USA > Kentucky > Livingston County > Chronicles of a Kentucky settlement > Part 31
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Just before the old man died, he requested his sorrow- ing children, who stood around his bedside, to take the little cot upon which he lay from the room out into the
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open air, where he could look upon the heavens as he passed away. The day was bright and warm, and the old man was borne and placed in the shade of a large tree which stood in his yard. And as the evening came on, the western sky was filled with great cumu- lus clouds of many hues, their edges burnished with silver and gold, and around their highest peaks was like unto drifted snow, firm and pure enough for angel's feet to tread upon. And then there came a rift in the clouds just as the glorious golden sun was tipping the horizon ; and the old man looked upon the gorgeous scene, and smiled as the sun of his life went down. He slept well.
And Daniel Adair, when scarcely more than one and twenty, married a delicate maiden of seventeen sum- mers-one we have not known in these pages. Her hair was of that peculiar shade of light auburn which looked to have been spun from silver rather than from gold ; she had large hazel eyes, a voice like low, soft, sweet music, and her face was very pleasant to look upon. But a few days after she became a mother, a
". . . wind came out of the cloud by night Chilling and killing "
the fair young wife.
After a year or two had passed away, Daniel Adair, who had sincerely mourned the loss of his fair young wife, found another beautiful, kind, and gentle one to take her place both in his heart and in his home-none other than Joseph Adair's little favorite, in years gone by, Carrie Gilroy. And in after years Dan's and Car- rie's pleasant home was nearly filled with little ones- sons and daughters, and the motherless child was
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among them. Judge Gilroy's elder daughters were married some years before Carrie. and both to young lawyers who afterwards rose to eminence in their profession.
George Duncan remained in Salem but a few years after his marriage, and moved to another town, not far away, where he was for many years a prosperous merchant. He too, in time, had his " quiver full of arrows," and among them was a son named Joseph Adair, and a daughter named Laura.
Poor Benton ! His engagement to Miss Ritchie was soon broken off. She declined to make any explana- tions as to her relations with Walter Gowan ; and, before her return home, it was reported that she was engaged to a wealthy young gentleman, who lived in the town where she had remained so long on a visit. The report proved to be so far true that it was only a few months after her return home before a young man came and took her back with him as his bride. But in a year or two the husband and wife came back on a visit, so it was said, to Mr. and Mrs. Ritchie ; but they remained a long time, and the husband was often in town and as often tipsy. And matters grew worse and worse ; and then there came a petition to the Legisla- ture for a divorce-for divorce was not then, as now, left to the decision of courts. The petition was granted ; and the husband left and went, -no one in Salem ever knew where. To the divorced wife's sub- sequent career we would not refer further than to say that it was a most unhappy one.
But Horace Benton himself ? Oh, he was greatly distressed for a time, but he finally got over it, and married a young lady with wavy black hair and lus-
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trous brown eyes ; and in after years it was said that Benton was so much in love with his home-his wife and children, that he could never be induced to run for the Legislature or for Congress ; but there were others who said it was because he was " so confoundedly lazy." Certain it is his " constitutional laziness," as he himself termed it, prevented his ever attaining the eminence he might, with his varied and brilliant tal- ents, so easily have attained.
Jefferson Brantley remained a sportsman to the end of his days. His life was indeed an eventful one-a roving, restless, adventurous life, rich and poor by turns. Yet there ever remained much that was good in him ; he was proud and fond of his wife ; he never let her see him touch a card ; he never invited a gam- bler to his house, or introduced one to his wife or children ; and his children-sons and daughters-were educated at the most expensive schools in the country. When at the head of one of the largest gambling saloons, in a large Southern city, he would permit no boys, nor young men whom he knew to be poor, to gamble at his tables. And he was liberal, yea, even generous to the poor, particularly to those he had known about " old Salem."
When Mr. Brantley's eldest son was nearly grown, the father chanced to meet upon the street an "old Salem " boy who was intimate with his son, and after a few kindly words said : " You know my son well. Have you ever seen or known of his playing cards ?"
"No, sir ; I never have," answered the boy em- phatically.
" I am glad-very glad to hear you say so," said Mr. Brantley ; then, after a short pause, and looking
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the boy full in the face, as if to impress a lesson on his mind, he added : " Much as I love my son, I would rather see him-laid-in-his grave than know that he would ever become-a gambler."
"Then, why is it, Mr. Brantley," the boy asked, " that you do not quit playing ? "
" Ah, my dear boy," he answered with much earn- estness, " if I knew of any other way to make a living for my family, and educate my children, I would do so, but I am now-too-old, and know-nothing-else."
A few years later, Mr. Brantley, who was ever regarded as a peaceable man, considering the life he led, was killed in defending the honor of a friend-one whom he had known in Salem as a boy. He was a gambler, but he was a brave, kind-hearted man, and a true friend.
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Squire Howard and his good wife lived to a good old age, and left an unblemished record. Their numerous sons and daughters were all valued and respected mem- bers of society. Dan Adair, who knew the old Squire well for many years, said of him, long after the Squire's death :
" What ! old Squire Kit Howard ? Yes, I knew him well ; and there was less selfishness in his nature than in any man's I ever knew. Why, I'll tell you what he once did. He sold his crop of tobacco to Dick Gilroy, the old Judge's youngest son, and Dick shipped it to New Orleans ; and prices went down so that season that Dick lost money on the Squire's crop. And, would you believe it, the old Squire and Dick came near having a quarrel about it : the Squire insist- ed on standing the loss, because, as he said, Dick had proposed to pay him too much for the tobacco ; and
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Dick swore like a trooper that he would n't stand it, and that the Squire must receive the full amount he, Dick, had proposed to pay. At another time, some "movers " were passing the Squire's house, and, one of their wagons happening to break down, the man asked the Squire to buy the broken wagon and the yoke of oxen that had been pulling it,-said it would be a great accommodation to him, and offered the wagon and oxen for twenty-five dollars. It so happened that the Squire had some money by him-which was n't often the case-and he bought the wagon and oxen. After a while another man came along who wanted a yoke of oxen and a wagon, and offered the Squire forty dollars for the ones he had bought from the " movers." And, would you believe it, the old Squire said : 'You can have them, sir, for twenty-five dollars ; I don't need them, and that's all they cost me. And that," Dan added, " was the way the old Squire was about everything ; and, of course, he was poor ; but he always seemed to have as much as he needed or wanted, and was never in debt."
And sprightly, joyous, merry Ada Howard ! Yes, she got her Harry-Harry Gilroy, the eldest son of the old Judge, a large, fine-looking, and enterprising young merchant whom she had long loved ; and who, in after life, was very indulgent to his delicate wife. She had no children, and for many years before she died was a great sufferer, but bore her afflictions with much patience and entire resignation. She was ever warm- hearted, and a kind, good friend to the poor and afflicted. When her last summons came she was ready and prepared ; yea, seemed even rejoiced to exchange a life of suffering for one forever free from pain. Years
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have elapsed since she passed away, but her memory is still fondly cherished by many surviving relatives and friends.
The widow Adair, after her three daughters were grown and two of them married (her youngest daugh- ter was engaged to be married, but died a few days before the ceremony was to have been performed), was well cared for. For some years she sat by her chim- ney corner in winter, and by her open door in summer, and knit, knit, knit, until, her fingers and eyes failing, the little oil there was in her lamp of life was con- sumed, and almost without a flicker the dim light went out.
The widow Kent and her son remained on the old farm for a few years after the death of the old soldier and pioneer Elijah Wright, and until the old log cabin was about to tumble down. The boy, Elijah Kane Kent, paid his debt to Joseph Adair in a year or two ; and, by the time he was grown, the honest, reso- lute fellow owned a larger and better farm ; and in the best room of his comfortable house there hung in a frame the obligation he had, when a boy, given to Joseph Adair.
Silas Holman lived on as he had done, in Salem, for several years,-only he became more and more of a recluse,-until after the death of his sister and the marriage of his daughter, when he moved away and went to the far West, to find, so it was said, a better hunting ground.
Warren Davidson was married a few months after his last interview with Miss Laura Howard. related by us. He was fortunate in getting a wife who was very domestic in her habits, and she was known among her
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neighbors as a "managing woman." For a year or two after his marriage, Davidson remained pretty closely at home, and, from money received from his wife, paid off his entire indebtedness, including the note he had given to Henry Rudolph, which was trans- ferred to Jefferson Brantley. But then, year by year, he became more intemperate. To make matters worse, he had a passion for the turf, and for some years owned several " racers," which generally turned out " losers." Hence his fortune slowly melted away. It would have done so much faster but his wife, who had no children, attended personally not only to the management of the household but of all farming work. Davidson was, however, at all times, when not beastly drunk, a kind and hospitable man, and usually treated his wife with the utmost deference and respect. When lolling about his house, if he saw his wife approaching-returning from the supervision of some farin work,-he would occasionally summon one or more small negroes and make them spread a roll of home-spun carpet from the yard gate to the porch of his house, for his wife to walk upon ; and, 't is said, she never, on such occasions, failed to reward him with a smile. Mrs. Davidson reared two poor orphan children-a brother and sister -who were to her as a son and a daughter, and who, after the death of Mr. Davidson, and when the widow was old, infirm, and poor, provided well for all her wants.
Although he was only a horse, we would tell about the last days of Ben Simon ; and, strange as the little story may seem, we can vouch for its truth. When he was too old and stiff for a saddle-horse he was occasion- ally used to do light work about the farm. On a Satur-
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day afternoon in summer one of Mr. Adair's negro men rode the old horse to a mill, a-mile distant, for a bag of fresh corn-meal ; and on returning, about dusk, put Ben Simon in the stable and fed him. The stable door was supposed to have been left unfastened, for just after daylight on Sunday, Ben Simon was seen to walk through the stable lot to the gate, which was fastened by a wooden pin inserted in an auger hole bored in the post against which the gate swung. The horse pulled out the pin with his teeth, which he was never known to have done before; and, opening the gate, walked out into the road and across to the broad stiles of hewn logs which led over the fence that surrounded the yard in which stood Mr. Adair's residence. Over the stiles the old horse deliberately walked-a feat which few horses could have been made to perform, and proceeded directly to the platform in front of the main entrance of the house, where he began pawing as if to awaken the inmates. Mr. Adair, who had just risen and dressed himself, looked out of his window to learn the cause of the knocking, and was greatly surprised to see Ben Simon. He went out at once and soon discovered that the noble old animal was suffering from botts. Every known remedy was resorted to, but without avail, and about three o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Adair walked into town to see a friend who was ill, leaving Ben Simon stretched out upon the grass in the yard and, as he thought, dying. About an hour later, Mr. Adair was seated with several friends on a platform in front of a store in Salem, and had just told them about his old horse, -how he had apparently come from the stable to the house for relief, etc., when, to his astonishment, and that of all present, Ben Simon was
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seen coming up the street towards them. Mr. Adair at once arose and walked to the edge of the platform, and in a few moments the intelligent animal was by his side ; and after receiving a few pats from his mas- ter's hand, and rubbing his head once or twice against his master's shoulder, old Ben Simon turned slowly around and fell dead. It was ascertained that after Mr. Adair left home the horse arose and again walked over the stiles into the road ; and, with his nose nearly to the ground, as if tracking his master, walked off towards town. It did look, so every one said, as if the old horse had gone to town to see his master and die at his feet. Instinct or reason ! which was it ?
The year 1837 was long memorable as the year of the great financial panic. Through that fearful panic, which strewed the entire country with financial wrecks, the firm of Adair Brothers, although doing an extended business for country merchants, met all their engage- ments promptly. At one time they were so very hard pressed that Joseph Adair, who could make almost no collections, nor sell any of his lands, thought he would be forced to sell one or more of his negroes in order to meet a debt of eight hundred dollars due by the firm. But the money required was loaned them by none other than Joseph Adair's slave. Mingo, who took the note of the firm, payable six months after date and bearing eight per cent. interest. And, more than that ! Mingo intimated that he could let the firm have a little more money if required. When the note matured, Mingo was paid in silver coin fresh from the mint at New Orleans. In after years, Mingo was known to have some two or three thousand dollars, and perhaps more. Although abundantly able to have purchased his own
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freedom, and that of his wife, he never manifested any desire to do so, and he remained until his death the slave of Joseph Adair. His death, at a good old age, was quite sudden and unexpected, and what became of his money, -where it was secreted, or buried, -Viney, his wife, who survived him several years, never knew nor did any one else. His sudden death doubtless prevented his disclosing the secret.
In the year 1842 the county of Livingston was divided, and out of the eastern half the present county of Crittenden was formed ; and, as Salem was left on the borders of the old county, the county-seat was removed to Smithland. With the Courts went all the county officials and lawyers. And as the little town ceased to be the centre of the county's trade, first one and then another of nearly all whom we have known in these pages moved away. Three years ago (1880) there were left in "old Salem "-as it was then, and is now almost invariably called-only two or three of the houses that were there as late as 1842, but among them was the old Brick Hotel. The population of the town, which at one time numbered perhaps three hun- dred, does not now exceed fifty to sixty ; and good farming lands, are, we are told, as cheap, if not cheaper than they were forty or fifty years ago. But a change for the better is slowly but surely creeping over those picturesque hills and valleys, for the famous blue grass, that most succulent and nutritious of all grasses, has found there a soil and climate as congenial as that of Central Kentucky : and the old farms, exhausted by long-continued cultivation in tobacco, corn, etc., are being converted into pasture lands for the raising of fine horses, cattle, hogs, and sheep. Besides that, the
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surrounding country is rich in minerals and metals we have every reason to believe. 1
But sadder than the disappearances of familiar houses, and the decrease in the population of old Salem, is the fact that should any one who lived there forty years ago now revisit the almost deserted village, not only would he see no familiar faces, but he would hear no familiar surnames. What a restless, changing people we are in these United States of America ! So few of us have homes where our fathers lived. Many of us may oft have repeated the familiar line :
"How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood ! "
, but to how few of us are such scenes made doubly dear by those same scenes having also been dear to our father and our father's fathers !
1 The text was written in 1883 ; since then great changes have taken place in and around old Salem. The old Brick Hotel was burned down some years ago, but many new residences, some stores, and a handsome "Union " Church have been built; and the white population of the town is now as much, if not more, than ever before. Lands in the neighborhood have largely increased in value, now worth three or four times as much as in 1880; and what is known as the "Salem Valley " is one of the most prosperous agricultural districts in the State. In fact, Livingston County, in proportion to population, is now, we are assured, one of the largest exporting counties in the State of cattle and hogs. The great mineral resources of the county remain undeveloped, and lands are still relatively cheaper than in almost any portion of the West, considering the remarkable facilities for cheap transportation of produce by the three great rivers, -the Ohio, the Tennessee, and the Cumberland.
SMITHLAND, Ky., October, 1896. W. C. W.
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After the death of James Wilson, the gang around Cave-in-Rock were soon dispersed. One, who was per- haps as conversant as any outsider could be with the personnel and history of the gang, assured us that out of fifteen men, whom he had good reason to believe were members, nine met a violent death, three were sent to the penitentiary, but the fate of the remaining three was unknown to him. Verily, in this case, the " way of the transgressor was hard." On the other hand, it was but a few years before the Big Spring Meeting- house was, and we are assured is until this day, the centre of as quiet, law-abiding and religious a com- munity as can be found in the West. Colonel Lovell's expectation that from such seed (the building of the Meeting-house and School-house) he " expected a good crop " was fully realized.
Andrew Lovell, the "quiet little colonel," lived to a good old age, and died at peace with God and all mankind, leaving behind him a widow and seven or eight children. One of the youngest sons bore the name of Joseph Adair. Good old " Aunt Harriet," as nearly every one called the widow of Colonel Lovell. lived to a very advanced age, but was, in the midst of many trials and afflictions, sustained and comforted by an unwavering faith in a glorious immortality.
A few weeks after Walter Gowan was incarcerated in the jail at Salem he made his escape. By some it was believed that Ben Bolton, the blacksmith, who was at that time the County Jailer, was bribed and connived at the prisoner's escape ; but this charge was never openly brought against him. In fact, " Burly Ben" was generally liked, and considered, as one of his old friends expressed it, "about as honest as he could
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afford to be, considerin' his eleven white-headed sparks." Nor was there much regret ever expressed at the escape of Walter Gowan, for, notwithstanding the awful crime which he committed. it gradually came to be regarded as the act of a crazy man. Years after- wards a report, apparently well authenticated, reached Salem that, soon after Walter Gowan escaped from prison, he, under an assumed name, enlisted in the United States army, and was afterwards killed in battle.
The farm-house of the Gowans, after the suicide of Hinton Gowan, was never again occupied ; and, as predicted by Silas Holman, was by many regarded as a haunted house, and shunned. It consequently soon fell into decay ; and 't was said that on one dark night, when the winds were howling and shrieking through " fields and forests bare," some flat-boat men, whose "broadhorn " was lashed to the river bank near by, heard some unearthly voices in the old house, followed by shrieks as of one in mortal agony, and that the next morning the stones and timbers of the " haunted house " were strewn in every direction, so that in a few years the original location of the building could hardly - be identified.
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CHAPTER XXXI.
Joseph Adair Revisits Hillsboro, N. C .- His Last Letter to his Brother Daniel-Closing Incidents of his Life-Laura Howard Adair, as Wife, Mother, and Widow-The Author's Ardent Hope.
JOSEPH ADAIR was ever known as an honorable J man,-one whose word was as good as his bond. There were those who thought him close-fisted, but he was only so in that, being himself unassuming and unostentatious, he disliked anything like parade or extravagance. But there was no more public-spirited citizen in his county,-no one who worked harder or subscribed more liberally to promote improvements or advance the general good. And few men, in propor- tion to their ability, ever did more to aid young men who were beginning their business career. His home was the seat of a plain, old-fashioned, but generous hospitality. As a husband he was just what might have been expected from such a grave, thoughtful, and considerate man-one of such deep, pure, and fixed purposes and sentiments. As a father he was exacting of his sons :- that is, he required them to work, but he fully recognized the fact that there was "a time for all things," and when the time came to play he liked
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to witness his sons at their sports. Towards his daugh- ters he was ever remarkably indulgent. It is enough to say that few men ever had around them a large family of sons and daughters who more cheerfully obeyed, honored, and loved them than Joseph Adair. Towards the close of his long life he encountered many misfortunes, and some sore afflictions. His misfortunes, which were in no wise due to any want of prudence or foresight on his own part, he bore with manly fortitude and Christian resignation. At the close of the civil war, when his slaves were all emancipated, it seemed to be somewhat of a relief to him ; for he had been for many years an emancipationist, and had often been heard to say that his slaves had never been a source of revenue to him.
Joseph Adair's most serious afflictions were the death, first, of a witty, lively, cheerful, loving, black- eyed daughter-her father's pet-just as she was bloom- ing into womanhood. Later on came the death upon the battlefield of a son who gallantly fought in the ranks of "the boys in gray," and who, young as he was-for he was only two and twenty when he fell, - had already made his mark in literary work, and gave promise of rising to eminence, because of his extra- ordinary industry and devotion to his literary pursuits. At the mention of the names of these lost children, the feeble old man, who could never shed a tear, would tremble like one who has the palsy, and hence their names were rarely mentioned in his presence, and he himself never spoke of them.
Joseph Adair ever had a reverential esteem for things sacred, and many years before his death became a church member ; but he was never a sectarian, and had
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the broadest charity, not only for those who professed the name of Christ, but for those who were afar off, or in total darkness.
Near the close of his life the old man determined to gratify his longing desire to revisit the scenes of his childhood, and the graves of loved ones. A letter which he wrote from Hillsboro, to his brother Daniel- the last he ever wrote him-will more correctly portray the mind and heart of the old inan than any words of our own could do. We should premise that Daniel had shortly before sustained great financial losses ; from which, however, he subsequently in a great measure recovered. We should further state that Thomas Adair, Joseph's elder brother, had been dead for many years, and his widow and children had all left Hills- boro ; hence, in revisiting the home of his childhood, Joseph Adair did not expect to see a familiar face, to hear a familiar voice, nor renew an earthly tie. The letter was as follows :
" HILLSBORO, NORTH CAROLINA, "July 6, 1867.
" BROTHER DANIEL :
" When I left home I requested my daughter B- to write you and let you know where I was going, so you could write me, and I am now looking for a letter from you. I had a pleasant trip, and have been quite well since I left home. This is a quiet, pleasant town.
and the best shaded place I have ever seen.
The
society (I think ) very good : population say 1500.
" I am anxious to learn more about the condition of your business, etc. It looks hard for a man to work hard for forty or fifty years, and then, in his old age,
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to lose all, or nearly all by a few turns of the wheel of Fortune ; but I hope and trust you will still have plenty to be above want, or dependence on the favors of those who may now be rich through your generosity.
"For my part I am trying to school myself to be contented with whatever condition Providence may have in store for me : and yet I think it right to use reasonable industry and economy, but not to place our whole soul on the things of this world ; for this is not our abiding place-in a short time the places that now know us will know us no more forever : and we should be earnestly engaged (daily) in seeking a home where there is no change, no sorrow, no death.
" I hope on my return home to visit you. I feel quite sure this is my last travel from home for any great distance.
" I have for years past had a deep and ardent desire to visit the place of my birth, and see the same hills, same spring branches and creeks, over which I ran- bled and through which I waded and paddled when I was but a child and had no cares. This desire is now in part gratified, and will soon (I hope) be fully so. In a few days I expect to visit the graves of my ancestors, and take one long-long, lasting look at them.
" Give my love to your wife and kiss the babies for me.
" Your brother, "JOSEPH ADAIR."
After returning home to Kentucky, the old man said that as he walked back, alone, to Hillsboro, from his visit to the graves of his ancestors, he suddenly became quite giddy and almost blind ; and, reeling to one side
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of the road, sat down, thinking that his last hour had perhaps come. "But," he added, "I was rather pleased than otherwise at the thought of dying there, and being buried near my mother."
A year or two later the good old man, surrounded by many loved ones and sustained by his devoted wife, passed gently away to his long home, and was buried close beside his darling daughter and his brave boy.
And Laura Howard, the affectionate, considerate. and unselfish daughter and sister, was for over forty years the faithful, loving, and helpful wife of Joseph Adair. During all those years she nobly bore her part in the heat and burden of life's duties, and met her dis- appointments, trials, and afflictions with the calmness, fortitude, and resignation emanating from her Christian life and character. But the years that have elapsed since her husband died have indeed been years of chas- tening and full of sorrow. Two more of her sons, in the very prime of life and usefulness, have been taken from her; and her remaining children are now scattered far and wide, necessitating long and tiresone journeys to visit them and see her numerous grandchildren. And, sad to say, not one of all her children remains at or near the old homestead, to which she feels con- strained to make a pilgrimage as often as she can. These visits fill the mind of the aged and white-haired widow with floods of mournful memories, but thither her tottering footsteps will tend ; for to her the one sacred spot on earth's wide expanse is that where repose the remains of her husband, two of her children. and other loved ones.
And now our tale is ended ! We may and we fear
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we have told it very imperfectly, but the telling of it has been a pleasant task, for it has enabled us to while away many an hour that would, because of bodily infirmities, otherwise have hung heavily. In con- clusion, and before regretfully laying down our pen, we would express our ardent hope that the broad les- son of charity and unselfish devotion to duty, displayed in the lives of some of the characters we have attempted to portray, will, as seed sown in good ground, bring forth an abundant harvest to the glory of God our Father.
THE END.
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