USA > Georgia > Floyd County > Rome > A history of Rome and Floyd County, State of Georgia, United States of America; including numerous incidents of more than local interest, 1540-1922, Volume I > Part 36
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When the war came, many slaves begged to accompany their masters as bodyguards, and were allowed to go. These faithful souls will never be for- gotten by the people of the South.
H. W. Johnstone, of Curryville, Gor- don County, relates how "Aunt Mam- my Anne," his family's old slave, died at Rome in 1855, and was buried be- side the Johnstone family vault in North Rome.
Philip Harper, a 10-year-old boy, was sold Aug. 3, 1854, with three other darkies from John Harkins to Alex- ander Thornton Harper, of Cave Spring, for $2,275 cash. Quite an attachment grew up between master and slave, which found its highest ex- pression when Mr. Harper was forced
to sell Philip in 1863 at the court house in Atlanta. The master attend- ed the sale and promised to buy him back at the first opportunity. Both wept as the auctioneer sold the boy, then 19.
In 1908, when Philip Harper was 64 years old, he wrote Mrs. Harper from Marietta as follows:
"Dear Madame: This missive leaves me as well as I will ever be again in this life. I fear I would have been up there before now, but my old wom- an keeps so very poorly until I fear to leave her. How are you and all the children? Well, I hope. My dear- est associaton as a boy began in and around old Cave Spring. It has been so long since I have been there that I believe I would not know the place, but if the good Lord will spare me a few days longer, I will in real life review my old, old home once more in this life. All the people that I once knew are gone, gone; and I have only a few days-then I shall join them in Heaven. I have thought a thousand times about the last meeting Mr. Alexander and myself had was in At- lanta in 1863 at the court house after the sale was made. Then it was I did my best at crying. He cried, too, but he promise to buy me back.
"I know you will excuse the bold- ness I take in writing you. When I got sick, you was my doctor; cared for me in sickness. You remember how you cared for me when I got my finger broke?
"WM. PHILIP HARPER."
Mrs. Harper immediately sent the old darkey enough money to come to Cave Spring, which he did, and both of them cried as they reviewed the days that will return no more. As a member of the Harper family express- ed it, Philip's appearance was like the return of a long-lost son.
WES' ROUNSAVILLE'S BOY- HOOD .- The following extracts are from the autobiography of Jno. Wesley Rounsaville, who died at Rome Oct. 4, 1910:
"When my father, David Rounsa- ville, died, I was in my eleventh year; Sister Josephine was six, Brother 'Dolph' five; these, with our mother, constituted the family. The question that faced us was how we were to get a support. Father had been sick a long time and the small amount of money he had accumulated with a view of entering the mercantile business
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again was soon spent and we were practically without means. Fortunate- ly, we had a home at Sixth Avenue and East First Street, and this was a great help because we didn't have to pay rent.
"My first work was with a Mr. Bay- less, who kept a confectionery store in part of the old Exchange Hotel. I think my salary was $5 per month. Father left us a team which we hired out and from which we collected the hire every night, and this with my pay was our only means of support. Our mother was a very industrious and economical manager.
"About this time a small affair probably changed the current of my life. Mr. Bayless told me one hot day to sweep out the store. did so to my own satisfaction, but not to his; therefore, he ordered me to sweep it again. I demurred and he punch- ed me with the brushing part of the broom. I deliberately walked into the street and procured a good-sized rock and went into the store and threw it at him with all my might. He ran out the back door and I got my little red calico coat and left, and never went back again.
"Mr. Bayless was a northern man. He continued to do a prosperous bus- iness, and finally went into groceries and wholesale liquors. He kept large quantities of liquor in barrels and cof- fee in sacks, and had them piled up in tiers against the walls of his store. One morning it was announced in the Rome Southerner that Mr. Bayless had sold his large business to Gen. Geo. S. Black and associates. It seems Mr. Bayless bantered Gen. Black into a trade, and sold on an inventory just taken by himself. A check for the money was given by Gen. Black (most likely on the Bank of the Empire State), and Mr. Bayless left imme- diately for the east. A few days later Gen. Black showed a customer a sam- ple of the fine whiskey, but the whis- key turned out to be water, and the bags of coffee were in reality corn or peas put up so as to deceive. The whole stock was that way, more or less. Gen. Black made a strong ef- fort to locate Mr. Bayless, but did not succeed.
"About 44 years after this happen- ed, I was in New York and getting ready to come home. I stepped into a railroad ticket booth in the hotel and saw a handsome, white-haired gentle- man standing behind the desk. I ask- ed the man what was the price of tick- ets to the South, and he asked me
where I wanted to go. I told him Rome, Ga., and he inquired if I lived there. I replied in the affirmative, and he said, 'Do you know Col. Printup in Rome?'
"'I did know him, but he is dead,' I replied.
"I inquired as to where he had known Col. Printup and he said in Rome, more than 40 years before. He stated in answer to my query that his name was Bayless, adding that he had just returned from Australia, where he had gone from Rome, and had never returned in the meantime to this coun- try.
" 'Mr. Bayless, do you remember Gen. Black?' I asked. He hesitated a moment, looked me straight in the eyes, and then dropped his head. I said, 'I know you well. I clerked for you when you first came to Rome and opened your confectionery.' 'No,' he answered, 'you are mistaken; I was in the cotton business.'
"I informed him that I was not leaving New York until the next day and would call back to see him. I called several times, but he was not there.
"After leaving the confectionery shop, I went to work for Mr. O. A. Myers, a most excellent gentleman and editor and proprietor of the Rome Southerner. He took me in his office at $5 a month and my clothing. How well do I remember the first thing he gave me-a pair of fine gray cash- mere trousers. I thought they were the prettiest things I had ever seen and it seemed they never wore out. Mr. Myers appreciated my efforts so much in my thirteenth year that he sent me out to travel for the paper. I remember one night at Cave Spring, where I spent the day collecting sub- scriptions until I had a considerable sum of money. I was afraid to go to the hotel, lest I might be robbed or miss the stage coach, which was duc to leave for Rome at midnight, so after dark I slipped into the coach, crouched in a corner and waited until the driver climbed onto his box and made off.
"Once I went to Summerville, and saw two men arguing politics in the town square. Buchanan was running for president. One man seemed to have the advantage of the other, and I championed the weaker side, asking the other man a question he couldn't answer. The crowd whooped and yell- ed, and the man turned on me and said, 'Look here, my little fellow, you
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ought to be at home with your mammy !' That year I made $450.
"Mother soon decided that I must go to school on what Little Dolph and I had made, so I went two terms to Prof. Peter M. Sheibley, one of the finest teachers Rome ever had. In 1858 we removed to the farm of Uncle Jimmie Meredith in Broomtown Val- ley, Cherokee County, Ala., and farm- ed there until the war broke out. The people were very kind to us, although the young farmers laughed at us be- cause we plowed in gloves and large straw hats, and could not lay off straight rows. I often amused a crowd telling them of schemes I had to make farming easier, like boring a hole in the end of the plow foot, and putting up an umbrella to plow under.
"I also said a man ought to be able to ride while he plowed, and I per- fected a three-foot plow that would list land with two furrows, and save the labor of two men and one horse. For irons I used hickory withes and attached them to the front wheels of a two-horse wagon and pulled the con- traption with two oxen, Mike and Bright. I demonstrated that this plow would work, but lack of means and the taunt from the Alabama farmers that it was a lazy, mean method, caused me to give it up. Years later I saw men patent this idea and de- velop it into some of our labor-sav- ing plows of today, and I have always thought my plow deserved the priority.
"Our life in the country was not only a pleasant and happy one, but I verily believe it paved the way for our future success in business. It taught us to work and brought us a knowledge of the people from whom in after years we received our great- est help in building and maintaining our wholesale grocery and cotton bus- iness.
"We learned nature and the sea- sons and the peculiarities of agricul- tural products of the section. W were taught the value of money, how hard it was to make, and at the char- acter-forming time, instead of carous- ing on the streets of a city until mid- night, we went to sleep soon after supper and slept the sleep of the in- nocent and the just. In later years we opened our store at daylight and closed it at midnight."
COST OF A COLLEGE EDUCA- TION .- The following letter was sent recently by a Floyd County man to his son at college: "I write to send you
two pairs of old breeches, that you may have a new coat made of them; also some new socks, which your mother has just knit by cutting down some of mine. Your mother sends you $10 without my knowledge, and for fear you might not spend it wisely, I have kept back half, and send you only five. We are all well, except that your sister has got the measles, which may spread among the other girls. I hope you will do honor to my teach- ings. If you do not, you are an ass, and your mother and myself are your affectionate parents."-Rome Tri- Weekly Courier, Jan. 21, 1860. *
ROBT. BATTEY'S TROUBLES AT SCHOOL .- At 11 years of age and under date of May 12, 1839, Robert Battey wrote as follows to his mother in Augusta from Phillips-Andover Academy, Andover, Mass. His brother George, 13, was there with him at the time:
"My dear Mother: We received a bundle from you not long since con- taining a letter, 4 dollars, some cot- ton seed, a pocket handkerchief, 2 flags, 2 knives, 2 books, the violet and Juvenile Forget-me-not which I thought was very good and interest- ing. Brother goes to writing school to Mr. Badger and is improving very fast. As soon as he has done his coarse of lessons he will write you a letter so that you can see how much he has improved. Chas. Hall is here at present. We have got a new boarder, his name is Daniel E. Safford. Brother has five rabbits and one of them has or is a going to have some young ones. I have been reading Rolo Learning to Read and Rolo's Vacasion. I like them very much indeed. Last Tuesday we had a company of 100 Latin and Eng- lish students. They marched up and down town and then they had a re- ces of about 15 minutes. They had water and molasses and water. After that they marched around again; their dress was simply their Sunday best clothes, a cane and a role of paste- board with a blue ribbon tied around it. I have found a very great falt in brother, that is, telling things arround town that I never told him, and when he gets caught in telling a lie he says that I told him some- thing like it. His object in doing this is to make folks think better of him and worse of me. Sometimes he is kind and affectionate. I believe you wrote me to tell Mrs. Green when he imposes uppon me, but I do not like to tell her but I do not do anything to
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him but stand and bare it. The other day I went down to Mr. Abbott's and bought some sugar to put in some chocolate as I and D. E. Safford used to go over in a field and build up a fire in an old tea kettle for a stove and had an old coffee pot which we found out there which we made our chocolate in. However one day I had the sugar in my pocket and Mrs. Green took it out and said it was hers.
I told her it was not for I bought it down to Mr. Abbott's and if she was a mind to she might ask him but after that she got pretty cool about it. I have got a book called My Brother's Letters which I think is a very good book. Give my love to father, Aunt Mary Anna and all other inquiring friends and my best love for your-
self. I hope you will write me soon.
"Your affectionate son, "ROBERT."
Shortly after the death of his father, Cephas Battey, from yellow fever, Robert wrote his mother from Ando- ver (under date of Dec. 8, 1839) :
"My dear Mother: I received a let- ter from Aunt Susan last Thursday morning. Wednesday before last there was a great fire up town. Wednes- day before last the book bindery burnt it belonged to Mr. Wm. Waters there has been subscription for him. Thanks be unto the Lord it was not our house for I was sick. I had eaten something that did not agree with me. Mr. Green had his hog killed last Wed- nesday. Some body set fire to our chicken house last Thursday. George lost 7 rabbits. My little pigeon is do- ing very well. Daniel came last Fri- day. Mrs. Green's flowers are doing very well. Tell me is cousin Miller alive. Tell aunt creasy I am well. Mrs. Blanchard, Rhoda & I all send their love.
"Your son, "ROBERT."
George added a postscript, saying: "You will see by Robby's letter that we have had a fire. I have been play- ing chess with Robby and he can play pretty well for the time he has been learning."
FRANK L. STANTON'S SANC- TUM .- The casual visitor to Frank L Stanton's sanctum in the Atlanta Constitution building is deeply and lastingly impressed with the physical aspects of the place; a roll-top desk over in a corner; a swivel chair for the poet which he seldoms "swivels;"
a cane-bottom chair for a friend; on the dark, smoky, spider-webbed walls a Lewis Gregg pen sketch of Joel Chandler Harris ("Uncle Remus") and cartoons by Opper and Fox past- ed up without frames; a sea of old newspaper exchanges, the accumula- tion of months, stacked so high on both sides of the desk as to obscure the pigeon holes, which are crammed with letters, papers and poems; the top of the desk burdened with daily and weekly journals from all over the country, and surmounting them a tan- gled heap of spider nests and ancient dust; on the floor a discarded shower of his literary sheaves; a single elec- trip drop globe and a clouded window to admit a little more light; a rat's nest in nearly every drawer of the desk.
Stanton is always absorbed in plots for poems and paragraphs; he moves solitarily between office and home; year in and year out he grinds his daily grist, a column known as "Just From Georgia," and his political quips and a serious editorial daily; he is one of the most prolific writers in the United States; he is friendly and reminiscent, but he seldom invites any- body to his den, and when they come they do not consume much of his time. His office is in a rather remote part of the building; not so remote as it is "unsuspected" and undiscovered, for the human stream that flows out of the elevator and the stairway does not pass his door.
In a sense, Stanton is comparable to Sir Walter Scott, who used to throw his manuscript over his shoul- der, to be picked up later by some- body and put into print. He exudes so much poetry that it sometimes gets out of his reach in the junk that sur- rounds him, and does not appear for days, weeks or months afterward. In a sense, he is comparable to Horace Greeley, who wrote such a miserable hand that but one compositor on the New York Tribune could read it. Stanton can write plainly and pleas- ingly when he takes the time. How- ever, he usually leaves much to the imagination, and unless the printer reads it who is accustomed to his style, there is trouble in the plant.
A story is told of Stanton which will illustrate his accustomed environ- ment :
John Temple Graves, editor of the Tribune of Rome, had hired a new of- fice boy, to whom these instructions were given:
ANECDOTES AND REMINISCENCES
THE INMAN-RICHARDSON WEDDING FEAST AT "MAPLEHURST."
The nuptials of Miss Josephine VanDyke Inman and Hugh Richardson were attended by many well-known people of Rome, Atlanta, and elsewhere. In this picture are seen the wedding party at supper following the ceremony. On the right, standing, with baby, is John W. Grant, Atlanta capitalist and philanthropist, in front of him are the bride and groom and beyond are Mr. and Mrs. Hugh T. Inman, and between them Edward H. Inman. In front of Mr. Inman is Mrs. Grant, formerly Miss Annie Martin Inman.
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A HISTORY OF ROME AND FLOYD COUNTY
"One of your duties, son, will be to carry the copy to the composing room. Whenever I write anything, you come in here and get it, and whenever Mr. Stanton writes anything, go in there and take it back. I think Mr. Stan- ton has some now."
The boy returned in a minute to Col. Graves' desk and said:
"I couldn't make him answer."
"What's that?"
"He just kept on working when I asked him if he had wrote anything."
"Oh!" exclaimed Col. Graves with a twinkle in his eye. "Let's see."
They went to the doorway and peek-
ed in. There sat Stanton with his elbows aspread, his head low and his right hand fighting furiously with a pencil. He had dug so deeply into a mountain of papers that no part of him was discernible below his should- ers. He would make a great effort and out would come a sheet of long hand, suggestive of a doodle-bug play- ing in a sand hill or a mole starting a direct route to China.
"I forgot to tell you the way you should approach Mr. Stanton. The boy that had your job understood it. You notice the rope on the hook here at
FRANK LEBBY STANTON, Georgia's lyric poet, who served as night editor of The Tribune of Rome under Jno. Temple Graves.
the door is attached to the chandelier in the middle of the room. The easiest and quietest way to get in there is to grab the rope and swing from the door to the table beside his desk, where you will be able to get the copy. Then you swing back. The idea is not to disturb his muse. Let's see how well you can do it.'
"Colonel Graves, I ain't lost nothin' in there."
"Why, what's the matter?"
"A man from Mt. Alto just come out, sayin' he wanted a write-up, but saw Mr. Stanton was busy, so just left his box on the table and said he would be back. No, sir, I ain't goin' in there!"
"What sort of write-up did he want?"
"He said he had broke the record at Mt. Alto for ketchin' the biggest rat- tlesnake!"
Mr. Stanton was the owner of a small dog which had the distinction of having been named after a famous expression. Sam Jones used to come to Rome and exclaim at his great meetings, "My, my, man-can not you see the error of your ways?" So the dog was named "My-my."
"My-my" was a product of the flood of 1886. He has been born in the Fourth Ward in February that year; when the high water came, he swam into Rome proper for the first time, and anchored on Broad Street. It was cold and the puppy took refuge in a hallway, where he was found and adopted by Col. Graves, who carried him home to 402 First Avenue. Here the little dog forgot his late experi- ences, and his humility at the same time. He bit Dr. Henry Battey sav- agely on the ankle, so that ever after the doctor bowed himself out of the house backwards.
The dog soon became a pet at The Tribune office, and since Stanton fed him and kept him as a "paperweight" on his desk, he soon forsook his orig- inal benefactor. Presently Col. Graves' first wife died and they buried her over on Myrtle Hill. Bishop Warren A. Candler came to Rome, called on Col. Graves and proposed that they go to the cemetery for a silent word of prayer. As they approached the tomb, they saw Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, ac- companied by "My-my."
"Even my dog seems to have de- serted me!" exclaimed Col. Graves dis- consolately. "My-my, you must choose this day whom you will serve." So
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saying, Col. Graves walked off, and Bishop Candler followed. "My-my" hesitated a moment, swallowed hard, smacked his lips meekly and tucking his tail between his legs, followed the Stantons. Col. Graves declared philo- sophically, "Thus it is with all earthly friends !"
Stanton soon moved to Atlanta at the instance of Wm. A. Hemphill and brought "My-my" along, and the dog became a prime favorite around his sanctum. When "My-my" died at the age when all good dogs are supposed to die, The Constitution printed his picture and recorded that many of his friends among the children followed
him sorrowfully to a decent burial place, and concluded: "My-my was in many respects a remarkable dog, but particularly so because he was the only canine we ever heard of who was knock-kneed in front and bow-legged in the rear."
FRANK L. STANTON TO HIS MOTHER .*- The beloved Georgia poet once penned this beautiful son- net :
Thou shalt have grave where glory is forgot,
Thy star all luminous in the world's last night,
Thy children's arms shall be thy neck- lace bright,
And all love's roses clamber to thy cot;
And if a storm one steadfast star shall blot
From thy clear Heaven, God's an- gels shall re-light
The lamps for thee and make the dark- ness write-
The lilies of His love shall be thy lot !
He shall give all His angels charge of thee,
Thy coming and thy going shall be known,
Their steps shall shine before thee radiantly,
Lest thou shouldst dash thy foot against a stone ;
The cross still stands; who will that love condemn
Whose mother lips kissed Christ at Bethlehem ?
FROM A SHERMAN SCOUT .- Thos. D. Collins, of Middletown, N. Y., courier, guide and scout of the 20th
*From The Mothers of Some Famous Geor- gians.
** Signal sent by Gen. Wm. Vandever, who for a time occupied the post at Rome.
corps, Army of the Cumberland (U. S.), writes:
"I was at Rome on the night of Oct. 3, 1864, having been sent with orders to Brig. Gen. Jno. M. Corse to move his command at once to Allatoona Pass and reinforce the post there, where Sherman had stored 1,000,000 rations. We reached Allatoona on the after- noon of the 4th; John B. Hood, in com- mand of the Rebel forces, had got in our rear, and on the morning of the 5th, Gen. S. G. French, in command of a division of Rebels, sent us by flag of truce information that if we would surrender, we would be treated well, but if he was forced to attack, every one of us would be massacred. To this, Corse replied after consulting the small force at hand, 'Come and take us if you can!'
"On they came, and . I assure you French paid dearly for his assault, and toward night he began withdraw- ing his forces, or what was left of them. During the battle, a signal was seen flying from the top of Kennesaw Mountain, ** telling us to hold out, that help was coming to us. Corse answered, 'I am minus a cheek bone and part of an ear, but am able to whip all hell yet!' Corse had been hit late in the afternoon by a rifle ball and knocked senseless. We thought him killed, but he soon rallied. We suffered severely for the number en- gaged. My horse was killed in the fracas. The gun I used that terrible day of slaughter stands this moment in my bedroom, and money couldn't buy it. It is an 8-shot Spencer repeating rifle.
"French's troops were heroes, every one. They were in the open and we were behind strong breastworks. They had no chance to dislodge us. French had cut our wires. Americans against Americans, and I am glad to hope that North and South are now one united country."
THE BARTOWS IN FLOYD COUNTY .- Comparatively few people know that the Bartow family, of Sa- vannah, once maintained quite an es- tablishment at Cave Spring. It is likely that they removed to Floyd County prior to 1850, and that they lived there part of the time for five years or more. Mrs. Bartow moved back to Cave Spring after the death of her husband and her son. The head of the house was Dr. Theodosius Bartow, who was born at Savannah Nov. 2,
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A HISTORY OF ROME AND FLOYD COUNTY
1792, and married Frances Lloyd Feb. 26, 1812.
Says The Mothers of Some Famous Georgians:
"After Francis S. Bartow's sad end, Mrs. Bartow returned to her home in Floyd, now endeared to her by many sacred memories, which threw a halo around her pathway, for it lay in shadows the rest of her days since the light of her life, her counsellor and friend, would no more go in and out with words of peace. Her 60th birth- day was Nov. 1, 1852, and her son wrote:
"'I now take advantage of the clos- ing hours of this day which completes your 60th year. It has been one of those bland, bright days, more like spring than autumn, neither warm nor cold, and I have thought of the green hills of Floyd and wished myself there, that I might walk with you through the quaint garden and see the sun, as he sets behind the mountains, light up the sky with golden radiance. How beautiful does nature present to the mind the evening of a well-spent life; how few are the dark hours between the mellow twilight, so full of peace and rest and the glorious reappear- ance of the rosy beams of morning.
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