THE UNIONVILLE CRESCENT, UNIONVILLE, MICHIGAN, FRIDAY, OCTOBER 18, 1928, pages 1 and 4
He's Old in Years But Young in Spirit
Henry D. Loomis, Veteran Sailor of the Great Lakes, Now in 90th Year, Once Scared Off Band of Indians to Quiet Nerves of Alarmed Neighbor
Hale and hearty, sprightly of step, alert of mind, younger in actions than a good many men of 60; such is the story of Henry D. Loomis, veteran sailor of the Great Lakes and now in his 90th year.
This remarkable old (or should we say young) gentleman lives alone in his little cabin on the old "state road" four miles south of Sebewaing. Recently the writer paid him a visit, and it was a most interesting two hours that we spent there. Mr. Loomis is a splendid example of what an active life in the great outdoors will do for a man who has done just that practically during his entire span of years.
He was born May 8, 1840, in Erie county, Pennsylvania. Coming to Michigan with his parents in 1861, he settled with them on what is now the Kimmerly farm, a short distance south of his present place of abode. Soon after the family's arrival here came the outbreak of the Civil War, and one of the first things young Loomis did was to walk the 55 miles to Flint to enlist in the Union army. He did this in one day. On his rejection, he returned home, again afoot.
He made this trip three times in all, at intervals of two weeks, only to be told each time that he could not be accepted to service. The third time he pressed the examining officer for the reason for his rejection and was told it was on account of a broken leg he had sustained several years before. Next he was registered at Unionville for the draft. The same night he left for Ashtabula, Ohio, and on his arrival there promptly went to the recruiting office to enlist and was accepted, being told, however, he must wait to join the active service, the quotas at that time having been filled.
Gaining permission from the recruiting office at Ashtabula, he next went to Buffalo to ship on a lake freighter, but before embarking he filed his enlistment at Buffalo for the navy. Here he was told to report at stated intervals, as the naval quotas were also filled at the time. After having made three trips to Chicago and back on board his vessel, each time to learn that he was not yet wanted, he said to the officer in charge of the recruiting station; "You know where I am. I shall not report again. When you need me, call me." This arrangement was satisfactory to the recruiting office, but Loomis was never called, and he completed the season on the lakes.
It was with a chuckle that Mr. Loomis related how he once was responsible for the scaring away about 100 Canadian Indians who one day landed with their canoes on the bay shore and set up camp near the Loomis farm. Lemuel Stone, another farmer, was much alarmed over their arrival. To young Loomis he expressed the fear that the strange Redskins, being of a different tribe than the friendly Chippewas who had settlements at various places along the bay shore, might be given to stealing cattle and otherwise ravaging the nearby farms. Perhaps Stone's fears were well founded, perhaps not. Anyway, Loomis proposed serving notice to them to move on.
Accordingly, the two shouldered their muskets, Loomis taking with him a pot of red paint, the use which this was to be put he did not confide in Stone until they had partly circuited the Indian camp. Peeling the bark off a section of a big tree trunk, with the paint Loomis outlined the profile of an Indian with full feather headdress. Then he stepped back a number of paces and put three balls squarely into the forehead of the Indian likeness. Again skirting the Indian camp, they returned home.
On hearing the three shots, the Indians must have gone into the forest to learn the reason for them. Anyway, the next day there was a great bustle in the camp and soon the Redskins were seen to embark in their canoes and depart, never to return. They had read and understood them mute message of the tree trunk - and Stone was visibly relieved.
Our visit included a tramp to the west portion of the Bachman farm, half a mile away, where Mr. Loomis pointed out the precise spot where the Chippewas had a burying ground in the early days. To get to the plot it was necessary to cross a deep drain and a couple of fences. We had nothing on him in negotiating them. He did it with an agility that was surprising, and with a nimbleness that few men 40 years his junior could equal.
There is no doubt Mr. Loomis owes his excellent health and suppleness to an active outdoor life, 50 years of which he spent sailing the Great Lakes in the iron ore and grain trade. In 1878-79 he sailed his own vessel, the R. J. Fretter, carrying railroad ties. grain and produce out of Sebewaing. She was a 225-ton schooner 110 feet in length and was considered of fair size in those days. It was after disposing of the Fretter that he went with the ore and grain carriers. In his later years on the lakes he sailed on some of the larger freighters in the trade.
Mr. Loomis lived for eight years in the village here, in the place now owned by Albert Bounting, on West Sebewaing street. He sold the property to Mr. Bounting in 1921. Mrs. Loomis died in 1912 and for a number of years he lived there with his only daughter, Stella, who during that time became Mrs. Edward Burgess, Jr., and who died at Midland in 1928.
Mr. Loomis is by no means rounding out his years with the ease and repose that by necessity must attend most men who live to his age. We imagine that he would not be satisfied were he to be surrounded with modern comforts and living a life of inaction. He has his garden, cuts his summer wood and not infrequently assists neighboring farmers in their work afield. He has never missed his fall hunting and claims to be as good a shot as he ever was. In the winter he traps and fishes, and only the person who has run a string of traps knows that this is not the easiest sort of labor. It means getting out early in the morning, miles of tramping in all sorts of weather, and then, if the catch is good, lugging it home and preparing it for the fur buyer, only to await the next morning to repeat the operation.
Mr. Loomis is an enthusiastic Freemason, having been affiliated with that order for more than 50 years. He is a life member of Northern Star Lodge at Unionville.
By H. G. Muellerweiss - Sebewaing Blade Sept. 26
He's Old in Years But Young in Spirit
Henry D. Loomis, Veteran Sailor of the Great Lakes, Now in 90th Year, Once Scared Off Band of Indians to Quiet Nerves of Alarmed Neighbor
Hale and hearty, sprightly of step, alert of mind, younger in actions than a good many men of 60; such is the story of Henry D. Loomis, veteran sailor of the Great Lakes and now in his 90th year.
This remarkable old (or should we say young) gentleman lives alone in his little cabin on the old "state road" four miles south of Sebewaing. Recently the writer paid him a visit, and it was a most interesting two hours that we spent there. Mr. Loomis is a splendid example of what an active life in the great outdoors will do for a man who has done just that practically during his entire span of years.
He was born May 8, 1840, in Erie county, Pennsylvania. Coming to Michigan with his parents in 1861, he settled with them on what is now the Kimmerly farm, a short distance south of his present place of abode. Soon after the family's arrival here came the outbreak of the Civil War, and one of the first things young Loomis did was to walk the 55 miles to Flint to enlist in the Union army. He did this in one day. On his rejection, he returned home, again afoot.
He made this trip three times in all, at intervals of two weeks, only to be told each time that he could not be accepted to service. The third time he pressed the examining officer for the reason for his rejection and was told it was on account of a broken leg he had sustained several years before. Next he was registered at Unionville for the draft. The same night he left for Ashtabula, Ohio, and on his arrival there promptly went to the recruiting office to enlist and was accepted, being told, however, he must wait to join the active service, the quotas at that time having been filled.
Gaining permission from the recruiting office at Ashtabula, he next went to Buffalo to ship on a lake freighter, but before embarking he filed his enlistment at Buffalo for the navy. Here he was told to report at stated intervals, as the naval quotas were also filled at the time. After having made three trips to Chicago and back on board his vessel, each time to learn that he was not yet wanted, he said to the officer in charge of the recruiting station; "You know where I am. I shall not report again. When you need me, call me." This arrangement was satisfactory to the recruiting office, but Loomis was never called, and he completed the season on the lakes.
It was with a chuckle that Mr. Loomis related how he once was responsible for the scaring away about 100 Canadian Indians who one day landed with their canoes on the bay shore and set up camp near the Loomis farm. Lemuel Stone, another farmer, was much alarmed over their arrival. To young Loomis he expressed the fear that the strange Redskins, being of a different tribe than the friendly Chippewas who had settlements at various places along the bay shore, might be given to stealing cattle and otherwise ravaging the nearby farms. Perhaps Stone's fears were well founded, perhaps not. Anyway, Loomis proposed serving notice to them to move on.
Accordingly, the two shouldered their muskets, Loomis taking with him a pot of red paint, the use which this was to be put he did not confide in Stone until they had partly circuited the Indian camp. Peeling the bark off a section of a big tree trunk, with the paint Loomis outlined the profile of an Indian with full feather headdress. Then he stepped back a number of paces and put three balls squarely into the forehead of the Indian likeness. Again skirting the Indian camp, they returned home.
On hearing the three shots, the Indians must have gone into the forest to learn the reason for them. Anyway, the next day there was a great bustle in the camp and soon the Redskins were seen to embark in their canoes and depart, never to return. They had read and understood them mute message of the tree trunk - and Stone was visibly relieved.
Our visit included a tramp to the west portion of the Bachman farm, half a mile away, where Mr. Loomis pointed out the precise spot where the Chippewas had a burying ground in the early days. To get to the plot it was necessary to cross a deep drain and a couple of fences. We had nothing on him in negotiating them. He did it with an agility that was surprising, and with a nimbleness that few men 40 years his junior could equal.
There is no doubt Mr. Loomis owes his excellent health and suppleness to an active outdoor life, 50 years of which he spent sailing the Great Lakes in the iron ore and grain trade. In 1878-79 he sailed his own vessel, the R. J. Fretter, carrying railroad ties. grain and produce out of Sebewaing. She was a 225-ton schooner 110 feet in length and was considered of fair size in those days. It was after disposing of the Fretter that he went with the ore and grain carriers. In his later years on the lakes he sailed on some of the larger freighters in the trade.
Mr. Loomis lived for eight years in the village here, in the place now owned by Albert Bounting, on West Sebewaing street. He sold the property to Mr. Bounting in 1921. Mrs. Loomis died in 1912 and for a number of years he lived there with his only daughter, Stella, who during that time became Mrs. Edward Burgess, Jr., and who died at Midland in 1928.
Mr. Loomis is by no means rounding out his years with the ease and repose that by necessity must attend most men who live to his age. We imagine that he would not be satisfied were he to be surrounded with modern comforts and living a life of inaction. He has his garden, cuts his summer wood and not infrequently assists neighboring farmers in their work afield. He has never missed his fall hunting and claims to be as good a shot as he ever was. In the winter he traps and fishes, and only the person who has run a string of traps knows that this is not the easiest sort of labor. It means getting out early in the morning, miles of tramping in all sorts of weather, and then, if the catch is good, lugging it home and preparing it for the fur buyer, only to await the next morning to repeat the operation.
Mr. Loomis is an enthusiastic Freemason, having been affiliated with that order for more than 50 years. He is a life member of Northern Star Lodge at Unionville.
By H. G. Muellerweiss - Sebewaing Blade Sept. 26
THE UNIONVILLE CRESCENT, UNIONVILLE, MICHIGAN, FRIDAY, OCTOBER 18, 1928, pages 1 and 4
He's Old in Years But Young in Spirit
Henry D. Loomis, Veteran Sailor of the Great Lakes, Now in 90th Year, Once Scared Off Band of Indians to Quiet Nerves of Alarmed Neighbor
Hale and hearty, sprightly of step, alert of mind, younger in actions than a good many men of 60; such is the story of Henry D. Loomis, veteran sailor of the Great Lakes and now in his 90th year.
This remarkable old (or should we say young) gentleman lives alone in his little cabin on the old "state road" four miles south of Sebewaing. Recently the writer paid him a visit, and it was a most interesting two hours that we spent there. Mr. Loomis is a splendid example of what an active life in the great outdoors will do for a man who has done just that practically during his entire span of years.
He was born May 8, 1840, in Erie county, Pennsylvania. Coming to Michigan with his parents in 1861, he settled with them on what is now the Kimmerly farm, a short distance south of his present place of abode. Soon after the family's arrival here came the outbreak of the Civil War, and one of the first things young Loomis did was to walk the 55 miles to Flint to enlist in the Union army. He did this in one day. On his rejection, he returned home, again afoot.
He made this trip three times in all, at intervals of two weeks, only to be told each time that he could not be accepted to service. The third time he pressed the examining officer for the reason for his rejection and was told it was on account of a broken leg he had sustained several years before. Next he was registered at Unionville for the draft. The same night he left for Ashtabula, Ohio, and on his arrival there promptly went to the recruiting office to enlist and was accepted, being told, however, he must wait to join the active service, the quotas at that time having been filled.
Gaining permission from the recruiting office at Ashtabula, he next went to Buffalo to ship on a lake freighter, but before embarking he filed his enlistment at Buffalo for the navy. Here he was told to report at stated intervals, as the naval quotas were also filled at the time. After having made three trips to Chicago and back on board his vessel, each time to learn that he was not yet wanted, he said to the officer in charge of the recruiting station; "You know where I am. I shall not report again. When you need me, call me." This arrangement was satisfactory to the recruiting office, but Loomis was never called, and he completed the season on the lakes.
It was with a chuckle that Mr. Loomis related how he once was responsible for the scaring away about 100 Canadian Indians who one day landed with their canoes on the bay shore and set up camp near the Loomis farm. Lemuel Stone, another farmer, was much alarmed over their arrival. To young Loomis he expressed the fear that the strange Redskins, being of a different tribe than the friendly Chippewas who had settlements at various places along the bay shore, might be given to stealing cattle and otherwise ravaging the nearby farms. Perhaps Stone's fears were well founded, perhaps not. Anyway, Loomis proposed serving notice to them to move on.
Accordingly, the two shouldered their muskets, Loomis taking with him a pot of red paint, the use which this was to be put he did not confide in Stone until they had partly circuited the Indian camp. Peeling the bark off a section of a big tree trunk, with the paint Loomis outlined the profile of an Indian with full feather headdress. Then he stepped back a number of paces and put three balls squarely into the forehead of the Indian likeness. Again skirting the Indian camp, they returned home.
On hearing the three shots, the Indians must have gone into the forest to learn the reason for them. Anyway, the next day there was a great bustle in the camp and soon the Redskins were seen to embark in their canoes and depart, never to return. They had read and understood them mute message of the tree trunk - and Stone was visibly relieved.
Our visit included a tramp to the west portion of the Bachman farm, half a mile away, where Mr. Loomis pointed out the precise spot where the Chippewas had a burying ground in the early days. To get to the plot it was necessary to cross a deep drain and a couple of fences. We had nothing on him in negotiating them. He did it with an agility that was surprising, and with a nimbleness that few men 40 years his junior could equal.
There is no doubt Mr. Loomis owes his excellent health and suppleness to an active outdoor life, 50 years of which he spent sailing the Great Lakes in the iron ore and grain trade. In 1878-79 he sailed his own vessel, the R. J. Fretter, carrying railroad ties. grain and produce out of Sebewaing. She was a 225-ton schooner 110 feet in length and was considered of fair size in those days. It was after disposing of the Fretter that he went with the ore and grain carriers. In his later years on the lakes he sailed on some of the larger freighters in the trade.
Mr. Loomis lived for eight years in the village here, in the place now owned by Albert Bounting, on West Sebewaing street. He sold the property to Mr. Bounting in 1921. Mrs. Loomis died in 1912 and for a number of years he lived there with his only daughter, Stella, who during that time became Mrs. Edward Burgess, Jr., and who died at Midland in 1928.
Mr. Loomis is by no means rounding out his years with the ease and repose that by necessity must attend most men who live to his age. We imagine that he would not be satisfied were he to be surrounded with modern comforts and living a life of inaction. He has his garden, cuts his summer wood and not infrequently assists neighboring farmers in their work afield. He has never missed his fall hunting and claims to be as good a shot as he ever was. In the winter he traps and fishes, and only the person who has run a string of traps knows that this is not the easiest sort of labor. It means getting out early in the morning, miles of tramping in all sorts of weather, and then, if the catch is good, lugging it home and preparing it for the fur buyer, only to await the next morning to repeat the operation.
Mr. Loomis is an enthusiastic Freemason, having been affiliated with that order for more than 50 years. He is a life member of Northern Star Lodge at Unionville.
By H. G. Muellerweiss - Sebewaing Blade Sept. 26
He's Old in Years But Young in Spirit
Henry D. Loomis, Veteran Sailor of the Great Lakes, Now in 90th Year, Once Scared Off Band of Indians to Quiet Nerves of Alarmed Neighbor
Hale and hearty, sprightly of step, alert of mind, younger in actions than a good many men of 60; such is the story of Henry D. Loomis, veteran sailor of the Great Lakes and now in his 90th year.
This remarkable old (or should we say young) gentleman lives alone in his little cabin on the old "state road" four miles south of Sebewaing. Recently the writer paid him a visit, and it was a most interesting two hours that we spent there. Mr. Loomis is a splendid example of what an active life in the great outdoors will do for a man who has done just that practically during his entire span of years.
He was born May 8, 1840, in Erie county, Pennsylvania. Coming to Michigan with his parents in 1861, he settled with them on what is now the Kimmerly farm, a short distance south of his present place of abode. Soon after the family's arrival here came the outbreak of the Civil War, and one of the first things young Loomis did was to walk the 55 miles to Flint to enlist in the Union army. He did this in one day. On his rejection, he returned home, again afoot.
He made this trip three times in all, at intervals of two weeks, only to be told each time that he could not be accepted to service. The third time he pressed the examining officer for the reason for his rejection and was told it was on account of a broken leg he had sustained several years before. Next he was registered at Unionville for the draft. The same night he left for Ashtabula, Ohio, and on his arrival there promptly went to the recruiting office to enlist and was accepted, being told, however, he must wait to join the active service, the quotas at that time having been filled.
Gaining permission from the recruiting office at Ashtabula, he next went to Buffalo to ship on a lake freighter, but before embarking he filed his enlistment at Buffalo for the navy. Here he was told to report at stated intervals, as the naval quotas were also filled at the time. After having made three trips to Chicago and back on board his vessel, each time to learn that he was not yet wanted, he said to the officer in charge of the recruiting station; "You know where I am. I shall not report again. When you need me, call me." This arrangement was satisfactory to the recruiting office, but Loomis was never called, and he completed the season on the lakes.
It was with a chuckle that Mr. Loomis related how he once was responsible for the scaring away about 100 Canadian Indians who one day landed with their canoes on the bay shore and set up camp near the Loomis farm. Lemuel Stone, another farmer, was much alarmed over their arrival. To young Loomis he expressed the fear that the strange Redskins, being of a different tribe than the friendly Chippewas who had settlements at various places along the bay shore, might be given to stealing cattle and otherwise ravaging the nearby farms. Perhaps Stone's fears were well founded, perhaps not. Anyway, Loomis proposed serving notice to them to move on.
Accordingly, the two shouldered their muskets, Loomis taking with him a pot of red paint, the use which this was to be put he did not confide in Stone until they had partly circuited the Indian camp. Peeling the bark off a section of a big tree trunk, with the paint Loomis outlined the profile of an Indian with full feather headdress. Then he stepped back a number of paces and put three balls squarely into the forehead of the Indian likeness. Again skirting the Indian camp, they returned home.
On hearing the three shots, the Indians must have gone into the forest to learn the reason for them. Anyway, the next day there was a great bustle in the camp and soon the Redskins were seen to embark in their canoes and depart, never to return. They had read and understood them mute message of the tree trunk - and Stone was visibly relieved.
Our visit included a tramp to the west portion of the Bachman farm, half a mile away, where Mr. Loomis pointed out the precise spot where the Chippewas had a burying ground in the early days. To get to the plot it was necessary to cross a deep drain and a couple of fences. We had nothing on him in negotiating them. He did it with an agility that was surprising, and with a nimbleness that few men 40 years his junior could equal.
There is no doubt Mr. Loomis owes his excellent health and suppleness to an active outdoor life, 50 years of which he spent sailing the Great Lakes in the iron ore and grain trade. In 1878-79 he sailed his own vessel, the R. J. Fretter, carrying railroad ties. grain and produce out of Sebewaing. She was a 225-ton schooner 110 feet in length and was considered of fair size in those days. It was after disposing of the Fretter that he went with the ore and grain carriers. In his later years on the lakes he sailed on some of the larger freighters in the trade.
Mr. Loomis lived for eight years in the village here, in the place now owned by Albert Bounting, on West Sebewaing street. He sold the property to Mr. Bounting in 1921. Mrs. Loomis died in 1912 and for a number of years he lived there with his only daughter, Stella, who during that time became Mrs. Edward Burgess, Jr., and who died at Midland in 1928.
Mr. Loomis is by no means rounding out his years with the ease and repose that by necessity must attend most men who live to his age. We imagine that he would not be satisfied were he to be surrounded with modern comforts and living a life of inaction. He has his garden, cuts his summer wood and not infrequently assists neighboring farmers in their work afield. He has never missed his fall hunting and claims to be as good a shot as he ever was. In the winter he traps and fishes, and only the person who has run a string of traps knows that this is not the easiest sort of labor. It means getting out early in the morning, miles of tramping in all sorts of weather, and then, if the catch is good, lugging it home and preparing it for the fur buyer, only to await the next morning to repeat the operation.
Mr. Loomis is an enthusiastic Freemason, having been affiliated with that order for more than 50 years. He is a life member of Northern Star Lodge at Unionville.
By H. G. Muellerweiss - Sebewaing Blade Sept. 26
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