"There are stranger things, Horatio, than were ever dreamed of in your philosophy."

—Shakespeare.


The Marshall county watchmen ran down and captured a horse thief, who first gave his name as Pierce, but it turned out afterwards that his real name was Henry Walters, or at least that was the name under which he was indicted, tried and sentenced to the penitentiary at the October term of the circuit court in 1877. In that year Charles Palmer, one of the pioneers of Plymouth, resided at his country residence a mile or so west of town on the La Porte road. On the twelfth day of May of that year, as shown by the indictment, there was stolen from his barn on the premises a black horse of the value of $100. The matter was made known to the watchmen and the sheriff, who immediately went in pursuit of the thief. They got track of him somewhere in La Porte county, and after a hard struggle, in which the thief was shot, he was captured, brought back to Plymouth and placed in jail. He was indicted by the grand jury in the name of Henry Walters, and at the October term of the court was tried, convicted and sentenced to twelve years in the penitentiary. From the time of his arrest until his case was heard in the court, the wound he had received when he was arrested grew worse and worse until, at the time of his trial, he was barely able to appear in court.

A peculiar incident in connection with the length of his sentence was the fact that a man was tried at the same term of court before the same jury for murder, to which he plead guilty, and was sentenced to only two years in the penitentiary. Walters, or "Old Pierce," as he came to be known, had been under the doctor's care for some time before his trial, and after his conviction gradually grew worse and finally died in jail without the sentence being executed. Before his death, knowing that he could not live, he told the doctor that he wanted to do some good to humanity as a slight recompense for all the harm he had done, and he wanted him to have his body for dissecting purposes. There was no law at that time authorizing a proceeding of that kind, and so the township trustee took charge of the remains and buried it in the potter's field in Oak Hill cemetery, Plymouth. That same night the doctor employed a couple of men who went to the graveyard and dug up his remains and carried them back to town and put them in a room on the second floor of the Corbin building, on the corner of La Porte and Michigan streets, which had been used as a photograph gallery, having a skylight in the roof.

Not long after this one of the lights of glass in the skylight was broken, causing the rain to leak down through the floor. A tinner was sent on the roof to make the needed repairs, and when looking down through the glass he discovered the remains lying on a table, cut and carved to a finish. The tinner was badly frightened and hurrying down as fast as he could go, gave the alarm, and soon there was a general furore of excitement and all sorts of speculation as to who had killed the man and how he got there. It was not long, however, until it was surmised that it was a "stiff," and that some of the surgeons about town could explain the matter satisfactorily if they would, but they did not. The township trustee was sent for and, suspecting whose corpse it was, took the remains over to the cemetery and buried them in the same grave from which they had been resurrected. By the time night came around the facts became generally known and the excitement died down.

That night after midnight the same parties that had resurrected him in the first place took him up again, and this time placed him in the back room of the doctor's office, where his remains were subjects of the surgeon's skill for several weeks without molestation. When the flesh had all been taken off the skeleton was taken apart and carefully placed in a barrel witf1 the head fastened tightly, into which and in the bottom auger holes were bored for the purpose of letting water pass in and out. The barrel was then taken to the mill dam north of town and fastened underneath the water that flowed over the dam, so that the skeleton in due time would be thoroughly cleansed of every particle of flesh that might have adhered to it.

After a time the barrel in some way broke from its fastenings and floated down the river, lodging in a tree top near the old brewery. One day a man was fishing down there and, happening to spy the barrel, concluded to make an investigation of its contents, and when he did so and found they were human bones, he ran off to town as fast as his legs would carry him, sounded the alarm that he had found a man that had been murdered and put in a barrel and sent floating down the river, where he had accidentally found him.

The barrel was brought to town and placed on exhibition, and after the scare and curiosity had subsided, the doctor and others let the secret out, and after a short consultation the barrel and contents were turned over to the doctor, who had the bones properly mounted and put on shelves in his private office, where they remained until his death, when they were divided among his medical friends in various parts of the county, the skull remaining in Plymouth. The writer has seen it many times, and as he has looked upon this "striking memento of mortality" he could not help but recall the many tragic scenes and incidents through which he whose vitality was encased therein during life had passed.


The most destructive boiler explosion which ever occurred in northern Indiana took place on the farm of William Johnson, in Green township, on Saturday, October 1, 1876. A steam threshing machine, known as the Feary machine, but which at the time of the accident was the property of John J. Thompson, exploded, carrying death and sorrow to many homes. The machine had been set and about sixty bushels of wheat threshed when the explosion took place. A belt had broken, and after it had been repaired and the word had been given to start up, Feary turned on steam, and while in the act and before the motion was obtained, the explosion took place with a noise and a crash which no pen can portray or imagination picture, scattering death and destruction in all directions. The only one killed outright was a boy named Isaac Jones, aged fourteen. He was standing near the firebox of the engine, warming himself, the day being cold. He was blown a distance of 11o feet against a rail fence, the top of his skull down nearly to his eyebrows being blown off, and his brains running off on the ground. His clothing was nearly all torn from him and his body badly scalded. <

Standing by the boy near the engine was William Hughes, about thirtyfive years of age, who was blown the same distance that the boy was, being found near where he lay. He had one arm and one leg broken, was injured internally and was badly scalded. He died on Monday following the accident. Thomas H. Wirt, band cutter, was struck by one of the heavy wheels of the engine and so badly injured that he died in about two hours. W. W. Johnson, son of William Johnson, the owner of the farm where the accident occurred, was pitching sheaves from a stack. The boiler struck the stack in its course through the air, throwing Johnson about 1oo feet, breaking his skull and otherwise injuring him. He died about six hours after the explosion, having been in an insensible condition all the time. Joseph Dudgeon was on the stack with Johnson at the time the boiler struck it. He was thrown about fifty feet, had both bones of the right leg broken and the right hip bruised. David Logan, the feeder, had an arm broken and was otherwise injured. S. P. Feary, the engineer, had his arm broken in two places. Ezra Jones, father of the boy killed, was badly scalded and otherwise injured. Clem Newhouse had his arm broken in two places. Marvin Louden was slightly injured. William Johnson received internal injuries, not of a serious character, however.

No imagination could picture the scene of the disaster as it really was. The boiler, with engine attached, was thrown a distance of 160 feet, alighting on the ground in a reversed position from that in which it started, having gone through the side of a wheat stack, thrown two men fifty and one 1oo feet, stripped the harness from a span of horses and smashing a twohorse wagon. It was said by some who were present that the engine turned three and a half times round while flying through the air. An examination of the boilers showed that the material was of the very best. The explosion was undoubtedly caused by lack of water.


During a considerable period before and after the completion of the Pittsburg, Fort Wayne & Chicago railroad, the town of Bourbon was infested with a gang of counterfeiters and robbers who kept the inhabitants in a constant fever of excitement and fear. Their operations, however, were not confined entirely to Bourbon; it was simply headquarters, from which radiated the deviltry they concocted when alone in solemn conclave assembled. Their operations were confined principally to the putting into circulation of counterfeit money of various kinds. It was not thought, however, to have been manufactured in that place, but manufactured elsewhere and carried there, and from thence distributed in such manner as was thought the safest and most expeditious. The existence of this organization and many of those connected with it were well known, but the evidence of their guilt was not sufficient to warrant legal proceedings. Some of them were, however, finally arrested on suspicion, but the law's delay and the many technicalities brought into requisition enabled all of them to escape the penalty they undoubtedly deserved.

One night in the summer of 1867 a large number of housebreakers and robbers entered the residence of Joseph W. Davis, going through the house and taking everything of value that suited their fancy. Before entering they blackened their faces and otherwise disguised themselves. They procured a large scantling and, using it as a battering-ram, drove it with such force against the front door as to break it open the first blow. Two of the robbers rushed into the bedroom where Mr. Davis and wife and infant child were sleeping and laid violent hands upon them before they realized the true condition of affairs. A pistol was under Mr. Davis' head, and in making a desperate effort lo procure it, he was struck several times on the head and face, making the blood run profusely. The burglars secured the pistol and holding Mr. Davis down by the throat, the remainder of the robbers went through the several rooms in the house, taking them one by one. Before they entered the house they had taken the precaution to give the watchdog, a very fine Newfoundland, a dose of strychnine, which had put him effectually out of the way. In one of the rooms they found the hired girl; in another the hired man. At each of these rooms they placed one of their number on guard, and now having everything arranged safely, they began to "rummage" every part of the house. They made Mr. Davis open his safe, from which they took all the money and papers and other valuables contained in it. They prepared an excellent supper from the supply of cooked provisions they found in the kitchen and buttery, of which they partook with evident relish. They remained about two hours, and having finished their work, bade the occupants an affectionate good-night and hastily took their departure.

When the robbery became known early the next morning the whole town was in a furore of excitement and threats of lynching suspected parties were freely made, but as nothing definite could be ascertained as to who the guilty parties were, nothing was done. Some time afterward the pockctbook and papers were found close to the railroad track near Bucyrus, Ohio, and shortly after returned to the owner. Several of the suspected parties soon left town and others were not slow to follow, and this was the last trouble Bourbon ever had with housebreakers.


Some time ago Postmaster J. A. Yockey and wife, of Plymouth, were taking a vacation at the home of T. N. Peddycord, in Polk township, near Koontz's lake. Mr. Yockey, early one morning, went to dig for worms for bait for the day's fishing he expected to indulge in. He was digging under an old log near the house when, in removing the decayed leaves, he turned up a bogus Mexican dollar of the date of 1875.

There is quite a bit of local history connected with this and other similar coins manufactured in that place many years ago. In the '70s and prior to that time the farm on which Mr. Peddycord now lives was owned by a man by the name of Francis Hungerford. Although lacking in education, he was a man of more than ordinary intelligence, and had his efforts in life been directed in the proper channel he would have been a useful man in any community in which he might have lived.

The place in question at that time was in the "back woods," the locality being sparsely settled and the neighbors few and far between. Seldom anyone visited the Hungerford family, and for weeks at a time they saw no one except an occasional hunter and fisherman passing and repassing that way. Koontz's lake was near there, and surrounding it were thick woods, underbrush, swamps and marshes, in which was an abundance of wild game, not counting the barrels and wagonloads of fish that were playing around the shores waiting to be taken out of the wet. It was in this sort of environment that Francis Hungerford conceived the idea of procuring dies and operating a bogus money manufacturing establishment, thus enabling him to earn a living a good deal easier than in chopping down trees, grubbing out the roots, plowing up the sod, splitting rails, building fences and such like drudgery. Accordingly he procured a set of dies for the manufacture of various coins, the principal ones being Mexican dollars. At that time Mexican dollars were in general circulation, and as the Hungerford spurious dollars were a very good imitation of the genuine, they passed quite readily in the ordinary course of trade. He built a milkhouse near his residence with a lookout on top. In the floor was a trap door, underneath which was a large cellar conveniently arranged for the purpose. Here he placed his machinery, dies and metal, and forged out his bogus coin by the bushel without let or hindrance.

The greatest difficulty in regard to the success of the scheme was to devise ways and means of putting the bogus money into circulation. Hungerford started a good deal of it into circulation by paying it out for such purchases as he made in Plymouth and the surrounding towns. But that was entirely too slow a process, and other individuals whose consciences did not disturb them were let into the secret, and in the course of time Hungerford had several assistants who helped him to dispose of the bogus coin.

For a considerable time everything went lovely and the financial goose honked high. Nearly every business man in the towns and villages round about had his pockets full of Hungerford's dollars, most of which had been taken as good Mexican money without making any examination or without any thought that it was spurious, when upon a close examination it was easy to detect the good from the bad, and it was not long until it was hard to pass any of them in current business transactions.

It was then that the people generally began to try to find out where the spurious coin came from and who was the manufacturer of it. Suspicion finally settled upon Hungerford. A detective was sent for, who, after many difficulties, succeeded in working himself into the good graces of Hungerford, and finally arranged to assist him in coining the bogus money. He worked away for some time until he got all the information necessary for his arrest and conviction, when he swore out the necessary papers and the officers made a raid on the mint, arrested the old man and his son, confiscated his dies, plates and machinery, metal, retorts, and stock in trade generally, and delivered him up to the United States authorities.

He was taken to Walkerton, where he was put on the Lake Erie & Western railroad train for Indianapolis. A trunk containing several hundred coins was left behind on account of not having room for it in the conveyance. After taking Hungerford to Walkerton the wagon was sent back after the trunk. When it was returned and opened at Walkerton to repack it the coins were found to be missing and brickbats had been substituted. The old lady who had been left behind said the coins had been emptied out into Koontz's lake, and if the authorities wanted them they would have to go over there and get them. It is needless to say that they are probably still there.

The old man and his son were tried, convicted, and sent to the penitentiary. On account of his age, after a few years the old man was pardoned, after which he took up his residence in Missouri. It was not long after he settled there until the old desire to dabble in counterfeit money came over him, and he was again arrested, convicted and sent to the government prison at Lawrence, Kansas, where it is said he died several years ago. His son probably served out his sentence, but his whereabouts since that time is unknown. Others in the neighborhood who were suspected of having a hand in the business managed to get out of the country without being arrested, and so ended the only counterfeiting manufactory known to exist in this section of the country.

Source: A twentieth century history of Marshall County, Indiana, Volume 1 Hon. Daniel McDonald Author