My parents left Germany in the year 1845. Their plan wasto settle down in Indiana. Some friends of theirs who traveled with them had friendsliving in Indiana and wanted my parents to settle down where they were going. Theycame across New York State on a canal boat along the Erie Canal. While on the ocean,a baby girl was born. Mother knew the child was dying when she was two weeks old.She pleaded with father to get off at the first landing they would come to, whichwas Cleveland Ohio. The same night the baby died. They were in a hotel and the ownerwas very kind to them. He saw to it that the baby got a grave and coffin and thatthe baby had a decent burial. Mother often expressed the wish that she could go backthere. She thought she could find the grave. They were told in 1869 that the cemeterywas still there and in the middle of the city. A daughter two years of age had beenburied in Germany. One brother, John, was five years old when they left the fatherland.The new friend in Cleveland advised father not to continue his journey to Indiana,which was a long way off, but said he would help him find a job, and when fatherwould have more money, then they could look for land. They thought this was the sensiblething to do as they were rather low on funds. The man found him a job as a shippingclerk at fifty cents a day. Father had steady work for three years. Then the depressionof 1848 came and all business shut down and banks closed. Father thought the onlyand best thing he could do was move to Wisconsin. A friend of his lived there whoowned 80 acres of land and had written to father to come and buy the land. The friends'name was Nehf. The land was located five miles north of Port Washington. It is stilllived on by some of the Maechtle descendants The transfer of the land was signedby the President of the United States (James Polk) and was listed as being locatedin Washington County (which part is now Ozaukee), and in the Territory of Wisconsin.

The family was supposed to land at Port Washington, but there was no landing place,so they took them to Sheboygan. There they hired a team of horses and a lumber wagonto take their "Hab' und gut". It consisted of two large iron bound chestswhich they had made in Germany, and four chairs which are still in existence. Theyhave never come apart as they were put together without being glued. They wore downvery low from being on the rough floor -- the floor having been made of logs sawedlengthwise. It was difficult to sweep the floor.

Well, my poor mother described the awful forsaken place to which they arrived onthat bleak, dark, November day. The trees were so large that when they were leafedout, they could not see the sky unless they looked straight up. With scarcely anyprovisions, they thought they would have to starve. They then had three small children,as two sons, Henry and George, were born in Cleveland. George was three months oldwhen they came to Wisconsin. After father paid for the land and ten dollars for theone room cabin, he had only a little money left. He knew he would have to save thatfor taxes and the few most necessary things they had to have. The roof was so poorthat when the little boys got up after a blizzard, they had to shake the snow fromtheir pants before putting them on. There were no oxen or tools of any kind to startclearing the land. They did not have a cow for three years. They wondered how theywould get a job to earn provisions. Then father was told to walk four miles throughthe timber to the southwest and he would come to what is now called the MilwaukeeRiver. Across the river he would find a few American families who hired men to cleartheir land. There was no money, but they would pay in what they called due bills,which could be taken to the store and traded for what you needed. He managed to getthere and ask for work. They said there was plenty of work but no money. So, in lieuof cash, they agreed to give him provisions consisting of flour, bacon, turnips,potatoes and barley to roast for coffee which they drank black. Mother said thatif only we had all the four we needed for bread. Often the flour got so low and shedid not know if father would be able to get more flour before the bread was all gone.Father would leave on Monday morning and get back Saturday night. It was so darkin the woods that he would lose direction so John and mother would call and yoo-hoountil finally they got an answer, and keep it up until he got home. On one dark,rainy night father lost his way and went directly from home. He said he never wouldhave reached home that night, had it not been for a cow bellowing for her calf. Whenhe heard that, he followed the direction of the sound and landed a ways from home.

Father did not always have work from the so-called "lazy Yankees." Thethrifty German immigrants thought the older, richer settlers were very lazy to hiretheir work done for them, although they appreciated the chance to earn provisions.When no hired out, father would chop trees on his own land. So after a time, therewas a little clearing around the cabin so we could see sunshine. Mother hoed aroundthe stumps and sowed a few handfuls of wheat. When it was ripe, she cut it with asickle.

Mother was so afraid of the Indians. They would come around out of curiosity, walkinto the cabin and look around. If there was some little thing they spied, they wouldlet her know by signs and motions that they wanted it. So what few things she had,she hid in the big chest, out of sight. Mother had a few picture cards that she broughtalong from the old country, and o, how glad we as younger children were when we wereallowed to look at them, usually on Sunday, Christmas, Easter or on Good Friday.We also had to make sure that our hands were washed clean. It makes my heart acheto see so many pretty pictures with such lovely colors thrown away when we wouldhave walked miles for a pretty colored card.

When a few years had passed, some of the settlers had clearings. Mother picked wildstrawberries and raspberries and walked seven miles to Port Washington to sell them.Straight it would have been five miles, but there was no direct path. She had togo out of her way to get to the right road with a pail or basket of berries on eacharm. She would get form 2 1/2 to 7 cents a quart from the people in town. The moneyshe would save for taxes and for most necessary things. She wore out so many dressesin the berry bushes. The men wore out their clothing working in the woods. Motherwould have to put patch on patch. In time there wasn't anything to patch with. Oftenshe said, "If only some one would bring me things to patch with." She saidthat hope was the only thing that kept her courage up, -- thinking that some dayit would be better. She would have to leave so early, before it was daylight in thewoods. They had no clock. One time she awoke and saw how light it was. She thoughtshe had overslept and yet it seemed she had just gone to bed. She was so very tired,but she hurriedly got ready with her two loads on her arms, for she knew that shewould have to get ride of her berries and be home in time to get her baskets readyfor the next day. The season was so short. After she got a short way from home, itbecame pitch dark. She could not see her hand before her face. Now what would shedo? Turn around and go back home? No, she would no more get home and she would haveto start out again. The moon light had deceived her. She walked on in the darkness.When she got to Port on the bluff where the Catholic Church now stands, she saw thefirst pink ray of the morning sun. She sat there and wept and waited until long afterthe smoke started to rise from the chimneys and then waited some more. She did notwant to be impolite and go to her customers before they had had their breakfasts.After a sleepless night, she had to hurry home and repeat not only the picking ofthe berries, but she had six people to wash for and had to leave something for herfamily on which to exist.

After three years, they had saved thirty dollars to buy a cow. Father walked to Milwaukeeand bought a cow and drove her home. The family was all anticipation. Mother hadtold her what good things they would have when they had milk, so they all went tomeet father and the cow. He drove her into the yard and milked her. Lo and behold,she never gave another drop of milk. She was an old strippling that never would befresh again. Father sold her to the butcher for nine dollars and was "out"21 dollars. Then heavy hearted, they had to wait another year before they could buyanother cow. We might say, "Why not borrow money?" yes, they did borrow100 dollars from a man living nearby. She showed them 100 dollars and took 20 dollarsform it, saying that this is the interest for one year. With the remaining money,they bought a yoke of oxen so that they could speed up the clearing of the land.

Mother said living was very cheap in Cleveland. They enjoyed the fresh fruit. Theprices were so low, especially on peaches. Mother brought a few apple seeds fromCleveland and planted them. One of the seeds grew to be a fair-sized tree and borea few apples. One apple stayed on the tree and ripened. Mother cut the apple in asmany pieces as there were children and grown ups just so they would know how an appletasted. Little taste they would have gotten! Later on they planted wild plum stones.When they were little trees, they had a man come over and graft tame plums on themwith little twigs they brought with them. We had lovely tame plums. We picked themby the bushel. We had now way of keeping them so whoever wanted them were welcometo them. At threshing time, we set a tubful outside so they could eat them and filltheir pockets. I remember the first peach Uncle Jake and I ever tasted. Father camefrom Port with the big lumber wagon. It always seemed a great event to us littlechildren to run out and meet anyone of the family when they came from town. Fathertold us to look in the back of the wagon box and eat one. They were clingstone andhard. They smelled better than they tasted. A boat had arrived in Port while fatherwas there.

I was about 13 years old when I tasted the first orange, pineapple and banana. Mysister, Helen, brought them along from Milwaukee in 1875 when our father died. Hewas only 62 years old but had endured hardships enough to be over eighty years old.He, with my brothers Henry and George, stood in the water, getting trees felled forlogs with which to build a barn. They had no rubber boots and the ice was not strongenough to hold them up. That was how father contracted Rheumatism and later palsyin both hands. Both hands trembled so that he had great difficulty in shaving himself,but he always managed to feed himself It made him extremely nervous. Father tooksick the first year or two after their arrival. An American neighbor lady heard aboutit and sent a pan of milk for him. That was the first milk the children had everseen. Brother Henry said, "I am sick too. I want some white coffee too."The same family gave Sister Helen a rag doll which was the only doll we ever hadto play with. We always felt grateful and never forgot the kindness that lady bestowedupon us. This family soon left for their former home in the east. The ship on whichthey were returning for a visit floundered and sank within a half mile south of PortWashington one stormy night. Later her body washed ashore and was identified. Noone knows how many passengers were drowned. A small baby was rescued whose parentsmuch have drowned, as no one every found out who the child was. It was the only survivor.Many years afterward the anchor of the ship was found in the bottom of the lake.It can be seen in the Port Washington cemetery.

When our parents came to Wisconsin, Port Washington was a large as Milwaukee. Itwas not known which of the two towns would sometime become a large city. Like othertowns of its day, the Civil War brought draft riots to Port Washington. The riotersgot crazy drunk and started out to demolish things and forced other people to join them in their lawlessness. They meant to set fire to all the protestant churches.They pulled a lawyer's wife with her new-born baby out of bed and slit the featherbedopen in their hunt for the lawyer. There was no way of sending messages so a citizentook a horse and rode to Milwaukee to get the militia which luckily was stationedthere. The rioters put a cannon on the pier and watched the waterfront, ready toshoot the militia's boat. When the militia stopped a few miles south of Port Washington,they were notified of the rioters' intentions. They landed at Ulao and marched in.They surprised and arrested the whole group. The rioters had been planning to setfire to the unfinished Evangelical Church that very morning "for their breakfast."Some of the men who were being threatened by the rioters hid in hay but they werenot safe any place, as the rioters had forks and stabbed into the hay, hunting forthem. Later, during the trial of these men, brother John was called as a witness.The Milwaukee Journal had a good account of the riot in their Sunday paper a fewyears ago.

In the woods surrounding the home were many rather tame deer. Father had no gun andI do not believe he was any kind of a sportsman. The family never had any wild meatto eat. One day Mother thought she saw a shadow over the window. Her first thoughtwas of Indians. When she looked up, there were three young deer looking through thewindow. There were also wildcats and lynx. Mother said how afraid she was that theymight jump down on her during her long trips through the woods. She would pray everystep of the way for God to protect her. She and the children were alone so much atnight. They had no lamps or candles or lanterns. So brother John would whittle longsticks or shavings which he lit by the kitchen stove so Mother could read her bible.In the daytime she was so busy in and out of doors, she did not have time to read.

One day brother Gottlieb had to stay in bed all day so Mother could wash and dryhis clothes. He had no other clothes to wear. Who would think of such a thing now-a-days,with so little clothes people now wear! My, they were modest in the olden days!

One morning early, father and mother went to town with the big lumber wagon and ateam of oxen. When night came, Sister Helen wanted to meet them. She was only a fewyears old then. She toddled along until she got tired and fell asleep on the road.When the folks came to the place, they thought there was something in the road sothey stopped and found her. The moon had risen just in time to save her from beingrun over.

After father felled the trees, the boys who were big enough to swing an ax, choppedthe limbs off. Mother helped to drag them into large heaps so they, when they weredry enough, could have bush fires. A lot of this work was done in the evening. Everymember of the family would go except me, the youngest. I was supposed to stay home,but I followed in the distance and would show up later. I managed to stay until thegang went home. By that time I was so sleepy and my knees would pain, also my feet.Mother would relent and carry me home on her back, telling me that would be the lasttime I was to try it out. Now at 74 years of age, I am as a little child and abhorto be alone.

In the early times one thing we children looked forward to was the tapping of treesin the springtime. The maple sap ran so that it sometimes took two or more of theboys time to drain the trough and strain the sap into a large kettle and keep a fireunder it until late at night. They started again early the next morning. When thesap was boiled down, mother would finish cooking it on the kitchen stove. They carriedit home on a neck yoke with a pail on each side. Mother would have four kettles boilingon her stove nearly all day and night. It would have to be watched so closely orit would boil over. With the first run of the sap she made maple sugar. This tooka long time to get it just right. We children would get a chunk of ice or snow forher to try it out on. She could tell when it was just right to be put into the molds.My, how good it smelled and tasted. But we children ate so much of it that laterwe could not look at it. Later on in the season she gave it away by the gallon. Shedid not have dishes enough to put it in so had to use everything even the wash boiler.One time she could not do the family washing for two weeks until she could disposeof the syrup. For maple sugar she got the enormous sum of 1 1/2 cents a pound! Thelast of the sap she made into very fine vinegar. The sap would drip best when thetemperature was such that it was mild during the day and yet freeze a little at night.

How glad we younger children were when we were allowed to go into the woods. Thelane was of red clay and we would get stuck in it, so we had to walk the rail fenceas best we could. There were no such things as rubbers. You can imagine how our feetwould get. There was a nice creek running through our woods. In the spring of theyear there were beautiful wild flowers growing there and a large patch of wintergreenwhich had berries on it.

It was lucky that the maple syrup season lasted but a few days as it got tiresomefor the boy who had to stay there from early morning until eleven at night. Sometimesthe sap would run so fast, the troughs would be running over when they got therein the morning. Brother Gottlieb was delegated to take care of the sap, with brotherJake to help. The older boys had to get the land ready for seeding. They sowed thegrain by hand like in Bible times. The grain was cradled by hand and raked carefullyso that they could bind it by hand. I remember the first McCormick reaper and laterthe self binder. We could hardly believe a machine could bind bundles. The youngerchildren would carry the bundles together and the older boys would set them up afterdark when they could not see to bind any more. We children raked the scattered graininto heaps and the last load was pitched in loose. It took 22 men four days to threshwith the old threshing machine which was run by horsepower. Grain was a good cropfor many years. During the civil War father sold 500 bushels of wheat for $2.00 abushel. The buyer paid him in gold pieces which father carried home in a bag. Someof the neighbors told father he was foolish to sell so soon. They were keeping theirsuntil hey could sell for $6.00 a bushel. Then the war ended an they got 75 centsa bushel. Father used his money to pay off debts on some land. During the war, clothingwas very high; calico was 75 cents a yard. After the war, butter was nine cents apound and eggs were seven cents a dozen. I remember selling springers for ten centsa piece to a hotel keeper.

When I was six months old, two sisters died of diphtheria. No one knew that diphtheriawas contagious. Father was asked to be a pallbearer at a child's funeral, and soonafter that, the girls got it, and also my sister Helen and brother Gottlieb. Thedoctors called the new disease sore throat and forbade them to drink any water. Theyjust burned up with fever, and how they begged for just one drop of water. Mary,who was seven, died at eleven o'clock and five year old Elizabeth died at one. Thefolks had bought the family clock to tell what time they passed away. The parentswere afraid Gottlieb would not live until they got back from the girls' funeral.A seamstress was staying with the children. When she left the room, Gottlieb gotout of bed and drank all the water he had time to, before the girl returned. Fromthat time on, his temperature went down. How sorry mother felt that she did not letthe girls have water! My son Arthur is also buried. (Cemetery located on Hy. 57 andHawthorne Drive -- across from the River Road Cheese Factory).

At seventeen years of age, my brother John left home to make his own way in the world.My folks' greatest ambition was that their boys might escape the hardship they hadendured. So, as often as they could, they invested in more land. They wanted eachboy to have 40 acres. They did not quite succeed. Gottlieb did not want land. Hebecame a carpenter. In 1883 he went west and took a tree claim in South Dakota. Laterwhen he got a good price for his land, he bought 2780 acres of land in the BlackHills country, expecting to raise cattle. In four years they had no rain so he hadto sell out. He moved to Rapid City where he again took up his carpenter work andwas one of the men who helped build up Rapid City.

When the cholera got bad in New York, father's brother Henry Maechtle moved to PortWashington. This is the family that Fred Maechtle, Henry Maechtle, Millie Streiberand Minnie Young came from. All are dead except Minnie Young. There are a few juniorsleft, located in Highland Park, Illinois. Later on, my father's oldest brother, Jacob,came to this country. He figured that my father was a very wealthy man, for thatamount of land in Germany, they could be so rich that they would not have to do astroke of work -- just walk around with a cane and oversee the hired men. He wassurprised to find that the entire family had to work hard. And they did not evenhave wine in the cellar! I heard him say that our people worked harder than the slaves.Some of his grandchildren are living in Milwaukee and Shorewood.

To be a pioneer is not an easy life. Mother and I had a talk about the years of hardshipon a Sunday morning the week before she died. I asked her, "Mother, did youever wish that you had stayed in Germany?" She replied, "No, never. ButI shed many a tear wishing we could have stayed in Cleveland." She said Germanywas over-populated. The middle class and the poor people would own from one to severalacres of land. With that, you were expected to feed your families. Out of the littleincome the poor get poorer each year, and the well-to-do get richer and more domineering.The poor had no chance whatever. She said there was no future for us or we wouldnot have undertaken the perilous journey on the last ship that crosses the oceanbefore winter. They did not want to undertake the journey in mother's condition,but the house or rooms that they lived in were sold and there was not another placeto be had. They either closed up their affairs on New Year's eve or left on New Year'seve. The Indiana friends persuaded them to come with them. Mother said she alwaysfelt grateful to them.

(John and Magdeline Maechtle are buried at the same cemetery as the girls mentionedabove; also Esther Maechtle, daughter of son Henry Maechtle, who died of typhoidfever at the age of 2)

Contributed by: Louise Thompson, Stevens Point, Wi
4-4-2004