Note: Mother wrote the following when she sent me this: "Aunt Sally's sister 'Jenny' was my grandma Bray (Dad's mother). Aunt Sally got her education the hard way. She was a reader all her days. She had no children. People she knew in Columbus are referred to in her booklet. Some names are familiar to me, or, at least, their kinsmen."

PIONEERING IN CHEROKEE COUNTY By Mrs. Sallie (Hutsell) Crane
(NOTE: My best guess is that this was written in the mid 1930's. MOS)

During the Civil War our family, of which I was the third from the beginning, lived in Franklin county, Kansas, eighteen miles southeast of Lawrence and six miles north of Ottawa, then a small Indian trading post.

Glowing accounts reached us of the beauty and fertility of the "Cherokee Neutral Lands." a tract extending fifty miles north from the Indian Territory and twenty-five miles westward from the Missouri state line, comprising what is now Cherokee and Crawford counties. It was called neutral from an ownership controversy between the U.S. government and the Indians. Father and Mother had a hankering after this "land of milk and honey," and when it became evident that Uncle Sam would take over the land and open it up to settlers, they hitched "Old Dobbin and Joan" to the wagon and struck out to "spy out the promised land." They found others with the same home instinct already squatted along the streams.

In their search for a homestead they found a "claim" which had been "taken up" before the war, a cabin built, a well dug, and forty acres of prairie broken. The owner had enlisted in the army and abandoned the place, but he returned just in time to meet my parents, who bought his settlement rights for $350. This place is between Spring River and Shawnee Creek, about one-half mile from the latter. On the 13th day of May, 1866, our family, consisting of Father, Mother and seven children arrived at our new home in two covered wagons, with our household goods, a coop of chickens, and a few pigs. We drove a bunch of young cattle and four milk cows. Father's first job was to unload one of the wagons and drive up the creek a mile to recover the puncheon floor, which had been borrowed without leave from our cabin by an enterprising squatter. During the years that followed, borrowing was the rule - food, tools, cooking utensils, medicine, even, in an emergency, clothing, were the links that bound us together in a neighborly chain; but this one borrowed floor stood alone in its uniqueness. The cabin was just wide enough to admit two bedsteads placed end to end; a trundle bed completed sleeping arrangements for the nine of us. Mother set her cook stove at the corner of the house under a tree, which afforded protection from the sun, but the rain was a source of unspeakable trouble. There was a fireplace in the cabin, but it proved a constant grief, shown by our red eyes from the smoke, which stubbornly refused to go up the chimney.

On the first night a calamity befell us which greatly handicapped us in our struggle to gain a foothold in this new country. Three of our four horses disappeared. My fifteen-year-old brother, John, spent the entire summer searching for them, but as no trace of them was ever found, they probably were stolen.

Left without a team, Father hired a yoke of oxen and planted five acres of corn, which grew into nubbins, proving a life-saver when there was no other corn for bread. We also raised a few potatoes, having brought both corn and seed potatoes with us. Father spent most of the summer cutting and hewing logs and riving clapboards (rude shingles) for a new house. When the logs were ready, the neighboring men were asked in to a "houseraising." Four picked men were assigned to the corners to place the logs when they arrived, pushed up on skids by the men below. By this time a sawmill had moved in, so lumber was available for finishing. The half story above was reached by a ladder. We moved in before Christmas, using our old cabin for a kitchen.

Since practically no crop was raised that summer, Father had to hoard what little cash he brought with him for bread through the winter. So he was forced to trade the young cattle for a horse to complete a team, which of course was indispensable.

The cows furnished milk, which with corn bread was our unvarying diet. We always knew what to expect for breakfast, dinner and supper. Butter was not allowed on the table except on the rare occasions when we had company. Mother carried that, the only farm product, to Baxter Springs, our trading point, and exchanged it for clothing and other absolute necessities. But Pollyannalike we were glad to have milk for gravy, although said gravy was made with corn meal. For months we had no flour in our home. Once Father sent with a neighbor to Fort Scott for a sack of flour which cost ten dollars. Our joyous anticipation of wheat bread can only be imagined. How pitiable then was our disappointment when it proved to be so musty it was unfit to eat. We begged Mother to make us one batch of biscuits anyway, but she was obdurate, and fed it to the hogs.

At this time, to prove the proverb that "Misfortunes never come singly," our two best cows died victims of the disease Texas cattle spread in their wake. This calamity seriously curtailed our supply of milk for home use and butter for marketing. Father skinned the cows and sold the pelts, thus, as Mother put it, "There is never a great loss without a little compensation." The sixth summer the "Grasshopper Plague" visited us. This was the greatest calamity of all, for it was so wide-spread. These rapacious little beasts left field and garden absolutely bare of vegetation. Even the green peaches were eaten, leaving the pits clinging to the trees. It took a long time to recover from the grasshopper year.

During the first summer and for several seasons an epidemic of chills and fever or ague afflicted the community. Whole families would be down at once. The malady consisted of a shaking chill followed by a high fever of from two to four hours duration. In some cases this would occur every day, in others every other day, and in rare cases a victim would have the "Third Day Ague", which was the worst form to overcome. Quinine was the principal remedy used. Many people were not able to buy this expensive drug, and resorted to teas made from mullein, poke root, oak bark and other bitter herbs, which were about as ineffective as drugs. Father bought quinine by the ounce and kept a supply of calomel and castor oil on hand, which he dosed out with a lavish hand, too lavish to meet the approval of his recipients. Dr. Bruton, Mrs. George Hood's grandfather was the "Horse and Buggy Doctor" of that period. His clientele embraced the whole
population for miles around. He traveled with his "pill bags" night and day.

The first fall we were visited with a Providential blessing in the way of an influx of Prairie Chickens. These birds came every morning for weeks and lit on the trees near the house. They literally covered the branches. Mother likened this visitation to that of the Lord's miraculous sending of quails to the Children of Israel in the Wilderness. Father with his gun kept us supplied with flesh every day. I remember he one morning went out and brought down thirteen before breakfast. This over-supply was parceled out to the neighbors.

But the question of bread, "the staff of life," confronted us. The settlers had not raised enough corn to tide them over the winter. The people in the border counties of Missouri had been driven from their homes during the war and their houses burned, only chimneys standing alone to show where homes had been. The owners had not yet returned. The only corn to be had was beyond Carthage Missouri. Brother John was sent on a foraging trip. He was gone a week, returning with a load which he had found near Springfield and which cost three dollars per bushel. The corn secured, the next step was to get it ground into meal. You have all doubtless seen the old Reddings Mill south of Joplin; though no Joplin existed at that time. Thither the pioneers hauled their grists, and as the mill was usually over-crowded, and as the customer always had his neighbors' corn as well as his own, he frequently was compelled to wait several days for his "turn."

Another impediment was the lack of bridges across Spring River. Ferries were put in later, but at this time we forded the stream. Once when Father had waited two days at the mill, a heavy rain raised the river. He waited three more days on the opposite bank for the water to subside. Our neighbors and ourselves were breadless. We ate the few potatoes we had, then in desperation Mother took the sides of a tin pail, drove nails through to make it rough, tacked it to the back of a washboard, and a grater for the nubbins which we had raised provided bread. thus the proverb, "Necessity is the mother of invention," was fully exemplified.

But the exodus from the border counties of Missouri was not after all without advantage to the early settlers: it was a good fruit year, and the orchards there lying open to the public furnished many bushels of delicious apples, which found their way across Spring River into Kansas, a boon to the famished settlers.

Each individual acquired his land by actual settlement. No one could lay claim to more than 160 acres. Prescribed regulations had to be complied with before he could "prove up" on his homestead. A controversy sometimes arose over the "jumping" of a claim. There being no local law to adjust the difficulty, the settlers organized "The Cherokee Claim Club" to act as a court of justice. On account of my father's dignified bearing and supposedly superior judgment, he was elected president, whose prerogative was to decide the cases tried before him as judge. The meetings were held once a month under a large tree near our home. We children hovered near the outskirts and received lasting impressions of court trials from these crude proceedings. Occasionally a zealous frontier preacher came through the neighborhood and held church services in our yard, a team having been sent to the saw mill to borrow lumber for seats.

Next to the scarcity of bread, the lack of schools was a chief anxiety of my parents. Before the organization of the county, however, several subscription or "pay" schools were held by enterprising teachers within our area. The first of these we attended was taught by a bright Quaker girl, two and one-half miles south of us on the "Round Prairie." She used her brother-in-law's 12 by 14 carpenter shop, furnished it with planks placed around the wall for seats, a rude home-made table, and a chair from the house. Four from our family attended. There was no aristocracy here; the teacher like all the scholars was barefooted; the only distinction being that the teacher's feet were always clean and white, in marked contrast to the mud-incrusted pedal extremities ranged on the floor around the room. A great handicap to these first schools was variety of textbooks. The skill of the teachers was taxed to the utmost in seeking to reduce the books from all over the nation to a common denominator.

At that time immense droves of cattle were frequently driven up the Military road through Baxter Springs and Fort Scott to market at Kansas City. These were thrilling sights. It was before dehorning was practiced, and the great horns many of the steers carried were wonderful to behold. Later, on account of a disease menace to domestic cattle, these Texas droves were prohibited by law from entering Kansas.

The treaty by which the government acquired undisputed right to the "Neutral Land" was consummated August 16, 1866. The claims settled before that date were termed "Treaty Right" land and the owners were privileged to buy their homesteads directly from the U.S. The remainder was sold to one James F. Joy for one dollar per acre, and became known as "Joy Land."

To have their homesteads sold from under them in this wholesale manner caused bitter resentment against both seller and buyer. Joy's idea of speculating by selling the land to the settlers failed to go through. The settlers organized an "Anti-Joy League," which forbade any negotiations with the said Joy. Land offices were opened at Fort Scott and Baxter Springs, but they did no business except with the "Treaty Right" claimants. Joy foreseeing an unprofitable controversy sold his holdings to the Missouri River, Fort Scott and Gulf RR Co., whose purpose was to put a railroad through from Kansas City to Texas. This transaction further infuriated the settlers, who declared that no road should be built until they were accorded their rights as homesteaders, and they proceeded to carry out their threat by interfering with the workmen, even burning ties which were made from Spring River timber. A few conservatives who counseled accepting overtures from the company were "drummed" out of the country. The League sent delegates to Washington to intercede for their homes, but nothing was accomplished. Finally, in order to protect the railroad company in its operations, a company of soldiers was sent, which established a camp on Brush Creek, south of Columbus, and peace prevailed. The Anti-Joy League, having spent its fury, accepted the presence of the soldiers with commendable acquiescence. The soldiers were an advantage both financially and socially to Columbus and vicinity. Our family came into contact with them through our excellent baseball team which played several games with them. The social event of the year was the society ball which they gave. My brother, being captain of our ball team, received a dozen tickets, so my sister and I were in it. The elite of Columbus and Baxter were there, and all the "rest of mankind." To prevent my being crushed my escort stood me up on a seat against the wall. Having seen the railroad completed and the first trains rolling merrily along, the soldiers folded their tents and departed.

From the first, social life was not neglected among the pioneers. I was fourteen the first winter, and considered myself a young lady. I was invited to parties with my older sister and insisted on tagging along. Dances provided the principal amusement, and were held in the one-room cabins. The beds were taken down to give space for the square dance, which variety was the order of the day. After schoolhouses were built, spelling schools, singing schools and writing schools furnished diversion, and incidentally an opportunity for sparking, which pastime then as now was the mainspring of every social event where young men and women mingle.

The first Post Office was called Petersville from the postmaster, A. V. Peters, who kept a little store on the west side of the Military road, three and one-half miles south from where Crestline now is. His home was on the opposite side of the road, where Mrs. Myrtle Bradford, a niece, now lives. The mail was brought weekly by stage coach driven from Fort Scott to Baxter Springs. That was before the daily metropolitan newspaper became a necessity.

Baxter Springs was a military station during the war and was now quite a thriving village, and was a trading place for the settlers on the north and the Indians on the south. Columbus, first called "The Center" on account of its central location, was first settled in 1867 by enterprising homesteaders with a view of making it the County Seat. A grocery, hotel, livery stable, dry goods store and blacksmith shop were soon in evidence. I recall the names of Lee, Scovell, Hanson, Fry, Middaugh and Benham in connection with the business houses. The first school was taught by Miss Anna Wilson, the mother of Mrs. Mabel Manlove and Mrs. Blanche Gaither. A little Baptist chapel was built on the site of the present church. Incidentally it was in this little chapel that I took my first teachers' examination, an incident that, to me, justified its existence.

The county was organized in 1867. This was before the town made any showing, so Pleasant View, a little hamlet now extinct, was named the temporary County Seat and officers appointed. Baxter Springs and Columbus soon became rivals for the seat of the county government, and strife ensued which engendered ill feeling lasting for many years. An election was held in which Baxter was victorious and the county records transferred to that city. A cry of fraud arose from the defeated side and another election ordered. This time Columbus won out, and the cry of fraud was heard from the other end of the county, and Baxter refused to give up the records. A zealous Columbus citizen, Sydney Smith, grandfather of Mrs. John Jones, went to Baxter and single handed got hold of the records by some means, and brought them triumphantly to Columbus, where they remain. Mr. Smith received for this exploit the acclaim of Columbus and the execrations of Baxter. The latter never attempted to reclaim them.

The foregoing are the highlights of my experience in the very early settlement of Cherokee County, and is typical of the many who struggled through the hardships of that period. It is interesting to look back at the primitive mode of living then as it stands out in striking contrast with the comfortable homes and public conveniences we enjoy.

Pioneering in Cherokee County