|Birth: ||Dec. 25, 1842|
St. Louis County
|Death: ||Jan. 21, 1937|
Photo of Oliver Hazard Peed - October 25, 1915 age 72 - A member of Co. K. 86 Indiana, Volunteer infrantry ---He was the last veteran of the Civil War to die in Kern County, California
LIFE OF O. H. PEED -- An Autobiography
Believing it will be somewhat interesting to read the principle points, connected with the life and doings of myself, I will begin by stating that my parents, Nelson and Susan H. Peed, informed me that I was born December 25, 1842, in St. Louis, Missouri. And to the best of my recollection, they also told me they were married in that city, on the 18th of October, 1841. Now about the first thing I can remember was one Christmas Day, my parents suddenly loomed up before the door of our home. It appears they had been down town on a shopping expedition, in the interest of the youngster that my father was carrying. I distinctly remember they were carrying a little green chair, and a small drum, Christmas presents for me. After that, for a time my memory seemed to be quite dim. A sister was born but I have no recollection of her. My parents said she was named Misouri Eliza. She died before she was many months old. Time passed on, and I guess my next recollection was of my baby brother, Oscar, and my mother showing him to me. Time passed on, and by and by I remember of being down town with my father, and of seeing a tall Indian wearing a gray blanket. It was about the Mexican War time, and I have a faint rembrance of soldiers. Soon after that my parents moved to Fleming County, Kentucky, making the journey on a steamboat to Maysville, Ky. My father had been born and raised in that state and I presume had a desire to return to his old stamping grounds. He had told my mother of going on a flatboat down to New Orleans and of taking passage on a steamboat from there to St. Louis, where he obtained employment working in a brickyard. Of course Providence had it all planned for him, for
in St. Louis is where he found Miss Susan Hannah Morse, who later on became his wife. We lived in different localities in Kentucky, though they did not seem to be very distant from each other, father working for other people most of the time. We were living on the Allen Dickey farm when I and my brother started school. It was a one room log house, and a mile and a half maybe from our home, and was situated in a woodland. As I remember it was a subscription school, taught by a woman teacher. The term I think was three months, and in the summer. The next teacher was a man and I guess a fall or a winter term, for sometimes we sat on benches before a large fireplace with a generous fire burning briskly. It might have been a year or two later on my parents concluded to move to Cincinnati Ohio. Our stay there was only a few months. Father worked as a deckhand on a steamboat, but for some cause or other, we moved back to Kentucky, and later on, a year or so maybe, we moved to Indiana, going by steam boat up the Wabash river to LaFayette, then by rail to Linden, and from there out to New Richmond in Montgomery County by wagon conveyance. Father rented a house a few miles from the little town, and as was his habit, began working for other people. Of course it was a case of necessity for there were three or four children in the family, and they all had good appetites. I was getting to be quite a chunk of a lad and began the first summer working for a farmer named Wilson King at $8.00 a month. He was rather a shiftless kind of a man, and would sometimes sleep when his corn needed plowing. I was young and didn’t know anything about farming, but that seemed to make no difference with him. One day after a hard rain he told me to go get the horse and go to plowing. Well I hitched the horse to the single bladed
shovel plow and struck out across the field, going up one row and coming back another. The ground was a regular muck. Young as I was, I knew the ground should be a lot drier. I told Mr. King I couldn’t keep the horse anywhere, the ground was so muddy. “Well put the horse in the stable,” he said, and that ended the matter till the ground got drier. I did not learn much about farming that season under Mr. King’s tuition. I think it was the next season that I worked two or three months for William Cash. He paid me $11.00 a month. He was a first class farmer. He gave me an old gray mare named Kate. He said, “If you only plow one row a day, plow it good, Old Kate knows where to walk, follow her.” And she sure did know. The plow was a single bladed one, the only kind in use in those days. Kate would walk along close up to the row of corn, and all I had to do was hold the plow in the proper way, and if a hill was covered up stop and uncover it. She very rarely, if ever, stepped on a hill at the end of the row when turning to go back. Three furrows in the bock between rows was the method used in plowing corn in those days. Mr. Cash made baskets occasionaly from whiteoak splints riven from young timber. He taught me the art of that kind of basket making, which later on I practiced quite a lot. It happened the first time I saw him making a basket, there were one or two beans in the basin of water, in which he wet the splints. I innocently asked if he had to have beans in the water he used. He laughed, and said “No.” It happened his wife had used the water to wash beans before cooking them, and the ones in the basin had been left in the water. During the spring and summertime I worked by the month wherever I could get a job, and in winter went to district school, the term being usually three or four months. I will say now
that was the extent of my education. I never had the good luck of attending any higher branch of education. As a general thing the schoolhouses I went to were from a mile and a half to three miles distant from my home, as father changed our residence occasionally. I always had to furnish my own transportation, which was walking, whether roads were good or bad. During the summer of 1861 I worked for a man named Smith. It being the year the Civil War Began, that was the principle topic of the times. The Smith family were ardent “Butternuts” as people that sided with the Rebel side were called. Smith’s wife was the worse rebel sympathizer of the family. I, at the time being in my 19th year, was talking some of joining the Union army. The old lady would begin arguing in favor of the South, saying in substance, they were in the right, and if they wanted to have a government of their own they had that right. My folks were opposed to my enlisting, so I continued to plow corn, instead of joining the army. That winter I went to school in which was called the Brannon schoolhouse. It was about two miles from home, and as I remember it, I only lost one day, and that was Christmas day. The teacher, Frank Kirkpatric, was preparing for a school exhibition on Christmas, and as I was about the most advanced scholar he had, banked a good deal on my displaying my talents from the rostrum, and at the blackboard. He talked so much about it, I became disgusted, and made up my mind to disappoint him. So on Christmas I remained at home. When I returned to school he gave me a tounge lashing and asked why I did not come. I told him he talked so much about it, that I felt that I would make a failure, so thought best to stay at home. He expressed his disappointment, and the subject was dropped. The war
question grew more interesting as the spring and summer advanced. At length President Lincoln issued his second call for 300,000 men for “Three years, or during the war.” Meetings were held in various places. Butternuts and a secret society, called the “Knight of the Golden Circle”, began to cause trouble, and were a menace to the Union cause. I attended a meeting held at Oakland school house, I think in July when and where I enlisted, but my enlistment papers were made out and dated August 22d 1862, and Crawfordsville as being the place. I have always thought the enrolling officer changed it to make easier work for himself. But be that as it may, I enlisted at the meeting held at the Oakland school house, Coalcreek township, Montgomery County, Indiana. I and the rest that enlisted were soon ordered to report to Camp Tippecanoe, LaFayette, Tippecanoe County, Indiana. . Our stay there was of short duration, for on or about September the 1st, we went by rail to Indianapolis. O arrival we was assigned quarters in Camp Carrington. Our stay here was also short. On September 4th, we was mustered into the United States service as the 86th regiment Indiana Vol. Inft. the Crawfordsville boys being Company K. I believe it was September 5th, we drew our equipment of arms, accourterments and Colors, uniforms, and, I don’t remember but I suppose our Sibley tents also. On September 7th, we took another carride, this time going by rail to Cincinnati Ohio, arriving there about 4 o’clock Monday morning. The city prepared a fine breakfast for us at the Fifth street Market house. After breakfast we marched to the river and crossed on a pontoon bridge to Covington Ky. Like the before mentioned stopping places, our stay in camp here near Covington was only for a few days, most of the time in entrenchments previously dug by other troops. By and by we received marching orders. We fell in and marched down
through town to the river where the regiment divided and went on two steamboats, the Rorest Rose and Dunleith, and started down the river at a leasurely pace. It was a trip we was not looking for, and boy like as many of us as could made for the hurricane deck where a good view of the scenery on either hand was presented. The land of Secessia lay south of us, though Kentucky was pretty evenly divided between Union and rebel, and to the north lay the land of Loyalty, and which we had the honor of representing. Peace seemed to reign on either hand, no frowning forts marred the landscape, even south of us as far as we could see. By and by our boatride came to an end, and we disembarked at Jeffersonville in the good old state of Indiana. As was our custom at other places we visited since leaving our homes, our stay here was only a day or so when we were ordered aboard the ferryboat, Isaac Bowman, and crossed over to Louisville, Ky. and as it was night we bivouacked in the outskirts of the city. Early next morning we arose from our cobblestone paved couches, marched out south of the city limits and camped. After eating a breakfast of hardtack, sowbelly and drinking black coffee, the next thing in order was to establish regular camp. Our Sibley tents, five to each company were pitched in regular rows fronting a company street 12 or 15 feet wide between the companies. Each company fronting on it’s own street. Each Sibley accomidated 20 men. A tripod supported the center pole that held the tent in an upright position, Guyropes on the outside reaching from the crown of the tent out beyond the base of the tent and firmly staked, and the base drawn out evenly all around and staked, completed the erection of the tent. When it came to sleeping each soldier slept with his feet toward the tripod or center of the tent,
and his head near the outer edge. Sleeping in a circle around the tripod. Privates and non-commissioned officers, such as sergeants and corporals occupied these tents, while off to the right a reasonable distance and parallel with length of the regiment’s quarters were usually placed the wall tents of the commissioned officers. Buell’s army was also camped in the vicinity. One day in strolling around among some of these soldiers that had seen service, I spied a man with his shirt off skirmishing with graybacks (body lice). I steered clear of him, fearing I would get some of them. In less than a year I was practicing the same employment. The few days we stayed here, was devoted to drilling, and as I remember it, was mostly the manuel of arms. Of course many balks, and misunderstanding of commands given, brought sharp reprimands from the officer. About every morning at four o’clock, the bugler would sound reveille and out we’d go, take our guns and accouterments and stand in line of battle for an hour or more. And O how tired we’d get. If we talked any an officer would sing out, “Silence, no talking in ranks.” We began to find out we were not our own boss any more. On October 1, 1862, we struck tents, put on our equipments, fell in line and was soon on the march, chasing Bragg and his army through Kentucky. We learned a lot that first day’s march. The principle thing was we was transporting too much baggage. Our knapsacks were filled to capacity. We also were carrying the following articles that was absolutely necessary, Muzzle loading Enfield rifle, cartridge box with 40 rounds of ammunition, haversack with three days rations, canteen, blanket and I believe in addition each soldier carried frying pan, coffee pot, tin cup, tin plate, knife, fork and spoon. Think 5 coffee mills were issued to the company. Our
coffee was parched, but unground. Later on experience taught us to discard coffee mills, coffee pots, but kept frying pan, a necessary article which found a resting place hanging from the haversack, or knapsack. Camp kettles, mess pans were carried in the company wagon along with the tents. A pint or quart sized tin can took the place of the coffee pot. We pounded or “chiseled” our coffee in the tin cup with the butt end of the bayonet. Having felt it necessary to make the above explanation, I will return to our first day’s march. Sometimes something would cause a halt away up front, and we would stand or drop down in the road, until the column up front began moving, and it sometimes was necessary for us to doublequick quite a distance to catch up, while our knapsacks were industriously pounding our shoulders, a movement not enjoyed by an already tired soldier. At length late in the afternoon, we bivouacked by the roadside, many of us too tired to do anything but rest our wearied bodies for a while. After eating our supper of hardtack, sowbelly and strong coffee, the contents of our knapsacks were gone over and articles we could spare were thrown away. The day’s march had taught us a lasting lesson. It was hard to deside what to keep and what to throw away. At an early hour next morning the reveille called us up to prepare for the day’s march. Somewhat stiff and sore, we prepared and ate breakfast, got decked out with our soldier equipment, fell in line to repeat the day before experience. There was a noticeable shrinkage in knapsacks, and as day by day the march continued they became thinner. On the seventh of the month we lit out on a forced march extending far into the coming night. We nearing Perryville where Gen. Bragg had halted to engage in battle with the oncoming Yanks as they called the Union army. The country through
which we were marching, seemed as dry as a bone, for no welcome brooks, or bubbling springs met our searching gaze. Our canteens had been drained of the last drop earlier in the day, and thirst became severe, as we plodded on our weary way. Exhausted men dropped out of ranks and sought rest. It was well along in the night when I left the ranks, and climbed over a rail fence into an orchard, and stretched out for a rest, and perhaps a little snooze. Ere long the rear guard of the division came along, and discovering a number of us, began kicking and prodding us and yelling, “Hey get out of here, this is not camp.” And not stopping to argue perhaps a dozen of us hastily hit the road, and started to overtake our regiments. As I remember it, daylight soon began to dawn, and also a creek. It was laughable to see a number of thirsty boys prostrate themselves at the water’s edge and let a portion of the stream flow unhindered down their parched throats. Filling my canteen I hastened on and soon found the regiment. Judging from the number of boys coming in, I was not the only straggler. Already we heard the distant boom of artillery on the morning air. The battle of Perryville had begun. As I remember it at this late day, the 86th, moved about into different positions, yet took no part in the battle, and being attached to VanCleve’s division of Crittenden’s corps, laid in line of battle all day, apparently waiting for the Johnnies to attack us. It later developed that the corps was being held in reserve. The roar of battle was wafted to us, sometimes loud and distinct, and then grew fainter, as the breeze shifted about. The day finally wore away, and night settled down on the contending forces. When dawn appeared on the morning of October the 9th, behold the rebel army had disappeared. After eating a hasty breakfast, the 86th,
fell in line of battle marching for two or three miles, but finding no enemy, bivouacked for an hour or so apparently waiting for orders. Again falling in line, marching in column we soon came to Perryville, marched through the little burg and out beyond a short distance and again bivouacked. Two or three of us boys took advantage of the stopping, and lit out for the battlefield. Our curiosity was soon gratified for we saw at a glance the effects of a battle, although we was only on a small part of it. Dismounted cannon, guns, haversacks, canteens and blankets, met our bewildered gaze as we looked about. Pretty soon we came to a row of dead rebels, that had been picked up for the convenience of burial in a trench, instead of in separate graves where they had fell. There were sixteen of them, and presented a shocking sight, but were as nothing that later on I saw on other battlefields. We concluded no Yanks had been killed as we saw none. That showed how green we were. Our dead had already been picked up and buried. Trees from bottom to top bore marks of the conflict.
. We got the word soon after it happened that General Lee surrendered to General Grant on April the 9th. Which was exceedingly good news to us. The prospect was bright that the war would soon be over, and we would soon be homeward bound. I had not been home since leaving Camp Tippecanoe, LaFayette on or about September 1st, 1862. I never made application for a furlough, just thought it best not to go home until I could go to stay. We were still at Jonesboro when President Lincoln was assassinated. That event for a time cast deep gloom over us, and to think he was not permitted to live and enjoy the peace we all had been wishing for for years. By referring to the history of the 86th, I see we started on the westward march on April 20th, arriving at Bulls Gap on the 23d, boarding the train of box cars that night for Knoxsville, Chattanooga and other points west. The train seemed to be one of leisure, traveling a few miles then lay by a few hours, then fire up and go a few miles farther. Traveling in that dilatory fashion, it did not reach Nashville until April 27th, and the regiment went into camp at Camp Harker, two or three miles out from Nashville. Then in some mysterious manner, I all at once find myself back with the butcher pen detail. I can’t explain it. But I know I was with the detail until June 6th, 1865, when the regiment was mustered out of the United States service. I guess it was on June 7th, I went to the company and was told the regiment was mustered out. I well remember hastening back to the detail camp and said to the sergeant, these very words, “Thank God once more a citizen.” Without any formality of waiting to be relieved from duty I immediately gathered up my belongings and skipped for camp. The next day, June the 8th, we marched to Nashville, got on the train (passenger cars) and started
for Louisville, Ky., arriving there the 9th, crossed the Ohio river on the same ferry boat we had crossed on when going to war, the Isaac Bowman, landing on Hoosier soil about noon, and before long was on a train in Jeffersonville. Everybody was happy. The war was over, and the “boys in blue” were going home. Soon after getting in cars the train started for Indianapolis, which was reached about 6 P. M. June 9th. The regiment disembarked, and marched direct to the Soldiers Home where we enjoyed a good supper. The next day we marched to the State House, placed our stand of colors in the archives of the State. Next we marched to the arsenal, turned in our guns and accourterments to the United States authorities. Our next and last march was to Camp Carrington where we remained until we received our pay and discharge papers, which was on or about the 12th of June, 1865, when we disbanded, took the parting hand, and started for our homes. Most all of Company K took the train for LaFayette, arriving there during the fore part of the night. It seems to me we went to the Dell House and all but three got accomodations there. I being one of the three. Us three I think, went to the Lahr hotel, it then being about midnight, we asked the charge for sleeping accomodations for the rest of the night. $1.75 was the answer, I asked the boys, “are you going to pay it?” “Why, yes we’ll have to,” they replied. “Well I won’t.” “I’ve slept out doors before now, and can again. He knows by the color of our clothes we’ve got money is why he is charging so much.” I turned and walked out, and went down near the depot, spread my blanket under a tree, laid down and slept soundly until morning. I got up and picked up my baggage, went up town, ate breakfast at a restaurant, then went to the Dell House. “Where did you stay last night” Some of the boys asked me. “At the cheapest hotel in this town,” I replied. “Where was that?” they again asked. “Down by the depot under a tree,” I said.
“Why, wasn’t you afraid?” “No.” I said. “Well you run a big risk of being robbed or killed.” And the more they said about it, the more I thought of the risk I had run. “Well I wouldn’t do it again.” I said, “But at the time I didn’t think of the danger.” Pretty soon all that were going to Crawfordsville boarded the train, and at a rapid gait was getting nearer and nearer home. At Linden in Montgomery County I with one or two others, left the train and employed a man to take us in his wagon the rest of our journey. Home sweet home, I again was at home, beneath the parental roof, and met a royal reception. I think it was about a week after our arrival home, that John Yount a former lieutenant in the company, but had resigned and gone home, invited all the boys to come to Crawfordsville on a set date for a reunion and general jollification. We rallied on the day specified, and it sure was a jollification. I believe we met in the courthouse yard, and Johnny produced a keg of beer and some tin cups. It turned out to be a union of ex-soldiers and beer, but as far as I remember everything passed off fine, no harmful affects resulted. I put in the summer and fall rather easy, I didn’t have much appetite for work. My father had a small wheat crop on hand, and I helped him take care of it, and later on he got a traveling threshing machine to come and thresh it. The machine was a small affair, about the size of an old fashioned farm wagon, and drawn by four horses. A cylinder, a fanning mill and large box under it was about all there was to it. Power to run the cylinder and fan was obtained from a cogwheel attached to one of the rear wheels of the machine’s wagonlike running gears. It took two men to run the machine. One to drive the horses, and one to feed sheaves into the cylinder. The straw and chaff dropped on the ground as the thrasher traveled around in a circuitous route in the field. Two or three shocks of the grain was loaded on and placed in easy
reach of the feeder. If I remember right, he was his own band cutter. I was over school age but I got permission from the school directors to go to the district school that coming winter so long as the school was not crowded. Henry Van Curen an ex-soldier who had lost the use of his left arm from wounds, was teacher, and he saw to it that the school was not so crowded but that I could attend. The next year I worked with a man raising tobacco, and in the fall made sorghum molasses. There is one important act I must mention now. I prayed to God on the battle field of Stone’s river, if he would see me through the war, I would serve him and I firmly believe he took me at my word. But I failed or neglected to fill my vow, until in March 1866 or 1867, I can’t remember which. But at any rate it was during one of those Marches that I joined the New Light church at Bristle Ridge school house, under the preaching of Reverend Bannon, and was baptized in Coal creek, about a mile from the school house. I remember seeing at the time, thin films, or bits of ice floating on the water. With a quilt wrapped around me, I rode in a wagon back to the school house where I changed my clothing. I didn’t catch cold, nor suffered any ill affects, although I did a lot of shivering. I will venture a guess that during early spring of 1867 I went out in the vicinity of Shawnee Mound, Tippecanoe County and arranged to cultivate the farm of William Peed (a distant relative) on the shares. And I remained with him through the crop season of 1868. I was at that time in my 26 year, and unmarried. But that did not hinder me from raising a good crop of corn, altho I put in some spare time, like other young men going to see the girls. Finally one living in Stockwell some 20 miles or more away, captured me, and put me in the coil of matrimony Thursday August 20th, 1868. The young lady was 18 years of age, and wore the name of Miss Margret E. Winship. Without any honeymoon preliminaries we embarked in the housekeeping business in Stockwell, during the
winter, and the following spring we moved onto a farm, which I cultivated. On the afternoon of Sunday June 6, 1869, the family was increased to three, by the arrival of a brand new baby. Like all new babies, we found it quite a job to find a suitable name for him. We finally agreed that Oliver Franklin would fill the bill. So we named him Oliver Franklin Peed. The Oliver was for the new father and the Franklin was for Margret’s Uncle Franklin Winship. I guess the name suited him all right, for after he had grown up, I never heard him complain about it. In the fall of that year we moved onto Margret’s Uncle Ed Winship’s farm up near Monitor 8 or 10 miles east of LaFayette. Alas, the vicissitudes of life. We had been living there but a very few months when Margret’s health began to fail. Hasty or quick consumption, was the cause. By and by she decided it was best to go to her father’s (Charles Winship) and stepmother’s home until she became better. I think it was about the first of March 1870 that I took her and the baby to her father’s in Stockwell. But medical treatment and good nursing failed to bring back health. She gradually grew weaker and passed into the great beyond April the 6th, 1870. The body was buried April 8th, in the Winship family plot, in the LaFayette cemetery. To care for the baby, who was 10 months old the day his mother died, was now a problem with me. A neighbor woman (Mrs. Evans) took care of him a few weeks for $2.00 per week. I then took him to my father’s, where I was staying, and mother cared for him. By and by as time passed on, father and I wound up our affairs and on an April day in 1872, we all started on our journey in a covered wagon for Carthage Missouri. My brother Oscar was married and living in the vicinity of that town. The baby, we called him Frank, had become quite an interesting three year old youngster. I had a rifle hanging from the wagon bows at one side of the wagon, and Frank would often walk to
and fro clinging to the gun, and saying, “I kin cock the gun, I kin cock the gun.” But I don’t think he ever did. We had a very pleasant journey notwithstanding our somewhat crowded condition. There were five of us, myself, father, mother, my oldest sister, Lett and Frank, the busiest one of all. Nothing special occurred during the journey, which ended I think early June when we arrived at my brother’s home. In a few days I bought a render’s interest in his corn crop, and we were soon located. But death soon entered the family circle. My mother became sick with the dropsy and passed away August 28th, 1872. The burial taking place August the 30th, in the country cemetery located in the vicinity. I guess it was late that fall, or early in the next spring we moved on to the Gressam farm which I cultivated that season. I had previously sown 10 or 11 acres to wheat, but got a poor yield. A while before harvest the chinch bugs moved in and worked on it so savagely that after I had cut and thrashed the crop I got 69 bushels of badly shriveled wheat. I think that was the last wheat crop I ever raised. I think it was during the spring or summer of 1873 that I became acquainted with Miss Margret Thornhill living in Barry County, Missouri. By and by as time sped by, she became my second wife. We were married at her father’s (Asbury Thornhill) I think sometime during January 1874, but am not sure as I have no record of our marriage. I guess it was in the following spring we located in Barry County, a mile or so from Mr. Thornhill’s, but in a few months we moved to Elk County, Kansas and settled on a tract of Osage Indian Trust land near Elk Falls. As I remember it, I worked by the day or month, just as I could get a job. Times were hard that year. (1874). It was known as the grasshopper year. I was down to bedrock as far as money matters were concerned that fall and winter, 75 cents a day was about all I could get. Part of the time during winter I chopped stove wood for Dick Roberts at 50 cents
a cord out of dead or down timber. One day I cut down a dead tree and by the limbs breaking up a good deal, I managed to put up two cords. When I told Dick about it, he said “Well I’ll have to cut your wages, you are getting too rich.” But it was the only day that I made a dollar. Part of the time that fall and winter we used “shorts” for making bread. It was an article between second grade flour and bran. At that time it was like the old saying. “Poor people have poor ways, and rich people mean ones.” For two or three months during the spring of 1875, I worked for a Mr. Archer, Margret and Frank were there also. She did the cooking and looked after household affairs while we were there. I guess it was about the first of June we went back home. On August 5th, 1875, the family was increased to four. A baby boy was born. After skirmishing around for a good name for the baby, we decided on Orlando Harvey Peed. I got plenty of work from different ones, but the pay ranged from 75 cents to a dollar, and by working about every week day, we managed to get along. Part of the time while living in that locality, I was Superintendent of two Sunday schools, one at the Border school house out on the high prairie, and the other at the Robert’s school house down in the Elk river bottoms. It should have been mentioned sooner, that the first house I built on the 40 acre claim was of slabs I got at the sawmill at Elk Falls. They were set upright with sawed surfaces overlapping, thus making comparatively a tight wall, spiked to the frame. Half of the slabs had bark side in the inside of the house. As there were plenty of sandstone scattered about in the vicinity I later on built a stone house at small cast. By and by I paid for my Osage Indian Trust 40 acre claim, which if I remember right was $2.50 per acre. I never cultivated but a small patch of it, as stock run at large, and I was unable to fence it in. Two more children were born while we lived at that place, Viola May, January 26th, 1878, and Cora Myrtle, November 4th, 1879.
I think it was during the spring of 1880 I traded the place for a 3 or 4 year old mare and we moved to Cherokee county Kansas just across Spring river from Smithfield Missouri. On the 15th of July 1881 another baby came to us. We named her Alice. No second name was given her. It is said “a rolling stone gathers no moss”. And I guess that’s true, for it seems as soon as I had gathered sufficient funds the moving mania seized me again, and the fall of 1881 found us westward bound. That time it was Wilson county, Kansas. We stopped in the locality of LaFountain, just a postoffice, a store, blacksmith shop, and maybe a doctor. We were about 9 miles south of Fredonia, the county seat, and 7 or 8 miles west of Nodesha. The next spring (1882) I rented the Bossick place, just a small farm. On September 6, 1883, Baby Alice died from the effects of whooping cough caught from one of the Bossick children. In the spring of 1884 I rented the Dallas Ragland place, just across the road north from Bossick’s. As there was no house on it, I built one 16 x 16 using shiplap lumber, nailed up right to a staunch frame. On July 29th, 1884, the fourth girl baby arrived. We named her Estella Ordine. I am not sure but think it was in the fall of 1885, when 5 or 6 of us belonging to the G.A.R. post in Nodesha went to western Kansas on a home seeking expedition. We located homesteads on government land in Grant county, and filed our claims in the U. S. Land office in Garden City, Kansas. We were allowed 6 months time to get on the land and make permanent settlement. I believe we started on the move in the spring of 1886, traveling in a covered wagon. Besides my own little herd of 5 or 6 head of cattle, I took out 10 or 12 head for a neighbor who had located in Jewel county in the northwestern part of the state. He came down later on, paid me and drove them home. Our first dwelling was a “dugout”, covered with lumber, tarpaper and dirt. We lived in it about a year, until I built a sod house. While living in
the dugout a baby boy was born January the 7th, 1887. We named him Elmer Octavius. Buffalo grass was plentiful and made fine pasturage for the cattle, but they had to be looked after some. But by keeping one or two cows larioted the rest would not go very far away. I broke three or 4 acres of sod and planted old fashioned cane, raising enough feed for the stock during the winter. In the spring of 1888 broke about 6 acres of sod and planted corn. By doing some freighting from Lakin 25 or 30 miles north on the Santa Fe railroad and working for other people in the neighborhood, we got along pretty good. Ulysses was a mile and a half or 2 miles east of us was the county seat. The town was located on sloping ground, and contained two or three stores, a blacksmith shop, a feed store, one saloon, one hotel and a public well. I think it was in July 1888 that I and two or three of the neighbors went to Johnson City, Staunton county, to prove up on our claims. We had filed soldier claims and our term of service in the army deducted from the required 5 years of residence, enabled us to secure a patent sooner than a straight-out citizen’s filing would. And we could be witnesses for each other. The day I left home to go and prove up, my patch of corn looked fine. But two or three days later, when I saw it, it was just a patch of green stocks a foot or two high. A heavy rain and hail storm had ruined it. That settled the western Kansas farming question with me. As soon as I got my patent, we started on the move into Colorado. Got as far as Palmer Lake, and after a month or two camping out, we got all we needed of that part of the state, and started back east with no definite point in view. But the spring of 1889 found us in the vicinity of Catlin in Otero County, Colorado. Well we stopped and camped awhile and finally rented part of Joe Graham’s house and moved in. I got a job as section hand on the Santa Fe railroad at $1.25 a day. Before proceeding further I will state that during the spring of 1887, Frank, being in his 18th
year went to Colorado in search of employment. Arriving at La Junta he secured work in the Santa Fe railroad yards and later on in the roundhouse and from there was promoted to train service. By and by he left the Santa Fe and entered the Missouri Pacific railway service. The railroad work was something new to me, but I soon caught on. On December 4th, 1889, our last baby, a boy, was born. We named him Ernest. Later on and while we still lived in the Graham house, my wife became deeply infatuated with a married man, and nearby neighbor. I noticed the intimacy, but persuaded myself that nothing serious would come of it, and had faith in her up to the day they ran away, which was the 4th of July 1890. I asked her that morning if she wanted to go to Rocky Ford to the celebration, “No I’ll stay at home” was her answer, “But you can go and take Harvey, May and Cora.” I didn’t suspect a thing. She dressed the children and they and I got in the wagon and started for Rocky Ford, 9 or 10 miles east of Catlin. Soon after leaving the house the married man passed me in his wagon, he had been to Catlin I judged. I called to him, “Are you going to Rocky today?” “No.” he said without checking the swift trot of his team. I was just as blind as ever, no suspicion in my mind was aroused. The children and I put in a very pleasant day at Rocky Ford, returning home at four or five o’clock in the evening. No seeing Margret and the other children around, I asked Mrs. Garold, a neighbor, if she knew where they were. She said “Stewart got them in his wagon, and they run away.” The news was a blow to me. Why did he forsake his own wife, then ruin my home? The more I thought over the dastardly act the deeper became my grief. Sometime during the night I wrote a letter to Margret’s mother, telling her of the move Margret had made. With the aid of neighbors things with me began to move. I discovered their whereabouts and Joe Graham soon got busy, and on finding the guilty pair and by some means secured Elmer and Steller, without much
or any difficulty. I made application for a divorce which was obtained in due time with the proviso that Ernest be delivered to me when he was weaned. But he died July 12, 1891, while they were living in the vicinity of Monument Colorado. I continued to work on the railroad as long as I stayed in the state. For a time I was a member of the Catlin school board. I also served on a special jury to try a murder case. One day in the fall of 1890 while working on the section, I happened to look toward home, a mile away, and saw it was afire. I hastened down to it, but did not save any of the household goods. The children had been careless with the fire in the stove, and while they were playing around out of doors, the fire in some manner got started. The fire being in my part of the house gave Joe Graham a chance to save most, if not all of his goods. There I was with a flock of kids, no place to sleep, no clothes except what we had on our backs. But the neighbors cared for us, made donations of articles we badly needed. I rented a small house in Catlin and we were soon in fair shape again. I think it was in the fall of 1892 I sold my five or six head of stock and other things I did not care to ship, then I and the children went by train to Nickerson, Kansas. If my memory is correct I had previously disposed of my Grant county Kansas claim, through a land agent, getting as part payment two town lots in Nickerson. On arriving in that town I rented a house, then looked around for a permanent location. I did not like the location of the lots I owned. I was refered to William Scott a dealer in lots and lands. He had a five acre tract, with one and a half acres set to Concord grapes and already in bearing, just outside the town limits. I bought it for $500.00 on the installment plan. As there was no house on it I and Harvey built a small frame one. After moving in I worked as a section hand for the Santa Fe, and the two
or three oldest children went to school. I joined the Congregational Church and tried to be a useful member by teaching a class in Sunday School. Later on was a deacon and trustee for a term. I think it was in 1893, Harvey, being about 18 years old, went to Boise, Idaho. My brother Oscar and family, and one or maybe two of my sisters then lived in Boise, or in the vicinity. Poor Harvey, I never saw him again alive. The next time I seen him he was in his coffin at his brother Frank’s house in Florence, Colorado. But facts concerning him will be mentioned later on. After working a year or two on the track, I secured a job in the Santa Fe roundhouse as painter’s helper in the paint shop. I don’t remember how long I was in the shop, but know I was there at least during the summer of 1894. The year of the big railroad strike. But the strike did not effect me nor the boss helper, “Buck” Campbell, an ex-confederate soldier, but “Buck” and I got along splendid. He and I, an ex-Union soldier, never argued over the Civil War question. The main boss of the paint shop department, was Cash Worth, a gentleman in every sense of the word. About all the force that worked on the repair work in the shop walked out during the strike. I don’t think there was much if any violence practiced by strikers during the strike. It seems to me I was layed off that fall owing to scarcity of work. I think later on I worked in the railroad yards awhile, maybe all winter. But as I now remember it when I was discharged from yard work, that ended my work for the Santa Fe. I had worked for the railroad company about seven years all told. During the winter of 1895 or 1896, I am not certain which, I began feeding sheep for William Hamilton. I worked for him I think until the spring of 1902, making 6 or 7 winters I fed sheep. During the intervening years between 1895 and 1903, some happenings occurred in my family, that I must not overlook. My oldest daughter
Viola May, and Arthur L. Smith were married in Hutchinson, Kansas, June 1896. Then on the 14th of December, 1896, I and Mrs. Margret S. Parker was married in Hutchinson, Kansas. As previously stated my son, Orland Harvey went to Boise Idaho, and on the breaking out of the Phillipine Insurrection he enlisted in Company H. 1st Idaho regiment and went to the Pillipine Islands, and when the war closed returned to the United States and with the regiment was discharged with the rank of sergeant at Boise Idaho. He had contracted an illness, chronic diarrhea, which resulted in his death on January 18th, 1900, at his brother Frank’s home in Florence, Colorado. After his discharge at Boise from the United States service, Harvey had started with the intention of coming home but only got to Florence, when his illness steadily grew worse. On receiving a telegram from Frank that Harvey was very low, and I should come at once. As soon as possible I took a train for Florence. But I arrived too late to see him alive. His frail body already was coffined, and burial services were conducted the next day at Colorado City. As before stated, he died January 18th, 1900, in the 25th year of his age. Short alas, was his race from the cradle to the grave. With a saddened heart I returned home to resume the daily routine in the battle of life. It is said time and tide waits for no one, and that being true, the year of 1900, like it’s predecessors passed swiftly by and the spring of 1901 was duly ushered in. On the 9th of March of that year another one of my girls was married, Estella and Everett Hoffman in Nickerson, Kansas. Another year flew by on the wings of time and brought in the year of 1902, and my remaining girl Cora and Paul L. Warner was married April 23d, at Colorado Springs, Colorado. My family of children had been reduced to only one, Elmer remained with me. During the fall of 1903, I sold my five acre home at Nickerson Kansas and I, my wife and Elmer late in November
took a Santa Fe train for Fresno California. After a ride of two or three days and nights we arrived in the California city, tired and strangers in a strange city. I had previously carried on a short correspondence with Comrade Parker, a department official of the Grand Army of the Republic department of California and Nevada. Although I failed to mention it before in this history of my life, I was also a member of the G.A.R. having joined post No. 204 Neodesha, Kansas G.A.R. in the year 1884. Comrade Parker in his correspondence with me, claimed California was ideal place for old Civil War soldiers to spend their declining years, therefore he is responsible, somewhat to my being in the land of sunshine and oranges. I have never regretted taking his advice. Comrade Parker met us at the depot in Fresno and piloted us to a hotel, where we remained a short time till we could get located. After a stay in Fresno of about ten days we went to Clovis 10 or 11 miles northeast of the city, and rented a house. After looking around a few days I bought a five acre lot a mile or two southwest of the town, and we became permanently located for about four years. Grape culture seemed to be carried on quite extensively in the vicinity, both of raisin and tumble grape variety. As my place was mostly unimproved land, during the spring of 1904 I put out three and a half acres to grapes, and later on planted a peach orchard. During the latter part of July, Elmer took sick and gradually grew weaker and thinner in flesh, I employed a doctor from Clovis, but his treatment failed to be of much or any benefit to Elmer. I called in another doctor, a Doctor Bland. His treatment for a time seemed to be of more benefit to the patient than the former doctor’s treatment had. But careful nursing and the doctor’s medicine failed to bring about a permanent rally, for pneumonia developed and on the 28th of August, 1904, Elmer passed away. During his sickness he expressed a desire to
return to Kansas. I promised him that he should go back when he got well. That seemed to revive him somewhat. But promises, medical treatment, nor a father’s care could stay the advance of grim reaper. He was in his 18th year of his age and had always been a dutiful child. On August the 30th, the remains of my poor Elmer were buried in the Clovis cemetery. During the fall I erected a paling around the grave that stood the ravages of time for over 20 years. And had I been near enough to keep it in repair, it might have been there today. During the remaining three years I and wife lived in the vicinity of Clovis I always had employment of one kind or another, when I could spare the time from my home affairs, picking raisins, table grapes or working in packing sheds, where girls and women packed grapes in crates for shipment to eastern markets. Water was obtainable for irrigation use from March to October at sixtytwo and a half cents per acre per year. Of course the consumer built his own laterals, or ditches. I think it was in the early summer of 1907 wife and I took a couple of weeks vacation and went on a visit to Los Angeles and Anaheim to see some of my relatives who had come to California during the previous year. On our returning to Clovis, I concluded to sell the home and move to Anaheim. A sale was made and I guess it was that winter, or early in the spring of 1908, we moved down there. I rented a house and about an acre of ground with it, paying $7.00 a month. I was advised to plant the land to early potatoes as I would find a ready market for them. I planted the potatoes in February, and by the first of May found I had a very good crop. I got busy and tried to make some sale, but met with poor success. I finally disposed of them at one cent a pound in trade. The potato business with me was a failure. That summer I bought two acres of land just outside the town limits. The only improvements was a box house containing two rooms. Wife and
I got busy and put down a four inch well, finding water at the depth of 80 feet. I found work quite readily among the neighbors at fair wages. In the spring of 1909 I planted about one acre and a half of the place to grape cuttings. They grew fairly well notwithstanding the scarcity of water which owing to the distance it came in an uncemented ditch I got about half the water I paid for. I sold the place in 1911, and we moved into a rented house in Anaheim. In the spring of 1912 I bought a five room house and two lots, and also a two room California, or box house and one lot 25 by 150 feet all belonging to the same owner for $1500.00 paying most of it down, and the rest on the installment plan. Both houses contained renters. The family in the small house soon moved out and Margret and I then occupied it. In the course of a year the family occupying the larger building moved out and we then occupied it and rented the smaller one. That was the last move for death entered the home and claimed Margret later on. In the course of a year, I think it was, we both joined the Christian church there in Anaheim, feeling it a duty we owed ourselves and to God. There was a 25 foot lot lying between the small house and my other lots that belonged to another party which I bought and added to the small house lot, making a 50 foot lot for the small house. I also built an additional room to it making it a three room dwelling. I believe it was in 1914 that word came to us dwelling on Vine street we must put in a five foot sidewalk, or we would cease to get our mail by carrier. Yes of course we was subject to the orders of the city dads and must act according. I engaged a man to do my 100 foot long sidewalk work, paying about sixty-five dollars for the job which included a two foot walk from sidewalk to the larger house. Sewer connections and gas were later on added necessities for the home. During the year of 1915 a cancer appeared on Margret’s face just below her left eye. Seeing an advertisement
in a newspaper of Dr. C. S. Meradith, San Gabriel, Cal, being a cancer doctor, we called on him, and made arrangements for treatment which continued weekly from Sunday March the 14th, 1915, to Nov. 5th, Twenty-nine trips. Trips were then discontinued until Thursday, Dec. 23d. when we began going again to visit Dr. Meradith at San Gabriel but not as often as formerly. 31st trip January 9th, 1916. On or about Tuesday Jan. 18th, the Santa Ana river overflowed its banks and a large body of water flooded Anaheim and vicinity. It completely surrounded our house on Vine Street except a strip of the back yard two or three feet wide at the southeast corner of the house. At daylight Thursday morning, Jan 20th, the water had receded from our front yard, leaving about a half inch of very sticky sediment. Train service was badly crippled. On Thursday Jan. 27th the second flood began coming in just before daylight, but didn’t reach the height of the first one. Flood greatly reduced by Saturday evening Jan. 29th. Monday Feb. 7th, 32d trip to San Gabriel. Went by train from Anaheim to Los Angeles then by street car to San Gabriel. Most all the former trips were by automobile driven by various persons. The cancer continued to gradually spread. But Margret and I continued to visit the doctor. She had the faith that he would cure it, or at least check its progress. Monday Feb. 14th, 33d trip, went by train and street car service. Monday Feb 21st, 34th trip, Monday Feb. 28th, 35th trip, Monday March 6th, 36th trip. Monday March 13th, 37th trip. Saturday March 25th, 38th trip. Mr. Thorn took us in auto. Cost $1.50 Distance to San Gabriel about 27 miles. The 39th trip to see the doctor was Sunday May 7th, 1916. According to notes I kept at the time, there was quite a space of time intervened before we visited the doctor again, which was Sunday Oct. 29th when we made our 40th trip. The round trip carfare for
both to San Gabriel and back was $2.20. We made round trips to San Gabriel on the following dates. Nov. 5th, 41st, Nov. 12th, 42d, Nov. 19th, 43d, Saturday Nov. 25th, 44th trip. Sunday Dec. 3d, 45th trip, Sunday Dec. 10th, 46th trip. Our next trip to see Dr. Meradith was on Sunday Dec. 24th, the 47th one, and the last one for 1916. If I remember right, Margret’s left eye was beginning to be affected at about that time, from inroads of the cancer. On Monday, New Years Day, 1917, we went with Arthur Smith and family to Orange County Park, and from there to Newport Beach. Sunday Jan. 7th, 1917, Went on our 48th trip to San Gabriel. The next trip, the 49th, one was on Sunday Feb. 4th. On March 4th, we took our 50th trip to San Gabriel. On Sunday April the 1st, 1917, we again went to see Dr. Meradith, it being the 51st trip and no cancer cure was in sight for Margret. On Sunday April 29th, our 52d trip was taken to San Gabriel. The 53d journey was on May 27th. While I have not mentioned it, every few trips I paid the doctor a few dollars. I told him when he began treating the case, I was not able to pay fancy prices. He said, “That’s all right, pay what you are able.” The 54th trip occurred on Sunday June 24th. Our next trip, the 55th, one was on July 22d. We remained at home until August 19th, before going on the 56th journey to the doctor’s office. It was September the 16th before we again was in the doctor’s office, and had rode with Mr. George Bogue on this the 57th trip. The ride up there and back cost us $1.00 for the two of us. After having taken the 59th trip to San Gabriel, which was on Sunday Oct. 21st, 1917, I bought a commutation card for $6.56, good for 25 rides on a Santa Fe train between Anaheim and Los Angeles, which was quite a bit cheaper than the regular fare, which was for round trip for both of us $2.20 or $1.10 for one. The commutation card lasted until the 70th round trip which was on Sunday, January 20th, 1918. Sometimes Margret went alone and when I went
both used the card. But for some cause I went back to regular carfare on the 71st round trip which was on Sunday Feb, the 3d, and on that date I began paying war tax which was 6 cents on each Santa Fe ticket making $1.16 per ticket between Anaheim and Los Angeles, which held the same until on Sunday June 23d, when I bought round trip tickets for the 79th round trip, the price per ticket had jumped to $1.72 per ticket. And the street car line from Los Angeles to San Gabriel charged 30 cents round trip per passengers. Alice Peed and children arrived Wednesday June 5th, 1918, from Florence Colorado, remaining until Saturday June 29th, when Frank and family moved to Fullerton, California. According to the notes of our trips to Dr. Meradith’s ceased for a long time after the 80th one, which occurred Sunday July 14th, 1918. During 1915 there were 30 round trips made to San Gabriel, the last one being on Thursday Dec. 23d. As near as I can figure it out, the cost for transportation on those trips was $9.95. Several of them were automobile rides and cost me nothing. One notable event I will mention. On Friday Nov. 12th, 1915, the famous Liberty bell arrived at the Santa Fe station at 10 o’clock A.M. It was on a flat car attached to rear of passenger train drawn by Engine No. 3529. The stop was only 5 or 10 minutes. The famous old bell was viewed by hundreds of people. Word was received later on that it arrived in Philadelphia at 3:50 p.m. Thursday, Nov. 25th, after being placed in its resting place in Independence Hall, prayer for its safe return was offered by Ref. Louis C. Washburn. By referring to my notes of 1916 transportation charges on round trips to San Gabriel amounted to $23.40, there being only 17 trips during the year. Last one being Sunday Dec. 24th. During 1917 there were 21 round trips made at a cost of $31.37. During 1918 there were only 12 round trips ending Sunday July 14th at a cost of $18.36. During 1919 not a trip was made to see the doctor although
the cancer was not cured It did not seem to trouble her. During the year we made many pleasant visits to one place and another. We never tired of going to the beaches. On Saturday August 9th, we went to Bixby Park, Long Beach, to an Iowa picnic and to see the fleet of war ships that began arriving in early afternoon. Before passing on to happenings of 1920 I will mention the purchase of a slab of government bacon at the price of 23 cents per pound. As every year has a habit of doing, the year 1919 slipped away and the untried one of 1920 showed up bright and early New Years morning. In general appearances it was similar to previous New Years mornings that had visited our world. Along toward the last of May, Margret feeling fairly well expressed a desire to go back to Kansas and Oklahoma on a visit to see her children. But the trip did not take place until September. In the meantime I wrote, telling them of her wish, and asked that someone come out and accompany her on the proposed trip. She had had two or three sick spells early in the year, and might become sick while on the journey east. Guy Lewis, a grandson, came out during early September and accompanied her on the trip. They left over the Santa Fe, September 8th. A letter later on informed me they arrived in Hutchinson, Kans in the afternoon of Sept. 10. Before Margret’s departure, I sold the small house and two 25 foot lots on August 18th, to Elvin H. Gregg and wife for $1600.00 cash down. Margret returned home from her Oklahoma visit Thursday morning December 30th, 1920. She reported of enjoying a pleasant visit, with her children and acquaintances. Her cancer appeared about the same as when she went on her visit. She still had faith that Dr. Meradith could cure it. But I didn’t think so, for she had previously made 80 trips to his office for treatments, and instead of staying its progress it had gradually spread and destroyed her left eye. We began our second series of trips to see Dr. Meradith for a continued treatment on
Wednesday Feb. 23d, 1921. I bought Crown stage commutation books good for 30 one way rides at 37 and 3/5 cents per passenger between Anaheim and Los Angeles. Carfare on street car line from Los Angeles to San Gabriel was 21 cents one way per passenger. Two round trip tickets from Anaheim to San Gabriel under the commutation system, cost $2.34. The books were $11.25 each. When not using the book system round trips for two cost $3.44. During 1921 we made 24 round trips, the cost being $59.46. During the year we made occasional visits to the beaches, to relatives and other places. On Wednesday Oct. 12th, 1921, my brother-in-law John F. Manning died at 3:30 p.m. at Memorial hospital, Los Angeles, and his wife (my sister) Etta died an hour later, of shock and possibly heart trouble, at the same place on arrival and was informed of his death. The double funeral was held at Pierce Brother’s Funeral parlor on Friday the 14th. Burial was in I. O. O. F. cemetery. In referring again to my notes I see our last trip to San Gabriel for 1921 was on December 14th. The 25th trip after Margret’s return from Oklahoma occurred Jan. 18th, 1922. As usual when she felt fairly well we visited beaches or other places. I had noticed as time went by that she was becoming more frail. She had two or three sick spells with gall trouble during 1921 and as 1922 lengthened out they became more frequent and painful. But Dr. Utter or Dr. Truxaw would relieve her, and in a day or two she’d be up again. On August 17th, Margret’s daughter, Nora Wilson and two grandchildren, Forest and Neva arrived about 8:00 P.M. from Olympia, Washington. Their visit was very unexpected, and quite a surprise to us. Margret was sick with gallstone trouble. Dr. Utter had been called about 5 o’clock that evening and she was resting easier. On Sunday August 20th, Nora and her children went in their automobile to Newport Beach. On Tuesday morning the 22d, Forest and Neva started on their return trip to Olympia, leaving their mother to
return by train later on. As her mother was up and around as usual, Nora left for home at 12:15 p.m. Monday September 11th, over the Southern Pacific railway. On Monday Oct 9th, we went to San Gabriel. It was the 37th one, since Margret had returned home from her visit to see her children, and the last one she would ever make to San Gabriel to see Dr. Meradith. For at 8:30 p.m. Monday October 16th, 1922, she passed away. Gallstone trouble was the cause of her death. Medical aid had been faithfully used but it failed to stay the grim reaper. The body was taken to the Huddle Funeral parlors, and the children notified by telegraph of the death of their mother. They all seemed unable to come. The funeral sermon was delivered by the Methodist Minister, Rev. J. A. Geissinger at 2:00 p.m. Friday Oct. 20th, at the Huddle Funeral parlors. Text St. John chap. 14, ver. 1, 6. Clinton Parker, her son informed me by telegraph that the children would like to have the corpse shipped to Raymond, Kansas, for burial. I accordingly shipped the body over the Santa Fe route Saturday morning October 21st, 1922. Express charges for the same were $127.20. Other expenses connected with the funeral, such as casket, embalming, hearse service for taking body to Fullerton from where shipment was made and etc was $135.00, grand total being $262.20. As some of the receipts have been lost or misplaced, I do not know positive, but I think I paid Dr. Meradith about $100.00 for his services. For a short time after Margret’s death, I lived alone, but soon sold my household goods, rented the house, and went to live with Cora and family up at or near Olinda. I continued to live around with my three children, first one and then another, for a little over 4 years when finally on December 1st, 1926, I rented a room from Mrs. Cora M. Vestal, 2213 F Street, Bakersfield, Calif, and from that time on have been a roomer with different families in Bakersfield. My present address is 1807 Maple Ave, Bakersfield where I am a roomer in
the home of Mr. and Mrs. W. W. Gilbert, and have been for over 4 years, moving in Wednesday morning April 18th, 1928. This is the 26th day of May 1932. My how time has fled. It seems but a few months instead of years since those eventful days of 1922 when death entered my family circle for the fourth time. But death is the destiny of the human race, and none can shun the payment of that debt. The home 116 Vine Street, Anaheim, I owned 12 years or more, has passed into the keeping of another owner but memories connected with the ownership still linger with me. It should have been mentioned before that the 13 trips in 1922 ended at the cost of $43.94 being $3.38 the round trip. Being for the 117 round trips, about $108.66. I cheerfully bore all expenses, hoping a cure of the cancer would be effected. But such was not to be. I will now bring this brief history of my life to a close. Much, very much more could be written that might be interesting to some extent. For a person born back beyond the middle of the 19th century should be rather good authority as to how business was conducted before the invention of the present day conveniences, and have come to be a necessity in this age and generation. But my aim has been only to give the main points in my career as I saw them, or enacted them. The reader of these lines is requested to excuse the many errors that will be found, for the author never had the opportunity that is now so generously presented to the student of today. My education was of the backwoods variety. Only the doors of the common district school were open to me. I am now in my 90th year, and am a member of the First Christian Church of Bakersfield, California. . And am trying to live up to the vow I made to God on the battle field of Stones River Tenn.
Very respectfully yours,
Oliver H. Peed, Late Private of Co, K.
86th, Ind. Vol. Inft, 3d, Brig, 3d Div.
4th A.C. Army of The Cumberland U.S.A.
Margaret L Stewart (1856 - 1935)
Margaret Winship Peed (____ - 1870)*
Margaret Sophia Lewis Peed (1842 - 1922)*
Oliver Franklin Peed (1869 - 1937)*
Oliver Harold Peed (1875 - 1900)*
Viola May Peed Smith (1878 - 1940)*
Cora Myrtle Peed Warner (1879 - 1943)*
Estelle O Peed Hoffman (1884 - 1944)*
Elmer Peed (1887 - 1904)*
Plot: Haven of Rest, Block 225, Lot 11
Created by: eileencw
Record added: Aug 06, 2012
Find A Grave Memorial# 94899923