USA > Tennessee > Old times in West Tennessee : reminiscences, semi-historic, of pioneer life and the early emigrant settlers in the Big Hatchie country > Part 3
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Reminiscences of Old Times
ax grazing the bear's head. Bruin, infuriated, mounted Cuffy, sprawling him his full length upon the ground. Men, women and children screamed for help. Help was, luckily, just in time. The dogs were up, and engaged the black monster's attention, pinching him behind every time he would put his head down to bite Jim, until my father came up with his long single-barrel. Approaching as close as possible, fearing a stray shot might find its home in one of his favorite dogs, he reached within a few feet. The dogs, being encouraged, made a furious attack, pressing the bear to a rout, when he rushed, with an angry growl, wide and extended jaws, tow- ard my father, until he reached the muzzle of the long single-barrel. Thrusting it down his broad throat, he fired. Old Bruin sunk upon his knees, to rise no more. The long single-barrel was a nota- ble "London fowling-piece." My father had brought it from North Carolina, from whence he moved to the old-settled portion of Mississippi. It was seven feet long. Twenty-four "blue whistlers" was an ordinary " buck load," and two ounces of small shot for a duck load. It was a common occurrence, when fired into a drove of deer, to " bring down" three or four. Deer were so plentiful that, in riding through the woods, it was rare to be out of sight of one. During the winter and early spring it was common to see as many as thirty and forty in one herd. In the spring they fed principally on the young buds. They would frequent at night the " new ground " to feed upon the teuder buds of the small growth which had been ent down during the day. "Fire-
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hunting" became a favorite, as well as an easy, mode of hunting. I remember, one dark, cloudy night, "we boys" had gone to bed, my father halloded up Jack from his "quarters" to fix his pan and make ready for a fine hunt on the "new-ground." "We boys" were up and dressed in a jiffy, not surprised, however, that we could n't go, but to be up and wait the result of the hunt until the big gun fired, was all we wanted. Off stalked Jack, with the fire-pan upon his shoulder, my father trailing close behind him, with his long single-barrel, "we boys" follow- ing to the front steps (the entrance to the broad lawn in front of the house was over steps made of square hewed logs), where we took our seats-(I might as well say here that there were five of "we boys," two older and two younger than the writer)-watching in breathless silence the windings of the fire- pan through the new-ground. "There," says the oldest brother, "they have found eyes. See Jack moving his pan, so as to give father a good sight." The words were hardly uttered when, bang! went the old long-gun. No longer restrained, we broke for the " fire-pan," tumbling over brush and poles, which for the most part covered the ground, the two younger brothers crying out, now and then, "Stop; please don't leave us; it's so dark we can't see." Coming up to where the fire was burning, upon a large stump, we found father and Jack dragging the deer together. He had killed four outright, and crippled or wounded others. The dogs, alive to what was going on, were there before we came up. Follow- ing the blood of the wounded, they soon came up
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to two more dead, which were dragged up to the others. Half a dozen deer at one shot seems in- credible. Facts, however, are sometimes stranger than fiction. The deer were feeding upon the ten- der buds around a newly-made brush-heap, standing thick as sheep round a salt-log. Beside, a discharge of twenty-four " blue whistlers" into a herd of deer such as were then seen in the wilds of . the Big Hatchie, and particularly when standing circled round a brush-heap, from such a gun, was but little short of the destructive projectiles from the "little more grape, Captain Bragg," against the Mexicans. The cart was sent for, and the six deer taken to the house. Venison was no rarity, however; only the number of eyes that were seen, and how thick they stood round the brush-heap, was discussed. We were all getting tired-particularly the negroes-of " blue jerk."
The reader must bear with me in our personal his- tory; we have aught else yet to write about. We were yet in the wilderness-in a wilderness of game -deer, bear, now and then an elk, the wolf, the panther, wildcat and catamount, and all the various sorts of "varmints." We had no neighbors, and if we had had, there were no roads leading to their dwelling-places. There were not so many as a half dozen cotemporary settlers north of the Big Hatchie, in Tipton county, and the nearest was twelve miles off, by section lines. And we had not become ac- quainted. It was not until fall, when the hunting season opened, that we saw or held intercourse with red or white man. The county was yet visited by
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bands of Chickasaw hunters, every fall and winter. They still regarded it as their hunting ground. My narrative, therefore, must be, for the most part, wrought from the wildwoods and its innumerable tenants, in which much of our personal history must crop out. The general features of the country north of the Hatchie, except for its richness of soil, giant forests, impenetrable canebrakes, tare-blanket thick- ets, grape and bamboo jungles, and the wild pea-vine in spring and summer, so thickly matted-overrun- ning the undergrowth-as to impede travel on foot or horseback, presented nothing of topographical interest. The same may be said of the country ex- tending to the mouth of the Ohio and Tennessee rivers. It had long been the favorite hunting- ground of the Chickasaws and pioneer settlers, who were, for the most part, men of the woods, and lived by the chase. Of such were Davy Crockett, and many like him.
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CHAPTER II.
Early Settlers Forming Neighborhoods-Joe Seahorn and the Hog's Hide-Nancy and her Peril with the Panther- Panther Hunt-The Road to Covington-First Ferry in Tipton on the Hatchie-Dickens and his Taxes-Old Jack.
BURIED, as it were, in the wilderness, beyond the outskirts of busy civilized life, we lived in Quaker simplicity: The schoolmaster and the preacher had not yet arrived in the land-nothing around us to imbue the young mind with "a sense of the vanity of the world." Peers of the noblest of the land, we were a law unto ourselves, drawing philosophy from the shades of the wild woods and the profusion of wild flowers that decked the bosom of mother earthi Our father dignified labor by requiring that every one should put his "hand to the plow." The field and the new ground were the objects of interest. During the spring and summer months the settling of our new home went on swimmingly. The bear and the hogs gave the only trouble-was the only source of annoyance. Their voracious appetites for hog-meat ofteu exceeded the vigils of the herds- man. Many were torn and shockingly lacerated before he, with his dog and gun, could get to their relief. It may be interesting to the reader to know the habits and mode of the bear in procuring food. They often exhibit more than beastly skill in that
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particular. Cautiously approaching the hog, under cover of thick underbrush, a large tree or log, they make their way until within reach, when, rearing up upon their hinder feet, and making a leap, the hog is safe within the folds of their strong arms. Sinking deep their broad jaws across the hog's back, close up to the shoulders, they go to work to gratify their greed, waiting not for the animal to die. The most timid of the wild beasts of the woods, yet, when they get a taste of the blood of their victim, they hold on like grim death, often contending fear- lessly with man and dog for their prey. It is in summer alone that they feed 'on flesh, upon which they never grow fat. As soon as the mast begins to harden they quit the fields and hog-meat, and soon begin to fatten. It is a novel sight to see them feeding in the "lappin season." This begins in the early fall, before the acorns begin to fall to the ground. They climb up the tallest oaks of the for- est, and with their great arms they gather the limbs together as a sheaf of wheat, holding on to them until stripped of their fruit. In this way they con- tinue through the lap, until the tree is stripped of its acorns, or until he gets his fill. By early winter they become fat, in a good mast year, and house up for the balance of the winter in some secluded place, near water, only coming out when thirsty, until spring. With old bear-hunters, the time for them to unhouse themselves is when the dogwood begins to blossom; the she-bear brings out her young then. February is the month for their par- turition.
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Soft, golden, sunny September, when the forest is in the "sear and the yellow leaf," with her crimson sunsets and "gray morn," sure signs of the first frost, is the happy period of the hunter's life-when the deer will have shed their summer suit, and taken on his winter gray and blue; the antlers of the noble buck dropping their soft velvet covering, and becoming hard and white; the bear getting lazy from his surfeit of fat, and taking himself to the thick jungle for winter quarters; the wild turkies, in countless numbers, flocking from the ridges to' the bottoms. The most inviting grounds on the green earth, to the hunter, was the Big Hatchie country, at the period when my father moved to it. We marvel not that the Chickasaws had chosen it as their favorite hunting-ground.
During the fall and winter new-comers began to find their way, and found settlements north and east of us, yet we were without neighbors, save a few squatters and occupants. The smoke from their cabins could be seen rising up through the dense forest in many directions. Our nearest squatter neighbor was old Mrs. Seahorn, her son Joe, and son-in-law Bill Barnes. Joe and Bill were noted for living well, without ever being known to work; they dressed well and rode fine horses, and were rarely found at home. Where they went, or what they brought away, concerned but few, as they were not hemmed in by inquisitive neighbors. Joe was no hunter; Bill, however, was a good bee-hunter. The wild-woods afforded an abundance of honey- giving flowers; beside, in the virgin freshness of
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the land, the honey-dew lay heavy upon the thick foliage during the spring months. With Bill Barnes, honey was his only staple commodity, and afforded the main support of the Seahorn family. For the want of vessels to put his honey in, he resorted to the digging of troughs in which to keep it. An occurrence soon happened that required him to pre-empt in some other section of the wild-woods. My father had been missing some of his fattening hogs at a period of the year when old Bruin did not feed upon flesh. Old Jack, who was the hog minder and defender, was put to look out for signs that would lead to solve the mystery of the missing hogs. He was not long in getting on the right track. Stalking through a thick hazlenut thicket near the squatters' cabin, his dog grabbed up from behind a large log, the skin of a hog. It proved, from the flesh-marks, to be the skin of one of the missing hogs. Cutting a pole, he hoisted it upon his shoulder and brought it home. The mystery of the missing hogs was solved. My father sent for Joe Scahorn, and required from him an explanation as to how the hide of one of his hogs came to be covered up in the leaves near his house. Seahorn vowed his want of knowledge and total ignorance in the matter, visiting imprecations upon old Jack's head, swearing that the old negro lied if he said that he found the hide near his house, and accused him of being the guilty party, and then laying it upon him, to throw suspicion off from himself and the other negroes. My father, however, was in no wise convinced of Seahorn's innocence. Negro tes-
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timony being of no avail, he made him to understand that he must find an occupant claim in some other quarter, more congenial to the occupation he pro- posed following. Seahorn's hog-stealing soon found a place in song. Some of the boys worked off sev- eral verses, which was sung to the tune of "Harper's Creek and Roaring River." The following four lines are yet remembered of it, as it was sung in the neigh- borhood, by the boys and negroes:
" Joe Seahorn, he stol'd a hog, The hide he hid behind a log. Old Jack's dog, he found th , hide, And Sahorn swore that Jak he lie l."
Early on the following morning, old Mrs. Seahorn came over to see my mother, to get her to "speak to the 'Squire," as she said, "not to be hard on my boy Josey." By way of a peace-offering, she brought an apron-full of "nice dried peaches," which she had cut and dried with her own hands; "and," says she, "here is some nice, new honey. I told the boys, last spring, when they showed my boy Pinkey where the white mare was, that when Bill Barnes cut a bee tree, I would give them a fill of honey; so here it is. I just brought it along in this gourd; it's my milk gourd; it's very nice." Then she appealed to my mother to talk to the 'Squire, and get him no to be hard on Josey. "And," says she, "we ain' going to stay here long, so I brought you some o the best peach-seed you ever did see; they's as ye lew as gold, big as your two fists, and, when ripe you can sock your thumb in them plumb to th seed; they is cling-stones. I just thought," said she
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" I would bring you them as a friendly offering, and something for you all to remember me by, for you all has been mighty kind to we all. Nancy was so sorry she didn't have something to send the 'Squire. She talks so much about his saving her from being eaten up by the panther. We all love the 'Squire for his kind act in saving Nancy's life from the jaws of the ugly beast. Do, pray, speak to the 'Squire not to be hard on Josey." My mother gave her a little coffee, which she tied up in the corner of her apron. With many thanks she bid her good-morn- ing, saying, "Please do speak to the 'Squire not to be hard on Josey." The circumstance of my father's having saved little Nancy from a shocking death, occurred in this wise: The squatter's cabin was a short distance above the bluff spring, near the creek; they got their drinking water out of a "wet- weather spring," which, in dry weather, went dry. When they had to resort to the bluff spring for drinking water, one afternoon, late in the fall, little Nancy had been sent to the bluff spring. The path leading from the squatter's cabin meandered down a deep ravine to where it empted in the creek, and thence down to the spring. The little girl had over-staid her time at the spring; the shades of evening were fast upon her. When she started back, tripping along until she reached the mouth of the ravine, where the path turned through a dark jungle of undergrowth and over-hanging vines, a huge panther sprang upon her. My father happened to be on the hill above, where a couple of negro men were at work on some mill timbers. Hearing the
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scream of little Nancy, whom he had seen leaving the spring with her gourd of water, he immediately comprehended that something terrible had befallen her. The child's scream and wail increased and was heart-rending. He made for her with the utmost haste. The two negro men followed. Luckily, he had his short, large-bore rifle with him. Reaching the mouth of the ravine, the scream of the child came from across the creek. He noticed the big gourd the little girl was carrying, at the mouth of the ravine, and quickly comprehended the peril she was in. He ran across the creek (the water was shallow), and upon reaching the top of the bank, he discovered a large panther, just entering the thick cane, fast hold of little Nancy, in the act of dragging her over a large log. The panther had just mounted the log, holding on to Nancy by the arm close up to her shoulder. Showing his broad side, quick as thought, a well-aimed bullet was sent through his heart. At the crack of the rifle, the panther sunk upon the log quivering in death. The two negro men were at my father's back when he fired, running up with their axes (seeing that the monster still held on to the little girl's arm), to give him the final blow. The panther was dead, yet her great jaws were fast hold of Nancy's arm, and had to be prized open to relieve her. Her little arm was shockingly larcerated and torn; otherwise, save some slight scratches, she was unhurt. It was a she panther, and her aim was to drag the child alive toherden, where she had her young. The men cut a grape vine, noosed it around the panther's
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neck, and dragged it home, while my father took little Nancy in charge to her mother. It was for thus rescuing little Nancy from the jaws of death that old Mrs. Seahorn had expressed herself so grateful. Hardly had they gotten across the creek, when, in the thick cane behind them, rang, with the wild shrieks and yells of a panther, the mate of the old she just killed. He had doubtless been standing guard to the young cubs, sharpening his teeth upon hearing the screams of the child, and ready for the slaughter. His disappointment, and absence of his companion, had brought forth his terrific yells.
My father decided that night to give the old gentle- man panther a warming the next morning. He was certain to be found near the den, watching over the cubs, and waiting the return of their dam. Every arrangement was made for the hunt. My two eldest brothers had killed their deer. The next to the oldest had become an expert hunter. Life in the woods, with rifle in hand, he greatly preferred to the "plow handles." He was a splendid shot with all, never failing to bring down his gobbler at long range. The old long, single barrel, the short, large bore (called a Yorger), and the little rifle, running sixty bullets to the pound, were all the guns my father had. Old Jack, who generally formed one of the party in a hunt, and who was a pretty good shot, was sent over to Mrs. Seahorn's to borrow Bill Barnes' rifle. (Joe and Bill Barnes were absent at the time.) By sun-up we were all across the creek (I was permitted to go along to see the young cubs as well as the fun). Reaching the log upon which the
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old she was killed the evening before, the dogs dashed off on a running trail in the direction she was aiming to drag her prey. To pursue with rapidity was impossible; the thick cane and jungle was, for the most part, impenetrable, and but for the openings caused by the rotting out of the fallen trees, it would have been impossible for man to have gotten through it. "Hark! hark!" says my father, " the doys have come to a bay ; keep a sharp look out boys." The sharp, angry bark of the dogs impelled the hunters forward as rapidly as they could go. Get- ting close up, warning was given to" keep a sharp look out." Soon we came upon them surrounding a large "clay-root," their hair erect, barking most fiercely. "List! list !! boys, the old fellow is crouched some where near; keep a sharp look out." Just then old Jack had gotten within a few feet of the clay-root; when my father noticed it, from the crouched position of one of the dogs, and his fierce gaze through the opening of the cane overhead, he called to him, "Look out, Bull sees him." Simulta- neously with the quick spoken words of warning to old Jack, came the sharp crack of the little rifle, and with it the sprawl of Jack, and the panther upon him. In an instant the dogs covered both Jack and the panther. The moment was terrific and painful, until the negro began to crawl out from under the dead monster. The next to the eldest brother, quickly comprehending the situation, in his eagerness to get the first shot, had slipped around to the body of the large fallen tree, where he could get a full view of the " clay-root," which rose above
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the bending cane, discovering the panther crouched upon a large root, intently watching the movements of the dogs below. Quick as thought, his rifle was well-aimed and fired, sending his bullet through his heart; in his death leap, he sprang upon Jack. He was the monster panther of the woods; his full length stretched out upon the ground, was eleven fcet two inches from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail. The entrance to the den of the old she was under the clay-root, in the hollow of the fallen tree, large enough for the dogs to enter and pass in for many feet. The cubs had got into the hollow beyond their reach Dry sticks and faggots were procured, a fire built up in the entrance of the den, and the cubs left to their fate.
My father, the fall of the first year he settled in the wilderness, surveyed out and cut a road through the Hatchie bottom, and established the first ferry on the Hatchie, below McGuire's, in Haywood. There was then a continuous road from Browns- ville to Covington, and became the principal road of travel between the two places, and my father's house the only habitation on the road, which of necessity became a "house of entertainment." The most frequent travel was by exploring parties, look- ing after and locating land for future settlement.
An amusing incident occurred soon after my father commenced taking in travelers, which may find interest with the reader. Some half dozen well dressed gentlemen rode up one night, while the fam- ily were at supper, and asked to "stay all night." They were ushered in the best room, where a blaz-
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ing fire was burning. It was winter, and the night cold. Supper was ordered for "six hungry men," who hadn't "eat a mouthful since early morn." Word was soon conveyed to my mother that they were real, nice, broadcloth gentlemen. Of course, something extra nice was in rapid course of prepara- tion. The servants and everybody spread them- selves. The children, you know, couldn't be kept out of sight; they were bound to see the fine stran- gers. New jackets and clean white aprons were put on, and the servants required to put on clean frocks. My mother got out her best damask. The new tea tray and china were brought into requisition. Pre- serves, in glass dishes, were arranged upon the table. A fresh cake of butter was fixed up most tastily, in " pine apple shape," and graced the center of the table, and the last two sperm candles, stuck in the tall silver candle-sticks, were lighted, and the guests invited in to supper. My mother, with her new "turban" on, had taken her seat at the head of the table, behind the new tea-tray and glittering service The party entering the dining-room (a shed room boarded up with clapboards) were led by a tall and stately silver-haired gentleman. Advancing to the chair assigned him, he paused, resting his hand upon the back, with a fixed gaze at my mother, whose eyes were also riveted upon him. A mutual recognition followed, he advancing as she rose to meet him. Her features expressing a pleasant sur- prise, she exclaimed, "Colonel William Polk, of North Carolina!" and extended her hand. "And this is Mrs. Patsy Seawell " said the Colonel
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clasping her hand in both of his. "My dear madam, this is the most joyous meeting since I left our na- tive State." My father, who had stepped out to give some orders about their horses, stepped in just then, and, recognizing each other, a general introduction went the rounds.
Colonel William Polk (father of the late Right Reverend Bishop Polk) and my mother were famil- iarly acquainted in their young days. Their meet- ing was most unexpected to both of them. He, with a party of young men, were exploring the coun- try and looking after their landed interests. With the party was young Dickens, son of Colonel Dick- ens, of Madison. His business seemed to be to pay the taxes on the large landed interests of his father, and possibly to make further investments in lands. With less mother wit than good looks and fine clothes, he talked much of a roll of United States bills he carried about his person, which he called his "taxes." A young Seawell, son of the late Judge Seawell, of Raleigh, North Carolina, was of the party. Seawell was a great tease, and wonder- fully fond of a. good joke. Young Dickens was the butt of the party, easily quizzed, and afforded great merriment. Whenever the conversation would re- lax, Seawell or some member of the party would ask him to feel for his "taxes." He would run his hand around under his vest and announce that "they were all safe." To sleep the party it was necessary to have "pallets" made down on the floor of the best room. Young Dickens was the first to lay down. Taking off his coat and vest, he stretched 3
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