Читать книгу More Haunted Hoosier Trails - Wanda Lou Willis - Страница 8

BENTON COUNTY

BENTON COUNTY, a part of Indiana’s vast grand prairie, was organized in 1840 and named for Missouri politician Thomas Hart Benton. No commissioners were appointed, and it was not until 1843 that a county seat was selected.

The first county seat, Oxford, was platted in 1843. Within one year of the town’s establishment, it had gone through three name changes. It was first called Milroy after one of the original founders, then Hartford after the Connecticut city; however, when it was discovered that both these names were already being used by other counties, it was renamed Oxford.

It’s not clear why this name was chosen—perhaps for the English city and university—although one legend says the name was chosen for the many oxen-driven wagons that forded nearby Pine Creek. In 1873 the county courthouse was condemned and the seat of government moved to Fowler.

A New England land speculator, Henry L. Ellsworth purchased nearly ninety thousand acres of Benton County. Other New Englanders followed suit, including Noah and Daniel Webster and members of Boston’s Cabot family. Ellsworth bequeathed most of his land to Yale University.

After the land speculators, the cattle barons moved in. Moses Fowler’s twenty-thousand-acre cattle farm was the home to one of the largest herds. His brother-in-law, Adams Earl, established America’s foundation herd of imported, purebred Herefords.

The cattle barons lent their names to many of the communities throughout the county: Fowler, Earl Park, Raub, Atkinson, Boswell, Chase, and Templeton.

The tiny settlement of Wadena produced a record number of baseball players in the early 1900s. Fred (Cy) Williams (1889–1974) twice led the National League in home runs. He was the first player in the majors to ever hit more than two hundred home runs. In 1923 he tied with Babe Ruth for the most home runs hit that season. His all-time batting average stands at .292.

Pitcher Otis Crandall (1887–1951) was christened “Doc” when Damon Runyan joked that he was “the physician of the pitching emergency.” Doc Crandall, considered the best relief pitcher of his era, had a .623 lifetime win percentage in the National and Federal leagues. Crandall’s two brothers played in the American Association and International leagues.

Perhaps the most famous son of Benton County was Dan Patch—a horse (1896–1916). The famed horse was born at Kelly’s Livery Stable in Oxford on Indiana 352, im-mediately south of Indiana 55. The white barn on the left is easily distinguished by the words “Dan Patch 1:55” spelled out on the green shingled roof. His first owner, Dan Mess-ner, was a local merchant. His trainer, John Wattles, was also a local man. During his career Dan Patch had two other owners: M.E. Sturgis of New York (1901–1902) and M.W. Savage of Minneapolis, Minnesota (1902–1916).

At four years old, Dan Patch began his legendary racing career. Until he stopped competitive racing in 1909, he won every race except two, in which he finished second. Because of lack of competition, Dan Patch raced in exhibitions against the clock, and in 1905 he set the world’s record for the mile with the time of one minute, fifty-five seconds—a record that stood for thirty-three years.

Although “Patch,” as he was fondly known, was a classic racing horse in terms of beauty and grace, the trotter seemed to have almost human characteristics. He was gentle, easy to handle, and was said to recognize friends and understand what was said to him. He always seemed willing to please and often played the showman to the crowds. He was as gentle as a Newfoundland dog.

After competing in the 1901 Grand Circuit, Dan Patch returned to Oxford on November 2, 1901, a day designated as Dan Patch Day that is still celebrated more than one hundred years later.

Dan Patch died in 1916, preceding his owner, Savage, in death by only one day.

The Ghost of Justus Cemetery

The clouds scurried across the night sky, at times hiding the pale moonlight. It was a windy, chilly, rainy night, not a good night for man or beast to venture out—a perfect night for ghosts.

It was the era of the steam engine, and a train traveling on the Chicago & Eastern Illinois Railroad stopped at the Oxford, Indiana, water tower located within view of the Justus Cemetery. As the crewmembers began taking on water above the whine of the wind, they heard distinctly a mournful moaning. Passengers hearing the sound strained their eyes into the darkness trying to learn from where and what this sound was coming.

Suddenly a figure in white was seen floating from the cemetery through the air toward the idle train. Its moans could be heard above the wind. The crewmembers and passengers watched, frozen with fright. Women began screaming. The crewmembers worked frantically to complete the task of taking on water. Suddenly without warning the specter retreated back to the cemetery, plunging headlong into an open grave.

The crewmembers were understandably frightened. Some even asked for transfers to daylight trains or better still, to any other train that did not have to pass through Oxford—and the Justus Cemetery.

Once again, a few nights later, the train made its customary and needed stop at the Oxford water tower. The crew had completed the task when the ghost appeared. The train began to get up a head of steam but was unable to move for several minutes, its wheels spinning on the track. The crewmembers became nearly hysterical when suddenly with a jerk the train began to roll free from whatever horror had held it tight in its grasp. Fear and panic consumed the crew, and with open defiance, the train’s crew refused to take the train into Oxford on its next run. Railroad officials were at a loss to know what to do and finally hired a detective.

After visiting Oxford and talking to some of the citizens, he was able to persuade a few to accompany him one night as he visited the cemetery. This was scary business he was proposing. As the small group waited and watched, they observed some of the young men of the community creep into the area just before the train arrived to take on water. One of them carried something white—a sheet. The detective left his hiding place, and the others followed as he approached the young men. The youthful pranksters admitted they were responsible for the ghost. They had attached a wire from the top of the water tower to the cemetery and were pulling a sheet, draped over a coat hanger, along this “track.” They also confessed that they had rubbed soap on the railroad tracks to make it difficult for the train to get traction once it had stopped. The pranksters were set free with a stern warning that if this ever happened again they would be arrested.

That ended the life of the ghost of Justus Cemetery—or did it? There were some among the train’s crew—those who had been frightened into near hysterics—who didn’t believe that it was a prank.