Recollections of Old Milestown (Main Street)

From Bullard's down to Jackson's old place the block is fairly old-time, the bricks dating from about the middle '80's and were built to replace frames that had been destroyed Jackson's frame, except its brick front, is a tolerably early construction but subsequent to the fires. Next comes a row of shacks that almost defy the efforts of the oldest inhabitant to properly classify. On this property, in very early days, stood "the court house." It was a log building, well built and fairly commodious and it stood back from the street about fifteen feet, so it cannot be identified in this present range of shacks, but it may be, nevertheless. Behind the court house there was a "stockade" or a place of confinement made of poles stuck upright in the ground, in which an Indian prisoner hung himself one night with his "gee string " because of the dishonor put upon him by such treatment.

From Bullard's down to Jackson's old place the block is fairly old-time, the bricks dating from about the middle '80's and were built to replace frames that had been destroyed Jackson's frame, except its brick front, is a tolerably early construction but subsequent to the fires. Next comes a row of shacks that almost defy the efforts of the oldest inhabitant to properly classify. On this property, in very early days, stood "the court house." It was a log building, well built and fairly commodious and it stood back from the street about fifteen feet, so it cannot be identified in this present range of shacks, but it may be, nevertheless. Behind the court house there was a "stockade" or a place of confinement made of poles stuck upright in the ground, in which an Indian prisoner hung himself one night with his "gee string " because of the dishonor put upon him by such treatment.

Many interesting memories cluster around this resort under the Pepper regime, as it was where the "remittance boys" used to congregate when "down town," their other "hang-out" being the Macqueen House. These were the younger sons of English well-to-do and often titled families, for whom there was no place at home and who were started in the range-stock business over here on a gamble that they might make a success of it and if they did not, anyhow, it was the regular and accepted thing to do, to banish " the cubs " during the period of their adolescence. "Syd" Paget will stand out clear in the recollection of all residents of that day as a type of the genus. A thorough sportsman in every thing that pertained to the open, he was always "game" for a horse-race and as he had a few ponies that he thought pretty well of, it was always easy to make a match with him, but at the very best any of his ponies could do was known, whenever a horse that could do better came along "Syd" was given a tip that brought him to town with his ponies and he was "trimmed" as regularly as he went up against the game, but he enjoyed the sport and was willing to pay for it. Whatever his allowance was, he was always ahead of it, but his credit was excellent, for whenever his debts became a matter of anxiety to his creditors, the money would be forthcoming from England to pay him out. There was a blonde pony he called "Flossie" that cost him a heap of money. Along in the early '90's when we had the race-track down toward the poor farm, the "Englishers" introduced us to steeple-chases and with movable hurdles on the track and a "narquee" in the paddock, with English ladies "serving tea" in broad daylight and riders prancing around in red coats and caps, and those wonderful riding breeches that many of us saw then for the first time, we were scoring a high mark for a small town. At all events it was a phase of our existence that we can look backward to with much pleasure. They were a very decent lot, those "remittance boys" and nobody is the poorer for having known them.

Many interesting memories cluster around this resort under the Pepper regime, as it was where the "remittance boys" used to congregate when "down town," their other "hang-out" being the Macqueen House. These were the younger sons of English well-to-do and often titled families, for whom there was no place at home and who were started in the range-stock business over here on a gamble that they might make a success of it and if they did not, anyhow, it was the regular and accepted thing to do, to banish " the cubs " during the period of their adolescence. "Syd" Paget will stand out clear in the recollection of all residents of that day as a type of the genus. A thorough sportsman in every thing that pertained to the open, he was always "game" for a horse-race and as he had a few ponies that he thought pretty well of, it was always easy to make a match with him, but at the very best any of his ponies could do was known, whenever a horse that could do better came along "Syd" was given a tip that brought him to town with his ponies and he was "trimmed" as regularly as he went up against the game, but he enjoyed the sport and was willing to pay for it. Whatever his allowance was, he was always ahead of it, but his credit was excellent, for whenever his debts became a matter of anxiety to his creditors, the money would be forthcoming from England to pay him out. There was a blonde pony he called "Flossie" that cost him a heap of money. Along in the early '90's when we had the race-track down toward the poor farm, the "Englishers" introduced us to steeple-chases and with movable hurdles on the track and a "narquee" in the paddock, with English ladies "serving tea" in broad daylight and riders prancing around in red coats and caps, and those wonderful riding breeches that many of us saw then for the first time, we were scoring a high mark for a small town. At all events it was a phase of our existence that we can look backward to with much pleasure. They were a very decent lot, those "remittance boys" and nobody is the poorer for having known them.