Greene County Historical Trivia

[Twail Wetard]

When you go across that long bridge by deleware town I can totally see Indian pitching tents in a field over there.

[jammer_smith]

I came across this story in Holcombe's History of Greene County.


I thought ti was very moving. The language, and refering to one of the main chacters by the name of his Tribe, makes it a little confusing at first, but it's worth reading.

In 1827 my father, John P. Campbell, and my uncle, E. M. Campbell, took refuge from an autumnal storm in old Delaware town on the James, not far from the Wilson Creek battle-ground. The braves had just brought in a remnant of Kickapoos which they had rescued from the Osages. Among the Kickapoos was a young brave boy ill with a kind of bilious fever recently taken. Just before leaving home my father had been reading a botanic treatise, and became a convert. In his saddle-bags he carried lobelia, composition and No. 6. He gave them to understand that he was a medicine man, and against Uncle Mat's earnest protest, who feared the consequences if the Indian died, he undertook the case. Not understanding the condition of his patient, or, perhaps, the proper quantity of the emetic to administer, he threw the Kickapoo into an alarm, or in other words a frightful cold sweat and deathly sickness. Then there was work for dear life. Uncle Mat, the older and more cautious of the two, pulled off his coat and plunged in to help my father get up a reaction, which they did, leaving the poor patient prostrate, and "weak as a rag." My father always laughed and said: "But feel so good, good—all gone," laying his hand weakly on his stomach. They remained some time with the Indians, hunting and looking at the country. They finally made up their minds to return to Maury county, Tennessee, and bring their families. Piloted by the Kickapoo they went some distance up the James, and made arrangements with an old trapper to get out their house logs ready to be put up immediately upon their return. They had selected lands where Springfield now stands. They found four springs whose branches uniting formed Wilson creek. About the center of the area between these springs was a natural well of wonderful depth, now known to be a sub-terranean lake, hard by which my father "squatted," after a toilsome journey through the wilderness, the Mississippi river frozen over so hard that they crossed on the ice in February, 1830. Several families accompanied him, among whom was glorious old Uncle Jo Miller. Who ever saw him angry? Who ever caught him looking on the dark side? The moment he was seated every child clambered and buzzed over him like bees over a honeycomb, and we had implicit faith in his "honey pond and fritter tree," and have to this day. The Kickapoo came over immediately and became an almost indispensable adjunct to the family. Seeing that my father was very tender with my mother, he looked upon her as a superior being something to be guarded and watched that no harm come near. He was out on a hunt when my sister was born, the first white child in Kickapoo prairie. When he came in my father, who had thrown himself on the bed by my mother, said: "Oh, ho! look here!" He approached, looked at the little creature with quaint seriousness, and said, "What call?" My mother, to please him, said "Kickapoo;" and my father, who was cheerful and bright, had just taken baby's tiny hand and exclaimed, "My Beautiful," so that the child was ever to the Indian "Kickapoo, My Beautiful," and exceedingly beautiful she proved to be. The old people discourse upon her liveliness to this day, and refuse to believe that there ever was another to compare with her. The Kickapoo's greatest pleasure was guarding the rustic cradle, and drawing the delicately tapered hand through his own.

Springfield soon became a habitation with a name. Cabins of round poles were hastily put up, and filled with emigrants. My father vacated and built thirteen times in one year to accommodate new comers. Log huts filled with merchandise, groceries, and above all that curse of America—whisky—soon did a thriving trade with the Indians and immigrants. A cool autumn afternoon my mother, who was remarkably tall, with black hair and fine eyes, went to one of the primitive stores to buy a shawl, and could find nothing but a bright red with gay embroidered corners. She threw it over her shoulders, and crossed over to see a sick neighbor. Returning at dusk she was forced to pass round a crowd of Indians who had been trading and drinking. A powerful, bare-armed Osage attracted no doubt by the gay shawl, threw up his arms, bounded toward her shouting, "My squaw." She flew towards home. Just as she reached the door her foot twisted, and she fainted. A strong arm with a heavy stick came down on the bare head of the dusky savage, and he measured his length on the ground. The Kickapoo, for it was he that came so opportunely to my mother's rescue, carried her in, closing the door, for by this time everybody had rushed to see what was the matter, the Osages calling for the Kickapoo who had dealt the blow upon their companion. He passed on to the kitchen, making a sign to Rachel to go in; took "Kickapoo, My Beautiful," from Elizabeth, pressed her tenderly to his heart, looked at her wistfully, returned her to the nurse and was gone. The blow dealt really killed the Osage. Nothing but Rachel opening the door wringing her hands, with tears running down hers and Elizabeth's cheeks, with "Kickapoo, My Beautiful," screaming, the finding of my mother in a death-like swoon, and no trace of the Kickapoo saved the village from serious trouble. Days, weeks, months and years passed, and all my father's efforts to find out the fate of his red friend were futile, and he concluded he had been assassinated by the Osages, though assured by them, "They no find him." [139-140]

[BROUSER]

Cool story, bro.

[jammer_smith]

....your sir....may bite me.

[BROUSER]

I was being serious. I'm related to the Campbells by marriage. My father's maternal grandmother's g-g-g-grandfather married one of the daughters.

[jammer_smith]

ah, well ok. yes I think the story is quite touching. that is neat to be in the direct lineage.

[lolabelle]

The top of the ridge just above Sequiota spring was a Kickapoo burial ground. The graves were eventualy dug up after the land was purchased by white men and Mr. Fischer renamed it Fischer Cave and wanted to make it into a park.

I used to live almost on top of Sequiota Cave, just a bit east of that to be more accurate, in what probably used to be an old cow field. Anyway, our backyard was lined on the west by a treeline, and behind that sat some neighbors. THOSE people were pretty much directly on that ridge. Their dog barked...a lot. Maybe because he was living on an old dug up burial ground. Very cool, I didn't realize your fact. I'm assuming this is the area the book references, since the land that is directly above the cave is such a rocky slope and not well suited for burial. Maybe Willard knows more...


PS - this may be my new favorite thread. Got any info on Hazeltine property, or the old rock "summer home" that overlooks the James right by Summers At The River? Those are two of my favorite places. Also, any info on the place at Kearney and Campbell (?)...that place intrigues me every time I drive by it.

[Willard]

PS - this may be my new favorite thread. Got any info on Hazeltine property, or the old rock "summer home" that overlooks the James right by Summers At The River? Those are two of my favorite places. Also, any info on the place at Kearney and Campbell (?)...that place intrigues me every time I drive by it.

I'm not to knowledgeable about the Hazeltines, but you will have to be more spacific about the Hazeltine 'property' as there was more than one farm out on the southwest area of what is now Springfield.

As for the "Summer Home" overlooking the James River, I don't know where "Summers at the River" is, but I do know that rock house overlooking the James just off of 160, heading to Nixa, was originally built by FX Heer for his summer place. He sold it in the late 1920s or early 1930s to John Woodruff (he built the Kentwood Arms Hotel and the Woodruff building and was instrumental in getting US 66 to come through Springfiled). That "Summer Home" is called Killarny Cliffs (I may have mispelled the name).

[Twail Wetard]

I would love to see pics of the inside of that house. So when was it built?

[lolabelle]

I would love to see pics of the inside of that house. So when was it built?

+1

And thanks Willard. I know we've talked about the place in the past. And anything on Hazeltine...that whole huge property so intrigues me. I love driving by the old, falling down structure that is right near Chesnut and Hazeltine better than the still standing family/groundskeeper houses.

[lolabelle]

also, anyone ever been in that old Church of Christ Scientist that they turned into some sort of police building? It's off Central? Or Brower? I've always wanted to peek in there, though now it's probably full of cubicles or something boring...

[Willard]

also, anyone ever been in that old Church of Christ Scientist that they turned into some sort of police building? It's off Central? Or Brower? I've always wanted to peek in there, though now it's probably full of cubicles or something boring...

That church on on Central near Jefferson. I'm not sure how much leeway you will have of the building and I'm not sure what they changed inside.

As for Kilarny Cliffs, there were two articals done on that place. One was done back in the 1940s of 1950s and is photos are on microfilm at the Library Center in the Local History Dept. Same goes with the later 1980s story that was in Springfield! magazine. (actually I think Springfield! magazine artical may be in hard copy and they do have a scanner photo copier now where you can scan onto your jump drive.)

For the Hazeltine properties, I'll see if I can get a current map with the properties from the 1904 plat map of Greene County mapped out on it so everyone can see what modern part of the city this family once owned. Give me some time to get this done, mostly on scanning so I can post it.

[Twail Wetard]

Anybody know anything about the cave under that house? its slightly to the west of the house, but they have steps and such leading down to it and it is gated, not like a MDC gate but more of a private landowners type setup.

[Twail Wetard]

Hey WILLARD!

[Willard]

Anybody know anything about the cave under that house? its slightly to the west of the house, but they have steps and such leading down to it and it is gated, not like a MDC gate but more of a private landowners type setup.

Well you have my attention. Anywho, are you refering to Killarny Cliffs that's just off Cambell/US 160 right before you cross the James River (the actual river not Freeway)? If so, my understanding is that cave was used as a speakeasy during prohibition, but I don't know any more than that or even if that bit of information is true.