J. M. D. Burrows
Looking Backwards

Rev. John O. Foster tells of boyhood days in Rockingham and the view from the Decker home, a relic of Credit Island Battle.

On the 27th day of July, 1838, I was on board the magnificent steamer Brazil, Captain Orrin Smith, my destination being Stephenson, now Rock Island, Illinois. When I arose in the morning the steamer was just landing at Buffalo, Scott county, Wisconsin territory, now Iowa. The scene upon which I gazed enchanted me. The sloping lawns and wooded bluffs, with the sea of beautiful wild flowers, were a picture of loveliness such as I never had beheld before. The remainder of the trip I spent on the guards of the boat, enraptured with the beauty of the ever changing scenery.

We arrived early in the day at the village of Stephenson. Before night my business was accomplished. My landlord, of the Rock Island House, informed me that I would not able to get a boat until the return of the Brazil, some two days later. I will say here that the Rock Island House was a credit to the town and a much better hotel than I expected to find in this then new country.

On the next day, after partaking of a good breakfast, I decided to cross the river and examine the lovely little hamlet of about a dozen houses, which looked so cozy, nestled under the bluff.

At that time the ferry was run by that veteran, Captain John Wilson, and consisted of two yawls and a flat-boat. There were several passengers besides myself, and as soon as we left the shore, the old gentleman began to collect his fares. I noticed that each passenger paid 25 cents. I tendered my quarter, when I was informed my fare was 50 cents. I demurred of course, and was surprised as well as somewhat amused to be told that for "citizens" the fare was 25 cents, but for strangers it was 50 cents. I replied, "Oh! that is the way you do it here, is it? Where I come from, they treat strangers the best."

On landing I found a beautiful little hamlet of fifteen houses, with a population of about 150 persons. I did not expect to see any one that I had ever seen before, but I soon met a man whom I had known well in Cincinnati, "carpenter" B. F. Coates. He received me warmly and introduced me to D. C. Eldridge and several more Cincinnatians. The little town was settled mostly by people from Cincinnati.

They all insisted that I should close up my business in Stephenson and wait in Davenport until my boat returned, and they would spend the time in showing me the most beautiful county the sun ever shone upon. I consented and Mr. Coates took a horse and buggy and drove with me out some five or six miles in different directions.

It was just the time of the year when the country showed to the best advantage. The prairies were covered with wild flowers and the beautiful landscape was unsurpassed. I said to myself, "This shall be my home." On the return of the Brazil I left with the intention, if I possibly could, to emigrate. As soon as I returned to Cincinnati, I advertised my place for sale and in a few weeks found a purchaser. I then determined to return immediately and to make a more thorough examination of the country before taking such an important step.

Both the Ohio and Mississippi rivers were at that time (October) very low and navigation tedious. I decided to make the trip by land, so purchased a horse and buggy and was making arrangements for the journey, when I was called upon by John Owens, whom I had never seen before. After introducing himself, he said he understood I intended to make a trip to Wisconsin territory, and he wanted to go along. He offered to take a half interest in the outfit. He was not quite ready to go, and I agreed to wait ten days for him.

At last the day arrived, and lo! It was a Friday. Owens and he would not begin so important an enterprise on Friday and insisted we should wait until Saturday, which I opposed, on the ground it was too late in the week. We were both anxious to be off, so we agreed to start on Thursday evening, and go two or three miles, which we did, setting out about sundown and driving some three miles. We found the roads through Indiana very rough and tedious, a great share of them being what was called "corduroy;"«but through Illinois they were excellent, although there was a great want of bridges and in fording streams we found it quite dangerous.

The great prairies of Illinois were a magnificent sight--one vast sea of grass and flowers and most of them as level as a floor. We passed very few farms. Fifty years ago there were not many settlements in Illinois. We crossed a number of prairies, where, as might be said, we were out of sight of land--not a house or a tree to be seen. There was a great deal of sickness on our route. We had to attend our own horse, and most of the time, sleep on the floor, with a blanket and pillow for our bed. Ten days and a half from the time we left Cincinnati, we forded Rock river and soon reached our future home. At that time Stephenson, on the Illinois side of the Mississippi, was a considerable town and a much older and more important place than Davenport. Rock island contained no inhabitants except Colonel George Davenport and his family. Old Fort Armstrong with its block houses, occupied the west end of the island.

Mr. Owens and myself spent some three week in thoroughly examining the country. One of the best settlements was in Pleasant Valley. The Hydes, Captain Hawley, Moss & Bradley, Sam Hedges, C. Rowe, Adam Donaldson, the Henleys and Fennos were there. There was a small sawmill on Duck creek, and a grist mill, continuing one small run of Stone on Crow creek. Both these streams contained twice as much water then as now. We drove back to Allens Grove, also to Walnut and Hickory Groves, where we found John Dunn, L. Lathrop, Dennis R. Fuller and the Carters, all of whom were hard at work making themselves homes. Below Rockingham, Enoch Mead, David Sullivan, Captain James Murray, Foster Campbell, James E. Burnsides, Lewis W. Clark, and others, were busily engaged in laying the foundation of Scott county's future prosperity.

After a thorough examination of the county and making the acquaintance of many of the settlers, we both determined to emigrate, and purchased the eighty acre tract west of and adjoining the town. It was a squatter's claim. We paid $450 for it and each wanted it, so we agreed to divide it and to draw cuts for the first choice. I won and chose the half next to the town, for which I paid $250, Mr. Owens taking the other half at $200. We then concluded to lay claim to a section of land and selected section 17. We then divided it north and south, and each again wanting the half adjoining the town, we drew cuts as before. I won, and took the part I wanted. Fearing we would have trouble to find our claim, we hired Strong Burnell, who was breaking prairie in the vicinity, to plow three furrows around the whole section, for which we paid $30--$10 a furrow. We proposed to plant this strip of plowed ground with locust trees.

The next thing I did was to make arrangements to build a house on my forty acres. I found a man in Davenport, a settler of that year, who had bought a lot and erected a frame on it, but who had become discouraged and wished to return east. I bought the frame standing, paying $124 for it, and engaged B. F. Coates to take it to pieces and put it up on my land, leaving money with him with which to buy weather boarding, sheathing, etc., and I was agreed that I should bring the shingles, flooring, doors and windows with me in the spring from Cincinnati, which would be much cheaper and better.

About the 1st of March,1839, I received letters at Cincinnati, saying the Mississippi was about to break up and at once I commenced making arrangements to return. Being anxious to add to the population of the little settlement in Iowa, I persuaded two brothers-in-law, Wheeler Crane, a carriage maker, and Joseph Beach, a painter, also my brothers, Lewis and David, stout lads in those days, to accompany me. Our journey was without incident until we reached the lower rapids, where we had a tedious time, getting fast on the rocks and being nearly a week getting over.

At last, on the 4th day of April, we reached our future home, being put ashore on the bank of the river, about halfway between Perry and Rock Island streets. I remember the day well. It was a gloomy day, the wind blew a perfect gale, and everything looked cheerless.

I found that the man whom I had engaged to put up my home had betrayed me. The money I had left with him to purchase lumber he had applied to his own use, and there was nothing on the ground but he naked frame which I had purchase in the fall. The first thing to be done was to find shelter for my wife and child. I succeeded in renting two small rooms, just finished, about twelve feet square, at the corner of Third and Ditch (now Harrison) streets. The rooms were very small and inconvenient for family of seven persons. We were obliged to go out of doors from one room to get into the other. They had been built for offices, but in those days we had to do the best we could.

In about two weeks I had my house weather-boarded and shingled, and, putting down loose boards for a floor, moved in at once and then finished it, a room at a time.

I found the little town a busy place, every one anxious to secure a home. Some settlers, besides myself, came in that spring and a number of houses had been commenced, and the inhabitants of the little town were as active as a swarm of bees.

But the great excitement was the Rockingham war, and a few weeks later the Missouri war. I served in both, like a true soldier and patriot. The Rockingham war was tedious, lasting about two years, and four pitched battles were fought, with varying success. The contest was for the county-seat, which Rockingham had and was loth to give up. She had been the emporium of Scott county, outnumbering Davenport in population and business. But two years made a change. Davenport had grown materially, both in population and capital, while poor Rockingham had reached her growth, some of her citizens deserting to the enemy and at the last election, sixteen of her people voted for Davenport. As an inducement for the people of Scott county to vote for Davenport, the citizens offered to build the court house and present it to the county free of all expense, promising it should be equal to the court house across the river, at Stephenson, Illinois; and it was a facsimile.

J. M. D. Burrows

In May 1839, hearing that it was court week, and as it was raining hard and I could do no business, I thought I would attend court. There was a small frame building on Ripley street, at the corner of the ally behind Lahrmann's hall. It had been built for a carpenter shop and was used by the Presbyterians for church purposes and there court was held. I found the little room crowded and Judge Grant, then "Squire" Grant, just arranging to defend a horse thief. The judge worked cheap in those days. I overheard him whisper to his client, "If you don't give me $5 before I commence, I won't defend you."

Nearly the whole little settlement at that time was about the foot of Ripley street, which was called "Brimstone Corner.÷I suppose on account of the hot style of preaching indulged in there, in those days.

I found a number of the little band which I had left there in the fall in perfect health, had gone ćto that bourne from which no traveler returns. The first ten years I passed in Davenport, there was much more sickness than now. Ten per cent of our population died each year in those early times, which was attributed to the breaking up of such large tracts of prairie, producing a miasma which caused fevers, etc.

The next burying place was at the corner of Sixth and LeClaire streets. It was a miserable section and was soon abandoned. I officiated as pallbearer on two occasions while we buried there. The first was the burial of Judge Mitchell's father. It being spring, we found the grave half full of water and had to wait until it was bailed out. But the water came in so fast that the coffin was nearly covered before we could fill the grave.

The other was a Dr. Emerson, who died in the LeClaire House, and was the owner of the celebrated slave, Dred Scott.

Our next burial place was the present Davenport City cemetery. The writer and a few other gentlemen, not considering this location desirable (it being too near the rapidly growing city), nor the extent of the grounds sufficient for the purpose, and seeing the need of a city for the dead, combined to secure one that would be a credit to the city when we were dead and gone. It resulted in Oakdale, particulars of which will be given hereafter.

One of the enterprises in which I was interested and which I recall with satisfaction because it will be a permanent benefit of the city of Davenport, is the establishment of Oakdale cemetery; and I propose to devote this chapter to a history of the undertaking, that the facts, never before all stated correctly, may be put on record.

Some time after all the land in this section was supposed to be entered, I heard that the eighty-acre tract where Oakdale is situated had been overlooked. This was about 1845, I think. I sent up to the Dubuque land office and entered the tract. A year later I sold it to John Mullen, an Irish drayman, for $5 an acre.

About ten years later in 1856) some half-dozen gentlemen and myself agreed that Davenport ought to have better accommodation for her dead--something that would be an honor to the city in years to come. The City cemetery was inadequate, besides being badly situated. Pine Hill was a private speculation, which we did not approve.

We organized a company and looked about for suitable grounds. After thorough examination we selected the ground now called Oakdale and bought half of it (forty acres) back from John Mullen, paying him $100 an acre. George B. Sargent and myself contributed the largest amounts. The company also borrowed $1,250 from some one in the east.

When we bought Mullenās forty acres, land near the city was high. Davenport was having a "boom." As we could not be incorporated until the legislature met, which would be two years, the directors had Mullen deed the land back to me and I held it for the company until the legislature met, when I conveyed it to the company.

We employed an expert landscape gardener, of Washington, D. C., to lay out the cemetery and paid him $500 for his work. He had planned and laid out some of the finest cemeteries in the United States.

The first two or three years our company was very much embarrassed. We were passing through the hard times of 1858-9 and were had put to it to collect money for necessary expenses. The loan of $1,500 had to be paid, as the lender threatened to foreclose. George B. Sargent and myself each loaned the company $500. The remaining $250 Antoine LeClaire, at my solicitation, loaned us, I giving him my individual note for the money, as he would have nothing to do with the company. I believe the affairs of the comopany have been very prosperous for several years.

Oakdale is a beautiful place and will, from year to year, become much more beautiful. All moneys received from sale of lots, with the exception of necessary expenses, are to be spent in beautifying and improving the grounds. The originator and the most indefatigable men in pushing this enterprise was William H. F. Gurley, Esq., long since dead, and who sleeps, I believe, in the cemetery at Washington, D. C.

On my claim was a little piece of ground, some four or five acres, which had been broken up and fenced before I bought. That I immediately planted and raised the best garden in the county. The two lads, my brothers, Lewis and David, seeing the wonderful accounts in the Iowa Sun of the productions of other parts of the county, determined to outdo them.

We raised in those days that king of potatoes, the Neshenocks. It was a large potato, with numerous prongs. Selecting some half dozen of the largest, the boys fastened them together with dowels, or wooden pins. When I came home at night they brought it to me.

"See what we dug today!" they said. "Don't that beat anything the Iowa Sun has published?"

I replied, "I think it does. What a monster!"

I was completely "sold." I said I would take it up in the morning and give it to Mr. Logan. The next issue of the Iowa Sun did full justice to the wonderful production, defying any other soil to produce its equal.

The editor aid if any one thought it a exaggeration, the skeptic could call and see the monster, as it was hanging up in his office, where he should keep it a few weeks on exhibition, after which he proposed to try its eating qualities.

About two weeks later, during which time the prize potato had been examined by hundreds, our fellow citizen, John Forrest, took hold of it, and noticed that one prong was wrong end foremost. So he pulled it apart and the trick was exposed. Had the boys not made that mistake the potato would doubtless have been cooked before the joke was discovered. It created a vast amount of fun and a big laugh at the expense of the Iowa Sun. It is said that Mr. Logan abstained from eating potatoes for over a month.

After the discovery, Mr. Forrest hastened up town to my store. He said: "Burrows, they have a big joke on you down town about that big potato." He then told me what had occurred. I told him I was "sold" with the rest, for I knew nothing about it. He advised me to keep away from Logan for a few days or I would lose my scalp.

Submitted by Mary Lou Schaechter