Annals of our ancestors; one hundred and fifty years of history in the ...

THE OLD FARM 85
gethcr in Winona, and though both were gray-headed we
smiled, and then we sighed, for it had been so long ago
and the chief actor had lived out the span of his years. We
had heard for some time, in the secret fraternity of childhood,
of our brother Will's "pigtail party." Woe unto him or her
who offended the eldest in those days. Cousin Mary Jane did,
and her name was stricken from the list of invited guests. I
think I, too, was blackballed. While the men were at dinner
on slaughter day, Brother Will, who was about twelve years
old then, climbed out on the stout pole where the dressed hogs
were suspended by their hind legs and cut off the tail of each
for his "pigtail party." My remembrance of the outcome is
not very distinct, e.xcepting that Will's skill in roasting the
tails and the opinion of his elders as to his amputations did
not combine to make the party a great success, and there is
yet a memory of tears and soot on our brother's face after the
party was over. Sam Rogers, the hired man, declared he
did not know how to apologize to the men in Cincinnati to
whom he sold those tailless hogs!
All this reminds me of another experience of our childhood.
Before the days of easy transportation by rail the farmers from
the interior of Indiana and Ohio drove their cattle and hogs to
the Cincinnati market over the worst of clay roads. It was a
sight of much interest to watch a long procession of these
drovers coming in solid phalanx, passing on to the city, where
immense slaughter houses waited to receive them. So great
a market was found for the swine of the new state of Indiana
that Cincinnati came to be called "Porkopolis," and the
village of Chicago to the northward was not thought of as even
a rival in embryo.
I recall one day in particular when I was anxious to cross
the road to go down to grandfather's old house, which had been
repaired for our tenant, Anson by name. I had to wait for
hours before it was safe for me to venture across, so rapidly
did one great drove of hogs follow the other. The porkers
came by hundreds, like a stream, rolling over Brown's hill
and sliding down to our house upon the yellow clay made slippery
by an autumn rain. We spoke of these Indiana drovers