Henry W. Gittinger, editor for many years of The Chariton Leader, loved a good story and the sound of his own voice. Or, as it should be said, he loved the look of his own lines of type. Henry could sit down at the Leader linotype and compose clackety-clack, matrices and spacebands flying, molten lead spurting, enough lines of type to fille three full columns of a broadsheet form without even breaking a sweat. About half of what he wrote was pure conceit, verbal lace tatted and stitched to embroidered sentences that must have seemed pretty profound to the old boy then, but now give you the urge grab him by the scruff of the neck and shake. The rest of the time he wrote solid history, retold stories he'd heard from pioneers long dead and composed moving accounts of life in Lucas County as it once had been.
What follows here is the first of three articles Henry composed during the summer of 1915 dealing with the disappearances of Lucas Countyans, mysterious and otherwise. This article appeared on the front page of The Leader of Thursday, 29 July 1915.
A TALE OF MISSING MEN
They Dropped From View Many Years Now Gone
Recent events in Taylor county cause the older citizens to draw upon their memories and perhaps every county in Iowa have their tales of missing men, and legends. Some are true and traditional while many more are fabulous, yet embellished in the most interesting story calculated to lift one's hair and start the currents of electricity through the nerve-fillaments.
Less than two decades ago many will remember the young priest who left Chariton for the eastern cities and has never been heard from since. The seven years elapsed and whatever his fate may have been he was legally dead and the court records of the county will now show that action is pending for the disposal of his estate, according to civil order and right, to be restored should at any time the mystery be cleared away and he return.
A couple of weeks since the Leader made mention of the Honey Creek mystery, in Washington township, the missing traveler and the flight of the Ricker band of outlaws.
This calls to mind the case of one Derling, a school teacher who formerly lived at old LaGrange, but taught in various places in the county --- more than forty years ago. He was a relative of the Cory family. Mr. Derling was a widower and had two daughters residing in New Jersey. One afternoon he walked into Chariton from the Cory home to take the train for an eastern city. He never reached his destination. In fact he was never seen or heard of from that day to this although diligent inquiry and search was made, and it is probable that no more will be learned until that great day arrives when all things shall be revealed. In after years some thought old Tom Kelley who more recently murdered Charley Archibald, might have been able to throw some light upon the mystery, but that is mere conjecture.
In the early day, more than half century now, a family by the name of Mansfield resided in Whitebreast township on what is now the Saunders Bailey farm. The country was sparsely settled and the wilderness was yet profound. Rumors of inhuman acts and lawlessness filtered out from this rendezvous and vice was said to be the prevailing intent of the Mansfield character. One evening ere the twilight had settled into the second gloaming a pack peddler was seen going along the prairie trail and noticed to turn in at the Mansfield gate. It was said that aside from the valuable Irish linens and varied merchandise of the pack, that he carried other valuable commodities as well as a fair-sized roll of money.
Tradition says no pack peddler left the Mansfield gate the next day or even the next. Neither have his feet trod the highway on the crest of the Whitebreast hills from that day to the present. It is further said that the old well to the north of the house was filled with new loam and the stout hearted wondered --- others feared. In time the Mansfield family moved away, as always is the case, and crime triumphed but for a brief season. The old home was neglected, the doors creaked on the hinges and the winds held high carnival in the attic, while the iron weeds almost obscured the ruin from the view of the passers by.
Strange sounds were often heard accompanied by commotion and moanings in the night time, which reverberated over the landscape wide and chilled the blood in the veins of the cautious brave, and the recounting of this strange "hant" of the murdered peddler froze the souls of children as they sat about the fireside during the long winter evenings.
But all this happened a long time ago. Probably by this time the ghost of the murdered peddler has been reconciled to his fate or else has flown and taken his proper place in the spirit world.
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