Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1912-08-08
Al Hr road dips down steep hill
just before you reach Indian
Creek and shuts from sight the
big stone house that cost $4,-

just before You reach Indian
Creek and shuts from sight the
big stone house that cost $4,-
600, the last southern outpost
of Kansas City that is sprawlng out
and engulfing all this rolling prairie.
You look for the old bee tree and
there Is a catch in your throat when
you miss it-but no--that Clump or
walnut trees hit 1t for moment. The
ak of the real estate speculator has
not come quite that far yet.
Those bees fitting far up among the
dead brances against a background OF
gray sky are the Oldest settlers of this
county. The colony was there In that
same tree long years before white
man set foot In Missouri. There are
men living who knew that tree and
Its wild bees sixty years ago.
Turn to the right after you cross In
dian Greek and 90 about two hundred
yards to where the stream pours In
broad white waterfall over low ledge
of rock and drifts lazily In wide pool
with streak of silver bubbles down Its
center. The banks here are rock. with
hollows gouged In them and overhang-
ing shelves that cast black shadows
upon the stream.
Watts's mill squats low upon the OPP
poste bank The weathered gray OF its
sides and roof is the exact shade or
the limestone beneath and all around
1t and the old mill seems to merge
with It and Is a part Of it. You look
in vain for any line of cleavage be-
tween mill and rock. The years have
blended them into one somber gray.
An Atmosphere of Gray.
The naturalists tell of birds and
lesser creatures of the wood who take
on the color of the bark or the grasses
upon which they live. You think OF
this as you see the miller in the door
way. His clothing, even to his cloth
slippers, his long beard his soft felt
hat, sprinkled with -four, are uni
form gray, the gray of rocks and mill.
Stubbns Watts, great-great-grand
son of Daniel Boone. Is 10 years old.
But the old water mill Is older than
he. 1t was built in 1880 and for eighty
two years has been grinding corn and
wheat within ten miles of Kansas City.
The hands that hewed Its walnut
beams and fashioned the hickory pins
that keep its weathered boarding In
place moldered into dust half CEN
tury ago, but the old mill grinds on
tust as patiently, as faithfully, as un-
mindful of passing time and genera
tons as It did long years before this
city was dreamed OF.
You pass your hand over the sur
face of walnut beam, hewed out by
the ak of John Fitzhugh, eighty-two
years ago, and lay your fingers In
gaping notch just as his AK blade left
It, and think of the changes that have
come to Western Missouri since then.
Westport Landing grew out along the
old wood road until 1t bridged with
paved streets the miles between 1t
and Westport and overflowed south
ward and yet the old mill wheel turn
ed and the corn was ground to meal
between the homemade stones Of rock
uuarried on the bank of Indian Creek.
Since this mill was built the COM
merce of the Santa Fe Trail came.
fourished for time and died; and
then the rush of forty-niners to Cali
fornia flowed past It, and after them
the railroads came and passed on to
the Pacific, and with them the legions
of pioneers like the clouds of locusts
overspreading all the land beyond to
the westward The Mormons Of Inde-
pendence, who brought their grist to
this mill, departed to found new en-
pire beside the dead sea In the un-
known desert Past this old mill, Just
two hundred yards to the east, where
the big elm leans out over the creek,
armies of the Civil War hurried.
splashing wildly through the ford, the
Southern amy in fight from the defeat
at Westport, the Northern forces hot
In pursuit,
Indian Creek Has Never Hurried.
A great city OF tall buildings and
all things modern has made the coun-
try to the north like a teeming ant
hill. where all is hurry, hurry, hurry,
hut Indian Creek has never hurried;
Its stream has flowed placidly, basking
ing the sun, pausing in the shadows Of
its trees; and just as placidly the old
mill wheels have turned, their slow
creakings attuned to the liquid MUIR
rourings of the waterfall.
Placidly has Stubbins Watts gone in
and out among the turning shafts for
sixty-two years, barring those four
years Of strife when he fought in the
Southern army. In those years he was
aroused and filled with fervor that
got him honorable mention more than
once for deeds on the battle front. But
when 1t was over he returned to In.
| dian Creek and the old mill and the
gurgling Of the water as 1t ran under
| the floor soothed him into calm
philosophy and he talks but little.
! "Yes," he says. its pretty here;