of the North Manchester Historical Society, Inc.



Early American Folk Tales

presented to the North Manchester Historical Society 

August 6, 2001 

by Jay Taylor

with the author's version of "Clementine," "Wicked Jack and the Devil" and "Pat and Mike and the Rattle Snakes"

  Early American Folk Tales.. presented to the North Manchester Historical Society August 6, 2001 by Jay Taylor. (with the author's version of "Clementine," "Wicked Jack and the Devil" and "Pat and Mike and the Rattle Snakes")

One definition of folk lore is the traditional beliefs, practices, legends and tales of the common, uneducated people, transmitted orally. Last month we examined the folk lore of the slaves in general and "The Underground Railroad" in particular.

The news July 26,2001, told of the Navajo code talkers enlisted and used by the Marines to send messages never decoded by the Japanese. These American Indian men attempted to keep their folk history alive, and had their mouths and tongues scrubbed with bitter soap. They were required by the authorities on the reservations to use only English. The folk culture won out to help defeat the enemy in World War II.

I have visited with Tom and Gracie Pinson about the Yiddish conversation used in the Jewish Community where she grew up. Our daughter, engaged to a Jewish man, tells how easily one slips into Yiddish expressions that say things for which there is no adequate English translation. These and other ethnic groups hold onto their folk lore.

From the Antique Road Show I have seen folk art. There are folk songs with shape notes to enable the unlearned to sing. I have heard tapes of "shape note choruses" singing beautiful four, five and six part harmony, and I love hearing the haunting music of recorder, banjo,

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  guitar and autoharp around the evening camp fire. There are folk medicines, folk games and dances. Among the variety of folk tales one finds, to name a few: riddles, jokes, ethnic stories, Cinderella tales, Jack tales, and ballads.

Help me sing a simple ballad from the United States west that you probably have heard. Practice the chorus with me. "Oh, my darling, Oh, my darling, Oh, my darling Clementine. You are lost and gone forever, Dreadful sorry, Clementine." Now I will attempt to sing the verses and I ask you to join in with the chorus.

In a cabin, in a cavern, Excavating for a mine, Dwelt a miner, forty niner, And his daughter, Clementine.

(Chorus) Light was she and like a feather, And her shoes were number nines, Herring boxes without topses, Sandals were for Clementine.

(Chorus) Drove she ducklings to the water, Every morning just at nine, Stubbed her toe upon a splinter, Fell into the angry brine.

(Chorus) Ruby red lips 'bove the water, Blowing bubbles soft and fine, But, alas, there was no Boy Scout, For to rescue Clementine.

(Chorus) How I missed her! How I missed her! How I missed my Clementine, So I wed her little sister, And forgot my Clementine.


The version of "Clementine" in an old KIWANIS SING book ends with the old miner grieving for Clementine until at his death he joins her in the grave. I was taught the above version by a group of junior high school girls.

In 1962 I was introduced at an outdoor education training event to Appalachian tolk tales, told by a Presbyterian mountain story teller from North Carolina. Everything clicked for me. What better setting for stories that the camp fire at a remote, wilderness campsite. What better setting for Appalachian humor than a teller with the background of a Presbyterian and the theology of Calvin.

Don't you wonder about those Scotch-Irish Presbyterians, like we Taylors, who were forced out of Scotland, who were misfits in 

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  Ireland, and finally settled in such large numbers in the Eastern Mountains of the United States? I even wonder more about why they had so many laughs over their own rugged mountain life and the obvious escapades of the folk from the flat lands. From a few of today's followers of Calvin one gets the impression that they are strait-laced, no nonsense folk imprinted with the wrath of God.

My apologies to Steve Brown, Presbyterian Bible Teacher, whose teachings about God's grace I love to explore, but some Calvinists are afraid to speak of the grace of God for fear someone will get the notion they are going easy on sin. They prefer to hear the awful conditions of the sinful world. Come to think of it, there are Methodist, Lutheran, Brethren and Pentecostal folk like that, too. Then these serious Christians surprise you by poking a little fun at their religion with a story from the mountain church over by Leaping fork.

They were having this protracted meeting over there. About the middle of the second week a woman in the balcony of the church got so happy she started to dance. She lost her balance and fell over the railing. She would have fallen to her death except her dress caught on a light fixture. She was left safely suspended, but rather exposed. The pastor called out, "Not a man or boy is to look on this fine Christian lady in her distress or they will go stone blind!" A silence fell over the room until finally up toward the front of the church a hoarse voice was hear saying, "I think I will risk just one eye."

The mountain people's life was hard. Their loved ones died from hazards in their life style. Unchecked diseases filled their graveyards with the bodies of children, infants and adults grown decrepit too young. They were lied to and taken advantage of. They needed a great deal of laughter and light-hearted moments to get them through life. The neighborhood story teller was a welcome guest. The world is pretty much as it must be and the well adjusted person approaches it seriously with compassion and gentleness, to be sure. However, the well adjusted person also approaches life with irony, humor and the awareness that every story has a bit of oneself in it.

Each of us has over 1000 forbears in the past 10 family generations. These are the "folk" from whose lore we have had stories to enrich our lives. Some of those forbears were horse thieves. Some

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  were clowns. All of them, like each of us, had a tad of hypocrisy in themselves. I encourage you to tell some of your stories. Hopefully the good ones will be retold as "folk tales" to your great, great grandchildren. If you need some help to prime your story telling pump I would suggest you look at the shelf numbered 398.2 in your local library.

Let me craft you a story.

In November of 1904 at about the time of his 16th birthday, my Dad was sent from his home east of Liberty Mills with a team and wagon to move a triple grain bed of oats from his Uncle Sherman's old place to his new. Since Sherm's old place was a mile east and a mile south of Urbana and the new place was the first house south of the Eel River on, now, Rd. 15 it was to be a two-day job. Dad relished the idea of staying overnight because his Taylor cousins there were girls. Dad liked girls.

Everything went well until Dad got to the dead end just north of his destination. He turned the team right instead of left at that point, and turned right again on an old road that wound along the south bank of the river. (Later that was a part of a Boy Scout l5-mile trail and has since been closed altogether.) A few rods into that trail a back wheel of the wagon hit a bolder and snapped the reach of the wagon, disabling it. It was almost dark, so he took the team to stay over night. Did I mention that suited Dad fine. He liked the girls. I guess they got the wagon repaired and the oats in the granary.

Overnight a storm had set in that laid down two inches of ice. After two days when it was too dangerous to take the team back to Liberty Mills on the ice, Granddad Taylor got on the Eel River phone system, for he wanted his boy, Byron, home to shuck corn out of the shocks that had been hauled into the barn. Byron was to take the team carefully to Ijamsville and have them sharp shod by the blacksmith there. Once shod with the ice cleats they went home in record time. The team was anxious to get home, but not Dad. Did I mention? Dad liked girls.

The story of "Wicked John and the Devil" is about a blacksmith. I've always wondered if the blacksmith in Ijamsville was wicked John.

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  As I said John was a mean one.

Barb asked, "How mean was he?"

I'm just fixin to tell you how mean he was. He would just as leif have his dram of whiskey on Monday or Tuesday instead of waiting 'til Saturday night. Hit didn't make no difference. He stayed lit up all week anyhow. He talked mean. Acted mean. He was biggity. He wasn't afraid of nobody or nothing. One thing about John though. He always welcomed a stranger

One day an old beggar came to the door of the shop. He just stood there all humped over and using two sticks as canes. Old John greeted him and went on about his work a-pounding away. Finally John says, "Confound it. Come on in and rest yourself. The old beggar heaved himself over the threshold of the door, hobbled over to a turned up nail keg and eased his self down. John went on talking but seems like the old man was too give out to say anything.

Finally John threw down his hammer. Says to the old man, "You just sit there and rest yo'self. I'll be back."

John went to the house, and came back with a plate of food. It had boiled sweet tater. hunks of ham, beans, greens and a slice of cake. He had even gone to the spring house and fetched a pitcher of sweet milk. He set them before the old man and says, "I hope you can handle these rations. If I survive on 'em three meals every day, you can surely stomach them once, I reckon."

"Thank ye, Thank ye."

The old man started to eat and John went back to his work in the shop. Directly the old man finished, set his plate and glass aside. John watched out of the corner of his eye and noticed the old man began to straiten up. Straiten up. Straiten up. The sticks fell on the floor of the shop. Directly the visitor was standing tall and strait. Then with a flash of light it wasn't the old man, but there stood a bright figure with white hair and beard and wearing a long white robe down to his ankles. John just stood there with his jaw hanging and his eyes all bugged out.

"Where did that old man go, and where in nation did you come from where folks dress like that.? Who are you, anyhow?"

"John, I don't reckon you have any way of knowing who I am, since you aint been in a church house once in your whole life. I'm

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  Saint Peter, and once a year I walk on this earth to see if there is one person who treats me right. As soon as I find the first person I offer them three wishes. John, You get three wishes.""

John was just a grinnin' by then. He didn't believe one word of it. "Three wishes, huh?"

"Three wishes, John" Saint Peter took out a gold note book and gold pen to write down John's wishes.

"Well, see that high back rocker over there? I keep it there so I can go over and rest e'er when I finish a job. But in the ev'nin these dad blamed loafers come in here and wear out their britches on my chair, and when I get ready to sit they got my chair. I wish that anybody sits in that chair would stick fast and it would rock em until they cry out right pitiful like for me to turn them loose."

Saint Peter just shook his head. Says, "that's one, John."

"Let me see for my second wish. See that big sledge hammer there. After school those pesky boys come in here and take that sledge across the road to play 'pitch hammer,' or see how big a rock they can bust up. I have a job red hot and ready to work, and I have to go find that hammer in the grass over there. I wish any one who would touch that big hammer would find themselves stuck to the handle and that sledge swinging them until I turn them loose."

Saint Peter didn't say anything. He just shook his head like John was wasting his wishes.

"I've got one more wish. Is that right? See that fire bush outside the door? I like my fire bush. It has those real bright red blossoms early in the spring. Lately my bush is getting all mommicked up. People back their wagon over it. Horses tramp it down and those pesky fox hunters who ride through these pastures hunting, with their little red jacket tails flying out behind. Seems like they always choose my bush to break 'em a riding switch. Well, I wish anybody touch that bush 'uld be grabbed by it and pulled right into the middle where those thorns are."

Saint Peter shut his book and put it back inside his robe. "Mighty sad wishes you made, John. Seems like you could have made at least one wish for the good of your soul. But those are your wishes and that's the way hit'll be." In a flash Saint Peter was gone and John tried

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  to see which away he went. There was no trace of him.

You would have thought that having a real live saint in his shop that John would have changed his ways. No. He just kept getting meaner. He would trick people to set in his chair or touch his sledge. When they did he would just laugh and laugh.

The Devil heard how mean old John was. You know, he doesn't like for anyone to outdo him in meanness. So he decided he needed to talk to John. Sent one of his boys up to fetch John. Didn't wait for him to die. The boy was about a fifth-grade size devil. Had horns just beginning to poke through his forehead. He comes to the door of the shop looking in.

John sees him there and says, "Hello, Son. What can I do for ya?"

"My pa is the Devil, and he sent me to get you. Pa says hit's important and for you to come right away."

"I'm right in the middle of sizing this horse shoe, and I'll come as soon as I finish." John went ahead with his work, but the little Devil was impatient. Reminded John it was taking too long. Came on into the shop, spotted that rocker and jumped up into it. Directly John finished, soused the shoe in the cooling water and threw it out on the shop floor. Says to the boy, "All right, let's get going."

The boy heaved up a few times and couldn't get loose. "Mister, I'm stuck."

John says, "Haint that too bad, now." The chair went to rocking violently and the boy's head just went whampty wamp against the back.

"Mister, please help me out of here."

"If I turn you loose will you promise never to bother me again."

"Yes, Mister, I ain't never goin' to bother you no more." John turned the boy loose and the rocker tossed him out on the floor. He didn't take no time at all until he was out the door, down the road and out of sight.

It wasn't no time at all until another of the Devil's boys was standin' in the door. This was a high-school size Devil. His horns were about half grown. He didn't wait for John to greet him. He says, "Old Man, Pa says you are to come with me now." John explained that he had this wagon tire red hot and he had to work it before he went.

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  Invited the boy to come in and sit a spell while he finished.

"No, I aint goin' to sit in no chair of yourn. Pa said he would really roast me if I didn't have you back in five minutes" Boy noticed John had it kind of awkward holding that big heavy tire with the tongs and trying to hit it with one hand on the sledge. "Move over old man. You hold that tire and I will hit it."

John turned it this way and that and the boy worked the hammer. Directly, when it was finished John slipped it out from under the hammer and put it in the big cooling tank. The Devil's boy just kept on hammering. He was hammering so hard and fast that he couldn't keep his feet on the ground.

"What are you doing with all that hammering. Can't you see the job's sone?" That hammer was yanking that kid all over the shop and John was just laughing.

"Mister, Please make this thing let loose of me."

"If I turn you loose will you promise to leave here and never come back."

"Yes, sir No, sir, I'll never come back here ever again."

"Then begone with ye." When that hammer let loose of that boy he went flying up into the rafters. He came down and when he got his feet untangled he went through the door and dusting down the path.

It wasn't no time 'tall until the old Devil himself showed up at the door of John's shop. There he stood with his long horns roaching back across his head. He was dressed in black and that old cows hoof he wore on a cord around his neck came down almost to the threshold of the door.

John greeted him with a howdy and invited him into the shop.

"Old man, there aint no way I'm coming into your shop. I've had enough of your foolishness. You come out here."

"Can't leave just yet. I promised to have this mattock head sharpened by noon. I've just got a few more licks on it. You could save time to come in and hammer this whilst I hold it."

"Aint no way I'm goin' to touch your hammer. You're not going to treat me like you treated my boys. You come out now, or I'm comin' in to get you."

"You and who else goin' to take me out of here?" At that point the

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  old Devil made for John, and you never saw so much hitting, butting and yelling. They fought like a couple of wild horses. First one was on top and then the other.

Finally the Devil grabbed John by the seat of the britches and heaved him out the door. Some how John reached around and got hold of the Devil's tail and kinked it up like he was making an unruly cow go into the barn. That really made the Devil mad.

"Old man, I'm goin' to whamp you for sure." He reached around to break off a switch from that fire bush. As soon as he did he was dragged into that bush. He squirmed and he thrashed around until his head was clear down in the center of that bush. He got scratched up right pitiful like. Old John was laughing so hard he had to lean against the building to steady his self.

"Mister, please get me out of here."

John asked, "Who was that who was going to whamp me? If I turn you loose will you promise that neither you nor none of your boys will ever come back here again?"

"Sir, I promise. You will never hear from me again." John helped the Devil out of the bush. Law, what a sight. His horn had leaves and branches of that bush hanging from them. His black suit was in shreds. When he got loose he really tore off down that road.

Well, John lived on till a ripe old age. Kept working as a blacksmith. Seemed like he just got meaner and meaner. Finally he died. First thing he did was to show up at the gates of heaven. Bam, Bam, Bam on the door. Saint Peter opened the door a crack.

"Uh, O, it's you, John. You can't come in here."

"O, I know I can't stay, but since you knew me I thought you'd let me in to look around. I'd like to see those golden streets and listen to a little music from the angels."

Peter turned to a helper and asked to have John's record. Someone put the book in Peter's hand. He wet his thumb and turned the pages 'til he came to John's record.

"In all the 92 years you lived John there are just three entries on the good deeds side. Look at all this meanness. Hit's black clean down to the bottom of the page, and the past 12 years of your life had to be writ in side ways in the margin. I'm sorry, John... Well, I must

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  go now" Saint Peter closed the door and clicked the lock.

Old John just turned and went down the stairs. He figured they'd half to let him in down in hell. So he was just a swaying down the road with his hands in his pockets and whistlin'. That first little devil who had come for John was pitching fire balls with another boy when he looked up and saw old John a comin'. He got so flustered he missed his catch and the fire ball bounced down the road spreading sparks and fire as it rolled.

The little guy dashed in and yelled, "Pa! Pa! John's coming down the road headed this way."

The Devil looked out and saw John a comin'. He ordered the gates of hell shut and padlocked. The little devils were so scared they peaked out from behind the coal piles and mine props. John knocked on the door to be let into hell.

The Devil says, "You're too mean to come in here, John."

"I was up to heaven and they wouldn't let me in there. Where am I supposed to go?"

The Devil took a pair of tongs, got a chunk of fire and handed the tong handles to John through a crack in the wall. Says, "Here is some fire. Go start a hell of your own. John has been wandering the earth ever since.

A few years ago I was camping out on Willis Blocher's place south of town. We hadn't gotten enough fire wood to last the night and for cooking breakfast. I was out in the dark gathering wood when I accidentally stepped into the swamp next to our camp site. My shoe slipped the bark off a rotting tree limb in the swamp. It glowed with a kind of blue light. Some folks call that light "will-o-the-wisp." Others call it "Jacky my lantern." Sometimes you don't have to step on a log, but as you look out across a swamp at night you can see the light out there. Seems to move about. I guess there are high falooten school teacher or professors up there at the college in town who believe it is phosphorous or some such.

But now that I told you, me and you know better don't we? That's old John looking for a place to rest his soul.

The story of Wicked John, I think, is suitable for the swamps in Wabash County. However, Richard Chase, author of "American Folk

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  Tales and Songs," tells that there are similar stories recorded in Ireland, Germany, Estonia, Finland, Denmark, Norway, Flanders, Lapland, Russia and Latvia. I believe that was a list of ten.

Perhaps we have time for an ethnic story. It is only polite to tell ethnic stories if it is ones own ethnicity. There is a bit of Irish blood in my veins, so I would like to tell one of the Pat and Mike stories. It is "Pat & Mike and the Rattle Snakes."

Pat and Mike got to the United States half starved and so poor they didn't even have shoes. They hired out to a man in Philadelphia and began to study the ways of their new country. They were especially fascinated with the reports of rattle snakes. There were no snakes in Ireland, so they spent long hours trying to imagine what snakes were like. One day they decided to go out of town into the country to visit an acquaintance who come from Ireland. They walked a while until they saw a cabin. A man was outside splitting wood, and they asked directions to their friends.

He said, "Go back down the hill. When you get to the bottom follow the draw up to the rail fence. Cross the fence and you will see a path through the woods. When you get to the other side of the woods you can see your friend's cabin."

They thanked the man and turned to leave.

The man called after them. "When you let to the rail fence watch your step. We killed a rattle snake down there last week and its mate will be looking for you."

The boys grabbed each other in a death cling and danced around looking down at their feet. Mike realized how foolish they looked and said to the man, "We will watch our step." Once again they thanked the man.

They picked their way ever so carefully down to the rail fence. Mike picked up a big stick to use in event they met the rattler. He also suggested he would watch for the snake while Pat crossed the fence. Pat crossed safely and Mike handed him the stick.

As Mike got to the second rail of the fence his big toe stuck through a knot hole in the rail. Pat yelled, "Stop Mike, I see one of those rattlers." Pat's aim was perfect and he came down with the stick on Mike's toe.

Mike cried, "Hit him again, Pat. He just bit me."

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  I have told stories the first two nights of a week or two week camping trip. Then often my opportunity dries up, for the kids start telling their own stories. In my camps witches and ghost stories are discouraged. I have laid in my sleeping bag as half dosen tents of junior high kids bedded down for the night and listened through the tent walls and laughed as one of their own continued to tell stories until all dropped off to sleep.

Nothing would delight me more than to have you competing with me and other story tellers. Remember. A story teller can be either a pest, or a wonderful guest. May each of you be the kind of a story teller who is a welcomed guest.

Source books:

American Folk Tales and Songs. Compiled by Richard Chas. (Dover Publications, Ind. New York, 1971)

Laughter in Appalachia Loyal Jones and Billy Edd Wheeler. (August House, Publishers, Little Rock, 1987)


North Manchester Historical Society Activities 

Two Activities during Fun Fest were sponsored by the Historical Society and held in the Oppenheim Building-Museum. With the counters pushed aside a very nice auditorium was set up with ample seating for more than 100.

The Antique Auto Tour chose the DeWitt as one of their featured cars this year and the DeWitt replica owned by the Society was on display on the sidewalk in front of Oppenheims when the antique cars arrived and filled Main Street for several blocks. The group of drivers then met in our building for a short meeting at which time a brief presentation was made about the DeWitt. After the meeting the DeWitt was wheeled into a storage room in the Oppenheim Building. This is the first time we have been able to store the machine inside our own facilities. This special event was sponsored by the Historical Society.

The Historical Society was proud to sponsor a Grace Studiford presentation featuring Carol Streator as opera singer Grace Studiford and Diane Sheerer as her sister, Maude Quivey. The program consisted of several of the songs sung by Grace during her career and information about her life and her death in Ft. Wayne. This program

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  was very well received.

Last, but surely not to be left unmentioned, the Historical Society was again represented in the big Saturday parade by the surrey with the fringe on top driven by Joe Vogel (an active member) and accompanied by three other members of the society. It seemed an appropriate vehicle for this Society and perhaps the horse received the most attention.


The next event scheduled for the Oppenheim-Museum building is a musical presentation on October 6, 2001 during Harvest Days by a group from Peabody Home. There seems to be a need for such a small auditorium which is fully accessible and on Main Street and we hope that the Museum planning can include such a facilityl


The Day in May tour of South Bend sponsored by the Historical Society and the Manchester Shepherd's Center was a very successful experience, carefully planned and carried out by Karl Merritt. We regret that there was not room for all who applied. This month there is another tour planned for several facilities in Indianapolis and there are only a few openings left for that. If you can't join us for this trip, plan to go next time.


Planning for the Museum goes forward at a steady pace. There are many details. Most of the inventory records have been transferred to the computer and records of recent materials received by the Society are being regularly updated. A consultant has completed a survey of hopes related to the museum layout and he will continue to give guidance for the planning the next eighteen months.


Meantime, there is a constant stream of materials being donated to the Historical Society. Here are several recent items of interest: Records of the D. A. R. local chapter. Records of the Girl Scouts - local troop, Pennsylvania Railroad signs from the old freight depot. The Dr. Walrod medical material. Equipment from the Root Beer Barrel. A very old doll. Several historic pictures.


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  Because of the increased activities of the Historical Society and the increased costs of the Newsletter the Board of Directors has set the following membership fees beginning 2001:

Membership ( including newsletter) $30.00 

Newsletter only 20.00 

Sustaining membership 50.00 

Supporting membership 100.00


Frantz Lumber Company is scheduled to begin work shortly toward completion of the restoration of the Thomas Marshall House. There have been many delays in this work and many problems. We now believe we can see the end. There is renewed enthusiasm and some real solutions underway. Meantime, if you see any possibilities in your end of year giving planning we believe this is a worthy project for a contribution. We also will be seeking furnishings suitable for the 1800's. Maybe you have something suitable in your attic or barn.

  The Old Atlas

The 1875 Wabash County Atlas is one of the most delightful books I know to spend a long fall or winter afternoon with if your family lived in Wabash County then. There one finds recorded the owners of each plot of land in the various townships of the county. It is a marvelous collection of the names of the early settlers in this area and we recognize many of the names because their children, or, more accurately their great grandchildren, live among us.

In 1875 there were twenty-three villages and town in the county, and a chart in the book gives the miles between each and shows the location. They were America, Belden, Dora, Ijamsville, LaFontaine, Lagro, Laketon, Liberty Mills, Lincolnville, Mount Vernon, New Harrisburg, New Holland, New Madison, North Manchester, Pleasant View, Rich Valley, Roann, Somerset, Stockdale, Treaty, Wabash, Waltz and Urbana. Since them some have disappeared or remain only as some identifying landmark, and a few have different names. New Madison is now Servia and New Harrisburg is now Disko. Rose Hill came into existence after 1875 with a Douglas saw mill, a post office and a store but now even it is hard to find.

Unfortunately, these books are scarce. They were stored in attics

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and finally burned as terribly outdated. The North Manchester Public Library has several copies and, if you live in Wabash county, you can almost surely find a copy. If your family has one, treasure it, even if all the pages are loose. It's full of history. Or give it to your local Historical Society as a very special gift. 


  Thomas Carlyle wrote, "History is the essence of innumerable biographies." I am constantly reminded that the history of North Manchester is the combined history or biographies of so many people who have lived out their lives here. Some of the most interesting in our early history were members of the Harter family.

Joseph Harter, Sr. 1783 - 1861, born in Pennsylvania, and his wife Elizabeth Brower, born in Virginia, moved their family, together with the family of their eldest son, Eli, to the North Manchester community from Montgomery County, Ohio, in 1836. They came by way of Indianapolis and by wagon train. They settled on land just north of Eel River and east of the old Wabash Road. By 1837 Joseph and Eli had filed claim on 1795 acres of land in Chester township and 960 acres in Pleasant township. In 1839, Joseph and his sons built a saw mill and a grist mill near the site of a later dam on the Eel. They built flour mills at Laketon and Collamer and later, Eli operated a mill on Treaty Creek at the south edge of Wabash.

By 1851 Joseph turned most of his business interest over to his younger son, Jacob and Joseph, Jr. The last of his real estate holdings was that part of town known as Harter's Woods, finally platted as Oak Park Additon. It is now a part of Warvel Park and the late residence of the Peabody family. Still part of Manchester's history.

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