John is mapping the giant lake for three months. Being an engineer for the Army is a life long ambition, but mapping unexplored
south Florida and the huge Lake Okeechobee is an overwhelming challenge with its 350,000 acres of water and islands full of predators and indians.
Later in the century farmers would discover that the lake is surrounded by fourteen foot deep peat bog full of nutients to make vegetables growing in it huge,
sometimes splitting from too much nitrogen.The lake is like a bowl that catches alot of the rainwater drainage from the middle of state. Many times over the century
the lake over flowed grew to 500,000 acres and when it receeded it left behind decaying leaf and vegetation, loamy soil with the rich ground heavy with nutrients.
Farming and fishing was lucrative there until the Hurricane of "26" which devastated the area.
The vicious Seminole Indians were at home here at the lake they call "Lake Walk Across". They control the area and might take the time to kill you if you were a white man, especially
in the Army!.
The Army has the tribe bunched up here at this lake and have had stiff resistance. They came from north Florida when they were driven from their lands, again and again.
It was easy to understand their resentment to Andrew Jackson and the white American settlers he took their lands for. The Army took the indian s farms and hunting lands and
gave them to the settlers, that would anger most folk.
John finished his dried venison last night and really needs to catch some grub for dinner. Bone-tired,John’s sag increases to a slouch as he
waits for his midnight catfish. At a waterhole today he saw a pack of wild cat, 4 or 5 together, some big wild boar and cattle, a cypress head with moccasins
every place he tried step forward, over a hundred and he just backed out of the head and found another waterhole for his water and to see where the animals came from and who went
there for water. It had been one of those days and he never found any varmit worth eating.
As an exhausted John fishes a plant or maybe a turtle floats innocently down the creek. As this floats by John’s survivalist instinct prickles the back of his neck.
His wild-eyed horse bolts into the black dark woods apparently feeling a little jumpy himself. Too late to react to the blur of white water, John sees an
alligator
twice his size at his feet.This gator was wider than his horse, no wonder he ran off. He was over 5 foot across his back and stunk of mud real strong.
Quicker than half a flash the giant reptile spins around breaking both of John’s legs with his tail. This alligator means business as it bites down
on John’s thigh and starts rolling over and over faster than John can scream.
All that can be heard are the deadly sounds of slaps, and crunches amongst hollow sounding thuds.
The huge beast busts Johns head open on the ground, it was a tender mercy considering the numerous injuries the gator inflicted, surely breaking every bone in
his body as this monster shakes John out like a cat would shake a rat in his stinking, reptilian maw.
After another minute of death rolls the gator seems to feel a little more relaxed with
his dinner. I guess this very thorough gator had lost a few kills sneaking off when he thought they were dead and secured.
Bigger than life, this black,glimmering gator seems to smile with John's leg in its mouth.
The smiling gator lays on top of poor John, his bone crushing 750 pound body smashing what is left of our engineer while thoughtfully looking off into the woods.
Then after his inexplicable pause, with Johns leg firmly in his dinosaur like, three and a half foot long jaws the giant gator leisurely slides back in the
creek with his future dinner. He will get to eat after he hides it and lets John rot a few days, then the gator would feel John was ready to eat.
Deep down inside the gator must be very frustrated. He didn’t catch the horse and it would last a month”.
Tough breaks were common for that big gator, he had lived through
40 years of survivalist training at Lake Okeechobee. At one point he was 12 inches long and did not weigh a quarter-pound. Big bass and many birds,
waders or birds of prey plus any gator bigger than him was apt to eat him. He had two feet of his tail missing from a near death experience and his
left eye was white and blind from a fight with a Great Blue Heron he ate one day a few years ago. Being 13 foot long and 750 pounds he was not in too much danger
anymore, but he did like his meals big.
A couple of Seminole braves up the creek a little came out of the dark and one said "Woowee, that gator done ate that boy, let's go get his horse"
The two Seminole teenagers were watching John, drawn to his location with his flames, they saw his campfire as soon as they rounded the bend in the swift moving Fisheating Creek
on their way home from the big river dumping in the north end of the lake. They had set in the woods and watched the gator attack and the killing of the young surveyor,
poor John. The two braves knew better than to stand on the bank of the lake like that. They had seen big gators attack their tribes duggouts and come up on land at their
home down by fisheating creek. Them old gators would come into the village from the water and eat dogs, goats and people if they can catch 'em. The young brave's momma would cook a
big gator in a barrel of boiling water over her lighter-knot fire to get rid of the strong muddy flavor a big gator has. Poor John had a gun but the young braves father would only need
a sharp stick, like his lighterknot walking sticks he carried when in the swamps and around the village. He would run it in his eye as far as he could if the gator had jumped him,
that is how momma would get the gator in the pot.
One of the first to think they were taming Florida's wilderness was DeSoto, he landed in Charlotte Harbor in 1539. Once on land he marched his
army inland. During this march he apparently lost pigs,cattle and horses to the wild swamps. Between his orange seeds sprouting groves and his errant
farm animals creating robust feral populations he shaped the state and his impact is still felt today.
The Caloosa tribes put up a fierce defense to DeSoto's invasion,although the european challange eventually killed the tribes with fever.
This gentleman surveyer who was ate by the gator and Desoto faced Florida during one or another of its many challenging eras. Even now all Florida creatures have to face
the Alligator in its ambush. Many early explorers, sailors and cattlemen lost their lives to the sharks, alligator, insects, poisonous snakes and worse yet
their fellow man.Lets not forget the hurricanes and their tornadoes removing any sign of civilization as fast as it was made.
Only a wiry, sun bleached, tough Son-of Gun will survive daily to come back after Florida’s challenges.
We will enjoy their spirited courage with their faults, the Bartows and their in-laws were some of the first 600 american families in Florida.
Chapter One
Jethro Polk went to Florida with Andy Jackson to drive the Cherokees West. With that job over he returned to Florida because he liked its unclaimed
wilderness. Countless wild cattle roamed the palmettos, oak hamlets and swamps presented an opportunity if they could be rounded, branded and
fattened for market. In the two hundred fifty or sixty years since the Spanish abandoned St Augustine scattered pockets of these critters wandered
throughout Florida and numbered in the hundreds of thousands. In the late 1820’s a few other “crackers” were doing a fair job of it so he thought he
would hire out to one of them. Near an area called Kissimmee he signed on with a man called Mizzel who had a tough but fair reputation as a leading
drover. Thinking that driving cattle would be easier than Indians, Jethro felt he had it made.
But those long horned critters didn’t come easy. Armed with razor sharp pointed horns spanning up to six feet, the wily stubborn beasts instinctively tried
to kill anything that threatened them, especially “crackers”. “Crackers” were cowboys who got their name from the whip they used to drive cattle from the
brush. This whip cut flesh when needed but sounded like a rifle going off. Its sound would spook any critter, and very quickly those that tasted its flaming
cuts around the nose or legs before.
Mizzel told Jethro to show him his gear. His gear consisted of two roan horses about fourteen hands tall, a roping saddle, a bedroll, a riata, jerked meat,
and a few cooking utensils including his canteen. He armed himself with a 55 caliber musket, a 14” inch knife, and an early version of the navy colt
percussion cap pistol. He had no whip having never used one. Mizzel with a glance knew he hired a green hand. But who cared, if he didn’t bring in stock
he wouldn’t be paid. Cowboys were paid by the head. Taking an unusual liking to Jethro, he told Jethro to get two brush ponies no more than eleven
hands tall, a ten by ten by ten canvas, some lard, extra flints, more shot and 15 foot rawhide whip if he wanted a chance. Surprised but without argument
Jethro returned the next day outfitted as Mizzel suggested.
Mizzel demonstrated the use of the whip from horseback by flicking a fly off a post twelve feet away without making a “crack”. Then he made it crack when
he cut a melon in half with his next stroke. “When you can do this Jethro you’ll be ready, so get to practicing! Without a good whip hand you’d useless as
a cowboy around here. We’ll leave in a week, so be ready”.
Jethro had good hand and eye coordination; so on the first day of practice only nicked his own backside a dozen times. Cutting a melon was easy but making
it crack at the same time was tougher. The flies went terrorized but unharmed. His horses threw him three times for getting accidental back lashes. After
three days of repetitious work and other hands’ laughter he got the hang of it. He felt he was destined to be a “cracker”.
The band of eight crackers led by Mizzel headed southeast following the high grounds just west of the Kissimmee River through an area controlled by the
Seminole Indians who had eluded all attempts by the army to round them up. With the first Seminole War over there existed an uneasy truce between
crackers and the Osceola led Seminoles. Like the pirates who holed up near Arcadia on the Peace River Mizzel knew if they stayed in camp at night and
moved only by day the Indians would let them be. One of the pirates told him that any bounty hunter or white man moving at night was dead meat quickly
dispatched if Indians found them. The Indians allowed the pirates to move in daylight and in effect guarded them at night because outsiders did not know
this sacred rule.
Mizzel’s planned simply. Using the high ground allowed a man on horseback to spot small groups of cattle grazing from a good distance. They would stop
and build one or two 5-10 acre pens scattered along the way to Lake Istokpooga where a larger corral would be constructed. These pens were made from
thorny brush and fallen trees dragged into position backed up to one of the many lakes that dotted the route. Extra mounts and some grub were left at each
pen by hands who would be working it in the days to come. These holding pens would allow the crackers to gather and temporarily hold 50 to 80 head and
thus build a larger herd in stages which could be driven to market from the main corral. Forty eight days of heavy labor later the pens and corral were
completed. Now the difficult work began, building a herd.
Back tracking their trail they slowly spread out in twos thoroughly checking for the best routes to bring the small herds to Lake Istokpooga. Mizzel took
Jethro with him feeling that was fairer to his more experienced hands. By plan they moved toward the northern of the two holding pens but used a
different route than Pete and Witt who went in a more westerly way there.
After three days steady ride they started droving. Jethro spotted a group of cattle grazing along the edge of some thickets and motioned to Mizzel who
was already circling toward them. Moving slowly Jethro entered the dry brushy oak hamlet a hundred yards or so from Mizzel. He had begun to
appreciate the small horse he rode because he only had to duck the many low limbs; his larger mounts would have been useless here. The noise created
by the breaking branches, twigs and palmetto fronds worked making the cattle restless and moved them out in the open. Whip in hand Jethro began to think
this was easy, when he heard a large animal crashing at him. A 1,000 pound bull with a six foot rack headed straight for him as his pony reared. His whip
flashed instinctively cracking open a gash on the bull’s nose as it charged by. Stunned by the sting the bull veered into the brush just before it should have
gored them.
The pony’s dancing let Jethro know the horse wanted no part of that critter. Jethro reached down to pat the pony’s neck and felt wet sticky sweat, no by god
it was blood on his hand. Looking down he saw an incision about eight inches long which had just missed the pony’s jugular. That damned critter nearly
killed his horse! Angered and wary he began to follow the bull which left a bloody trail from the gash on its nose. Again and again the whip cracked. The
chase was on. A crazy cracker riding a wise pony faced off in a thicket against a wild and mean bull. The bull circled and charged the
dodging pony taking
another lash to its flank for the effort. An hour later they emerged from what was left of the thicket and the bloodied bull wandered off to join the other fifteen
head which had been rounded up by Mizzel.
Mizzel laughing said, “There ain’t much beef left on that varmint, do you think it was worth the fight?”
A bone weary and torn up Jethro replied, “It’s a hell of a lot of fun though. How’d you get so many?”
Mizzel knowing he hired a good hand said, “With that ruckus goin on in thar the rest came out easy. Come on let’s get em to the pen before dark.”
Four hours of whip cracking later as the sun dipped away they were met by Pete Bartow and Jake Whitt. Pete pointed to the horizon asking, “What took
you so long, is it the company you keep?” Silhouetted on the horizon, a trio of Seminoles made their presence known.
With their 16 head mingled with the 23 head in the pen, they went to the campfire for coffee. Pete volunteered to tend the horses and used lard as a salve
for the pony’s wound.
Around the fire they started comparing tales about each man’s day’s work. Whitt started by saying, “You know guys Pete and I had about a thousand
head rounded up but didn’t want to show you up so we only brought back Pete’s catch.”
Pete overhearing this shouted, “Did a gator try to bite your horse Jethro? It might have been the same one that spooked Whitt. You know he said a 40 foot
gator clean bit in half a cow he was driving. After that I couldn’t get away from him all day. If Whitt wasn’t so fat, I would have thought he was my shadow.
Witt did provide me some shade though.”
Mizzel added to the banter, “Pete you’re so skinny you don’t cast a shadow so I believe ya.” He added, “You know boys Jethro is more of a farmer than a
cowboy, you should see the forest he cleared today. It only took him an hour to clear out 15 acres! Or course he had some help from that little rabbit he was
chasing. Only the big trees are left thar for a little shade.”
Whitt retorted, “If we had been thoughtful we’d brought a plow along so Jethro could plant some tobacco and corn. Come to think on it that cut on the pony
was probably made by his whip.” He laughed, “Pete is full of it. The only gator we saw today I plugged when it tried to grab that skinny carcass I call a partner.
It was too big for good meat so we skinned him and left the hide staked out.”
As the newcomer it wasn’t right for Jethro to contribute, he just leaned back on his canvas and chuckled while looking out into the star lit sky. A movement
in the dark caught his eye so he rose with his rifle as two men on appaloosa ponies rode up to the fire.
Mizzel motioned Jethro to lay the gun down as he stood to greet the two warriors. He gestured that they join him by the fire which after proudly dismounting
they did. Mizzel gestured, “Where was the third brave?” He knew the Seminoles many tricks to steal horses and a common one was using diverted attention.
Not getting an answer he led the senior brave nearer the pen and with a torch showed him the cattle and their eight horses. It was clear that Mizzel’s
small camp blocked any exit for the animals, thus without threat the senior brave knew he was outmatched this time around. They returned to the fire for
some jerky stew brewing in a pot when the third brave came in carrying a small wild pig which was offered for the feast. The very few words that shared
between the parties were translated by Pete, who had an Indian bride, but the lack of talk did not interfere with the brotherhood of man that night.
In the morning the braves returned and were given two head of cattle which were immediately taken away. By that day’s end twenty more head were added
to the pen, and on the fourth day they began the drive to Lake Istokpooga with 84 head.
On the third trail day Pete rode ahead to alert the other four hands where to drive their catch to join them. They met in the middle of the fourth day combining
their catches to about 180 head arriving at Lake Istokpooga three days later. From that time on three men would stay with the main herd at all times and be
rotated with the other five doing round up work at the pens. This cycle continued until around 600 head were assembled and branded with Mizzel’s double Z
at Lake Istokpooga in late April.
Late April meant drought and drought meant fire. One strike of lightning could send most of Florida to flame if the winds were right. But fire also meant the
rejuvenation of the flora so necessary to sustain the life of the many natural and rich grasses and plants which overtime would be choked out by larger
species of plants. The trick for the cowboy was avoiding the raging fires while finding the lush new growth along a cattle drive to fatten up the herd. No rain
also meant that watering spots would be dried along the trails to Punta Gorda or would be few and far between.
In mid May billowing clouds began appear along the western horizon along with the pillars of smoke from wild fires, Mizzel knew it was time to move the herd
out. He had taken Pete Bartow with him to negotiate a pact with the Seminoles which would give his crew and herd safe passage day and night but only
during the drive in return for 56 head of cattle to be left behind. Pete knew enough of their language to help make the deal quicker than the ten days it took;
he simply wanted time with his woman. They sealed the deal at a Seminole compound near Lake Okeechobee with Osceola present. The Indians wanted
assurances that the white eyed soldiers would not be getting the beef. Mizzel’s promise that the beef would put on boats and sent to Cuba was finally
believed when affirmed by an Arcadian pirate to be true. Four Indian scouts were to come along to verify agreement and be paid four head each for their
time away from their wives. Not surprisingly none of these braves were ever sighted on the trail, but their signs were ever present.
They moved the 540 head herd southwest as day broke hoping to make a high ground lake that night (later to be named Lake Placid). As the elevation
increased to 300 feet the parched burnt over land offered no relief from the heat or graze for the cattle only the yellow flies that swarmed everywhere were
being fed.
In the burnt grass Jethro saw a weird thing and asked Mizzel about when he circled by. “Mizzel, I just seen a round fat bluish colored snake eat a rattler,
am I crazy from the heat?”
“Nah”, replied Mizzel, “Them blue snakes eat rattlers, don’t that beat all! Rattlers are bad, and can kill a man, them striped indigoes are
deadly too. But
moccasins are so nasty not even gators mess with them.” He sighed, “Hope we get to that lake soon the cattle need water. Ten to twelve miles is a long
way for a herd to travel in a day with no grass. When they smell that water they may stampede.”
Clouds built over their heads and it started to rain with a few scattered bolts of lightning followed by thunder as they kept gentling circling the rear of the
herd. Pete rode by smiling, “I’ve got dinner tonight. Two of these land turtles, heard say there good eatin. My horse nearly broke her leg stepping in their hole.”
The herd drifted forward and settled around the lake just after dark. The campfire lit the hillside covered with burnt trees and sprouts of grass peeking
through the amber black ground. A man could nearly see the grass grow. Turtle soup was cooking in a pot as the men relaxed after droving sixteen hours
and getting nine or ten miles behind them and the herd. With luck they’d reach Punta Gorda in seven or eight more days.
An early morning visitor startled Jethro awake. It sounded like a bull frog in his sleep but he knew it was a bull gator out courting as he awoke. The ten foot
critter ambled toward the staked out horses that created a fuss by stomping and snorting. Jethro reached for his musket but a hand in the dark stopped him
from getting it. Mizzel stood there in the dark and showed his blade and rope to Jethro. He whispered, “A gun shot may spook the cattle let’s drive that gator
away or kill him.”
Seeing the men coming between him and a good meal, the gator charged forward covering twenty yards in a blink of the eye. Jethro answered with his whip but
with no “crack”, which only stopped the critter long enough to change directions. And that was toward Jethro. Mizzel dashed up from the rear and got a loop
around the gator’s jaws drawing it tight. Jethro fell on the critters thrashing head a jammed his knife to its haft in the beast’s left eye. For about twenty minutes
Jethro rode that dieing but bucking gator… he was afraid to let go. Laughter filled the camp as the sun rose when Whitt said, “Where’s your saddle Jethro?”
“Jethro, you become a good all round hand”, said Mizzel, “We may have lost a pony or stampeded the herd. I’m crediting you five extra head at tally time
when we get these critters into Punta Gorda.” He turned to the others with, “Get some coffee and let’s get em moving men!”
Three hard days of driving through and around swamp and slough they made their fourth camp just ahead of sunset. Located about fifteen miles south and
a little east of Arcadia, they were surprised to see six riders coming in from the north. Mizzel laid his rifle across his arm with the trigger finger in place. He
faced away from the small camp fire that brewed tonight’s fare and toward the strangers which scattered out as they approached. Mizzel doubted that these
white men wanted anything good. With Jethro and Whitt circling the herd far from sight to the east he told the other men to casually find a place to take quick
cover if needed.
One of the riders hailed the camp asking if he could come in for some coffee which Mizzel motioned he could. The other five dismounted about 100 yards
out. As the leader approached Mizzel recognized an old foe in Jack Weeks, a reputed pirate from Arcadia he swapped blows with before.
Weeks immediately shouted, “If it ain’t old Mizzel, I should have known it was you! Did you come out this way to get your ass kicked again or can we
forget it and move on to the business that brought me?”
“Your kind of out your territory aren’t ya Jack?” growled Mizzel. “Come in and set by the fire. You’d better call your boys in too unless they want a taste
of the Noles… it’s night and you can’t be breaking The Rule.”
At six foot six getting off a cowpony meant barely shifting one foot from his stirrup to the ground. Weeks’ wiry frame uncoiled like a panther and his black
eyes took in the setup he faced. “Mizzel can’t say I’ve ever liked anyone except my squaw and our litter, but you’re the closest except for them. Why is it
we just naturally feud? You know I’m the only white eye with a passage at night.”
“Have your boys leave their weapons on their horses and come to the fire. I don’t like you one whit Weeks for your way of doing things, but respect you for
carving out a niche in these parts”, retorted Mizzel. “What brings ya here?”
Grabbing a cup of coffee Weeks came toward Mizzel with more than a little resentment in his crooked smile saying, “It wasn’t neighborly of you bypassing
Arcadia with the herd. Sooner than you know it others will be following the trail you cut which will hurt my business. Is that how you treat a friend?”
“You cutting herds for being brought through Arcadia got us in a standoff before. I wouldn’t pay you then and won’t now. I was just trying to save you the
embarrassment of tasting my whip again Jack,” snapped Mizzel. “You aren’t a friend; you’re more like a buzzard feeding on the work of others, why the hell
ya come here?”
“Well things have changed since the last time you were hereabouts in “26”. So this time you will pay up or face another choice dead in eyes. No ship is safe
leaving Punta Gorda which has cows on it that haven’t been cut, my mates see to that. Therefore the buyers won’t buy stock unless it’s been approved by me
because paid for cattle lost at sea are hard to explain. Last, you made the same deal with Osceola, why not me? Fair is fair,” Jack smirked. “Of course you could
take twenty days more and drive them to Tampa, but I can nearly guarantee you’ll lose half of them in stampedes along the way. Give up fifty head, now, or pay a lot
more later on, that’s the long and the short of it. If you haven’t agreed before you reach Punta Gorda, I’ll put the word out and nobody will even look at your cows!
Come on boys lets go and give this cracker some room to call his shot.”
When Jethro and Whitt returned from their circling shift Mizzel told them about Jack Weeks’ visit. Surprising everyone Whitt put a new idea out. “Ya know
my brother Jake just started running cows southwest of here at place called Estero. He said the Spanish send boats up the Caloosahatchee River and
pick up cattle for Cuba quiet like there. They don’t like either the pirates or the Indians. Mizzel I’d bet it is only about a day or so farther down there than
Punta Gorda.”
“Do you know the way there?” was Mizzel’s instant reply.
“No,” Whitt wondered, “but I’ve visited there coming by boat and rode around there a piece.”
“You and Jethro circle ahead and find a trail. We’ll drift slowly west another two days like we’re fattening them up. Get back by then.
Leave before daybreak.” ordered Mizzel.
By day’s first light Jethro and Whitt rode through the western end of what later would be known as Babcock Ranch and mapped a route which required
crossing only a half mile or so of swamp. They rode as quickly as the palmetto strewn terrain would allow and in fifteen hours found the Caloosahatchee
west of a place later to be named
Alva. After making a simple camp, afternoon thunderheads filled the sky delivering a gully washer and three inches of standing water. They laughed it off
saying they needed bathes anyway. They hung their canvases between trees like hammocks and went to sleep.
Before morning’s light the air hummed and horses kicked up a storm. A cloud of mosquitoes surrounded every warm thing. Jethro and Witt hit the trail
without saying a word. Nothing deserved to be bled to death this way. “Damn,” Jethro thought, “that long canvas when doubled over saved my pony.
Mizzel sure knows what to do!”
Whitt and Jethro trotted north a good clip through standing water until the mosquitoes backed off for a spell. They took breather and lathered their skin
and the ponies exposed areas with lard then continued. Deer and other wild critters splashed out of their way. The day got hotter as the sun rose and
water turned to steam that blasted their faces. Early in the afternoon of the second day they begin to pick up strays from the now scattered herd. They
found other cows dead from exhaustion and mosquito bites. With about 50 head they found Mizzel’s camp around four o’clock. They built a large fire,
started coffee then waited.
Near dark Mizzel and Pete came in last with around a hundred head. “Boys we’ve lost about 100 head”, mourned Mizzel, “I’ll put it to a vote where we
take the rest after we hear from Whitt. What do you think Whitt?”
“Fellas you told me and Jethro about the fifty head Weeks wants, and Jethro and I charted a good trail to the Caloosahatchee but can’t guarantee anything
from there.
We may get the same money per head and pick up few more on the way to Estero, do you agree Jethro?”
“Hell we don’t need a vote, whatever Mizzel says goes with me, Whitt, but I like our chances south” Jethro put in. “We owe it to ourselves and Mizzel to
make as much on this drive as we can.”
“Boys lets put it to a… “Mizzel started.
Pete interrupted, “We’ll head em south tomorrow”, as everyone nodded in agreement.
“Okay men, but lets do it this way, we’ll hang around here like we’re trying to fatten them up and gathering strays until Weeks’ spies check us out like they
do everyday. Then we’ll push em out hard and fast and try to cross the Caloosahatchee the day after next. Let’s all get as much rest as we can tonight,
the herd is tired so they won’t wander” said Mizzel as he settled next to fire.
Morning broke with fast bans of rain showers moving northeast when Pete, Jethro and Mizzel met by the fire. “I think we’re in for a blow, Mizzel. Feels just
like a hurricane to me” Jethro flatly stated. “Look at them flocks of birds all flying southeast, I don’t think them pirates will be coming this way today. They
know the signs too and will be getting their boats to safe haven”.
Mizzel shouted, “Head em out!” as a storm ban ended and the sun shown for the first time that day.
In the two days that followed the weather worsened with each passing ban. The forty to fifty mile an hour winds came from the south with the bans moving
northeast when they reached the Caloosahatchee at night fall. They drove the herd across even though whitecaps broke over the cattle’s’ heads as weird
full moon tried to show itself on occasion. Jethro saw Pete’s horse flounder and disappear in the black water. He got to Pete and threw him a rope only to
have a falling oak tree on the south bank take Pete too. Damn, a twister he thought. The last thing he saw was that ornery bull he drove from the thicket
months before come flying straight at him but upside down. He felt the critter’s horn jam through his chest as he lifted into black nothingness.
Two weeks later, Zeke Whitt was scouting the damage and rounded up about 50 head of trail broke cattle all branded with the Mizzel double Z. He thought
it strange finding Mizzel’s brand this far south especially with Indian signs around. Amid the broken limbs of an uprooted massive oak he found his brother’s
J. W. initialed saddle still cinched to the bones of cowpony and picked over by buzzards. Gathering the saddle he drove the small herd back to Estero while
pondering a man’s fate.
The four Indian scouts which followed the herd survived the storm and rounded up 16 strays. As usual they simply ignored Zeke Whitt and went about their
business unseen because because they honored Zeke's squaw’s Carlos bloodline.
. On the way back to their Okeechobee compound they found half dead Pete Bartow clinging to a fallen oak in the Caloosahatchee and they took him back to
their village to their cousin who was married to Pete"s dad.
Ma Nature played her hand of death and renewal once again, but any cracker or Indian accepted her whims as part of life.
Zeke Whitt was born in Polk County on the prairie to his Cherokee dad and white mama near the Seminole town there.
He now lives in Corkscrew near Immokalee. Polk County was his first wife Martha’s birthplace and it is beautiful with its lakes and hills.
Eventually zeke will have a thousand Florida longhorn in Immokalee that he collected and sold and collected again year after year. His herd started on the cattle he
did not sell one year and grew bigger every year. As he got older Zeke appreciated a herd to live off of in his old age, so he bought some range homesteads and
built his ranch up until the day he got his homestead papers from Washington, D.C. in the 1890's.
Zeke and his family, the Whitt family, had been in the south since the 1600’s. Zekes father was from the civilized tribe the "Cherokee tribe"
His name was William Whitt. When William was a boy less than 10 he had helped the colonist stay safe by reporting british troops movements in the area
to the towns pastor who was a family friend. Fearlessly he would go to the settlement and relay messages from the elders of his tribe concerning any signs
that the Brits would be heading to their community. Since some of William's brothers and tribesman joined the Army in the war for independence, he was the oldest
not allowed to go for being too little so in this way he fought.
Zeke's mother, Mary Cannon mother and father were white settlers from North Carolina and came south pioneering to South Carolina. Zekes father was an elderly
William Whitt and he helped the new colonial country explore the very deep south and decided to go to Florida. He married Mary Cannon and they traveled south into
Florida. When they came upon the prairie they called it home. Zeke was raised close to what is called Lake Alfred today.
There was a big indian nation to the south a days ride with Seminole tribesman and a giant herd of cattle. The Whitts never bothered the other indians and lived
in peace with the tribe. They big indian city was populated by a peaceful tribe of Seminole, mixed with many others who just wanted to tend their families and their herd.
Zeke was half white but he hated the whiteman for taking the herd and town from the tribe he had grown up with. American presidents lied to all the Indian nations and were
true enemies to any Indian. Zeke was half white and was raised in the area so he had no problems with the troops personally but so many of his freinds did, it was an assault
against the tribe.
After Zeke's wife died he raIsed their kids, including little Martha until one day when she was 14 she met Jacob at a community church gathering , although he was
13 years older than Martha he courts and eventually marries, Zeke was not thrilled but if she was happy he would be quiet and peaceful, as his Martha would
have wanted him to do. Zeke married again but she died too and that was all of the married life he needed.
Being born in 1810, Zeke has seen big changes in his lifetime.
Most were bad, but not all. Still riding all day at 65, he is running an empire. Zeke supposed the business
of cattle is once again growing but the way of life is too citified. He liked towns like Fort Myers and Punta Gorda growing and needing beef in
their town, but hated going to them to learn their new “Laws”. When he was a boy a man showed respect to keep his health, now tenderfoots hide
behind new “Laws” to make life civilized like New York or Boston where no respectable man could survive.
Zeke remembers life before the Indian wars; the Indians did not bother anyone. His first love was Cherokee, and she was a very beautiful, strong
willed woman. Martha Hicks was 21 when she died from consumption, and Zeke never loved that hard or sweet again.
Sometimes Zeke day dreamed of what it was like in the Carolinas when the Cherokee, Choctaw, and others ruled their own destinies. The Tribes
had peace and lands for their families and their families to come. Their lifestyle had endured thousands of years and the white man replaced it with
civilized life.
Many the time Zeke would think of Martha and her family. Martha was born in 1818 in the Cherokee nation. Her father was killed
in “25” on a trek to Oklahoma and her mother Alma Mae, who outlived Martha, survived the treacherous white man, escaped the Trail of Tears,
and joined her brother William in Florida. William had come to Florida when he sold his land in the Carolinas to the white man settlers. He lived in
Gainesville, Tampa, and ended up in Arcadia working with the Smith Ranch. William has a ranch with 160 acres where he lives in his cottage and
raises his herd.
Zeke figures he must be dead by now, Alma Mae too. Martha, born in Carolina but in Arcadia she lived and loved life, had such a short life, she died in 1838
but those two lived a long time
Zeke did too. His 5 years with Martha was a lifetime ago that he never stopped missing. She called Zeke a "Big old Man" and loved him very much,
he called he called her "Mollie" and spent most of his life praying they would meet again in Heaven.
Zeke had a bad streak in him and at the right time, although a rarity, you could see Zeke in action.
He went to Arcadia often because he had many family and friends there. Through the years he had built a reputation as a man that was quick to
draw and did not hesitate to pull the trigger. One of his rankest days was back in the late 40's after the indian wars. There had been some soldiers that made
Arcadia home and they were not as welcome as you would think. The indian wars had not reached Arcadia but the folk knew of the atrousities of the army
against the tribes, many of the settlers had family in that tribe. Zeke was in town visiting some cousins from his Dad's side, the Whiddens. They let Martha live with them when
Zeke could not be home or staying with his Momma. Today they were complaining
about the army men and their families moving to town. A lot of the town was afraid the army officers and soldiers would bring the army back in time to ruin their
lives too. Zeke was still hurting from his bride Martha dying and was a bully when he felt like being onery. He left his cousins ranch and went to town looking for the Yankees.
Zeke entered the store and found some whitemen sharing beer stories and beer and asked them who they were Zeke said "Now who are you men, I have never seen
you in town before"
One of the men had a face full of beard with tobacco spit stains. He slurred from the table "Well who are you bothering me?"
Sometimes a man just has to do what he wants to do, Zeke wants to fight and he replies " I am the man that is going to run you all out of town"
The speaking man at the table of Yankees with the stained beard stands up and throws his tin mug of beer on the floor and grabs his gun yelling"You half-breed sonofa"
That was all he got out as Zeke squeezed the trigger on his musket with a grin. He reached and grabbed the dead mans gun as he fell and got the drop on the 3
other fellers st the table. Zeke asked with a light in his eyes "Do I kill you all too?" A man at the table with his back to Zeke calmly said
"There is 3 of us and you have one single shot"
Zeke slammed his musket butt squarely on the nape of the man's neck and watched him drop out his chair. Zeke then kicked the man's rifle behind him and
wordlessly stared the last two down. Not moving a muscle one of the young man left at the table said "I don't want any trouble and neither does Slim"
The second man ,Slim said
"We want to live away from the cities of the north and eat southern beef, we seen enough war". Zeke started shaking as he cooled down, he knew the fight was over,
he could not bully these two to fight and at this point did not want to. He looked to the men and said
"If any troops show up because of you and yours I will finish what I have started." He turned on his heel and went to the door , turned back around to see the men still
seated and was satisfied so he left. It did not bring back Martha but it was something to do, he was full of venom, a poison called hate.
And Zeke stayed resentful and hateful for a decade then one day , after a bad fall off his horse broke his arm his decided to try and live his life again, even without
his Martha. He started to worry more about little Martha and business and less about his pain in his gut and heart, in time he matured into a 24-hr cow-hunting money maker.
He came to south Florida because the big herds were north and this was the port furthest south until Key West and you had to barge cattle there to those boats heading to
Cuba.Zeke decided to get a cuban captain to haul cattle straight to Cuba, he kind of cut into the Summerland Ranch work because Mr.Summerland was big here and shipping
to Cuba but Coconut bay was just a mile long barge ride with cattle so you could make several barge trips a day and he made it work.
In 1850 he took a trip to Havana with a 50 head herd
When Zeke got off the boat he followed his herd to a rancher who paid the freight and $3.50 a head. When he arrived at the ranch there was a courtyard encircled villa with
trellised bougainvillae and flowering vines. Zeke was led inside and guided to a parlor by a man in fancy cow duds, all black and leather with silver buckles and buttons.
In the parlor was a man in a pillowed, leather chair with three very young ladies on a large couch. Zeke was 40 years old and been through hell but was astounded by the three
sisters beauty. Wilhelmina, Maria and Evangelista Carlos were awesomely beauitiful with dark skin and black eyes, thick, pink lips and long black hair. The man in the chair said
"Here is your $175.00 in silver" It was a heavy burlap bag but no gold was offered, Zeke was pleased. The man spoke again saying "I am Alphonse Carlos and these is my lovely
daughters, Wilhelmina, Maria, and Evangelista. The ladies stood up and curtseyed, Zeke bowed and kissed the oldest ones hand when she held it limply to him. As Zeke's lips
neared her hand he looked into her bottomless eyes and smelled her powder, which exploded a gunshot in his mind and a spark in his heart.
It was Saturday evening and the rancher asked Zeke to be his guest for dinner and stay over night, Zeke stayed a month and came back with Wilma, she was a queen, and
Zeke's second wife.
* By 1750 a group of Seminoles with a chief called “Abaya“ or “Cowcatcher” were raising stolen white mans livestock and Spanish mavericks on
a prairie about 100 miles north of Desoto County’s big prairie that is east of Arcadia. White mans cattle years were going strong by 1850 in the
middle of the state.
On Christmas Day in 1837, the Battle of Okeechobee took place close to the point where the Kissimmee River empties into Lake Okeechobee.
Today a monument to the battle stands at the spot it took place on U.S. 441 east of Taylor Creek. Dedicated in 1937 by some of the fallen soldier’s
descendants it claims the battle was a route and it turned the Second Seminole war to the United States. From my view, this is not wholly accurate
as the Indians inflicted more than twice the casualties on the Missouri Volunteers. Even though outnumbered two to one the Seminoles won and
ran to fight another day. Today’s Seminole Tribe is very successful in cattle as well as tourism, real estate endeavors and keeping in touch with
their culture. The Clewiston “Big Cypress” heard is over 10,500 and one of the biggest in the state.
Chapter Two - Young Henry
“WAAAAA” Red haired, blue-eyed Henry boisterously screamed his first greeting around 7:00 on
the muggy morning of June 5, 1852. He was born around what is now Birmingham, Alabama to his proud parents Irish John Johnstone and his fiery wife
Samantha. His father John, an agronomist in the cotton industry, was a tall slender man with broad shoulders, reddish hair, and blue eyes. Samantha, tall
as well and with her creamy white complexion, contrasting green eyes and fire red hair glowed with classic Irish beauty. John and Samantha had been
married three years and anxiously awaited the birth of their son. At Henry’s arrival, they were the picture perfect young family and good things seemed to
be coming their way.
Samantha and John enjoyed raising their son. Henry was an ambitious boy and from an early age worked diligently with focus. One day when he was
four-years-old or so Henry was pulling weeds in Samantha’s farmyard. He was working on the fence rows trying to weed some post and other hard to
reach places that his mother‘s pair of Nanny goats could not get there head close enough to eat. He could pull weeds and stay out of trouble so Samantha
and Henry spent a lot time in the yard. When Samantha wanted to set there were some slat chairs in the shade of an Old Oak.
This day was the day Henry realized his goat had a sense of humor. Typically the goats were Henry’s friends but this day the black and white Billy was picking
on him. Usually Henry fed the goats his weedings and talked with them. Sometimes they could nip your fingers so you had to give them plenty of grass to get a
bite on or else. Goats can be ornery and Henry learned not to take it personal, they were just contrary sometimes. Today they were butting Henry around the
farmyard when he wasn't looking, they must have been laughing to themselves, the mean old goats.
With a jarring crunch Henry fell face first and it was a mystery to him why.
All Henry knew was every time he bent to pull on some weeds “WHAM” he would fall on his face. Samantha watched Henry and his hilarious bewilderment
as that rank old goat snuck up on Henry and butted him over a dozen times that morning. Henry finally caught him when he saw his Ma about to roll
around on the ground from laughter.
Henry looked at his mom with a bewildered thought and said"This darn goat keeps knocking me down, I
am giving him all the grass I pull?
Samantha smiled broadly and said "Your billie is playing goat games with you, he plays a little rough, maybe you otta take a
break and come sit with momma a while"
Henry came and sat next to Samantha, She tussled his hair and said "I love you Henry, you are the little man I am so proud of".
Raising her son on her peaceful farm was exactly what she wanted to provide Henry, just as her family had raised her a mile
or so up the road.
At Six years old, Henry could aim and shoot his mother’s squirrel gun accurately if she loaded it. By nine, He knew how to read, write, add and subtract
when few grown adults could. He was always a well-behaved little man as Samantha could walk with him in the little village surrounded by cotton and
Henry was exceptionally good. He and Samantha would visit the butcher‘s farm, general store, the church and her family’s plantation when the time and
chores at home permitted. John worked for Samantha’s uncle and brother at the Cannon family plantation north of town. Personally, he and Samantha owned a
40-acre spread south of town with an old farmhouse John’s grandfather had owned. They grew greens, squash, corn, cotton and peanuts to name some
of the farm fare and enjoyed their ancient log and plank home.* Birmingham is the county seat of Jefferson County. Jefferson County was established in
1819 and the county seat was Elyton from 1821 to 1873. The Birmingham we know today was established in 1873 as the county seat and was one of the
first southern cities to be an Industrial Mecca during the reconstruction period with its railroad access. Birmingham began where two national rail road
lines intersected in Jefferson County. Prior to the Civil war the region was dominated by cotton and the plantations that cultivated it.
The war came to Henry when he was nine. By then he was over five -foot tall, freckle-faced and skinny as a pole. He could play after school a while
but was happy to go home to his evening chores. He had goats, chickens and a yearling bull to take care of in the mornings before school and evenings
before dinner. His farm animals he understood but war was a mystery to Henry. He was worried about his animals, school friends, parents and the teacher
he had a crush on like all the other boys in class. Although it seemed to the folks of Birmingham the war would be won by the confederacy, most were
apprehensive of Civil War.
Samantha was distraught when she woke Henry the morning of Feb. 3, 1864. She had not been in town yesterday when the posting had been made but her Aunt
Ruby stopped by early this morning and broke the news. Ruby was in her late 40's and was Samantha's mother's younger sisiter. She had red hair and a complexion like
Samantha but not as tall. Samantha heard the knock and saw Ruby in a black dress out the front window by the door. The red hair and white
complextion was a stark contrast to the black dress Ruby had on and it raised an instinctual alarm in Samantha as she thought
"Why a black dress on such a beautiful morning?".
Samantha answered the door with a smile that was tempered by the early hour but she was always happy to see Ruby.
Samantha wondered why Ruby did not have her daughter with her this morning thinking " Where is Savana?".
Ruby had been crying and Samantha asks "What's wrong sweetheart?". Ruby says she has to come in. Ruby was a little shakey and nervous, She sat down in the
kitchen and started crying. She sobbed for Samantha to sit next to her at the table. As Samantha sat down Ruby started talking. She said "I was in town before dinner
yesterday and the colonel posted the casualties from the Army. John was on the list my love. I have cried all night and day because I fear for you and Henry.
What will we do?".
Samantha started tearing and up but did not speak. Ruby patted her back and the ladies cried wordlessly for an hour. Samantha finally said" I must wake Henry,
please stay here and be with us". Shaking her head as if not able to believe the truth Samantha walks to Henry's room, He loved John very much and missed him so.
That day in 1864, he lost his hero and father. John died in a battle near Atlanta. All young Henry had left besides memories of his lost father was John’s rifle, bowie knife
and the will to use it. He was very lonely for John and his pain grew to bitterness. Henry’s environment changed so much in this every man for himself situation
and like the little man he must become he carries on. When the town got wind union occupation was at hand, it got bad. Typically, wherever the Yankee troops
arrived all hell busts loose. Starting with the news that the arrival of Union troops is pending the trusted turned to cowards, many of them public and private officials, ran
like thieves of the night fleeing with others property or cash. Trusting friends and family were the common prey for these thieves. Others simply left all responsibilities
not mobile behind and ran for their lives.
Fear is making the Birmingham townsfolk act as never before, they all know their world is going to be burned to the ground.
The townspeople Henry had known from birth turned into traitors or cheats, thieves, and even abolitionists.
People were starving as the union troops were eating all their food, stored and fresh and had to claw to scratch out an existence.
The past trash was now treasure and going without was best if possible.
The townspeople gave the troops what they asked for and went home to nothing if they had a home after the troops picked
quarters. Any of the people living in the cotton plantations, share croppers and the like, knew their homes would be burnt with the cotton. With the townfolk
living in the street, it became grossly unsanitary. So many had no place to run.
Samantha's family had the big planatation and first the cotton was burnt to the ground
then the union army settled in its home. Her family was the reason there was a tiny village named Birmingham and the town did not notice when they were burnt and killed.
Samantha felt the Cannon family built the plantation that built the town.
The day the cotton burned the union army rode up to the Cannon Family's plantation eastern fence and the horsemen tore it down.Then the troops rode or marched over it.
That is when the Cannon men, father and son, got on their horses and rode off. The women and children were already gone but the men could not leave until they had to.
The plantation had been in the Cannon family for generations and it was their life too. As the pair rode off a union musketball rang out and hit Henry Cannon knocking him
off his horse. His son Jake jumped out of his saddle and kneeled by his father asking
"Where are you hit",
Henry growled "In the guts, now you run like hell,now!."
As Jake got up to mount his horse he was shot in the head. He fell over his dad Henry, they both died there and were burnt with the cotton.
After that Henry started running around with his cousin Jake, who at 13 held a mighty big grudge against the union army.Jake had a squirrel gun and so did Henry.
Truth be known both squirrel guns were their mothers, who had them since they could hunt with their fathers and brothers. When the boy's mothers were girls the adventure
available to them was in the woods hunting and talking. When their mothers were ten they hunted everyday that they did not have to be homebound with chores.
The small bore guns were light for a girl to pack. These boys were very upset about their uncle, grandfather and Henry's dad, Big John being killed.
Jakes dad was still alive fighting in Georgia but, just thinking of him hurt made little Jake angry. Jake and Henry found some good spots to shoot union soldiers instead of squirrels.
These were some angry boys. Sometimes anger is a self medication for depression and these young fellows were hurting bad, that we can be sure of. The first soldier
they shot felt good to the boys, good to strike back at the awesome power of the union troops and the killers of many family and friends. Henry never did feel regret or remorse,
he started killing in a time of war and what was right and wrong was a fuzzy issue.
The solitary union man was walking towards town, guess he did not rate a horse. The boys wanted to kill some soldiers and here was their chance. Crouched down in the trees
about 50 yards of the road Jake whispered in Henry's ear"Cuz, Let's shoot this boy here and strike one up for the south. Little Jake and Henry aimed and Jake shot first and struck
the soldier in the head, Henry put his hammer back down gently and smiled at Jake. They stayed down for 10 minutes and when they knew the coast was clear they snuck off.
The soldier never stirred while laying in the road on the way to town, he was found the next morning.
They told their mothers they were going to the woods to hunt then they would sniper soldiers walking alone or in pairs. Since the union took over the plantation
lots of soldiers walked that road to town and back to the plantation. After a few killings the soldiers got nervous and started searching the woods along the road.
The boys could hear them in the woods and stayed clear of them. They picked different roads around the plantation and waited and when it looked like they were sure to get away
they took a shot and crept off to a new spot or down by the creek to talk about the killing or Jakes dad being out there fighting or how the yankees stole all the farm animals
and ate them. No more goats, chickens or pigs. One of the chickens aluded capture and is in the woods, Henry seen it in the trees but did not want to shoot it being the last and all.
One day the boys almost got caught. They shot 3 soldiers and only hit one. Henry missed his shot and the soldiers made a dash to the boys location.
Jake managed to get another shot off and killed the second soldier but the third shot Jake in the head with his pistol at close range as a frozen Henry watched
his brother-like cousin Jake die, Henry could not get the powder in his barrel fast enough to stop the killing of Jake and it made Henry never hesitate again.
The soldier made sure Jake was dead and then snatched Henry by the collar and marched him to the road. Henry stumbled and
when the soldier bent to snatch him up Henry stuck big John's bowie knife in the soldiers guts to the hilt and somehow yanked the knife out to stick in the soldiers neck
and watched him die too. Henry in shock and very confused held on to the knife in the dead soldier's neck for a while. He finally snapped out of it and realized no matter what
happened he had to get gone. Henry gathered the weapons and ran to his Aunt Ruby's house. He ran in and told his Aunt
" We were shooting at soldiers and they shot at us, I think Jake is dead."
Ruby said "Take me to him Henry" and out the door they ran. They eased up on the site of the shooting and Ruby almost fell over the soldier who Henry had knifed
and only then did she start looking over the scene. Ruby scooped up her 13 yr. old son over her shoulder and off they ran.
A few minutes away from the scene Ruby had to put Jake down. She held his hand, cried and prayed for his soul. After 15 minutes or so Ruby said
she was ready to go on. Henry said "Aunt Ruby, I know how sad you have been and I have watched you and momma suffer and now this. I am sorry, it all happened so fast".
Ruby Looked up and said "Why were you boys shooting at the soldiers?". Henry looked her in the eyes and said "We shot them for killing our family. I want to
shoot some more" Ruby looked at him and he was not mad, just certain. She loved him as one of her own and she did not let on that she understood and might have agreed.
Her son was gone, her little brother, her father, Henry's dad Big John, and her James was fighting somewhere south of Atlanta, Ruby was becoming resentful and angry.
Henry grabbed Jake's feet and helped Ruby bring him home.
Henry learned to be sneaky, conniving and merciless in this cesspool for humanity.
Nothing coming out of this could be good. In this period, young Henry gained his very evil ways, the habits and methods that would serve him well when he became
the ruthless pirate of his inescapable destiny. Someday Henry would rule his domain with an iron fist and a cold heart, he would never regret doing what had to be done.
Although Samantha’s loss was genuine, she would not bow to the despair. She would find a way to leave town, travel to the Southern half of
Florida to her brother’s house, and get away from the union army and their murdering Yankee soldiers. She was so tired of the awful war and needed to
find some family to lean on. Birmingham just took more every day. Her Momma and Aunt were already on their way to Florida and she was ready.
Life would only be so hard on a fetching lass as herself. She could always count on her charms and men’s foolishness. Samantha was very curvy and
possessed a captivating beauty.
When the union came to town, a young Captain was an apparent Company Commander. He was tall, slim, and genuinely interested in Samantha’s troubles.
He gave her travel money and a supply mule team driven wagon to travel with. Samantha was so very grateful.
When Henry and his red-haired mother Samantha fled to Florida in 1864, the chaos was setting in. The bulk of the Union troops on their burning trek
gallantly marching through the South closed on Birmingham just as Henry and his Ma were leaving to Samantha’s brother Luther‘s house in Fort Myers.
Ten years earlier Luther moved to Florida and formed the Alabama Citrus Company. Luther saw the wisdom in a farming operation below Florida’s freeze
belt.
The first day on the trail was uneventful. They found a nice place close to the trail and set up camp. The wagon had many personal keepsakes for the
Florida homestead. Some linens, silverware from Ireland and dresses from Atlanta, Baltimore or New York. Most of their possessions worth keeping had
fit in the wagon the Captain had furnished. They had canned foods from the garden since spring and staples like flour, lard and sugar were available to
them in the wagon. Henry and Samantha slept with smiles on their faces from their escape but woke up to no wagon or mules. The only thing left of their
possessions were John’s rifle and gear that Henry slept with and the days clean clothes Samantha set out last night and of course Samantha’s purse.
Samantha looked at Henry and said"If that don't beat all" Henry looked at his Mom and replied" Ma, we don't have a thing left and no mule to carry it"
She said back "I know son, this is some mighty trying times, maybe we better get down the road before we don't have each other" Henry looked up
through his teary blue eyes and freckles with a fearful glance and whimpered his question "I am sore bellied for breakfast and we don't have
anything to eat do we?"
Samantha shook her head and said "We have a little to carry, we have the shovel and that box of kitchen tools by the fire, the plates and pot for coffee
and that bit of coffee in the rag in that pot but we should save that for tonight". She decided they had whined enough and said
" Henry we need to go and start our walk to Florida." She knew the journey would be hell and the longer it took, the worse it would be.
Her brother Luther would straighten them out if they made it. After shaking off the shock they fashioned a convenient way to carry what was left and
started the day, without breakfast.
Leaving in September Henry and his Ma traveled through six months of hell at a rate of two or sometimes four miles a day on foot. The small families only
hope lay with Uncle Luther and the safety of Florida. Traveling in the fall gave them cold nights and hot days. They slept hiding in the woods like animals.
Once winter set in, they slept during the day and traveled at night to hide and stay warm. Palmetto heart and wild grapes and other wood’s fare like gopher
berry, mulberry, and huckleberry would go right through you but was plentiful until the first freeze of winter. Some small towns were quiet and safe enough
looking to venture into. Every town has good and bad and although Henry and Samantha had no desire in meeting either as they entered towns for food.
One incident along the trek came from a man who took interest in the pair after spotting them buying supplies near Jacksonville. This stranger Henry
observed was wearing a brown and worn leather coat and chaps. The stranger rode a brown pony about 12 or 13 hands high and had a rifle in his
scabbard. He had a dark complexion with a squinting-eyed face staring at Henry’s mother walking by herself from storefront to the next. With an
obvious obsession in his hard to see face peaking through its gray beard and hat Henry could see the man was cause for concern. In an attempt
to avoid trouble they stayed clear of the roads with their road agents and low lives. Henry had noticed this man looking at Samantha and then paid
attention when leaving and recognized his horse from afar leaving town five minutes after Henry and Samantha. This suspicious character tracked
them from town and watched them leave the road to the woods.
It was early in the morning when this man rides to Henry’s sleeping spot for the day, he must have been tracking them all night. Henry, just dozing
off is awakened at the sound of the hooves. He hears the familiar clip-clop sound of a horse from one hundred steps or better. Henry sights his loaded
musket just under the hat of this miscreant and takes his shot. PaPOWW" the musket ball roared as it left the barrel and hit’s the stranger in the head with a
thud and skips through the trees upon its exit. The shot jerks the man clear of his saddle, throwing the him to the ground with a FLOP and Henry is
thrilled. The .54 caliber shoots true and packs a powerful impact. His pride in the rifle and his excitement from the guns effect are obvious by Henry’s
shaking hands, triumphant smile and wide, happy eyes. The sight of Henry’s joy would normally warm a mother’s soul but not this time. Him standing
there in his trail weary attire of blue, faded overhauls, brown coat, his bright red-hair, shining blue eyes and grin beaming his rarely enjoyed glee
was a sight to behold and should have been contagious to his Ma, but it did not work that way.
Samantha, awake from the shot sleepily walks to Henry shaking her head in disgust. Henry’s mother, grabbing the rifle from a flinching
Henry cried “That man done nothing to be shot for”
Henry said" He followed us all night and was going to hurt you and me, he rode because he thought
we had something worth killing us for".
She replied, “He might never have seen us. You are too quick on the trigger. Life is not for you to take
needlessly”. She was disgusted with any part in this mans death she might have played and for Henry enjoying such a cowardly act.
Then Samantha promptly whipped young Henry within an inch of his life with the musket butt. First She caught Henry off guard with a
poking barrel to the midsection and back flipped the butt overhanded on his forehead with a KLUNK, the same way Samantha would beat out a hanging rug with a
broom. Standing over a dazed Henry laying on the ground she grasped the barrel and used the butt end as if she was pounding butter in a churn. His ribs were
a safe bet for his Ma once he was down to help him remember.
She tapped his ribs with the edges of the butt to beat them thoroughly, like she was trying to separate the meat from his rib bones while she growled at
him about his bad behavior.
Henry was already unconscious mercifully missing the verbal tirade from the headshot she inflicted with his rifle. Samantha
knew the whipping was brutal but Henry now is man sized and needed the strongest discipline she could muster, it might curb his lack of respect for God’s
given life and the Lord’s teachings. A mothers work is never done.
The man’s horse looked to be starving as bad as Henry. When he shot the highwayman he had planned to eat some of it but when he woke from
the beating it was gone, Ma had sent it off.
“Aw Ma” he croaks as he tries to rise on shaky legs, "That horse had a backstrap that would have fed us fresh meat and pounds of
jerked for later on down the trail Henry mumbled.
It was near the end of winter and berries and varmits were gone or thin. Samantha was not about to let Henry gain anything from his
senseless act. This was not the first man Henry killed around his Ma but was the last in her presence. Boy his ribs were sore and when he took a breath it had a
corresponding knife sharp pain. Samantha shook her head to herself behind Henry's back regretting the egg sized lump she put on Henry's forehead.
Samantha said " Henry, I am starved as much as you but you are not going to kill strangers for your needs, no matter how strong
the need is. You will not be a killer to stay fed, or have the things you want. I know you have shot men who were shooting at us and killed many at a young age
but that was kill or be killed. This was not, you just shot him because you were scared and you could eat his horse and keep a camp for a few days. We do not
have time to set in a camp, even to eat some poor fella's horse".
Henry spoke to Samantha as respectful as he could when he said "Ma, I found him following us to our camp and I think he was in town when we left. He
followed us out of town and all night, He was going to kill us for what we have. I am scared to the bone that someone will catch us sleeping again and kill
us this time"
Samantha said "Henry, you wait for a weapon to be drawn next time if you are going to defend us. I love you and you make me proud, this journey is so
hard for any human and half grown you have made it possible for us to survive it, but if you became a murderer I would wish us both dead, please don't do it again".
Henry’s hate and fear were so strong that Henry just wanted to shoot anyone they cross paths with. Most grown men are bigger than Henry, who at thirteen
had almost six feet of height, but weighed one hundred and twenty pounds. A full head of red hair and ice blue eyes caught most off guard. Henry needed
an edge and surprise was a good one. Henry had to protect his Ma and himself. That is easiest from a distance. Ma did not agree with Henry saying, “A real
man can let people come up close enough to get to know them. You are not a coward, you can't kill everybody you run into in the woods that you do not know.”
Samantha felt he was using her as an excuse to kill all he could because it made him feel big and in charge. She said
“Henry, you keep killing and someday a posse will hunt you down and shoot you like a dog or take you home to hang to death in front of the townspeople”
She prayed he would grow up and listen to his Mama.
Henry noticed while passing through Arcadia that most of the cowboys wore at least part of a confederate uniform. It had been a year since Henry had seen
men in the confederate garb. He assumed the union must not be this far south. Henry was right in that the union forces did not influence that area and
were weak this far south. Arcadia will be out of reach for outside law enforcement fifty years after the war. More people die in Desoto County than out west
at the turn of the century. Arcadia, a wild cow town had up to 50 gunfights a week and range wars were constant with range justice enforced and revenged by others
keeping the pot of murder boiling for the entire decade of the 1890‘s.
As they walked past a trio of cattlemen the men invited Henry and Samantha to their camp. A big man on a roan was waving his hand at Samantha
and Henry calling "Hello over there"
He came riding up a minute later and said "What are you folks doing out here? It's hotter than a frying pan in the devil's house today"
Samantha said "We are from Alabama and heading to my brothers house in Fort Myers"
The Big Cowboy smiled and said " My Name is Matthew" as he come off his horse, landing on his feet he raised a dust. He dusted himself and his hands and
shook henry's hand and took off his hat when he spoke to Samantha shyly saying
"you both look hungry and thirsty, want a drink of my water" as he handed out his round army canteen to them.
Henry looked to his ma and she looked at the big cowboy and saw he was just a teenager. Samantha took the offered canteen and said "Thank you Matthew,
I am Samantha Johnstone and this is my son, Henry".
Matthew smiled and said "Please come to our camp, my brother and our partner have dinner for tonight
and will be cooking soon. It isn't a mile from here"
Samantha and Henry smiled and followed Matthew to the camp.
When they arrived about an hour later Henry and Samantha met Coleman and Jacob. Coleman Took off his hat and so did Jacob as they walked up to Matthew and
his dinner guest. Coleman was big like his brother Matthew and just as polite. He looked at Samantha and said " My name is Coleman Weeks and this here is Jacob
Bartow" then he patted Jacob on the back who smiled and nodded his head. Coleman then asked
" Would you like to go to my aunts house in town, she would feed you alot better than my cooking?
Samantha Smiled and squinted from the early evening sun going down behind Coleman and said
" Thank you Coleman, My name is Samantha and this is my son Henry. We have walked from North Alabama and am heading
to my brother Luther Cannon's home in Fort Myers. I could not think of imposing on your aunt but we would appreciate some of that fresh pork you have there".
Jacob spoke his first words of the meeting on the prairie with " Please set back off the fire a bit and I will fix you a plate ma'am, Henry, jump up here and get some grub".
Henry smiled at the young cowboys as if they were heros and waited for them to load their plates first. Jacob handed Samantha a plate and she blushed and thanked him.
She thought to herself" These boys are so polite, I hope it rubs off on Henry, I would be so proud if he grew to be like these boys".
It was early evening and the cowboys fried fresh pork smelling like
heaven cracking in the pan, last weeks biscuits and fresh coffee to wash the meal down, which was the finest cuisine the pair had enjoyed since leaving
Alabama. It was also the first sign of human compassion to exist on the long arduous trail. These cracker cowboys, in their twenties or late teens had
mothers like Samantha and brothers like Henry at home. Two of the young men were brothers being Matt and Coleman Weeks. They said they had cousins in the
Carolinas but their family had been cowboys in Florida a hundred years. The third man, Jacob Bartow quietly made Samantha and Henry feel at home.
Jacob, a skinny cowboy, real quiet but friendly had cousins that married Seminoles and he himself looked a bit Indian, he might have been the oldest.
They all looked about the same though, tall and thin with brown hair. Florida’s hellacious sun would keep her cowboys thin and faded, but they were tougher than
nails on the trail.Folks like Samantha and Henry were being burned alive on the trail during the hot days in the spring of 1865 in Arcadia, but these cowboys flourished.
Samantha and Henry were ecstatic to wash the meals gear (tin plates and iron pan) and enjoy a night by the fire listening to the cowboys banter and stories.
The next morning was a little sad goodbye for the pair who relished the security of being among friends but south they treked. Coleman had drawn a
map in the sand by the fire and pointed them to the southwest. They were to walk in that direction until they found the River. Then they were to follow it to
the town of Ft.Myers
After many months of wading, crawling, and jumping away from snakes the pair arrived in southwest Florida’s Lee County near Luther’s Groves.
Samantha and Henry came to a creek bed a little before dark and decided to camp there. They had some of the cowboys biscuits, dried meat
and sat down to enjoy their meat, biscuits, and coffee the young men had shared. Henry took the pan,fork and silverware and tin plates to the little
creek and washed the dishes in the current. Henry comes back and says, "The winds are swapping west to northwest, I hope it don't get any colder"
Later in the evening the wind had tuned to a steady western blow, strong enough to blow Henry's hair in his face when he turned the wrong way.
Now a cool breeze is blowing from the west off the Gulf and the clouds are going by fast. The wind is a relief, blowing too hard for bugs to swarm.
Henry is just taking it all in.
The moon looks ghostly full when not hiding behind the racing clouds and the little creek is swift as well with an
occasional snap of silver mullet breaking the top. It is the fourth full moon of the year and a sweet, pungent aroma tells of a grove well into its
flowering cycle. With their relief audible in their breath they realize safety, family and friends are near. Henry looks at his gaunt, sunburned mom
and they hug for the first time since the killing and whipping. Samantha said "That orange blossom smell must be Luther's groves".
The sweet smell is sweeter than the french prefume called "Orange Blossom" she had from Atlanta, but she recognized it.
Henry said, "Ma, that smells like your perfume".
Soon Henry’s uncle had him working in his grove south of Ft. Myers with the operations ramrod, Captain Wrightson. Henry loves this cow town of Ft. Myers.
Not a Yankee in sight and life here was normal. There are no highwaymen, no troops burning towns.
Of course you could go to town and see the daily pistol and or knife fights. Sporting bare-knuckle events between friends and foe in the taverns and the
streets or alleys were common entertainment and a fight is like a flower, it blooms and throws seeds amongst the observers who, after time will start their
own broohaw. Too soon, Henry and his rye had trouble staying sober long enough to watch the town’s sometimes lethal shenanigans or at least remember
them. As he aged Henry through his teen years he was very content to call Ft. Myers home. He enjoyed the backroom ladies occasionally but his money
did not come easy. It would be more likely he would drink on First Street and hit the mash with his acquaintances from town who worked for Jacob
Summerlin out at his Punta Rassa ranch. This ranch ranged from town southwest to today’s Iona and Punta Rassa and south.
Mr. Summerlin had much more than that.
The docks at Punta Rassa shipped 35,000 to 40,000 head of cattle some years back in the 1830’s and 1840’s, Jacob Summerlin’s cattle was scrubbed out of
Lee County and surrounding local area but he rode all the way to Tampa and had little camps he worked along the way.
Henry worked 5 and ½ days each week, 12-16 hours a day, but he figured catlle work was harder. He was happy to wake because he was becoming a better
grove man everyday.
Henry learned fast in the farmyard and at school, even during the war and traveling to Florida. Henry had always learned fast and for that he was happy.
The union’s black troops rarely showed themselves outside of the fort during the war but they were non-existent after the war, I am sure they were happy to go home.
They had to travel battalion strength as groups of two or four would disappear, presumably in the swamps under a Gator hole. The purpose of these troops
were to harass confederate cattle shipments and they saw some action in Charlotte Harbor and north but south of Ft. Myers was a no-no and southeast to
Immokalee was unheard of. Those cowboys Samantha and Henry met east of Arcadia said they never saw any Union troops. The Seminoles kept white man
jumping when he was east of town, especially Union troops. I am sure Punta Gorda had plenty of armed citizens as well but it was a hot spot with it’s dock
suitable driving cattle on to large waiting ships. The Union Navy was a constant companion to the dock and the harbor was clearly a priority.
The Seminoles stayed away from town. They stayed in the swamps with the cattle and the freedom they took from the union troops a generation ago. The
three Seminole Wars had caused many Indians to be forcefully moved west of the Mississippi River and forced some stubborn maverick driving braves and
families to anchor a central and south Florida tribe.
* The Seminoles occupied the southeastern United States for 12,000 years. They were finally granted citizenship in 1934.
The Caloosahatchee River runs through Fort Myers and empties into Estero Bay. Henry worked in two groves for his uncles company. One on the bay and
one up Moccasin Creek several miles south of town.
The company had a huge grove on Moccasin Creek and Henry helped manage pickers (use to be slaves) and keeps the groves with the Captain. The
company sent the slaves down to the groves before the war with Wrightson commanding ship from Mobile Bay down to Ft. Myers and Estero.
Uncle Luther and the Captain felt that slaves would always be slaves and Henry agreed and treated them that way.
Ft. Myers was a dandy place all right and Henry was finally home. Much to Henry and his friends chagrin the population of Florida was 25% emancipated
slaves, which was a sore subject in Fort Myers in 1865.
* In pre Revolutionary War times many of the Irish-Scottish immigrants were in servitude to pay their passage but were educated and well equipped to be
the business and civic leaders many of them were destined to become. Irish immigration began in the 17th century but they were soon to be the most
populous immigrant in the colonies excluding the English. In 1718 a large group of Irish -Scottish immigrants came to America and the stream continued
until the Revolutionary War and continued once the war was over. Johnstone is a Scottish Surname and an Irish one as well. The first John was
a Norman land owner in the 12th century. His sons added the son or stone we are so familiar with today.
Some other folks…
Chapter Three
Not a large or muscular lad, matter of fact kind of scrawny, but one look at this boy in the woods tells you he is ready for what might come
his way. Silently still, wearing a burlap bag with holes for sleeves and dark trousers belted with a rope, he patiently waits sitting on the ground with
his back against a pine tree .Young Jehu Bartow, about 5 and a half feet tall, dark with dark hair ,sharp eyes and ever present half smile could
be one of Huck Sawyer’s friends. He looks natural as the tree he sat against with his nose to the breeze.
He worked double hard last night cleaning around the farmyard and tending his families critters so he could take a morning stand deep in Ortona’s
woodlands. He knew being part of the woods when the day began would make his hunt better.Some of the tweety and other birds like cardinals
and bluejays were flying around and paying no attention to Jehu. His pine tree and palmetto stand was all the cover this he needed.
Over the rhythmic dew dropping on the ground from the trees and a mild breeze, he hears the stirrings of some prospective dinner.
He can hear the mumble of a distant early riser but not sure if it is bird, or swine. He smells the distinct smell of muddy hogs so they must
close.
Filling the sky, big flocks of birds leaving last night’s roost like Curlew, Iron Head, and Hooper Crane are overhead. He can hear Mosquito swarms
thick as a horse blanket humming a quarter mile away as the fog settled on the ground. An alert a distant fox squirrel barks “Bar, bar, bahr” and squeals
from pigs nearby can be heard over the plop, plop of the dew falling on the ground from the trees overhead.
Jehu chose this spot because there is so much sign of hog. While rabbit hunting a while back, Jehu and his father hunted the middle of a dry season
cypress head and discovered all this plowing and hog scat.
When Jacob and Jehu came through the bull rush to the open lowland, it had a heavy green carpet.
Jehu said "Pa , this place smells like hogs"
Jacob patted his son on the back and said " I saw a little dirt kick up on the edge of the treeline over there,
see the dust over there where that hole is, they just ran through there when they heard us coming." Jacob, bending down there with an arm on Jehu's
shoulder as they both looked down Jacobs other arm , pointing into the tree's. There was a spot in a wall of bullrush that was open for animals to run through.
"Now don't you come out here without me, it is too thick and some big hogs are in the bunch that did all this digging"
Jacob said to Jehu as he hugged him a little and stood back up. Jehu looked at his dad and said "Allright dad" .
Jehu looked around and was astonished. The clearing looked as if it was a battle ground cannon balled a hundred thousand times.
If it was summer this land would 2-4 feet under water . That is why the hogs prefered it as the ground was moist with some crawdads to be found.
The hogs find the crawdad holes and dig or bulldose with their snout and feet when needed to catch the next crawdad, with those long piney-rooter
snouts they could smell a grub or crawdad from a good distance.
Jehu snuck back on his own this morning contrary to what his dad had told him that day, this morning Jehu sat against his tree on the palmetto
hammock in this big dry cypress head all by himself.
A sudden movement from the side alerts Jehu to a huge boar hog. The boar is so big and close, maybe 50 steps, that Jehu is afraid to breath. The
muddy-faced boar stares coal black into Jehu’s eyes and it begins to do what it came to do. He is starting to root for some variety of grub or crawdad. A huge boar
can “Plow” a hole a foot deep with his snout and hooves and a half-acre every hour. Luckily, for Jehu this hog did not care for him at all. Jehu did not dare twitch,
a big boar can kill ten dogs and maybe a hunter. Jehu thought it better to let boar pursue his grubs than instigate a dash to the big tree to climb in. Forgetting to breath
for a moment, Jehu slowly exhales to ease his burning lungs.
The old 36-caliber musket is best suited for squirrel or rabbit but could kill any animal when shot proper. Jehu did not have a great deal of confidence in
the musket for a bear or hog as big as a bear, no matter how proper he could shoot. The boar with long, shimmering black hair and bulging muscle is as big as a
bear. With a long nose and tusk, he looked like he could eat Jehu if he wanted. He is the biggest Piney Rooter he ever saw and what a tusky boar. Jehu thought to
himself "That boar would smell really bad in the pan, and besides I am glad he didn't eat me, I aint shooting that old boy". Jehu sat there smiling thinking about
the boar. He thought "Dad would be mad if he seen me now sitting next to this big hog out here"
Wild boar are as dangerous as any animal Jehu could hunt. Many of animals he lived around could eat a person like bear, panther, and alligator or
wild old bulls out in the thick woods stomping you into a mud hole and leaving you to the buzzards. Jehu's dad had told him a few storys about evil bulls in the thick.
Many of the areas animals hunt their dinner, sometimes in teams, sometimes alone, some in the day but most at night. He supposed the big boar ate what and
when he wanted to, he was a champion hog.
Jehu had heard tales of a whole family ate by Alligator at Indian Hill. Old Mr. Weeks was ate by his hogs on his
farm. Snakes are everywhere and where you least expect, one bite could kill. Granny Gitoe said if you do not wear shoes, you will always see the
snake before you step on him. Keeping all this in mind Jehu thinks it best to sit quiet and not bother the boar. He thought
"Maybe he will go away in a bit and I can
go walk about looking for pigs, I just have to wait for the boar to move on".
Jehu did not wait long to change his mind. He heard the pigs coming and when he saw the variety of hogs he knew he had hit it this morning.
More swine begin congregating to his area and several are 50-pound pigs. This could be a great day. A 50 lb pig is the perfect pig. Bringing home two
pigs would be cause for celebration. He would not hunt all day today, rabbits were easier to clean but you had to walk a few miles to gather dinner sometimes.
Those pigs would be small enough to drag a half mile easy and he should be home soon. He had to shoot him a few since they were so many all of the sudden.
Jehu started thinking about all the eating he was going to do tonight.
Mama, Mary, and Martha would have roast, bacon , pickled feet and enough to trade Mr. Johnson for some store goods. The lard can be cooked and then used to
store venison in a barrel in the barn. Small pigs lard was sweet, not rank like an old boars and the venison would be sweet. They would be eating good off of this
mornings hunt! Granny Gitoe could come to dinner and stay until breakfast. Jehu loves the areas midwife and storyteller. Jehu had to get Granny when his
sister Mary was born since Dad was herding cattle down the river to Punta Rassa. As early as 1840 Cattle were being shipped to Havana with thirty thousand
head loaded on boats at Lee County’s Punta Rassa that year through Mr. Jacob Summerlin‘s range south of Fort Myers to the mouth of the Caloosahatchee on
the Estero Bay. Jehu wanted to ride the range with his dad, but he stayed with his ma and sisters and helped run the farm.
Just a little more compelled to shoot two pigs with one shot, as he was to sit quiet , Jehu pulls back the hammer with a loud “CLICK” . This click has all the
pigs grumbling and are stirred up. Jehu needs two pigs to stand close enough to line a shot through ones neck behind the head . High enough to hit the
first pig in the top half of his first neck bone and hit the second in the face or heart or backbone. The pigs are moving around but seem intent on plowing
for grubs. With a hissing snap and “KABLAM” his shot connects to the first pigs neck with a “THUMP” it is obvious as the second pig falls it worked just like
Dad had said. Jacob told him "I shoot through ones heart and sometimes hit the one next to him too with this 45-70". Everything has a way of working out.
The remaining pigs scattered screaming, crashing through the brush away from Jehu as the smoke cleared.
Jehu felt emboldened as he left his stand with a seriously large knife and a determined attitude in his eye. Taking life is a solemn time. As he walks to the pigs to
bleed them he can still hear the pack of hogs fussing among themselves nearby. He took a knee next to pig #2 and stuck his knife in the side of his neck behind
the ear and jaw and found the juggler, 10 seconds and a few kicks and the pig is silent. Pig #1 is dead so he sticks his knife in its juggler and watched the blood
flow. Jehu is excited, he thought to himself with a smile "Mama will be proud".
Back at home, Jehu’s mother Martha is doing the days washing . The river made life so easy, She could garden and water her fruit trees. Martha even has citrus.
She was so afraid of the big alligator population Martha told her kids,
"Sometimes big gators can stalk you from the river but if you are careful to keep an eye open to them hiding underwater in the mud at the shore they could not
sneak up on you. If you did not see them and walk too close you could disappear and never be heard from again. That ole gator will jump out of the mud like
lightning and drag you to the bottom of the river and drown you". Martha had an instinctual need to look under
foot and everywhere else danger could hide, especially the Caloosahatchee. It was an instinct rooted in the fear of making that fatal step.
She passed this instinct on to her kids and they never got bit or ate, none yet. She kept them scared of anything they needed to. If a person was to step on a moccasin,
rattlesnake or alligator they were apt to die so be scared or be dead. She told them about the rattlesnakes in the palmetto and the moccasin in the water or mud. She told
them about all the people that died from these perils that she knew and anything else that would make an impression.
In Ortona there are big cattle spreads on the range flourishing in peaceful times and land available to hard working,
God-fearing cattle-folk. Jehu's dad's family the “Bartows” are one of the first families in Florida this far south and for that her father Jacob is proud, but some of them were indian fighters
which did not set well with Zeke. Jacob was born in Atlanta in 1824, Martha was born in 1837 to Zeke and Martha. Jacobs dad Peter came to Lake Alfred in 1840 after serving a hitch at
the fort there where the army forced the big seminole city to disband and run south or by a foot marched move to Oklahoma.
She and her husband Jacob eventually homesteaded these 160 acres in 1870's and had squatted darn near twenty years
before then. It was home and farm enough for man and wife and three kids to thrive. Jacob could be home sometimes, w