Fonder, Miriam Donegan /
Castle Rock, CO : Philip S. Miller Library, [1997]
Call #: REF BF CR F
Series Biography file - Reference - Philip S. Miller Library
Format: [file], Subject Names: Fonder, Miriam Donegan, 1835-1927
Miriam DONEGAN is the 2nd great grand aunt of Roger Dirk VAN HORSEN. Their common ancestors are John DONEGAN and Margery ROBERTS.
This is to be a sketch of my life. I was born in Monroe County, Ohio, on the 27th of August 1835. When I was six months old, my parents moved to Iowa.
At that time, Iowa was unsettled and I can remember very well when the Indians were our neighbors. As for myself, I was always afraid of the Indians. They sometimes came to the house when my Father and Mother were gone to church (or to meeting) as it was called, as they had no church building and had services at the house of some of the neighbors. (My parents were Methodists). On such occasion, we children would go in and shut the door to keep them out.
My parents with Uncle John Roberts, my Grandparents and several of my Grandfathers family stopped in Burlington and from there scattered out taking up land in different parts of the state. My Grandfather, Uncle Bill Roberts and the two youngest girls, Aunt Miriam and Aunt Betsy, settled in Des Moines County. My Father, Uncle John Roberts and Uncle John Vorhees went farther west and settled in Jefferson County, on the Skunk River. The pre-emption law was in force then as now and each head of a family could pre-empt 160 acres of land. The country where Father and my Uncles settled was mostly timber.
They cleared off their farms by cutting down the trees, rolling the legs together and burning them. Then they ploughed around the stumps until they rotted so they could pull them out.
On Fathers farm, there were a number of Sugar Maple trees. These were left standing and every Spring (in February and March) we had sugar making, when they made maple sugar and syrup to do us the rest of the year. It did not always last the year out but when it was gone, we went without. Sugar making was always anxiously looked forward to, as that was the gaily times of the year for us children. The days were warm and the snow would melt some and get soft, then freeze at night, so we could run on the crust and we sure enjoyed it.
Those were hard years for our Fathers, as there were no mills nearer than Burlington, 40 mile away. We lived mostly on corn bread. My Father made a hand mill, on which he ground the corn by hand. Sometimes after they had raised wheat, two or three of the neighbors would go together, load a wagon with wheat, and go to Burlington Mill. Sometimes one, then another would go. They would frequently be gone a week as they might have to wait for their turn to get their grinding done. So, wheat bread was a luxury. But we had a good many good things to eat.
The country abounded in deer, wild turkeys, pheasants and quail. Also, rabbits, squirrels, and all were good. The men had great sport hunting coons by night. A good coon dog was considered a treasure.
We had cows enough to keep the families in milk and butter. We always had plenty of 'hogs and hominy'. It cost the farmers very little to raise hogs, as they lived grew and fattened on the most which was nuts and acorns. The farmers would have some brood sows running in the timber, they did not brand their stock like they do now. Each man had his own earmark. My Fathers was a crop and underbit in the left ear. Any man going through the timber finding a sow with his mark and a litter of pigs would mark the pigs, then that was all they had to do. When they wanted pork, go find one with his mark and kill it. In the Fall get their shoats up, pen them and feed corn for awhile. Hog killing or butchering time was a busy time for the housewife. She had to render the lard, make sausage and headcheese. Then the meat was salted and when it had taken salt the hams and shoulders were smoked and the side meat put in brine. So the meat was prepared for the next season.
Every farmer kept a flock of sheep. The wool of which was to clothe the family for the winter. The sheep were sheared, then the Mother took the wool and it was her chore to convert it into clothes. She first washed the wool, then picked it, carded it on hand cards, then spun it and colored the yarn. For blue, they bought indigo, for red, madder, but for brown, they got walnut bark, for light brown they used white walnut (butternut) bark and for dark brown black walnut bard. My Father tanned leather and deerskins. For leather he used oak bark, for deerskins, soap. Our Mother made all the soap for the family use.
Each farmer would raise a patch of flax and the wife would spin it after he got it ready for spinning. He would cut the flax and let it lay in the swath until it would rot the wood in it so it would come loose from the fiber, then he would use what he called a break and break it in small pieces so it would all shake out and leave the fiber. Then he would hackle it. My Father made all the machinery that he used. The hackle was made by sharpening nails and driving them in three boards. He would then comb the flax on that until it was fine and soft, then the Mother would wind it on a distaff, which was made from a bushy branch of a tree or bush, the small limbs being peeled and made smoothe. Then she would spin it on the little wheel. Called a little wheel to distinguish it from the one on which the wool was spun, which was called the big wheel. The thread was then woven into cloth and made into sheets, table cloths, towels and summer clothing. Not only summer clothing but winter clothing was cut and made by the Mothers and the sewing was all done by hand for (Elias) Howe had not invented the first sewing (machine) then.
I go into these small details to show to the present and future generations how our parents had to manage to raise their families, and they raised families then of from eight to fifteen children. My Uncle John Roberts was a cripple but they had 14 children and raised all of them that were spared to them. Three died in infancy, two when they were boys of six and eight years old. My Father's cousin 'Uncle' Isaac Vorhees had 15 children, and these families were not exceptions. Families of ten and twelve were common.
In those days, wild bees were plentiful and it did not cost a farmer anything to have plenty of honey the year around. The bees made their hives in hollow trees. When a man going through the timber found a bee tree he would trim off the rough bark, write his name and date and that tree was his property. Then he would go some night when the bees were all in and cut the tree down and saw it above and below the bees and haul it home and that would add one more to his stock of bee hives.
We also had luxuries from 'Brown Octobers Wood' for nuts were plentiful. Walnuts, hickory nuts, hazelnuts, and some of the acorns were good.
I can't remember anything before I was two years old. One Sunday in May, when I was nearly two years old, my Father and Mother went to take a walk. It was a beautiful day and they just wanted to get out awhile. They left my brother and me playing around the house. They had not gone far when they heard my brother scream. They knew something was wrong and my Father ran back to the house to find me standing in the middle of the room in flames. My clothes were nearly all burned off me, my hair was all burned off. I was so badly burned that the rims of my ears and the tip of my chin came off. My left eye was injured and I was disfigured for life I had bad burns on my body, but the worst was on my face. No one only someone what has had an experience like that can realize what a handicap that has been to me all my life. Many times during my young life, I have wished that I had not recovered. But since I have lived to raise a family of good children (the very best), I am glad that I was spared and I realize that God knew best. From the time of the accident until I was eight years old, there was very little change in my daily life. Every two years there was a new baby in the family. When the new one came the next youngest was my especial charge. My Mother had so much work and so many cares that she had no time to spare for the little ones, and I had all the care of it. I had the care of all younger than Sister Rhoda.
I was a very slender child until I was 19 years old. But was very strong. Wesley was my first especial charge. I carried him on my hip until another came to take his place. The next was my dear little sister, Malinda, who died when she was nine months old. Then came Alvin. On the 18th day of May 1848, my Mother gave birth to twin boys, Johnnie and Stevie. Then on the 7th day of June my Mother passed away leaving seven children motherless. The twins were three weeks old when she died. In just one month little Johnny also died.
This is a time of my life that I don't like to think about. I was the housekeeper. I did perhaps as well as any 13-year-old girl would but it was a very poor do. The cooking had to be done on the fireplace, I never had a stove. I can't keep back the tears when I think of these lonesome, lonesome days without my Mother. Right here I want to say that I think my Mother was the loveliest woman that I ever knew. She was the sweetest disposition. I never saw her angry. I saw her very determined once. My Father was whipping one of the little boys. When she thought he had gone far enough she stepped up took hold of the ship and said, "stop". He looked surprised and raised his hand as if to strike her, "Strike me if you want to," she said, "but you will never do it the second time". I think Father was pleased to see her show so much determination. My Father raised his children on the rule. "If you spare the rod, you will spoil the child". But my mother was gentle, kind, loving and tender. In fact my Mother was all that a Mother could be that was good.
I was eight years old when I first went to school. It was a loud school and the masters' name was Denton. That was in the summertime, but our schools were nearly all in the winter and three months was a term. Our school house was two miles away and the winters were very cold. We crossed the river on the ice and once the ice broke and sister Martha fell in. My Cousin, Aurelius (afterwards, Colonel Roberts) beat my brother to the rescue, got her out and rushed her to the house.
Until I was 16 years old I never studied anything but reading and spelling and I could spell very well. In the Fall, after I was 16, my Uncle William Hopkins came by moving out to Eddyville, Iowa, and Aunt Miriam wanted to take me with her and as I had not had a chance to go to school since my Mother death, and Uncle Will promised to send me to school, Father consented. After that my life was very different.
I stayed at Uncle Wills for about a year and got perhaps two months schooling. Then I went to live at Uncle Joe Roberts. My Aunt Rachel took a great interest in me and got me good clothes and insisted that I should go and do like other young women. It was hard for me at first but after awhile I got over my bashfulness to a certain extent. I made some friendships that have lasted through life.
How I love to think of these dear girls. How we loved each other and how happy we were together. I got some schooling them. Studied besides spelling and reading. When I was about 18, my dear friend Ann Margaret La Fevre, persuaded me to go to Albia to high school. I went there nearly two terms. A term at that school was eleven weeks. After that I went to school at home some. Then I got a certificate to teach. The first superintendent I went to for examination was Professor George, my teacher in High School. He said he was glad to give it to me. After that I got certificates from Marion and Lucas Counties. Albia was and still is, the county seat of Monroe County. I taught several schools but did not get the wages of today, about $97.00 per month. I got $16.00 per month and boarded myself, or $12.00 with board. But that was better than doing housework for $1.50 per week and cooking for 12 men besides the family. But I was well and strong and had my share of the joys and plenty of the comforts of life.
These were happy years that I spent there. Was with my own folks. They were very good to me and I think they all loved me as long as they lived. But they have all passed away. Uncle Joe was the last, he died in 1911, aged 94.
In 1854, my Father and Brother Patrick came through Eddyville on their way to California. How I did want to go with them but could not. They were going through with ox teams. It took not less than six months to make the trip. Father said he had got good places for the four younger children and he left feeling satisfied that his children had good homes and would get good educations. But how little we can see in the future. He was only gone, so that he could not look after them, that they were cruelly treated and never saw the inside of a schoolhouse. He left Wesley with Old Man McGill and Alvin with his son. They were hard worked, poorly fed and barely clothed at all. The girls fared no better. Martha was with an English woman (Mrs. Walker) and with the English, a poor person is just as little that of a slave. Rhoda had the care of a baby and once when the baby fell down and hurt itself, she was whipped until the blood dropped off her fingers.
When Martha was about 16 she ran away from her place and after she got away she wrote to me telling how Rhoda was treated. My Cousin John Roberts, was going down to Skunk River to bring his Mother to Eddyville and he went to the place where Rhoda lived and took her away and brought her to Eddyville and Martha also.
After that the girls were all right, but the poor little boys were still in bondage. When Wesley was 12 years old, Old McGill sent him one day to hunt for some cattle. He went and hunted for them (or whatever it was), but he could not find them. When he got back without them, Old McGill gave him a hard whipping, put him on a horse and told him if he came back without them, he would give him twice as much. Well the little boy did not hanker after another whipping so he rode the horse for a few miles, then turned him toward home and started on foot to come to Eddyville, about 70 miles. He was barefoot, had on an old shirt and ragged pants, with a straw hat with the brim gone. He had got on the main road from Mount Pleasant to Fairfield in the afternoon. He overtook a man driving an ox team who said if he would drive the team he would help him. So he gave him a quarter and took him to a house where he could stay all night. During the night he lost the quarter, so he got up and started on, said they could find the quarter for their pay. I forget just how long he was on the road, but he met a Mr. Butter Delassnut, who lived near Eddyville and the old gentleman was pleased with the boy. He gave him a half dollar and insisted on him going to his house and resting, but Wesley was afraid to leave the road and did not go. But he had some money so he would not starve. The last night he slept in a barn but finally got to Eddyville. I do not know if I have told Wesleys story just right or not but it is as I remembered it.
Poor little Alvin had to stay with the McGills until my brother Patrick, came home from California a few years later when he took him away and took him to Uncle Bill Roberts in Des Moines County where he had a good home and a chance to go to school. When sister Martha was 17 she was married to George Barker. Eleven children were the fruits of that marriage. Sister died when she was 41 years old.
In 1861, my Uncle's, Steven and Joseph, came to Colorado and I wanted to come with them. As I was free and making my own living, there could be no opposition. So I made my preparations. I had a cow and calf that I had worked for. I gave the calf to Sister Rhoda and took Dinah the cow along. She was put in the train yoked with another cow and the two gave us milk and butter all the way across the plains. We had the churn along and Uncle Joe would sit in the wagon and churn as we traveled. There were ten in our crowd. Mr. And Mrs. McBride and three children, Henry Wilson and Hettie, Uncle Joe and his son Billy and myself. Then Sam Wellman and John Steele drove two of the teams.
We had a long trip, about six weeks. Our folks settled on South Clear Creek, about three miles above Idaho Springs. I loved the place and was very happy. I never tired of the beautiful scenery and the roaring, rushing river was a constant delight. In June I learned what it was to be terribly homesick. I felt like I would die if I could not go home. But to go was impossible. I just had to wear it out. I will never forget the kindness of Mrs. McBride. She did everything she could to make me happy and contented I finally became reconciled and after a year, did not want to go back. Of all that company of ten who crossed the plains in 1861, only three are now living, two of the McBride children and myself.
I was very happy there with my Uncles. With Mrs. McBride for a neighbor and a dear friend. But I came out here to work and earn something more than a living. So I left the dear home and went to cook for a boarding house at $30.00 per month with room and board, which was better than $6.00 per, for the same kind of work. I worked for a year and a half and had $150.00 saved when I got acquainted with Hubert Fonder. After six months from our first meeting, we were married at my Uncles on the 26th day of October 1862.
He bought a log cabin and fixed it up. Put a new pine floor in it and lined it with canvas. Made a nice pine bedstead and we went to housekeeping. He said that the happiest day of his life was the day we started housekeeping. But the happiest day of my life was the day Madgie was born. She has been a joy and comfort to me ever since.
In December 1862, John Sanderson a recruiting officer came to our house. He got three recruits, for Hubert, Uncle Sam Natison and Sam Wellman enlisted. Soon after that, we went to Denver, where companies were preparing to go to Fort Lyons. We crossed the Divide Christmas Day. There were three companies in the train, Huberts Company, the Colorado Battery and two of the 2nd Colorado Regiment. There were 80 big strong men in the Battery. Each Company was allowed to take two laundresses. Ours had four, being a Battery. The four women in our company, Mrs. Petis, Mrs. Scott, Mrs. Lansley and Mrs. Fonder and a baby, a sweet pretty little girl.
We had quite a pleasant trip. I am sure we had some of the best singers I ever heard and when they got started to singing, well I can't describe it for I am far short of language. I think Capt. McClain and Raymond (our Bugler) had the finest bass voices I ever heard. We were at Fort Lyons six months and very pleasant months they were.
Our Company were not armed and therefore had nothing to do but drill only or they volunteered to share guard duty with the others. There was another Battery at Fort Lyon, the 9th Wisconsin. While we were there, about one thousand Indians came there for their annuities. We were six months at Fort Lyon. We crossed the Divide on the 4th of July coming back to Denver. My first child was born. She was called the Battery baby and soon became the pet of the company. We continued to live at Camp Weld in Denver until my baby girl was 10 months old. When the order came for the Colorado soldiers to go to Kansas and my husband with the rest. That left me alone with my baby and I had to make a living for us both. As I could not get work there I went to Georgetown. My Cousin Billy Roberts went with me. We took my cow and stove and such things as we could. Billy got work soon and I started in to cook at a boarding house. I had only worked a few weeks when I took down with the mountain fever and had to give up my job. I sold my cow and stove and went to Central City and worked for Mrs. Horn in a boarding house. But I had been my own mistress too long to be satisfied to work under an ignorant woman, though she was sure good to me and more than kind to my baby.
Three of my friends (or what I supposed were my friends) said that if I would get a house, they would board with me. I could just about make expenses that way but would be free. One of my promised proved to be a false friend and I would not have in my house, so that left me only two. I rented two rooms to an Irish family. They lived in the lower story while my rooms were on the 2nd floor. Central City is in a gulch so my front door opened on the street. I could not make expenses there so I gave it up and moved to Nevada as it was called then. It is called Bald Mountain now. There I took in washings.
I was there all winter and I am sure that it is the coldest place this side of Greenland. What I suffered that winter I never can tell. The clothes would freeze faster than I could put them out. Besides washing always did hurt me worse than any other work. Everything was very high. The only thing that was reasonable was my rent. I only paid $15.00 per month. I burned wood for which I paid $15.00 per cord and sawed it into stove wood myself. Flour was $25.00 per hundred and everything else accordingly. I got hungry for potatoes once and bought a pound for 25 cents. It made me two meals. I got hungry for eggs and bought a dozen for a dollar. So I had to do a lot of washing to pay for all things. After the warm weather came I got along better but the washing was wearing me out.
About the first of July I got a letter from my husband, who was then at Paola, Kansas, saying that they thought they would stay there through the winter. I knew I could not stand another winter like the last, so I decided I would go to Kansas. I sold my stove and everything but my feather bed and clothes, went to Denver and found a mule train retuning to Nebraska City, Nebraska. I boarded myself. Would have had a nice trip but for the storms.
I had a prairie schooner all to myself, but there was a crack in the bed where the boards come together and every night when it stormed, and that was most every night, the rain would pour in through that crack and soak my bed through. But it only rained at night and the sun shone all day, so when we stopped for dinner I would put my bedding out to dry. I think those were the fiercest thunderstorms I ever knew, and the wind would blow, so that sometime they would have to tie the wagons down by ropes attached to pins driven in the ground. But we weathered the storms and finally arrived at our destination. I went to a hotel in Nebraska City and waited three days for a boat going to Leavenworth. I forget what I paid for my fare, but it was very reasonable and the board fine.
I remember one little incident on our trip down the river. I had pinned up my handkerchief into a doll for Madgie. She accidentally dropped it over the banisters and thought it had gone into the river. The way she screamed and cried was pitiful, she thought her baby was drowned. A sailor on the lower deck threw it up to us and then she was happy again.
Well, we finally got to Leavenworth. I stopped at the hotel. They charged me $2.50 for a bed and breakfast and stole a pair of shoes from me worth about the same. The next morning I paid $8.00 for a ticket on the stage to Paola, Kansas. That was the last cent I had and I was starting on an eighty-mile trip without a cent to get a meal for my baby. But I never can tell why I felt sure that we would come out all right.
After we had gone perhaps a half mile, a gentleman got to asking me about where I was going and who I was going to. When I told him that my soldier husband was there he asked me to what regiment he belonged. I told him the Colorado Battery. Why he said, "They are here at Fort Leavenworth", "Are you sure?" I asked. "Sure", he said, "I eat dinner with Capt. Eyer and Liet. Baldwin yesterday." That being the case I said I must not go on. The gentleman (and he was a gentleman) called the driver and told him the circumstances and asked him to take me back to Fort Leavenworth and he did. They put me off at the hotel and I went back to the stage office and asked them to return my money as I was not going to Paola. But they just laughed and said that was not their way of doing business. So, I just watched for a hack going out to the Fort. I found one who said if he could get one or two more passengers he would go out there. He finally got two soldiers and took us out to the Fort. One of the soldiers knew where the Battery was quartered and directed the driver. Our dear boys were just at dinner and when the hack stopped one of them came out and when he saw me he called out, "It's Mrs. Fonder". Then they came flocking out from the tents. I said, "Will you please pay the hack driver?" "Sure", said some of them, and I never did know who paid it.
Well, if I ever did have a rousing welcome I had it there. They asked me where I would dinner and I said with the Sams (Sam Wellman and Sam Matison) the two who enlisted with Hubert and always were our best friends. Soon I had a fine dinner, all the earthen dishes they had in camp were brought so I would not have to eat on tin ones. The first thing they told me was that Fonder was not there. His section had been sent to Fort Scott and would not be there for ten days. But they said, "We will take care of you until he comes," and they sure did. Right here I want to remark that a woman left a widow cannot be in better hands than to be among volunteer soldiers. In due time he came, but when he got there, I was sick. In a few days the soldiers got their discharges and left in all directions for their homes.
We went to Eddyville and after visiting there for two or three weeks, he bought an ox team and we started for Colorado. While we were in Denver, he bought a ranch on Cherry Creek, 27 miles above Denver.
After a tedious trip across the plains, we arrived at our ranch one night about ten o'clock. We found that Mr. Jones had moved the house to his place,1 but he said for us to go into it and stay until he could move it back or build another, which he did. Or rather, he gave Hubert fifty dollars to build it himself, which suited him better. It was about the middle of December when we got there. We found the best neighbors that could be. They sure made us as much at home as possible. We were invited to Christmas Dinner at Mr. Cantrels, where we met and got acquainted with several of our neighbors. While living on Cherry Creek, we made many friendships that lasted for life, for most of them have passed on.
On the 24th of the next June, my daughter Rosalie was born. We were still living in the little cabin but Hubert was industrious and frugal. He improved the place, raised good crops and was prospering. He built a better house and we moved into it before John was born on the 27th of April 1868. We were very happy in our little home. Had plenty of hard work but as good living and the best of health. On November 8th 1869, Eugene was born. He was my fourth child, a strong and healthy boy.
As the years go by on the ranch, they are almost the same. The greatest and saddest change of our lives came on the 14th of July 1871, when my husband died. I cannot tell how utterly helpless and discouraged I was. I had always depended on him entirely. My only care had been my housekeeping and the care of my children. He managed everything else. If my brother Steven had not been with me I don't know how I could have lived through the months until my baby girl was born. She came on the 14th of March 1872. She has been a comfort and a blessing to me all her life.
My life struggle began with my husbands death. Five children to make a living for. What my husband and one man used to do on the ranch and dairy I had to hire three men to do. It took all that we made to pay and board them. The first winter after Huberts death I lost 20 head of cattle. Ten died and ten got away in a blizzard that I never got back. My Father came to me in the Fall of 1971. He was a great help to me until he became blind. He lived eight years after he became blind.
Among other troubles, we had grasshoppers for seven years in succession. They took most of our crops and we lived off our cows, making butter and cheese. We made a good living there in the summer, but the winters were severe and we suffered in taking care of the stock. One time we had a blizzard which lasted about three days. We happened to be short on wood and my Brother could not get anywhere to help us. In going to the corral to feed our stock, we had to cross a little hollow which would fill up with snow as fast as we could dig through. Madgie and I would break through the snow which was up to our arms, feed and milk in the morning, get some breakfast, then all eat and to bed to save wood. About 4 o'clock we would get up, make a fire and cook our other meal, break a road through the snow again, feed and milk, then go to bed to keep warm until morning. We kept that up until the storm was over. Then, Brother Wesley came to us with a load of wood. We sure did appreciate that wood. We made a big fire in the fireplace and all got good and warm. After the storm was over, old Blacky came home with a calf, which came skipping over the crusted snow, as lively as if it had the best of weather for a birthday! How that cow ever saved her calf in that storm, I never found out.
I will have to pass over the years until my oldest children were grown, for I do not know where to begin to tell all the trials and struggles that we underwent.
We would take our cows and go to the mountains in the summer and make enough to keep us through the winter. I think I will leave it to Madgie and Rosalie to tell of the experiences we had on these mountain trips. In 1875, I bought of Samuel Wellman, an 80-acre ranch and moved on it. We had better range for our stock there. I finally sold out on the divide and we went to the mountains. We were two years in Ashcraft, but that town, like several others in Colorado, died a natural death.
Rosa was married to Charles Bovard and her first child, Eve, was born in Ashcraft. Charlie, finding there was nothing to do there, came down and bought a ranch on the Rearing Fork, seven miles above Glenwood. He built a two room house and we came down and lived in one of the rooms for awhile. Then, we took up a little ranch on Cattle Creek. We lived there for several years. During that time, Madgie was married to Henry Walz, and Huba to, Peers Coulter. After leaving Cattle Creek, I went down to Rhone, below Grand junction, and bought a ten acre piece for myself and Eugene.
While we lived there, John was married to Bessie Eubank. While living there, Eugene had a spell of Typhoid Fever, which left him with epilepsy. He never recovered, but died in 1911. The last twenty years, I have lived with my children. I am now in my 83rd year, enjoying good health.
An incident in my life left out in the general narrative: In the Spring of 1850, we had a flood that covered Fathers farm. Skunk River is only a small river, but it was a big river then. It spread from bluff to bluff and was a mile wide.
Our canoe was fastened to a tree on the river bank and the water was several feet above. As my Brother, Patrick, was a expert swimmer, my Father fastened a sythe on a long pole and Patrick swam and carried it to the river, cut the rope and raised the canoe and brought it to the house, as the water was up to the house.
Father had a corn crib with several bushels of corn in it. It was built of logs, was quite long and narrow. So, they put boards across about half way up, threw the corn up, and saved it. He had a large box or bin with several bushels of wheat in it. It was set on the ground and when they saw that the water was coming up to it, they raised it on legs or something, but did not save it as the water floated it out and turned it over.
We had a field of wheat that was doing fine, but was under water until it was spoiled and the corn shared the same fate. We had a fine young orchard, just beginning to bear. The flood swept down over it with drift, and when the flood was over, there was not a tree left standing. There was one corner of a big pasture, where our cattle and sheep were, that was higher than the rest of the farm. All the stock huddled on that place and saved themselves. But the poor hogs and a calf that was near the house had to drown.
We had neighbors, Mr. Davis, who lived on high ground. He came early in the day and helped until everything was done, that could be done.
Our house was a one story house, but there was some room in the left or attic. They put all the bedding and everything that water would injure, up in the left. During the day, Mr. Davis had taken all the children younger than me to his house. I stayed to the last, and when the water came up on the floor, I got on the bedstead, from which I stepped out into the canoe. I went with the rest to Mr. Davis' where we all stayed until we could go home.
I will never forget the kindness of those neighbors, Mr. & Mrs. Davis. They have been dead for fifty years.
1 1864 * Heavy rain over the upper basin of Cherry
Creek caused 19 deaths along Cherry Creek and the South Platte River in Denver.
http://history.dpld.org/floods/1864.htm
July 26, 1885
Local rains over the drainage of Cherry Creek in Douglas County caused "white
capped waves [which] surged down in their mighty anger, threatening to engulf
everything in their way, carrying on their surface huge timbers and debris from
ill-fated bridges and buildings" in the area of the Larimer Street Bridge in
Denver. (Rocky Mountain News, July 27, 1885)