I could not get used to, neither sleeping under a feather tick. School finished I went back to college and that fall I entered the office of my brother-in-law D.W. Gage to study.

In the spring my health had given way – I was used to active out-of-door life, and close application indoors seemed bad for me. I decided to go West again. I had not liked Iowa, but it seemed heaven to me now; and my health began to mend, though it was years before I was able to study again.

In 1869 I began to teach again, this time in our home district in Iowa. Summers I worked on the farm for D.W. Gage, who had come out and bought a farm. This I did for three years.

My mother, Lavina died in 1870 and there was great grief in the family.

There was no cemetery in Ames, so a bit of the farm was fenced for a cemetery and she was buried there.

In 1872 my brother Arthur, having had pneumonia the winter before, continued unwell and we feared tuberculosis, so I went with him to West Virginia.

It was a long and tedious journey. We stopped in Cleveland, going there to Wheeling, West Virginia. There we took a boat and went down the Ohio River to Huntington – from there we went by train to the interior via the Chesapeake and Ohio railroad. We went through the Allegheny Mountains on a stage coach, stayed all night at the Widow Tarry’s and then went by coach to Lewisburg, ten miles west of White Sulphur Springs, the great watering places of the south. We stayed there three months. Arthur, somewhat improved, wanted to go home.

We went east into Virginia and north to Washington back to Wheeling by B+O and N to Cleveland.

Arthur went on to Iowa and I spent a month with my sister, Laura in Cleveland and Susan in Chicago.

Homer Foster and Ellsworth Holmes had come out to Ames in 1869 and started a hardware store; with their capital being limited they were forced to run on a cash basis.

Cash being the scarcest thing in Iowa at the time, they did a meager business, and about three years later (1872) sold out, and Holmes went back to Cleveland and Foster to Chicago.

Holmes prospered in Cleveland and at one time was worth a great deal.

Foster became a commission merchant on South Water Street and at his death had a good business and quite a lot of property. He was an able man, and had he studied law he would have gone far. He was quite a public speaker.

My visit in Chicago was soon after the great fire and the town was desolate.

Upon my return to Ames, I again taught school.

In 1973 the Gages (my sister Mary’s) family returned to Cleveland (from Iowa), having concluded that the law promised better returns than the farm and mules. His sale of their property brought around $5,000.00. Still his western venture had not been profitable. D. Gage was as fine a man as I have ever known. He was a great tempered man and spent much time and money for that cause. He was a very good friend to me.

In 1873 I married Mary A. Perkins. I had practically nothing but my salary as a teacher. I was married in June and spent that summer working for Alvin on the farm. That winter I moved to the west wing of the farm home of my father, still teaching the home school. In the spring William and I rented the home place, putting 130 acres in crops. Grain was so cheap we did not sell any. In the spring of 1875 I contracted to buy 40 acres near by (known as Chamberlain place). I had a small house and here we lived until March, 1882, farming summers and teaching winters. 

Everything produced on the farm was very cheap during these years. Corn – 12 cents to 15 cents, butter – 9 cents, eggs – 5 cents, hogs – 2 ½ cents – 3 cents, but I accumulated some stock and in 1882 had about $6,000.00.

William,  having served an apprenticeship under his brother John as a brick maker, we thought to go into that.

The C + NW had decided to make a division point in Wright County naming the place Eagle Grove.

We pulled out for that place and located on the James Quackenbush farm southwest three miles from Eagle Grove, were we found clay suitable to our purpose.

Our father loaned us $500.00 and we were soon in operation. Our first kiln contained 100,000 brick, they moved very slowly as lumber was cheap and houses were hastily thrown together, to house the families the railroad was bringing in. We made 200,000 more and stopped for winter.

I bought a lot in town and built a small cottage that fall and we moved in early winter.

We had been living in a shanty on the brick yard. Next year we made 350,000 brick.

In 1883 the directors of the school decided to establish a high school, there having been a one room school on each side of the railroad where all the grades were taught.

I was elected to teach in the high school which was in a store building located at the now address of 121 N. Commercial.

In 1884 we found brick clay just south of the limit of Original town and I bought 2 acres of and the next two years we made brick there.

In January 1885 my wife died leaving me with 4 small children, the eldest being 11 years old.

I sold my interest in the brick yard to my brother Will and worked for a time for the railroad company.  That fall, one of the Justices of Peace having moved I was appointed to the place and elected many terms, but when the Australian ballot system was adopted I could run only on the Democratic ticket, I finally lost to a Republican.

Aliva was the first of our family to go, her death occurred only a few days before that of Julia, the youngest. (year of death not mentioned here).Aliva had married late in life to a man much younger than herself and employed on the farm by our father, His name was Lee Davis. With him she left Ames in a lumber wagon to seek a new home and she died somewhere in Arkansas and we did not know of her death until some time had passed.

Our father (William) died in 1895, then the body of our mother was exhumed and both are buried in the Ames municipal cemetery.

Mary and Susan died, each at age 65. Laura died at age 72; Arthur at age 53; Alvin at age 82; Will died at age 67; John at age 79 and I am waiting at the age of 80, being the last of my family.

My own family is Gertrude Louise, born on the Gage farm April 12, 1874; Ida Bell, born on the home place September 13, 1976, Frances Edward, born on the Chamberlain-Cole place September 29, 1878, William Henry, born in the brickyard shanty south of Eagle Grove, August 1, 1882.

I have been very fortunate in my children. They have never caused me trouble of any kind but have been a source of comfort to me always and are now  married and prosperous, honorable and upright.