Since I, occasionally, like to share personal stories on my blog, today will be one of my ancestor's accounting of the family moving to what is now called Troy, Michigan in 1821. The tale is told by my 3rd great grandfather's son, John Jones, Jr. - my 2nd great grandfather's name is Joseph, which John mentions below. Apparently, the earliest recorded land purchase in Troy was 1819, which means that John Jones, Sr., (born in Wales) arrived in Troy with his wife, Margaret, and children, shortly afterward. I enjoy genealogy and reading these personal stories as it reminds me how difficult early pioneers had it. It's one thing to watch movies or documentaries, but it seems to have more impact when it's told through your ancestor's point of view. I only wish I had their images to share instead of my 3rd great grandparent's tombstone. I hope you enjoy it.
JOHN JONES, JR. - 1803-1882
HISTORY OF OAKLAND COUNTY, MICHIGAN (1877) - Pages 328-329. Biographical Sketch - written 1874
I was born in Whitestown (Oneida Co.), near Utica, in the State of New York, May 6, 1803, and removed from Jefferson County, New York, in the spring of 1821, and settled in what is now Troy; entered and settled northwest quarter of section 19, containing forty acres of land. Our family consisted of father and mother, and my brother Joseph and sister Margaret, and myself. When we first landed in Detroit we had only eighty dollars, to pay for our land and buy provisions for one year, and to buy us a team; so you see it stood us in hand to study economy. We had to pay one dollar per hundred to have our goods hauled out from Detroit to our land, which was considered at that time a reasonable price, as it took four days to go over the road with an ox team. I say road; there was no road; we were guided by marked trees. Well, we built us a log shanty, and covered it with bark; and felt thankful that we had a home, and if we could have been sure of enough to eat we would have felt happy. We could get along without roads, -- willing to be guided by marked trees, -- willing to do without these conveniences, if we were sure of corn-bread enough to keep starve-to-death away. Well, we cleared a spot and planted some corn that spring. We then took a job of chopping and clearing and earned enough to buy us a yoke of four-year-old steers, but they did not prove to be the right kind of a team. They were very hard to break, and they would turn the yoke the wrong side-up too often, and we could not afford to buy whiplashes, so we sold them the first chance we had, and bought another pair, which proved to be better, -- but found that we had not money enough to pay for them into ten dollars, which sum at that time was almost impossible to raise, but, to overcome that difficulty, I left my old father at home, shouldered my axe, and made up my mind that, come what would, those steers must be paid for. I hired out chopping for Nelson Madding, an Oakland County pioneer; worked about a month for ten dollars, got the money, and paid for the oxen, and felt rich. About this time our supply of corn-bread began to give out, and we could not get cornmeal or flour if we had the money to pay for it, so to avoid going hungry we picked and husked our corn in the month of August, and dried it on the tope of our shanty, and took it to Auburn to mill, got it ground, and thus kept up a supply of bread. I have often heard of times that tried men's souls, but I look back to those old pioneer days and think that then was the time that tried men's stomachs.
After we had been on our forty acres a year or two we concluded that it was not sufficient for a farm, so we thought the first chance we had for selling we would do so. We soon had a chance, and acted accordingly; sold, and settled, in the spring of 1823, on the northwest quarter of section 21, -- eighty in Troy, -- and before we could get to our land we had to cut brush and make a road for our ox-team to go through. This eighty acres we entered at the land-office in Detroit at the government price, one dollar and twenty-five cents per acre.
When we first settled on our new purchase we found that we were yet in the midst of a wilderness. The nearest neighbor, and only one for miles round, was Riley Crooks, another pioneer. He lived in a log shanty in the northwest quarter of section 20. He was killed by the falling of a tree, April 27, 1850. The next early pioneers that came in and settled, near a year or two after, were William Poppleton, John Sprague, William Stanley, Hiram Smith (or Uncle Hi, as he was called), all of whom have passed away to their long homes. In the spring or summer of 1823 we built us a log house, and covered it with stakes, split our flooring out of logs, and, by the way, I will add, we did not stop to plane or match it. We now felt we had a home once more, and what we called a comfortable one at that time; although we had no door, the first summer only a blanket hung up as a substitute for one, and at that time we were in the midst of a howling and unbroken wilderness, and expected to make an honest living by hard work, with only the helve of that noble article, the axe, which we could not well do without. We could have made improvements faster on our land had we had the money to buy our provisions with, but I had to chop for other settlers, and take jobs to earn food to live on for a few days, then chop and clear on our own land while it lasted, and when about gone, go out and work for more. Perhaps some of the young men of the present day would like to know what wages were paid at that time for labor. I will just say that a good chopper could earn from thirty to fifty cents per day, and he must be a man that could swing an axe from morning till night, in the months of April, May, June, and, I might add, all summer, and he must not be particular about his bill of fare; at that time, if he got plenty of pork and cornbread, and occasionally a few potatoes, he was a lucky man, as for me, I have chopped for days and weeks on pudding and milk alone. These things, I doubt not, will seem strange at the present day, but nevertheless it is true. I mention these things to let the young people of the present day know what we, the old pioneers of Oakland County, passed through to turn a vast wilderness into a rich and beautiful and productive country, which will be the pride of rising generations.
I have often thought, while attending our pioneer meeting, if any one of the pioneers of Oakland County ever thought who cleared the land where the courthouse now stands in Pontiac. I had the honor of doing that chopping and clearing myself. I cleared five acres, commencing at the northeast corner of the lot, and running South as far as what was called Strait-Backs tavern, then west and north and east to the said corner. For this job I received fifty cents a day.
In chopping and clearing land we had many difficulties to overcome, and had to work often to disadvantage. A great deal of the time water would stand on the ground, and thus delay our progress. At that time there were no ditches to carry the water off, and we had to do the best we could. I have chopped for days to earn fifty cents a day, and stood in the water most of the time from six to eight inches deep. One winter in particular I will mention; I worked on a job of chopping for John Sprague, and a great deal of the time stood in water half-way up my boot-legs, and if I made a misstep the water would run over the tops; but I did not go to the house for dry stockings but worked away until dark; but, as a general thing, if I kept the water from going over the tops of my boots I had dry feet, for, by the way, those boots were made by an honest man, and warranted to turn water, and they did just as they were recommended to do, and that man of whom I speak was my old friend and pioneer and neighbor, the now Hon. James Bailey, residing at the present time on the same street within Birmingham, and I would that we had just such boot- and shoe-makers at the present day as he was then. I think there would be more dry feet and less bad colds.
While thus working and battling with the hardships of a pioneer life, we had to do without a great many luxuries that we now enjoy. Our grocery bill was not large compared with what it is at the present day. One pound of tea and ten pounds of sugar would last us a year; but soon we began to be rewarded for our labor, for after a while we could see here and there through our neighborhood a few acres of clearing, which told us that the forest was being conquered and the mighty-timbered land was being cleared away, and that soon we should see the golden grain waving in its stead; then indeed we felt rich and happy to know that when the harvest was over we should have at least what bread we wanted, and thus destroy that fear that sometimes crossed our minds, that what if we should be sick and could not work we might suffer for want of bread. But now new troubles began to come upon us: my mother became deranged, and of course caused us great uneasiness for fear she might do herself harm, and after a few years of poor health, she died June 13, 1835, sixty-six years of age. After the death of my mother, my father remained for awhile in usual health, but soon he began to feel that old age was telling upon him.
My brother Joseph was not much help to us, and I saw that all the cares were falling upon me, and I resolved, as I had been taught to do, to honor my father and mother, and come what would, to not neglect them or allow them to suffer as long as life and health was spared me; and I can now in my old age look back to those days and with a clear conscience say I have never failed to do all in my power for their comfort; poor as I was, I did the best I could, and I often wish that they could have lived to enjoy the luxuries of these days. Long ago they entered the land of the blessed, as I have faith to believe, for they were devout Christians.
Some time after the death of my mother I began to see the need of a help-mate, and married Miss Mary Ann Wright, December 3, 1839. Although she was somewhat younger than me, she had proved an excellent wife and a faithful companion to me, and her patience and kindness towards my father during the last three years of his life I shall never forget. For three years he was not out of the house, and most of the time he was as helpless as a child, and, as I was away a great deal of the time, most of the care of my father came on her to do, and most faithfully did she perform her duty, administering to his wants and comforts in patience and without a murmur. Surely such shall have their reward. My father died January 15, 1846, sixty-eight years of age.
In recalling these instances of pioneer days, a great many of which have passed from my mind, I seem as it were to be living them over again, and I rejoice to know that steps are being taken to preserve a record of them, which, if not done, will soon be among the things of the past and be forgotten forever.
In conclusion, I will say that I have been rewarded for my labors and hardships. For my economy and industry, I have accumulated a sufficient sum for me for the few remaining days that are left me to stay on this earth. We remained on the old farm about forty-five years, or until about seven years ago, when we began to feel the need of rest in our old age from the cares and labors of the farm. We sold the farm and removed to the quiet village of Birmingham, where we expect to live until we are called to join our kindred dead. I am now in the seventy-first year of my age, and in usual health for one of those years.
