Galena Bound, by Ox and by Rail

When the railroad reached Cuba City and surrounding communities in 1874, it is no surprise that "old-timers" looked back on how times had changed since their youth. Orson M. Richards, Elk Grove farmer and frequent contributor to the Galena Gazette, did just that, sharing memories of a childhood trip taken from Elk Grove to Galena behind a team of oxen in 1846, followed by a similar journey from Elmo to Galena in 1874, this time aboard the Galena and Southern Wisconsin Railroad.

This detail from Asher and Adam's 1874 map of Wisconsin shows the route of the new railroad extending north from Galena, including the station at "Craglow's," which is present-day Cuba City. (Digitized by the Wisconsin Historical Society.)

Richards' first trip reads like a tall tale, and he includes some interesting commentary about the sights to be found along the heavily traveled Mineral Point-Galena Road that ran through what would later become Cuba City. Though Richards dated the following reminiscence December 23, it was published in the Galena Gazette on December 15, 1874. Paragraph breaks have been inserted for ease of reading, and a few notes have been added for clarification.

OUR FIRST TRIP TO GALENA.

ELK GROVE, Dec. 23, '74.

Correspondence of the Galena Gazette :

On the morning of June the 28th, 1846, (we are thus particular about the date, for we always noticed that reliable historians are perfectly correct in regard to dates: and then the events connected with this chapter produced a lasting impression on our memory) we bade adieu to our fond and doting parents, and started on our first trip to the city of Galena. Our team was a yoke of oxen, or, to be more definite, one of the cattle was a muley ox, and the other was a blind bull, said bull having lost his eyes by looking straight at a double-barrelled shot gun, when he was trying to break into a corn field

When we got upon the ridge, about where the Junction House [Elmo] now stands, the prospect that unfolded before our admiring eyes, caused us to feel that the world was brighter and larger than we had ever imagined it to be. All around us were the gently swelling ridges clothed in their most gorgeous robes of green, purple and scarlet. Away to the west of us could be seen the wooded outlines of the mighty Mississippi. Still farther westward in Iowa could be seen the solemn outlines of Eagle Point and Maquoketa. To the south could be plainly seen the bold and majestic Pilot Knob and other elevations in that vicinity. To the east was Gratiot, with its wooded crest reminding one of the plumes of the warrior. Looking northward there were the Platte Mounds standing alone in the wide expanse of prairie like two mighty sentinels. Our young imagination pictured on one of them a solitary red man, singing a mournful dirge to the departure of his race.

We journeyed leisurely along, wrapped in contemplation of the beauties that surrounded us, when we woke up to the uncomfortable fact that we were about to have a shake of the ague [fever, especially when caused by malaria], having brought that villainous disease with us from Morgan Co., Ill. It was now going to give us a farewell shake in Wisconsin. We thought of the home that was, and the one that might soon be. We thought of our team and our shot gun that we had along with us, but finally concluded to lie down in the wagon and shake it out.

Old settlers will recollect that about a half a mile south of Craiglow station [Cuba City], there used to be a pond of water near the road. Looking up while we lay in the wagon we discovered some wild ducks in the pond. Shaking as we were, we could not resist the temptation to try a shot at them. We crawled out of the wagon letting the cattle go on. We slipped up on the side of the pond and as the ducks raised we banged away at them; but our gun wabbled [sic] and bobbled around so that instead of hitting the ducks, we hit the bull directly in the end opposite to the one where he was shot when he lost his eyes. 

He gave a roar and away he went about as fast as ox teams generally go. He kept on running and roaring, and by the time we caught up with our team we were pretty nearly a used up community. It must have been the recollection of what the beast had suffered before, that excited him so, for we were so far off that we did him no serious injury.

Shortly after having caught up with our team, we were overtaken by a gentleman riding in a buggy. The gentleman wore a long swallow-tailed coat; on his head was a high stove pipe hat; his ears were sawed hard by a high shirt-collar; around his neck was a high stiff stock that held his chin up at an angle of about forty-five degrees. As soon as he got fairly alongside of us he inquired, with a degree of dignity corresponding with his appearance, "where we had passed the stage."

We hung down our head to wake up our recollection, when the gentleman broke out into a broad, good-natured laugh. Then we saw the "thing of it," and our remarks as he drove on were not altogether complimentary to his intelligence. If our recollection of faces is correct the gentleman in question was our good old friend, Isaac Hodges, at present banker of the town of Platteville. If Mr. Hodges says he was not the man, we are willing to make the amende honorable, as soon as we find what that means.

We got along as far as the Four Mile House [north of Galena] without any particular mishap. Our cattle were getting very hot and thirsty, but Sturgis, the man that kept the house, would not let us water. We started on, and all went well until we got to the foot of Franklin Street. There the bull smelled water, and straight for it he headed.

Down the hill, across Main Street, he rushed like an avalanche, taking muley, wagon and all with him. We yelled "whoa" until we were hoarse as a bullfrog. We beat him over the head until we were exhausted, but it was no go, our yelling had about as much effect upon him as whistling a jig would have upon a mile post; our hammering his pate made about as great an impression as a woodpecker would make tapping at an iceberg. 

Headlong he rushed into the river. We bid the cattle good-bye and sat down on a pile of wet lumber, and don't recollect of being troubled at that time with a single poetical inspiration. Some warm-hearted lumbermen got our team out of the river, for which we hope they will duly repent before they die.

O.M.R.

 

Compare this with Orson M. Richards' journey along the same route nearly thirty years later, this time on a train. The following was published in the Galena Gazette on Dec. 23, 1874. Take note of the Elk Grove farmer's descriptions of the communities he passed through, as he was criticized in a later newspaper issue for his negative portrayal of St. Rose and Craiglow (later Cuba City).

 

OUR LAST TRIP TO GALENA.

ELK GROVE, Dec. 23, 1874.

Correspondence of the Galena Gazette:

On the 14th day of December in this blessed year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-four, at the Junction House [Elmo], we stepped on board the train on the Galena and Southern Wisconsin Railroad, bound for Galena. 

Hatch, the gentlemanly conductor, was on hand, and Wilson that prince of engine drivers, was holding his team by the bits. We noticed that the train seemed headed for the north, but Hatch said we was going to Galena, so we asked no questions. When Hatch told Wilson to let his pony go, it gave a snort and a whicht and backed up in the shafts and away it went tail foremost.

The fields flew by, the fences on each side of the road were running races. The teams that we saw were enjoying a jolly runaway; even the pigs were streaking it towards the north like old nick was after them. 

In about two seconds and a half, more or less, we pulled up at St. Rose, where the depot is to be. St. Rose is destined to be a great place, and we think that it will be sure to be the liveliest place on the road. It is a lively place now, very lively. Its leading business men are kept very lively, J. O. Sullivan sells dry goods, groceries and whisky. He is Justice of the Peace, Freight Agent and sells whisky. Jim Conlan [Conlon] deals in rags, old iron and sells whisky. We understand that two other whisky shops are to be built there in a short time. The pony gave another snort, and away we went clatter ty bang, past Donahans [Donohoos]. 

In about a hop, step, and a jump we were at Craiglow's [Cuba City]. This station is a switch in a forty acre field of Canada thistles. It is where a depot was to be. We think that it will be a lively place if ever they attempt to kill out the thistles.

The pony here got loose, and shied off until he got around to the other end of the train. We suppose this was to hold back, for here the road starts down Coon Branch, and down we went. Sliding down hill on a hand sled is no comparison to the way we ran down.

We just ran down that grade to Benton as smoothly and as easily as soap suds runs out of a sink. Benton proper is a nice town. It has an unusual number of enterprising, thorough going business men. Benton, under the hill consists of a depot, hog pen and grocery. 

Here we passed the passenger train going north. On board we espied his honor, Judge Mills, who once fined us for not attending court as a juror, and then loaned us the money to pay the fine. Long may he live, and continue to deal out to us such even handed justice.

The road from Benton to Galena is down grade all the way, and we went down fairly flying. Away we went over bridges, through the tunnel, catching glimpses of a number of cozy, home-like farms, along on Fevre river. We stopped at Bell's Mill for a moment, and a few moments later were landed all safe and sound in Galena, where warm friends, and a good dinner awaited us.

We could not help contrasting our last trip to Galena, with our first one. We seemed to have been but a few moments from home; and everything connected with the trip was enjoyable. 

Our ride home was swift and pleasant, though we will confess to some misgivings when we saw several cars, heavily loaded with iron, ahead of the little engine Platteville, and more cars hitched on behind. Conductor Hatch coming on board with a loaf of bread under his arm, did not serve to quiet our apprehensions. 

At Bell's Mill we hitched on several car loads of green ties; and saw the conductor show Bell his loaf of bread. We wished we had laid in a stock of provisions before starting. We afterwards learned that the bread was taken along as a sample; to show what kind of bread Bell's flour made. Judging from the looks of the bread, that conductor is a happy man. 

We also found out that the little engine could pull heavy loads up heavy grades with all the ease in the world.

O.M.R.

 

Orson M. Richards was not the only one to think these early railroad journeys were worth writing about. In 1875, staff from the Galena Gazette published observations from their railroad excursion from Galena to Platteville.