THE MATTHEWS AND DRURY NEIGHBORHOOD.

Long before Centerton was dreamed of, even while Indianapolis was yet in embryo, and the State capital was at Corydon, while as yet a beautiful green wilderness stretched far away from the Whitewater river to the Wabash, dotted here and there with the lowly cabin home of some brave pioneer, while the footprints of the Pottawatomies and Miamis were yet in the sand and the stealthy panther and howling wolf hunted the speckled fawn, there came to this fertile valley, stretching along the north bank of White river, from the mouth of White Lick to Sycamore creek, the following named men with their wives and children, some from Ohio, some from Virginia, some from North Carolina, and others from Tennessee and Kentucky:

George Matthews is supposed to be the first man to build his cabin in this settlement. It stood one-fourth of a mile northeast of Centerton. He hailed from North Carolina, but of the date of his birth or death we know nothing. He was a man of strongly marked character and sterling worth, standing in the front rank of Indiana pioneers. He left six sons and two daughters, to whom he bequeathed some property and a good name. His sons bore a conspicuous part in the development of this settlement and in bringing it up to the highest level it has ever attained. Close on the heels of Mr. Matthews, almost while he was cutting his cabin logs, came Isaiah Drury, of Ohio; Alexander Cox, of Pennsylvania; John Stipp, of Virginia; and Samuel Scott, of
Kentucky. Their domiciles were in the river bottom, south of Centerton, excepting that of Mr. Drury, whose farm was in the direction of White Lick. Down in the pocket of the settlement, beginning at the mouth of Sycamore, and coming up the river, were Daniel Reeves, Kester Jones, Benjamin Stafford, Elijah Lang and sons, Dabney Gooch, Andrew Paul, Gabriel Paul, Jesse Gooch, and John Robb. These all tilled their own soil, drank water out of their own "moss covered buckets," and heard the rain patter on their own housetops, in the year of 1836. Afterward, in the '40's, the homesteads still increased as the sons and daughters were married. Three of the Matthews brothers, Calvin, Alfred, and James, were owners of good farms. Michael, Benjamin, and Abraham Stipp, the sons of John Stipp, lived under their own "vine and fig tree." So did John and David B. Scott; and William, John, and Charles Cox, sons of Alexander Cox; and William Hardwick, son-in-law of Mr. Cox. Mr. Drury sold his farm about 1834, and moved farther west. The only unimproved land in this settlement in 1840 was two eighty acre tracts lying on the east of the road from the bridge to Centerton. This belonged to one Colonel Lyons.

Frederick Barnard, father of Dr. and Sylvanus Barnard, bought this land, which formed the nucleus of the present unsurpassed farm of Sylvanus Barnard. In the '40's there were about twenty two farmers in this neighborhood who owned, lived on, and cultivated their own farms; did most of their own work, owed but few debts, ate their own bread and butter, and attended to their own business. They were not scholars, but many of them were readers, familiar with the history of their country. They started schools at an early day and kept pace with the progressive developments of that institution. They were not religious in the sense that the orthodox understand that term. Many of them leaned to Universalism in theory and some were skeptical. They listened to the preacher respectfully, and would take him home with them and feed him on "the fat of the land," of which they had an abundance, and entertain him most hospitably.

That was about as far as they would go religiously. As a wag said: "The New Lights and Methodists were too 'hell fiery,' and the Baptists too 'whang-doodley' to convert the community." Notwithstanding all this, these neighbors lived peaceably with each other, having very little use for Squire John Robb, other than to fill out deeds, take acknowledgments, and join the brides and grooms in marriage. The men joined hand in hand to reap and bind when harvest came, and to raise houses and barns, roll logs, turn boats, and husk corn by moonlight. The women folks had wool pickings, flax-hackelings, quilting bees and peach parings, and made apple and pumpkin butter in abundance.

After the first few years of settlement, wherein they knew what it was to be in need of even the most common wants of life by dint of industry and care taking, these men and women made that neighborhood fairly flow with milk and honey, buckwheat cakes and maple molasses, to say nothing of the corn dodgers and pork sausages in due season. Soon the old log cabins were replaced by neat hewed log houses with shingle roofs, brick chimneys, and plank floors, whereon during the long winter evenings they "tripped the light fantastic toe" to the merry mystic charms of Uncle Ap
Matthew's fiddle.

The old settlers of this neighborhood always believed they were cheated out of the county seat. They affirmed that there was undue influence brought to bear on the commissioners by the landowners of the Cutler site. They showed the commissioners that they were much nearer the geographical center of the county than was the Cutler place; that more than half of the new settlers were on their side of the river; that they were at the mouth of White Lick, then one of the best mill streams in the State, and that Cutler and Gray could not better them at a single point. Nevertheless they were beaten, and no language could express their indignation. Once or twice since then northern citizens of the county have tried to move the county seat to Centerton, but failed. It seems that the soil of this beautiful valley is not suited to the growth of towns and cities.

Early in the 40's Samuel Moore built a warehouse on the north bank of the river, a little below the north abutment of the Barnard bridge. It was for the purpose of storing sacked corn, wheat, flour, and pork products to be shipped on flatboats to New Orleans. Mr. Moore was then doing the largest business of his life, and the farmers of whom we have been writing were producing more corn and hogs and surplus farm products than ever grew in that valley before or since. Mr. Moore intended to establish a packing house here, but for some cause deferred it from time to time. Meanwhile John Scott, who owned the farm and ferry at this place, conceived the idea of platting a town nearby. He selected the northeast corner of his farm, which was about sixty rods north and a little east of the bridge. Three other farms cornered there and went to share in this enterprise. The neighborhood was greatly elated at the prospect of a town, pork house and boat landing. A conference was called to select a name for this little newcomer, and after many proposals and due consideration it was christened Rockingham. Four or five lots were sold and three houses built, and for a little while there was a tailor shop and also a blacksmith shop located here. The tailor died and the smith moved away, but just when Rockingham died it is hard to find
out, as no records are kept of dead towns. It was probably on the first day of January, 1847, when the first great flood in White river on which the eyes of white men had ever gazed, stood three feet on its floors. From this flood dates the diminution and downfall of the forty acre homesteaders of the Centerton neighborhood. For twenty five years many of them had lived on or near the banks of this beautiful waterway without ever dreaming of its capability for mischief. They had paddled their canoes over its placid bosom many a time, angling for the black bass, or hunting the pike and salmon with a "gig" on still, bright mornings during Indian summer when they could see the pebbles on the bottom in water fifteen feet deep. During the warm
months they had swum, dived, splashed, and played in it, times unnumbered. True, they expected the spring rains to fill her banks to the brim, and ever and anon a tide came in June which drowned the corn on the low bottoms, but it remained for the warring elements of the last three days of December, 1846, to sweep the White river bottoms from end to end with destruction. The river behaved like an insane elephant who, having snapped his chains, proceeds to hurl the dens and cages right and left and stampede the whole menagerie. Daylight broke that gloomy morn only to reveal to the eye the sickening sight of an unbroken sheet of water extending from hill to hill, blackened with driftwood, rails, and cornstalks which the maddened currents were piling up "house high" against the resisting trees.

The roar was like the "waters coming down at Lodore." Long before daylight signals of distress came from those who had failed, or could not get to the hills the evening before. They blew their dinner horns, rang cowbells, shouted at the tops of their voices, and fired their rifles to gain the attention of those "on shore." So sudden and swift was the rise of the river in the evening that many canoes were lost to their owners, which more and more complicated affairs. Others only saved their canoes by wading and swimming to them at dark and bringing them into the bayous. By 10 o'clock at night the hogs and sheep were scattered, and many were drowning. On and on, higher and higher came the waters until they reached the doorsteps, then to the floors, finally putting out the fires in the chimneys. That was the most awful and terrible New Year's eve ever experienced in Morgan county. For thirty miles by the meandering of the river there was a sheet of water that would have averaged a mile in width, busily engaged in drowning sheep, hogs, and cattle, and sweeping away fencing and outhouses. Fortunately few or no human lives were lost; but men living on the lowlands were discouraged, and some of them sold out immediately. Others followed suit in course of time; so almost imperceptibly the inhabitants on the banks of the river slowly disappeared; their little farms were absorbed by the large landowner who could choose his residence in the town or city, or on the second bottom lands where the tide has never yet come to his dwelling place.

The social equality and neighborly relations of this community sixty years ago were not surpassed anywhere in the county. Nobody was rich, none very poor, and there was not a beggar or a pauper within its borders. Steadily, but surely, since that day has the chasm between poverty and riches widened and deepened. Judged by the standards under which we live at all times, these men and women have graded as first class. The status of the neighborhood was foreshadowed by the personalities of its members. We spoke of the sterling character of George Matthews, the first to lay an ax at the root of a tree in this settlement. Then Isaiah Drury, who took great interest in county affairs and was school commissioner in 1832, and who built the first brick house on the road from Martinsville to Mooresville. Alexander Cox was an excellent farmer, and the descendants of his five sons and two daughters, remaining in this county, are perhaps more numerous than any others. John Stipp, of Virginia, on his road West, stopped long enough at Mad river, Ohio, to build mills and lose money, then he came to this county, where his ship swung to anchor the remainder of his days. He was a man of indomitable courage and energy and never tiring industry, a friend to his friends and a foe worthy of the steel of an antagonist. His sons were Peter, who never lived here, Michael, Martin, Benjamin, John A., and Abraham, and his daughters were Mrs. William Wall, Mrs. John Rudicell, and Miss Eliza. John A., Michael, and Eliza were never married. Abraham Stipp is probably the oldest early settler in Clay township, and among the last survivors of those who first came to this neighborhood. His son, Kelly Stipp, who owns the Michael Stipp farm, is the only descendant of the old settlers who owns a foot of land belonging to their ancestors, excepting town lots in Centerton.

Low down in the pocket lived Kester and William Jones. They sold out and left the county about 1834. Daniel Reeves owned a part of what is now the Bradford farm and sand mine. Mr. Reeves was a most estimable citizen, quiet and genial in his manners and habits, and beloved by his neighbors. He sold out soon after the flood and moved out of the county, leaving his daughter, Mrs. William Parker, and her children to represent him in the old settlement. He was a Kentuckian.

Elijah Lang, who was probably the oldest of all the old settlers, owned and lived on eighty acres of land situated in the southeast corner of the Bradford and Campbell farm. His house stood on the bank of the river. Near the close of his life he was greatly afflicted in his feet and legs. His suffering at times was dreadful, the worms taking possession of his limbs before their time. Mr. Lang was a great backwoods novelist.
His stories were not written, but delivered orally. Each succeeding edition was enlivened with some new incident, in which he appeared the hero. He died just before the great "washout." His children, or most of them, sold out their possessions and moved to Iowa, where they prospered reasonably well. They were members of church and much respected. Mr. Lang was also a Kentuckian.

It remains also to write something of the boys and young men who came with their parents, or alone, to this settlement, and who loved, wooed, and wedded the girls of their choice unless the other fellows got them, as sometimes happened, whereupon they turned to a second choice, which often proved as good or better than the first one. They were not to be cheated out of matrimonial bliss because of a choice between Rose and Lily.

Among the younger men was Benjamin Stafford, who was born in Ohio in 1810 and came to this county in 1820. His first marriage, in 1830, was to Miss Ruth Gifford, who died young, leaving him with one child, a daughter, who in time became the wife of Martin Wall and died several years ago, leaving two sons, Charles and Noah. His next marriage was to Margaret Price, by whom he had eight children. After her death he married a Miss Sloan. No children were born to them. His fourth wife was Mrs. Susan Fry, a young widow with five sons. She added seven more to his family, making in all, sixteen children and five step-children. These all lived to adult age.

Mr. Stafford lived low down in the pocket when the tide of '47 came sweeping along, leaving him little else than a house, barn, and bare ground. He sold his bottom farm and bought one on Sycamore, where he lived to the close of his life in independent circumstances and in the enjoyment of his Bible, which, according to his own statement, he had read through many times, although he did not learn to read until his fortieth year. He was a Methodist and Republican. His life closed about his eightieth year.

The Gooch brothers, Philip, John, William, Dabney, and Jesse, lived near the brickyard. John died in 1836, leaving a widow (Delilah Lang) and two little boys. Philip and William moved west. Dabney and Jesse owned farms near the brickyards, but Dabney lost most of his property after the war for the Union, and Jesse sold his farm and moved to Illinois. In his younger days "Dab," as he was called, was a dear lover of amusements, particularly of dancing parties. There was usually a good supply of these in his neighborhood, to which he was always welcome, for he could "heel tap and toe" anything from a jig to a cotillion. But it was as a flat boatman that he took first honors, for he was equally at home in a boat or on it. He was a small,
wiry man, knit together with the best of sinews, and could make a sweep oar quiver like a pike's tail. He made many trips on flats for Dr. John Sims. Once the Doctor took him from Baton Rouge out to a big sugar plantation to see an old schoolmate of the Doctor's, who had wandered South and married a rich young widow possessed of a large plantation well stocked with negroes and sugar kettles. Evidently he had struck a bonanza, for his wife was a real Southern gem, educated, refined, and overflowing with genuine hospitality. But she could not keep her eyes off "Dab," for she had
never seen anything to match him. Although seated in the magnificent parlor with carpets and mirrors and bric-a-brac, "Dab" was nothing daunted but took a lively part in the conversation between the two doctors and the hostess. He had permitted his great shock of hair and enormous whiskers to have a steady growth for months, and his keen blue eyes looked out from under his shaggy brows like the eyes of a lynx.

It was growing late in the evening and Dr. Sims spoke of returning to his boats, but his friend insisted on his staying all night with him. The good wife, seeing her opportunity to get rid of "Dab" said, "O, yes, stay, and this gentleman can take the skiff back and report, and come for you in the morning." It was so arranged, and after Mr. Gooch was gone and the conversation renewed, the lady asked Sims where on earth he had found "that fellow?" He replied, "Why, up in Indiana. There it is hard to find any other sort. I brought him that you might see a real, live Hoosier." After a moment's reflection, she said, "Doctor, do you think they can ever be civilized?" "Civilized, why they are already civilized. You folks down here shoot, stab, and kill ten men to our one, and yet you claim to be the most civil and gallant people in the States." "Well," said she, "I shall never forget the looks of a live Hoosier."

Late in life Mr. Gooch married a widow with four or five children. Sometime in the '60's the cholera was communicated to his family by a relative returning from the West, and his wife and one child died. With the weight of years came many sorrows, not the least of them being a demented mind. He lived to near his eightieth year. The Gooches were from Kentucky. Adjoining neighbors to the Gooches were the Paul brothers, Gabriel and Andrew. Gabriel moved away at an early date on account of a tragedy in which his son was the principal actor. Several neighboring boys had congregated on Sunday and were playing on the ice, when young Paul and a boy named Collins got into an altercation. Paul stabbed Collins to death. The murderer was spirited away that night and was never afterward heard from by the public. It was an unprovoked assault, and young Paul has the distinction of being the youngest murderer who ever lived in the county.

North of the brickyard lived Squire John Robb, the principal scribe of the neighborhood in its earliest days. He served at various times as justice of the peace, school director, and school teacher, besides administrator of several estates. He was an intelligent man of high character, and a soldier in the latest Indian wars. He lived to an old age, having brought up a large family of sprightly boys and girls.

Squire John B. Maxwell also served in a like capacity for many years. He was an honest, conscientious officer of high standing and the head of a first class family of children, some of whom became teachers. He lived to a ripe old age.

Michael Stipp was king of bachelors. Gossiping women and noisy, crying children grated on his nerves like the notes of a calliope. He had profound respect for the staid, sensible wife and mother, but for the sniveling, dawdling sort he had not the least admiration. He relegated them to men of blunt sensibilities. In dress he was plain, neat, and cleanly. He was slow to follow the changes in fashion. He did not believe with Beau Brummel that "starch makes the man," for once when a new washerwoman, unacquainted with his peculiarities, "did up his shirt" with starch, he threshed it over the back of a chair until it was as limber as a tent cloth. He was among the best farmers and stock feeders in his neighborhood, and decidedly the best economist. For more than fifty years he had lived on and owned the same farm. His note was at all times as good as the bank, and his word was never disputed. He was near an octogenarian when life closed.

The brothers, John and David B. Scott, lived near the bridge, where John owned and ran a ferryboat seventy years ago, the first ferryboat established between Martinsville and Mooresville, and operated with sweep oars and setting poles. Early in the '50's they sold their lands and moved to Appanoose county, Iowa, where they continued farming and stock raising. David took a drove of army horses to St. Louis during the Civil War, where he sickened and died, leaving a wife and six sons, some of whom became prominent in county affairs.

William Hardwick owned and conducted one of the prettiest little farms in this community. In 1835 he married Elizabeth Cox, daughter of Alexander Cox, and soon after moved to this farm, where he and his most estimable wife reared a family of five or six children who took rank among the first families. Here he and his wife lived to a good old age, revered by their children and much esteemed by their neighbors.

William Cox was the foremost carpenter and cabinetmaker in the county in 1832. There were none better then, few better now. Specimens of his work can still be seen in houses built sixty years ago, and you cannot slip a hair in the joints of the panel doors to-day. His wife, Aunt Eliza, as she was usually called was among the best beloved women in the world. They raised a large family, most of whom fell victims at an early age to that common destroyer, consumption. The old folks closed out their long and useful lives at Centerton.

George Matthews, Jr. called "Doc" youngest of he sons of "grandfather" Matthews, was an adept in many things. He was millwright, carpenter, and veterinary surgeon; also a singing school leader, after the old style, with good colloquial gifts. He was a migratory bird, and in his flight visited England, where he made some reputation as a "horse doctor." He and his wife returned to their native land, where, after they had passed the meridian of life, and seen much sunshine and many shadows, they departed in peace.

Judge Hiram Matthews, although not a resident of this neighborhood in after life, had made it his playground when a boy. Fifty years ago no man in Morgan county was more generally known or more highly respected than Judge Matthews. He was a pillar of the commonwealth.

Since writing the first part of this sketch I received a letter from P. A. Brady, attorney of Greenup, Illinois, saying that his mother, Mrs. Sidney Brady, now living in Janesville, Illinois, is the youngest and only living one of the nine children born to Adelphia and George Matthews. She will be eighty years old January 13, 1900.

John A. Stipp, the village schoolmaster, was grievously tormented with rheumatism from his boyhood days. For many long years he suffered night and day with this painful disease. He resolved to make the most of it. He procured a copy each of Webster's speller and small dictionary, Pike's arithmetic, and Kirkham's grammar, and with the little start got in the subscription schools of that time he proceeded to qualify himself for teaching, and for several years was engaged in the profession in his own and adjoining neighborhoods. He was equally good in the "single rule of three" or the double rule of "rods." He was a schoolmaster who was master of the school.

He was by nature genial and sunny; and though the child of affliction, yet he was ever patient and resigned, getting more out of life than others more highly favored. He departed this life at the age of three score and ten, "sustained and soothed by an unfaltering trust."

Many others could be named who are equally worthy of remembrance as connected with this settlement, but they belong to a later period of time a period not included in these sketches.