HISTORY OF BAY COUNTY

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PIONEER PASTIMES

If the coming generations of Bay City are led astray into a belief that their ancestry in the early days led a life of dreary monotony, said posterity will be mistaken. The region was desolate and uninviting enough to have inoculated the most robust system with melancholy, but the people who came in here were not of a despairing kind. Playing jokes, interspersed with a little fishing, would seem, from the traditions, to have been a leading industry. A man who hadn’t the ingenuity to devise a joke of fair caliber might better move on to the next settlement than attempt to mingle with the activities of Lower Saginaw twenty-five or thirty years ago. The few remaining pioneers, whose hairs are already whitened, will even now renew their age in going over the humors of those times, while the names of “Jule” Hart and Harry Campbell stand out in bold relief in all the reminiscence of the early settlement. The following will serve to show the spice with which pioneer life was flavored:

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HOW LORD GOT EVEN WITH HART.

George Lord and Julius B. Hart owned fisheries on the Bay Shore contiguous to each other, where in proper seasons of the year, they caught and shipped to Detroit and other points, the results of their endeavors often realizing large amounts of money from successful seasons, and at other times enjoying (?) the discomforts of “fishermen’s luck,” generally. Both enjoyed, and each knew how to give and take a joke. One cold bright morning in the Fall of 18--, the two met near the foot of Third Street, and after passing the compliments of the morning turned to separate, when Hart exclaimed, “By the way, Lord, I’d nearly forgotten; I was down to the shore this morning and Joe Lord’s foreman at the fishery told me to tell you that the fish were running like blazes, and he wanted you to send him down a lot of dressers men to dress and pack fish, salt and barrels.” “Thunder!” shouted Lord, “is that so?” and away he sped to pick up all the adepts in dressing fish he could find, and in an hour his large boat was loaded with fish barrels, salt and men, ready to start for the shore, with Lord along to enjoy the rich harvest in prospect awaiting him. Just as the boat was shoved away from the dock to start on her trip, Hart came hurriedly to the dock with “Hold on, Lord, I’ve just heard from the shore again; the fish have just stopped running, and Joe don’t want anything more than he’s got.” Lord saw that he was sold; the boat was hauled to the dock and was unloaded, and with vengeance in his eye Lord went home studying revenge. Weeks passed by and the joke was almost forgotten by all who had enjoyed a hearty laugh at Lord’s expense. Not so with the chief victim, however. His opportunity came at last. The saloon in the basement of the Wolverton House was the fashionable resort of that day, and looking in at the door one afternoon Lord spied Hart at the table with some friends, playing an innocent game of “penny ante.” While he looked, an Indian entered with three muskrat skins, a commodity in which Hart dealt. “Ugh! Said Lo, “Jule Hart you buy um skins?” “Yes,” was the response, “give you ten cents; throw them over in that corner; here’s your money.” The Indian took the money, threw down the skins, and departed, at which Hart returned his attention to the game, which was becoming interesting. The skins were thrown back of Hart and directly under the window, which was near the floor. Lord reached in and carefully pulled out the skins, and just then another man came along who was owing Hart “one.” Lord explained to him the situation and he at once got a Frenchman who stretched the skins on shingles and took them down to Hart, who paid for them as before and ordered them thrown under the window. Lord was ready to fish them out, and his companion was hunting up parties to sell them again to Hart. It was but a few moments before a young boy entered the saloon and sold Hart a rat skin, throwing it into the corner as directed, and receiving his pay. The game went on, interrupted every few moments by a rat skin trade. Skins came in stretched on shingles, and on doubled twigs, and outstretched. Hart bought them all. At last the day was drawing to a close, and the game came to an end. Hart rose from the table remarking, “I’ve lost at the game, but I’ve bought a thundering pile of skins this afternoon,” and he threw his gratified eye over toward the corner where his skins had been deposited. “Whew! was his exclamation as but three skins met his vision, “who in thunder stole my skins!” Lord at the instant edging toward the door, remarked, “It has been almost as good a day for rats, as that morning was for fish, Jule.” Hart saw that he was sold; he had paid out about five dollars on three rat skins, and Lord was made disbursing officer, to see that the price of those skins was duly appropriated for the general good, in the manner common to those days.

GETTING A CHEAP HORSE.

One time when Hart was coming down on the boat he noticed a stranger on board, who was dressed with unusual nicety, and who was evidently a stranger in this country. Hart managed to get into conversation with him, and soon they came in sight of a herd of Indian ponies feeding not far from the river. The stranger inquired who owned all those ponies. “O!” says Hart, “they belong to any one who will take the trouble to catch them.” “What!” said the stranger, “can anyone have one who wants?” “Certainly; all that is necessary is to go out and pick out what you want.” The stranger thought he had indeed struck a fine country, and, after being assured by Hart that with the aid of two or three boys he could capture one, he settled down to the conviction that he would become the possessor of a steed. After landing he hunted up some boys and they proceeded to corner the ponies but their Indian owners happened to be around and came near killing the too credulous stranger. He escaped with his scalp, but concluded he had better not have a horse in that way.

A LAWYER’S DONATIONS.

In early days when hotels were scarce, new comers to the state of Michigan were forced to ask favors of the older settlers, which in these days would be looked upon as the height of presumption. There was a young lawyer residing in the then small village of Lapeer, having but recently taken to himself a wife and commenced housekeeping. There was no hotel in the place and travelers ofttimes made use of the lawyer’s barn, sometimes without so much as saying “by your leave.” He had decided to remove to Bay City, and was making preparation to do so, when his barn was appropriated by a new comer to the neighborhood, who put a load of hay into the loft, and drove a cow into the yard to eat the hay. The evening before he left for Bay City, the lawyer was in “the store” of the village, and met the Rev. Mr. Smith, a Congregational minister (afterwards settled in East Saginaw), who had but recently taken charge of the little flock about Lapeer. As they conversed, Mr. Smith remarked, “I wish I could buy a good cow.” “Do you want a cow?” said the lawyer. “I’m glad you mentioned it, for there’s one up at my barn which I can’t take away with me. You can have her, if you will and there’s a load of hay in the barn to feed her with.” Profuse were the thanks of the reverend gentleman at so munificent a bequest. “But,” said the lawyer, “I must tell you about her. She is the most peculiar cow you ever saw. She must be milked before five o’clock in the morning or you can’t get her to give down a drop of milk. “Well, I am an early riser,” said the dominie, “I can milk her before five, as well as after.” The lawyer moved to Bay City, and the minister was careful to milk his cow “before five o’clock” each morning, and a noble mess of milk she gave, and with liberality was the hay fed to her. Things went well for several days, until while milking one morning, the parson’s ears were shocked with the profane expletives of a voice which called him a thief, a robber, and sundry other pet names which to a minister was simply horrifying. “I’ve caught you at last, you hypocritical, thieving parson; preaching honesty to the people, and robbing your neighbors of their milk. I’ll break your ---head, “ etc., ect. Rising from his milking stool the parson faced the irate farmer, who for a time would give him no chance to get a word in edgewise. “But it’s my cow,” at last got in the parson; “the lawyer made me a present of her, and of the hay in the barn the night before he left.” Explanations ensued, and as both realized the sell, both enjoyed a hearty laugh, and were good friends. The lawyer has became a prominent member of the Bay County bar, and has contributed liberally upon

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sundry occasions, to preachers and churches in Bay City, after the manner aforesaid.

One Winter he had a few cords of mixed wood piled in a field not far from the city, ad an officer of one of the churches was doing some Winter begging, and knowing about this, asked the lawyer if he wouldn’t let them have some for the minister. “Why, yes, of course, you can have all you want. But I will tell you; there’s another pile of nice hard wood in the next field, and you may have the whole lot if you’ll draw it off right away, for I want it out of the way.” Now the pile of wood in the next field belonged to a well-to-do farmer, but the churchman didn’t know that, and so pleased was he with the donation that he had it hauled to the minister’s yard, forthwith. After a time the farmer went to haul the wood to market, but it had disappeared, and when he came to institute a search he found what the lawyer’s burst of generosity had cost him.

His zeal in the promotion of religious interests did not seem to abate. At one time some Eastern parties had a lot of lumber piled up on the bank of the river. A new church was in process of construction and one of the trustees meeting the lawyer one day, asked him if he wouldn’t give them something toward building it. “Why, certainly, “said he. “Now, there’s a pile of lumber down on the river,” describing the pile referred to, “and yon may have the whole of it; but you must get it right away.” Of course the trustee was delighted, and it wasn’t long before that pile of lumber was upon the church grounds. When the owner came to look after their lumber it had been dedicated as well as appropriated; but whether they got trace of it or not, we do not know.

A BIG JOB OF DENTISTRY.

Squa-conning Creek empties into the Saginaw River but a short distance above Bay City, and further than to say that at its mouth is a creek of considerable size, we give no further description of it. Harry Campbell resided in early days at Saginaw City, and was noted as an inveterate wag and practical joker. Having returned from a visit to the Judge, of Bay City, Harry met a traveling dentist, who in his peregrinations had stumbled into the Saginaws, and was operating upon the mouths of the scattered settlers. “Doctor,” said Harry, “I’ve just come up from the mouth of the river and Squire Conning wanted me to send you down to fix up his mouth. It’s a thundering big mouth and hasn’t got a tooth in it.” Elated with the prospect of a good job, the dentist jumped into a canoe (the only means of transit between the two places) and paddled to Portsmouth (Now Seventh Ward, Bay City). Reaching there after eighteen miles of paddling, he made diligent inquiry for “Squire Conning,” and his disgust may be better imagined than described, when he found that he had passed the Squire’s mouth some miles up the river.

ALBE LULL’S LOON DINNER.

It is nowhere recorded that the flesh of a loon was ever made tender by the process of boiling, nor by any other process known to the science of cookery. Albe Lull, however did not know this fact when he came to Portsmouth, and soon after he came, some of the epicures of the place incidentally mentioned to him that loons were choice eating, and very plenty. He told his wife one morning that they would have boiled loon for dinner that day and he went out to the river and marketed a fine one. About 10 o’clock it was put over to boil, and not unwilling to share a good thing with his friends, invited a neighbor to “come over” and have dinner with them, as they were going to have loon. The neighbor was sorry he couldn’t accept, but said he was going away and wouldn’t be back in time. Noon came and Mr. Lull went to dinner, but his wife said that loon “wasn’t anywhere near tender.” Mr. Lull wasn’t in much of a hurry and waited until about three o’clock, but still the loon was like adamant. Then he said they would have it for supper. Night came, but the loon was as complacent and tough as when it began boiling in the morning. They had something else for supper, and concluded it must be an old one and would need more boiling. The next morning the kettle was placed upon the stove again and the boiling renewed. When he got home at noon and found no change, a great wonder grew upon him as to whether he wasn’t sold.” He went quietly out in pursuit of enlightenment. By that time it was generally know in the neighborhood what was going on in the culinary department of Mr. Lull’s household, and he soon learned that if there was any impossibility greater that another in this world, it was to cook a loon. It was never again attempted in that household.

STEVENSON’S IMPORTED WHISKEY.

There was a man living here at an early day, whom “Jule” Hart was always playing his tricks upon, and vice versa. He lived up near what is now the corner of Twenty-third and Water Streets, on the mound which was quite an elevation in those days, but has since been graded down. His name was Thomas Stevenson. He was very fond of his whiskey, which he always bought by the barrel, as he used large quantities of it. On one occasion his barrel got empty and he was obliged to go to his friend “Jule” to get his jug filled with “Jule’s” Indian whiskey. One day he came to “Jule” and said he did not want any more of his Indian whiskey as it was nothing but Saginaw water, so he ordered a barrel from Detroit. In due time he got a letter saying the whiskey had been shipped to Lower Saginaw, (as Bay City was then called) in care of Julius B. Hart. Old Tom used to go down every day to see if his barrel of whiskey had come, but no whiskey was then to be found. In the meantime, “Jule” had old Tom’s barrel of whiskey his away in the back part of the warehouse, and had it tapped and was treating his friends. “Jule” told him he would give him all the whiskey he wanted for nothing until his barrel came. Finally, old Tom could stand Indian whiskey no longer, and he wrote to the parties in Detroit telling them his whiskey had never came, they answered him that they had Julius Hart’s receipt for its delivery at his warehouse. Down he went with blood in his eye to “Jule.” “Well,” says “Jule,” “I might have overlooked it, but you come down town in an hour or two and I will look through the warehouse and try and find it.” Away went Tom up town to play penny ante. It was not long after he had gone before the accustomed crowd came down to take a swig out of old Tom’s barrel, when a council of war was held how to get out of the scrape, as old Tom would be back soon. Finally, “Jule” took and empty whiskey barrel and filled it with water, and marked on the head, “Thomas Stevenson, Lower Saginaw.” He had scarcely got it finished and had thrown something over it, when down comes old Tom swearing that he knew that the whiskey was there, when “Jule” met him at the door and said he had looked the warehouse over but could not find it. Tom said he knew better; he would go and look the warehouse over himself. He had not looked long before he came across the barrel o water, marked Thomas Stevenson, Lower Saginaw, when his rage knew no bounds, when he commenced at Jule, calling him an old fool. “Here,” says he, “is my barrel of whiskey all the time, and I have been drinking your poor Indian whiskey enough to kill me.” So, off he went to get a team to take it to his house, a mile and a half off. There were no drays in those days. He finally, after some trouble, got it drawn up to his house, but how to get it down cellar was the next thing. He finally got some help, telling them he would give them something good to drink-“no Saginaw water. “ They finally got

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It down cellar and tapped it, when old Tom drew a glass full and handed it to one of them. When the fellow had tasted it, he asked old Tom if he called that whiskey. “Yes, you have drank Saginaw water so long, you fool, you don’t know what good whiskey is!” “Well, try it yourself!” Tom tasted, and threw it on the floor, glass and all. Then there was trouble; the first thing he said was, “---Jule Hart.” Then he went to work, got the barrel out of the cellar, put it on the wagon and started back for the warehouse, swearing all the way there, saying he would kill “Jule.” In the meantime, the crowd had taken their last drink out of old Tom’s barrel, and filled it up with water and rolled it out where Tom could see it when he came back. The next thing was to hide “Jule” away, or old Tom would kill him. It was not long before old Tom came back determined to kill “Jule” but they told him “Jule” had just gone down on the Bay to his fishery. “Well,” say old Tom, “it is a lucky thing, or I would have killed him, sure!” It was a long time before peace was declared between old Tom and “Jule.”

TOO BIG A CHARGE FOR THE GAME.

There was plenty of good bear hunting in the woods where a large portion of Bay City now stands, twenty-five or thirty years ago. In those days Harry Campbell was a frequent and lively visitor. One time he came down to see the Judge, and have a little fun with the boys; he had not been here very long when the Judge rushed into the house where Harry sat, toasting himself by the fire and exclaimed to him: - “Quick, Harry, there’s a big bear just out in the woods!” Guns were always in readiness for sport, and it was but a few moments before Harry, led by his brother and one or two other friends, was hurrying through the stumps of the clearing which extended almost to Washington Street. Cautiously feeling their way through the woods, they reached a point not far from the present site of the court house, when Harry was shown the bear which proved to be a very large coal black hog, belonging to the brother, his pilot. After a good laugh, the party wended it way back to the house. Harry watched his chance, by the way, to separate from the rest, and placed in the gun a charge of about six inches deep. On reaching the house the gun was carelessly placed in the corner and the company about the fire indulged in a series of jokes and the enjoyment of a good time generally. Presently Harry left the house and went down to the bank, about in the rear of the present Jennison Block, returning presently with the carelessly imparted information that there was “a thundering flock of ducks just settled in the river.” “We’ll have some for supper,” exclaimed his brother, seizing the gun from the corner, cautiously picked his way to a favorite log on the river bank, behind which he was accustomed to lay in wait for the feathered tribe. Harry and the rest of the company followed behind, and watched the sport. With the breech to his shoulder, and the barrel resting on the log, sportsman blazed away at the innocent ducks. It was hard to tell which end of the gun killed most. Sportsman fell back on the ground with his left hand to his right shoulder, in his agony, asking between paroxysms of pain, “ What the thunder had got into that gun” “Why, you foolish fellow,” said Harry, “you’ve been trying to shoot ducks with a bear charge.” All present saw the point of the joke, and it is said joined in attempting to relieve the sufferer, by copious applications of whiskey internally and externally.

“FIGHTING JACK FROM CANADA.”

“I can lick any man in this city,” said the bully, Jack Robinson, as he strode into Gonder’s place, where Park Block now is, in the Spring of 1860. “I am fighting Jack; I am from Canady; I have fought my way all around, and there is no heathen in this country that can wallop me.” Just then old Amos Culver, of Monitor, came over the river on the ferry with a load of charcoal. “Jule,” Hart, knowing Culver’s talents, and that he had in early life sailed on the raging canal, pointed out the famous Canadian to him and told him that Jack wanted to see him. Culver went u to the belligerent Canuck, and says, “Do you want to see me, sir? I’ve got nothing but coal, but it is just fresh burned and all from the best of dried hard wood, nothing but coal, but it is just fresh burned and all from the best of dried hard wood, nothing but body beech and maple. It is an extra lot. Never was such coal brought to market before. Want to buy? Will haul it to any part of the city. Sell cheap; only two shillings a bushel; will let you have another load if you want it.” “Oh you d—d fool,” said big Jack. “ I don’t want to buy any coal, but I want to fight.” “Oh” said Culver, “Mr. Hart told me you wanted to buy coal.” “Who’s Hart,” said Jack, “let me see Hart. I do want to see that man that sent that coal peddler to me.” But Hart was nowhere to be found. Culver took up his whip and was about to start off with his oxen and load of coal, when the bully returned and says, “You find Hart for me before you proceed.” “Why, how you do talk,” said Culver, starting up his oxen. There upon Canada Jack undertook to stop him, but Culver broke away from him and drove on. The fighter was encouraged to follow him, and did so, bragging and threatening all manner of hurts to poor Culver. He finally got in front of him, when crack, crack, went Culver’s fists in his face. The bully was knocked down and kicked till he was used up, and then dragged himself to the side-walk, and sat down, trying to stop his nose from bleeding. When Culver took up his whip to drive off, he shouted to him, “Young man sit there till you learn better manners.”

PULLING A TOOTH.

One day a stranger came into the settlement, and entering a place where were gathered a few of the early philanthropists, enquired if there was a doctor about who could pull a tooth. His face was swollen and he appeared to be suffering severely from toothache. They told him there was not a doctor around. But just then one of the party caught sight of some one of the parofessional tricksters, and told the stranger to wait a minute as the doctor was just coming. Calling the joker in, it was not difficult to make him understand what was on the programme. Assuming a wise expression of countenance, he told the stranger to sit in a chair that stood there. Then looking at his tooth, pronounced it a bad case, and he said he would have to tie his hands to the chair, as he was frequently troubled by patients seizing hold of the instrument. Making his hands secure to the rounds of the chair, he then took his pocket knife and ploughed around the tooth, curing he tooth-ache by inflicting greater pain. He then took a piece of wood and crowded it between the patient’s jaw to keep his mouth open, as he explained that they frequently would shut their jaws together on his instruments. Having securely gagged and bound the unsuspecting victim, the pretended doctor said he would have to run up stairs and get his instruments. Off he went, and there being back stairs leading from the second story, he made his exit and visited another part of town. One by one the occupants of the place had sauntered out, and the prisoner was left alone to wait and think. The result of his thinking was, in the course of time, a conclusion that he had been victimized. Tradition says, in a general way, that he got mad and finally broke loose, but did not afterwards seek the services of a Lower Saginaw dentist.

A volume might be filled with early day jokes, but the foregoing will give the key to the music of life among the early settlers. Separated from surrounding civilization, they constituted a world by themselves; and while privileges have multiplied with development it would be difficult to convince a pioneer that his real enjoyment,

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has been increased. The hearty ringing laugh was dwindled away to a feeble though artistic smile, and the vigorous shake of the hand has been superseded by a languishing touch of finger tips. Manifold have been the changes both in the physical features of the place and in its social life. Unseemly shapes have been rounded into artistic figures, and tortuous lines have become graceful curves. Most of the old landmarks are gone, and soon the stories of those early scenes will no longer be told by any who participated in them.

MUNICIPAL ORGANIZATION.

Bay City was incorporated as a village in the Winter of 1859, by an act of the Legislature. A number of saw mills had been established and the dawn of still greater prosperity was just breaking. The physical beauty of the place, however, was but little improved. The place was well supplied with churches and schools. The population of the village, at the date of its incorporation, was about 700 souls, the United States census of 1860 showing a population in the entire of Bay County, of only 1,519. This population was engaged principally in lumbering and fishing, this latter industry comprising a no mean proportion of the exports from the village, while the excellent adaptation of the soil of the county to agricultural purposes, had not yet attracted very general attention or interest. The first election under the village charter occurred on the 2^nd day of May, A. D., 1859, at Birney Hall, on Water Street, Calvin C. C. Chillson and Doctor Lewis Fuchsius, being judges of the polls, with Albert Wedthoff, clerk of the Board. At his election 155 votes were cast for the office of president, Curtis Munger being elected by ninety-twovotes, against sixty-three cast for Geroge Lord, and J. S. Barclay. Charles Atwood was elected to fill the office of recorder; John F. Cottrell, as treasurer; Albert Miller, James J. McCormick, Henry W. Jennison, Israel Catlin, Henry M. Bradley and Harmon A. Chamberlin, trustees. The first meeting of the council was held in a room over the store of Jennison Bros., at the foot of Fifth Street, on May 6, 1859. At a meeting of the Board on the 23^rd of May, John A. Weed was appointed village marshal; Henry M. Bradley street commissioner, and Algernon S. Munger and William Daglish, assessors. Among the first acts of the village trustees was the ordering of sidewalks on Washington Street, from First to Tenth Street, and the opening of Jefferson and Madison Streets, north of Center Street. At a meeting held May 30^th, both of the gentlemen who had been appointed village assessors having declined to act, A. G. Sinclair, and Charles D. Fisher were appointed; Mr. Sinclair declining, Mr. Henry Raymond was appointed in his place June 6^th. At a meeting June 3d, the salary of the village attorney was fixed at $75 per year, and James Birney was appointed as the legal adviser of the Board. On June 27^th, a general tax for village purposes of $1,047 and a highway tax of one-half of 1 per cent was certified to by the assessors. On December 19, 1859, a committee on fire department was instituted, consisting of Israel Catlin, H. M. Bradley and H. A. Chamberlin, who on January 4, 1860, were instructed “to rent a sufficient amount of leather hose to use until Spring, and to procure a triangle for the use of the hose house.” This seems to have been the germ whence sprang the present excellent fire department.

The following are the principal village officers for the several years: 1859, president, C. Munger; recorder, C. Atwood; treasurer, J. F. Cottrell. 1861, president, W. L. Fay; recorder S. Watson; recorder, J. L. Monroe; treasure, August Kaiser. 1863, president, C. Munger; recorder N. Whittemore; treasurer, C. Scheurmann. 1864, president, C. Munger; recorder N. Whittemore; treasurer, C. Scheurmann. 1865, president J. B. Hart; recorder, P. S. Hiesordt; treasurer, E. Frank.

A CHARTERED CITY.

The year 1860 called into existence new elements of prosperity and new forces combined to work out the problem of development. At the beginning a census was taken, which fixed the population of Bay City at 810. It was in the Spring of this year that steps were taken toward the manufacture of salt. The Bay City and Tuscola plank road was completed a distance of twelve miles, and became a highway of great importance to Bay City. The next four of five years were attended with great prosperity, and by 1865 the population had increased to 3,359. In the Winter of 1865 a city charter was granted by the Legislature, and the organization of the city was accomplished in the Spring, the city being divided into three wards.

A charter election was held on the first Monday of April, and the following officers elected: Mayor, Nathan B. Bradley; recorder, William T. Kennedy, Jr.; treasurer, Ernst Frank. The board of aldermen consisted of the following named citizens: First Ward, George W. Hotchkiss, and Jerome B. Sweet; Second Ward, Alexander M. Johnson and Jeffrey R. Thomas; Third Ward, James Watson and Herschel H. Hatch. On April 11^th the bonds of the treasurer were fixed at $3,000. Thomas Carney, Sr., was elected street commissioner; Theophilus C. Grier was elected city attorney; C. Feige, city marshal; Andrew Huggins, city surveyor. The new council rapidly got themselves into working order, but no event of moment is found on the records until September 12^th, when, in accordance with the decision of the citizens expressed at a special election, a Silsby steam fire engine was ordered to be purchased, which was done- the steamer being accepted by resolution, adopted November 18, 1865. On September 30^th, the council determined that the sum of $4,997.47 would be needed for city purposes for the ensuing year. The valuation of city property on the assessment roll of this, the first year of the city organization, was $633,000.

BOUNDARIES.

According to the original plat of Lower Saginaw, the boundaries were the Prairie Road (now Woodside Avenue) on the north; a line 400 feet south of Tenth Street on the south; Van Buren Street on the east, and the Saginaw River on the west.

When the village of Bay City was incorporated, the southern boundary was changed to the section line, which is near Twenty-Third Street. This was evidently a blunder, for a narrow strip of land was left between that line and the north boundary of Portsmouth, that was without a municipal habitation. This was afterwards remedied by extending the southern boundary of Bay City to Twenty-Fourth Street, and there it remained until Portsmouth was annexed to Bay City in 1873.

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Since the plan of this work was fixed, an important change has taken place, by which the territory of Bay County has been divided, and a new county, named Arenac, erected.

The fact of the county seat being located at the south end of a long county, led the people in the northern townships to feel that their interests would be better served if organized into a separate county. This project has been agitated for some time, and at the session of the legislature, in the winter of 1883, a bill for the organization of a new county, named Arenac, became law.

The new county of Arenac will contain, counting fractions, sixteen townships, including townshyips 19 and 20 north, of range 3 east, towns 18, 19 and 20 north, of ranges 4, 5, 6 and 7 east, and town 20 north, of range 8 east, together with the islands attached to the townships of Whitney and Au Gres.

The vote of this territory in 1882, amounted to 548, distributed as follows: Township of Arenac, sixty-six; Au Gres, sixty-one; Clayton, sixty-seven; Deep River, seventy-six; Lincloln, eighty; Mason thirty-seven; Moffat, thirty-four; Standish, sixty-nine; Whitney, fifty-eight. The county seat is located temporarily at Omer, on the Rifle River, in the township of Arenac. Hereafter the voters will choose between Omer, Standish and Sterling for the permanent county seat. The first election will be held on the first Monday in June, 1883, and the officers elected will begin their duties on the first Monday in July. The authorities of Bay County retain the power to collect taxes of 1883 in the territory set off, and until the next apportionment, no change is made in representative, senatorial or judicial district relations.

Bay County retains all the territory south of the north line of the township of Pinconning, and town 18 north of range 3.

At this date, May 15, 1883, the people of the new county are very hopeful of increased prosperity. A newspaper has been established at Omer, in Arenac Township. A convention was held at Omer May 12^th, for the purpose of nominating a union ticket for the new county. There was a spirited contest for the nomination of sheriff and register of deeds, the nominations being made by a majority of only one in each case. The following are the nominations:

Sheriff, George Keeney; treasurer, P. M. Angus; register of deeds, William Smith; county clerk, F. E. Carscallen; judge of probate, John Bullock; prosecuting attorney, L. McHugh; circuit court commissioner, F. C. Cummings; coroners, Drs. Palmer and Mills.

The election will be held on the first Monday in June.