USA > Georgia > Jackson County > The early history of Jackson county, Georgia. "The writings of the late G.J.N. Wilson, embracing some of the early history of Jackson county". The first settlers, 1784; formation and boundaries to the present time; records of the Talasee colony > Part 17
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Most of the few remaining forest pines are taking the dry-rot, orchards are failing, walnuts, hickory nuts, and acorns are smaller, and water in springs, wells, branches, creeks and rivers is be- coming less and less every year ; so much so, that the historic fish has small chance to live in this country.
While all these things were going other things have been com- ing. Long, dry summers, irregular rains, malarial diseases, howl- ing storms and terrific lightnings are more frequent and severe than when breathing forest leaves and clear running water equal- ized the furies. The Colorado beetle, the San Jose scale, the boll weevil, the curculio, the cabbage snake and other plant and tree life-destroyers have invaded the land without an invitation, and the indications are that they have come to stay.
The history of Greece, Egypt, Palestine and Spain contains full- page illustrations which show that there is not a nation on the globe which has not, in the course of centuries, declined in pro- portion to the disappearance of its forests. What a pity that our forefathers did not study the improvement of land instead of ex- posing such a vast area to the burning sun and drying winds.
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CHAPTER II.
THE DANCE AT DUNSON'S AND PREACHING AT THE SCHOOL HOUSE.
With the return of the logrollers the last rays of the setting sun, coming over a vast extent of forest reaching all the way to the Pacific shore, brought with them a green-tinted haze, which, uniting with the gold of the sun and the blue of the sky, spread a glow along the western horizon that seemed to bathe the earth in irridescent vapor everywhere. As this began to disappear in the coming darkness supper was announced.
As usual, the quilting was greatly enjoyed by all. The ladies threaded their needles and talked, quilted and talked, "laid off shells" and talked, "rolled the quilt" and talked, "cut threads" and talked, and talked, until there came a thoughtful pause. This was finally broken by Mrs. Emory, Eunice's mother, saying slowly :
"Did you ever! Married a man to whom she never spoke be- fore, and on short notice, at that !"
"No, I never! Though as Brother Rogers says he is all right, and is such a splendid-looking fellow, for my part, can not say that Idalone is to blame," said another.
"No, not to blame; but I should have wanted a longer court- ship-there's lot's of fun in courting," said still another.
"To be married in the woods, under a great spreading tree, on a lovely carpet of flowers, love, courtship and marriage, all in less than an hour, and at a logrolling at that, is no everyday business. As for me I don't blame Idalone one bit," said Miss Medoline Callahan, whose family name is still well known.
"Neither do I. It is really so romantic that I want my wedding, if I ever have one, to be just like Idalone's," said Blanche Chan- dler, whose family name is also extensively known.
"That is all right, but this quilt will soon be finished; and it will take all the girls here to wrap it around Mr. Dunson and carry him to supper. So let's talk about that; there's lots of fun ahead. What you say, girls?" asked Mrs. Mildred Gathright, wife of
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Miles Gathright, who was the first settler on the banks of the Oconee below the present iron bridge.
It may be explained here that on all similar occasions it was customary to wrap the new quilt around the gentleman of the house, seat him at the table, and serve him while the guests were taking their places. All knew that Mr. Dunson would resist this part of the ceremony "just for the fun of the thing," and he was so big and strong that he was sometimes dreaded.
By and by the quilt was unrolled, the supper tables were ready, but Mr. Dunson could not be found. He had concealed himself. At last he was discovered in the barn, and such a scuffle followed that the cows jumped out of the cowpen and ran to the woods. He finally submitted, however, the quilt was closely wrapped around his huge form, and to the tune "Granny Will Your Dog Bite?" he was marched to the head of the table. He was bounti- fully supplied with good things, and to use the words of one who was present, "he looked like a bear sitting on the stump of a bee-tree licking of his chops." He was a dark man of august pres- ence.
Supper was over and the new quilt carefully folded away. The services of Jim Beasly, "the breakdown" fiddler of the times, had been secured to furnish music for the coming dance, which was to begin at 8 o'clock, sharp. The great house-clock, some seven feet high, was closely watched. The long pendulum moved back and forth in measured swing until the appointed hour was nearly reached. Jim Beasley began to tighten his fiddle strings. He "tuned and tuned" until the desired tension was reached. As a matter of respect, it was not customary for women to enter the first dance. Eight men, four sets, led by Brantly, stood upon the floor. Sque-squa-squo-ske-e-e-au-au-squeak! went the fiddle. "Face your partners" called the leader, and to the air of "Billy in the Low Ground," the first dance was on. It was a rigadoon, and round and round went the men. Passed through opposite ranks, and then dashed on with the "double-shuffle," "jump jim crow," "cut the pigeon wing," and the "hop over the moon," to the finish.
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Men looked on with their hands in their pockets, women patted their feet ; all eager "to trip their own light, fantastic toes." Old Terpsichore had turned loose his jolly forces.
The next dance was called the Laedan, or Leader. It required only one performer, who was expected to illustrate every distinct movement or step to be taken that night. The man selected for that purpose was Toby Bradshaw, commonly called Tobe Bratcher. He was a small man of wonderful activity and well versed in the mazes of the dance.
Again the fiddle gave the signal and Tobe flitted across the floor like a phantom, and to the tune of "Sally in the Wildwoods," illustrated the next dance, called the Bolero. When through with the round dance, he bowed, and stood to one side. This was the signal for all the ladies who intended to dance that night to ar- range themselves in a circle, and in such order that the leader, or teacher, could pass around and between them, and thus readily see all they were expected to do themselves. When through, Tobe gave a forward and backward movement, so quick and intri- cate that the step was called, "do it if you can."
That closed the object lesson, and it was well given. Then small bronzed pitchers containing something to drink went round. All, men, women and children, drank heartily; but it was metheglin, a delicious beverage made of clear spring water, honey and spice.
A running conversation followed, and then came the Bolero. 9 chair was placed on a table at one end of the room, and to this elevated seat Tobe Bratcher was lifted by Natty Gore, who handed him a long wand made of turkey feathers. This he waved around his head, and then brought it to an upright position between his feet. This was the beginning signal. Beasly's long-drawn bow and Tobe's gently waiving wand, say, "all is ready." Mr. and Mrs. Brantly led the van, and away and away they go to the mellow, persuasive strains of "Over the Hills and Far Away." Still on they rush in perfect order and in rhythmic time, the wand is waved quickly back and forth, the speed increases, Jim Beasly is in all his glory, his fiddle trembles to the vibrations of its music, the floor heaves up and down, dogs, sitting on the doorsteps, howl; cats, with hair erect, leave the room, and the crickets hush.
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The company becomes unconscious of all things else; the dancers are electrified, the wand directs all in utter silence, and the dogs howl on.
Finally the wand was again brought to a perpendicular and the dance closed. Everybody was in a good humor, and Mr. Dunson threw great chunks of meat to the dogs to stop the howling. A general conversation followed and perhaps some particular court- ing, as that very night William Howington and George Wilson fell in love with the girls whom they afterwards married.
Thus the exercises continued, unabated, until old Chanticleer, from some distant tree-top, announced the coming day. Jim Beasly wrapped his fiddle in a blanket, Tobe Bratcher came down from his perch, and reluctantly most of the assembled guests be- gan to disperse. Not one of them was in any way under the in- fluence of strong drink; nor had any girl there ever seen a young man drunk, or with a hip-pocket in his trousers.
The foregoing is given as an illustration of life in old times ; and it yet remains to give some further account of those mentioned as actors in them.
About half mile east of S. W. Jackson's mill, there was a small log cabin in which W. T. Brantly had taught school, and there Revs. Therrauld and Rogers had an appointment to preach on the night of the dance. Being amply provided with a supply of good things, they left the logrolling in time to reach the school house about sundown. Though on foot they had their blankets and provisions with them, and the country being thinly settled they prepared to stay all night. Of course they expected a small con- gregation, for there were not enough people within a reasonable distance to make a large one.
Having eaten their supper and swept the house with pine-top brooms, they separated and went to the woods to pray. Imagine two such men, in the fast-gathering darkness of a wilderness, at prayer amid its dismal solitude. It seems much like the custom of their Divine Leader, who "went into a mountain apart to pray."
While thus engaged the few people in the country began to as- semble, and the preachers gladly joined them. After services it was found that every man and woman present, except two or
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three who were already members, joined the church, some to go to Cabin Creek, where Mr. Rogers was pastor, others to Oconee where Dr. Therrauld had charge.
It was at this meeting in the woods that the well-known Capt. Tom Stapler, father of Jeff Stapler, Esq., of Newton, joined the church, and afterwards became one of the standard bearers of Cabin Creek. He had a good practical education, taught school, and in other capacities served the public faithfully.
It was the Capt. Tom Stapler who, during the alarmingly dry summer of 1845, proposed to turn a regular meeting into a prayer service, and pray for rain exclusively. Strange, some of the mem- bers objected, but Mr. Stapler succeeded in having a prayer- meeting appointed for the next service.
Rev. Jesse Human who lived near where Mountain Creek church now stands, was pastor at Cabin Creek, and as he ascended the pulpit steps to offer the first intercessory prayer, Brother Stapler, in a voice louder than he had ever before spoken in a church, cried out, "Pray for a soaker, Brother Human." Let unbelievers scoff if they will; but it soon rained, and the people made enough corn that year to tide them on to another.
It was also this Capt. Tom Stapler, who as far as I have been able to learn, was the only man ever summoned to appear before any tribunal in this country to answer to the charge of being a Free Mason.
Though some twenty-five years after Western New York was agitated by the "Morgan heresy," as it was called, an account of it, though dead in its own house, reached the ears of the most in- consistent members of Cabin Creek church. Believing all they had heard was true, and wanting to believe it, and being joined by others, they caused Brother Stapler to be cited "to appear before the church in conference assembled, to then and there answer to the charge of being a Free Mason, contrary to the teaching and belief of said church."
The contest was long, and, in some respects bitter. Rank con- tentions seemed to be hovering in the air. Unity Lodge of Jeffer- son, of which brother Stapler was a member, went to his assist- ance. Other lodges sent their ablest members consisting of min-
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isters of the gospel, lawyers, and high-school and college profes- sors, to help him. Here came another difficulty as hard to decide as the other. Should these "outsiders" be admitted to the con- ference was the question. After a sharp contest the church by a small majority permitted them "to talk but not vote."
And they did talk. They had not come with any expectation of voting. After a defense perhaps as able as any ever made in the country, the defendant went forth, as he so richly deserved, a member of the church and of the Masonic Lodge in good stand- ing. At last in ripe old age, he approached his grave-
"Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." -Bryant.
The fraternity which he so well and so faithfully exemplified, buried him with Masonic honors in the latter sixties of the last century.
Dr. Henry Therrauld, as shown elsewhere, was one of the lead- ing spirits at Tumbling Shoals. As no account of his untimely death could be given there, an outline of the sad incident may be stated here. Though only a few friendly Indians remained in the immediate vicinity, quite a number who were openly hostile, roved along the western borders,* now in Hall County. They had never forgiven the "pale-faces" for shedding blood on their "holy ground," nor had their chief, Wautowauto, abandoned his pur- pose to recapture the white girls, Flora Clover and Susan Bing- ham, whom he had stolen from their parents at Yamacutah.
. A few weeks after the meeting at the Brantly school house, a party of fifteen Indians were seen to enter the dense canebreak which grew on both sides of the river a little above the Hurricane Shoals. The ever wide-awake citizens of Tumbling Shoals rushed to their arms, and in a short time a company of twenty determined men, led by the heroic Henry Therrauld, marched up the river to find them. Jordan Clark and John Harris were sent out as scouts and in the early part of the afternoon reported that the foe was
*Charles H. Smith's "History of Georgia," page 53 .- Ed.
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encamped about the center of the canebreak, and that sentinels were on the outskirs. It was then seen that the enemy intended to remain there until night, and from thence make their intended assault upon the Shoals after dark.
After consultation, the leader determined to post his men in the immediate vicinity and attack the Indians as they emerged from their hiding place. While cautiously selecting a position on the hill which overlooks the Shoals from the north, they were seen going up the western bank of the river in full retreat. By some unknown means they had become alarmed. Immediate pursuit was ordered, and when, after a long chase it was found they were about to be overtaken, they crossed the river about where Dixon's bridge now is and made a stand among the very large trees which grew a few hundred yards above the crossing. They had doubt- less left the canebrake because there was no such protection there.
Finding, as he expected, that the Indians were shielded by large trees, he divided his men into two squads, one led by Jordan Clark, going to the left. To prevent the danger of killing each other from opposite sides, it was understood that no firing was to be done when the squads were in range with the enemy, and that every possible advantage should be taken of the trees.
It was known that the few firearms carried by the foe were almost worthless in their hands, and that the tomahawk would be held for closer quarters. Poisoned arrows were of greatest con- cern, though at the time even that was not thought of.
The order to advance was given; a flight of arrows whizzed through the air. These did little damage, and on went the men. The tactics were new, even to the Indians. The trees offered but little protection. There was an enemy on both sides, and one of the foe fell at every crack of the rifle. Having noticed that no enemy was to be seen at an unusually large tree, Dr. Therrauld heedlessly went near it. As he did so, a long arm was seen to reach out from the tree, and at the same instant a tomahawk went crashing into his brain. The tree was hollow, and the Indian, Wautowauto, had concealed himself in it. John Harris, next in rear of his leader, threw an axe which he carried in his belt, at the
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chief, and his bowels gushed out and fell at his feet before his body fell on them.
The death of their leader so maddened his followers that they made such a furious charge that every Indian, except two or three who saved themselves by flight, was slain, and several of these were shot when at full speed.
Dale Clover, Hiram Bingham and James Montgomery were badly, but not fatally hurt. Several others whose names are un- known were slightly hurt. Wautowauto, instigator of all the mis- chief, was left as he fell in the hollow of the tree. His bones were still there when Mr. Hinson Barr moved to that community some time in the thirties. The other Indians were buried in a flat now in cultivation, and where I have myself found various relics of the older time. The spot is near the ancient Nauhata,* an Indian town, where the aborigines of this county had many sanguinary conflicts before the Anglo-Saxon race ever trod its soil.
The almost idolized body of Dr. Therrauld was carefully, ten- derly, lovingly carried to Tumbling Shoals, and, on top of the hill leading to the north, was buried somewhere near the spot where an unfrequented road passes the south corner of Mr. Davis' cotton field, where about one year ago, I gladly noticed that, in all prob- ability, no ploughshare had passed over his hallowed grace to mark it for its own.
Perhaps Mr. Davis, or any one else in the community, does not know that he may sometimes walk over such sacred dust. Tread softly, brother, for-
"Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, In the fair gardens of that second birth; And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth."
-Longfellow.
Rev. James Rogers was a native Georgian, and came to this country in the early part of the last century. He became a prom-
*Note: The Editor visited the site of the town, Nauhata, in 1914. It is a short distance above Dixon bridge about three miles west of Maysville, Ga. The land is now owned by Mr. T. N. Highfill. We also saw the Indian "flood gauge." It is a large bowlder of granite just below the bridge. It
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inent minister of the gospel in early life and from the beginning devoted himself to his high calling with a fervency and zeal which knew of no abatement. As shown by his conduct at the logrolling, he was a born leader, and always led to the satisfaction of others. In some of his views he was far in advance of the times in which he lived, and, realizing this, he often said he was "born too soon." Denominational strife was common and very bitter in those days, and both he and his co-laborer, Dr. Therrauld, were always conser- vative and peaceful along these lines. These two noble men were the first to sow the seeds of "peace and good will toward men" in Jackson County ; and though they fell at first on stony ground. they finally began to spring up and grew into great trees under whose shades all classes may now meet and ask blessings of their common Heavenly Father.
While I do not believe that Clotho and her other companions have any control over the destinies of men, there is One who "shapes our ends;" and for some good reason these two leading pioneer ministers were taken, seemingly, in the prime of their glory and usefulness.
After the death of Dr. Therrauld, Mr. Rogers became pastor at Oconee, where he, like his predecessor, became much beloved. Some years after, when on his way to an appointment, an old tree killed him and the horse he was riding. The tree stood some three hundred yards west of the S. W. Jackson mill, and a little over half a mile from the Brantly school house. An hour or two before Mr. Rogers was killed, Hardy Rose, while passing, noticed that the old tree was leaning unusually far towards the road. He made several efforts to push it down, but failing, passed on without a thought of what was so soon to take place.
This pioneer preacher, James Rogers, was the grandfather of J. B. Rogers of Jefferson, [now Maysville] and were he living to- day would be proud to own his grandson as the worthy descendent of a noble sire.
is said that when any unusual rise in the river occurred, the Indians would mark the height to which the water rose by drilling a hole in the big rock. However the greater part of this "flood gauge" was used in the construction of the new bridge that now spans the river.
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CHAPTER III.
BRANTLY CARRIES HIS BRIDE TO JEFFERSON.
William T. Brantly carried his bride to Jefferson on the third day after their marriage. They went on an ox cart drawn by two huge oxen called Buck and Ball, and carried with them such household property as the LeCain's could afford to give them. They lived in a small house near the white oak spring, a spot which has witnessed many curious things. Mr. Brantly was a school teacher, and also hunter and farmer. Mrs. Brantly fol- lowed her home life, picked seed out of cotton with her fingers, carded, spun and wove the lint, and of the cloth she cut and made her own and her husband's clothes. There is good evidence that they all had the appearance of being tailor made. To show her appreciation of Anaxicorn's curious wedding gift, she made moc- casins of deer skin and ornamented them with pretty designs in needle work; all for her husband, and he was proud to wear them on public occasions.
Being an educated man, Mr. Brantly finally sought a field more favorable to his growing reputation, and about 1820, moved to Richmond County, where, for want of further information, I leave him. This was a distinct loss to the county. He, however, had a cousin of the same name, Rev. W. T. Brantly, who in the early fifties was a professor in Franklin College, and at the same time pastor of Cabin Creek Church. Being called to a pastorate in Philadelphia, he died there a few years later.
As the use of oxen is not so common as in old times, it may be interesting to the young reader to know something more of them. A yoke of oxen was then called "owsen," as used in Scotland and the North of England to this time. They were almost ex- clusively used as draft animals. Horses only drew the plow- mules were unknown. The oxen which carried Mr. Brantly and his bride to their new home were unusually large. The spread of their horns was so great that they knocked against each other at almost every step so loudly that one on the road knew that the
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LeCain oxen were coming before they were seen. In after years William Nash, one of the most famous fox-hunters in the country, gave a cow and calf for one of these horns, and Ras Stonum, his brother-in-law, gave a Ledford rifle and eleven ducks for its mate. These gentlemen were of first-class families, and great uncles of Hon. T. J. Shackelford of Athens.
For reasons that may hereafter appear, I have ever had a desire to know just what was the fate of the house in which Brantly lived at White Oak Spring; but have only learned that it was torn down and moved away; where, I do not know. It was standing in 1842, the year in which James Swetman was hanged for the murder of Tom White. On that day I was standing on the doorsill, thinking, in boyish fashion, of all I had ever heard of Mr. and Mrs. Brantly ; and, while trying to compare their absence with what must have been their presence, the lines of a poem, which I had recently been trying to learn came into my mind and I repeated them aloud :
"Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire Some spirit of the air has waked thy string! 'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 'Tis now the brush of fairy's frolic wing, Receding now, the dying members ring Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring A wandering witch-note of the distant spell- And now, 'tis silent all !- Enchantress, fare thee well." -Scott.
While repeating the last line, with all the sadness I could com- mand, I heard a little old dried-up-looking man say, "That boy is distracted and ought to be put in the calaboose." I did not know just what a calaboose was, but thinking it something bad, I and my companion, Newton Barron, a great, loose-jointed boy, left for . home without further warning.
As we passed near the jail, which stood where Dr. Walter Smith's office now is, we noticed that the door was open, and the great, ponderous shutter swaying back and forth in the wind. Finding that the little old man was not following us, we cau- tiously entered the gloomy house, and no one else being in there we roamed at will. The first thing noticed was a tin plate placed
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on a joist overhead. I took it down and found that it contained two rashers of fried bacon, and three dark biscuits. From one bis- cuit a single bite had been taken, leaving the imprint of four teeth, a gap being between the first and third, showing that one front tooth was missing. The poor fellow who had just been hung had doubtless taken only one bite for his breakfast that morning, and the sign left by his teeth is now as plainly seen in memory as it was then seen with my eyes. While I was pondering over this silent reminder of a sad fate and Newt Barron was peeping into the gloomy dungeon below, the door shutter closed with a loud bang, and, as we thought, the little old man had us at last. We both jumped, Newt came near falling into the dungeon, the bis- cuits went rolling over the floor, and we rushed for the door. The shutter readily yielded; the wind had closed it, and seeing nothing of our supposed enemy, we hastened away.
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