USA > Tennessee > Old times in West Tennessee : reminiscences, semi-historic, of pioneer life and the early emigrant settlers in the Big Hatchie country > Part 4
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himself: out on his pallet, while his companions re- mained up cracking jokes. He soon fell asleep, when Seawell suggested a practical joke upon the innocent sleeper, who, in turning over upon his side, exposed to view the red morocco belt contain- ing his "taxes." The belt was cautiously taken from around his body. Dickens snored away, and the rest of the party retired for the night. Dick- ens was the first to rise in the morning. Finding a rousing fire. burning in the broad fire-place, he bounced up from his pallet. His first care was to feel for his "taxes." The belt was gone. He cried aloud, "My taxes! My taxes! By thunder, where is my taxes?" With one leap he was at the door, holding on to old Jack's coat-tail. Jack had just finished making the fire, and was leaving the room, with the gentlemen's boots under his arm. Young Dickens jerked him back in the room and com; menced a search in his pockets for his money-belt, crying out in a wailing voice, "My taxes! My taxes!" Jack protested and declared that he didn't have them, until he began to get a little worried, when he said: " De Lord bless me, mister, dis nigger don't know nothin' 'bout your tacks. What you think he wants wid your tacks! Bless me, mister master's got plenty tacks!" "You old fool," said Dickens, "I don't mean tacks-taxes! money, in a red morocco belt I buckled around me when I wen to bed last night. When I got up this morning it was gone. Nobody has been in this room but you." "Oh! aha! Money, you say; money in red morocco belt! No, sir! Dis nigger knows nothin
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bout it. You got hold de wrong nigger dis time; dat you have." In the mean time the whole party were awake, and enjoying the scene before them. Dickens, not finding his taxes upon the person of Jack, and becoming overpowered with a sense of his loss, sunk down in the nearest chair and boo- hooed outright. Seawell's sympathies were touched. Hle arose from an adjoining bed, picking up the counterpane off of the pallet Dickens had slept on. He gave it a shake, and out fell the red morocco belt. The young man sprang to it. Picking it up, he burst out into a half laugh and cry of joy, saying, " What a fool I was." Jack returned soon with the gentleman's boots. Dickens said to him that he was only joking, pitching him a silver half dollar. " Thankee, thankee! This'll buy me more'n tacks enough to make me two pairs of shoes."
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Reminiscences of Old Times
CHAPTER III.
Neighborhoods Forming-Thomas Durham, Founder of Durhamville-Johnny Bradford-Thomas Thompson, Esq .- D. C. Russell-The First Frame House-Jacob Niswanger-William Murphey, the Hatter, and his Black Snakes-Joseph Wardlow-Stephen Childress- Thomas Childress-William Turner and Parson Collins ~ Their First Night in the Big Hatchie Country-Arthur Davis, the Pioneer Preacher-First School-house in Tipton North of Hatchie-Old Man Larkin Gaines, the First Schoolmaster.
THE succeeding and following year witnessed the rapid settling up of the country north and north- east of us. Neighborhoods had begun to form; the schoolmaster and the preacher had found their way in the land. Thomas Durham, who was our first militia Colonel in Tipton, north of Hatchie, founded a settlement on the high hill, where the village of Durhamville, which took his name, now stands. Honest Johnny Bradford found his way from Illinois, and settled below Durham's, on the head waters of Williams' creek, where he spent his last and best days.
Thomas Thompson and the Russells moved in from North Carolina, and settled on the waters of Fisher's and Garner's creeks, and became the nucleus of the settlement north of Williams' creek. David C. Russell had built the first framed house in
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Tipton north of Hatchie; it was built in 1827 by the two young Adams, who came to the settle- ment with William Turner and Parson Collins. The two young men (brothers) sawed out with a whipsaw the lumber with which they built the house-the whipsaw, for many years, supplied all the lumber that was used. The Gillilands came in from Pennsylvania a few years after, and purchased the house of Russell, and built a mill on what was then called Fisher's creek, which afterwards was called Gilliland's creek, by which name it is yet known. They established the first store of any note in Tipton north of Hatchie; men of enterprise and business tact, they established the first store on " Hurricane Hill," and contributed largely to the interest and prosperity of the neighborhood.
Thomas Thompson was the first magistrate in Tipton north of Hatchie, and a member of the County Court for many years. A worthy and most excellent good citizen, he ever maintained the dignity and high respect due his court, by which he was enabled to command the respect and aid of all good citizens in quelling an outbreak, which rarely failed to occur on all public occasions.
The writer remembers to have heard related an amusing account of the way the law was executed in those days. The 'Squire usually held his courts on Saturdays. At the same time and place it was usual for the settlement to arrange for a "shooting- match." While his court was in session, a fight grew up between Joe Seahorn and another neigh- bor. The 'Squire ordered that the offending parties
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- be brought before him. Seahorn, who was guilty of the assault and battery, took to his heels, when he saw the officer coming; finding that he would be overtaken, he took a tree, and up it he went to the top. The officer commanded that he come down; he defiantly refused, and dared the officer to "come up and take him." Thinking himself safe, he crowed. like a cock upon his tallest perch. The officer, resolute and fertile of expedients, sent for an axe-one was close at hand-with which he went to work to cut him down. When the tree began to crack and show signs of falling, Joe began to think the matter getting serious, and hallooed out to " hold on," that he "surrendered," that he would come down. The officer hallooed back for him to "hold on," that the tree would soon be down, and whacked away. Joe could stand it no longer. When the tree began to crack and shake, down he slid, strik- ing the ground as the tree left the stump. The officer, with his posse, seized him, and marched him up before the 'Squire, who ordered that he be held in close confinement until the shooting-match was over. The officer, wishing to take his chance at shooting for a quarter of beef, and there being no strong place at-hand in which to confine the prisoner, sought a cart body which lay convenient, and put him under it, and with the aid of the by- standers, brought a heavy log and weighted it down ; thus Joe was kept closely caged until the shooting- match was over. The other party was let off with an apology on his part, and a reprimand from the court.
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Cotemporary with the settlements "on Williams' and Fisher's creeks, Captain Stephen Childress settled in the thick woods six or more miles below, on a creek, which took his name, where he opened a large plantation. The Captain lived but a few years. His widow, who was the sister of Thomas H. and Jesse Benton, with a large family, survived him many years. Thomas Childress, son of Cap- tain Stephen, with his beautiful young wife, settled in the woods near his father's the same year. He is yet living near where he first settled, and is, I believe, the only surviving Childress of the old stock. He yet maintains, under the weight of many years, an elastic step and the dignity of his race.
The year following, old man Jacob Niswanger, and his son-in-law, Joseph Wardlow, moved in from South Carolina, and opened up a large plantation on Garner's creek. The same year, and from the same State, came old man Larkin Gaines, and his sons, Pendleton, Powell and Abner. Few "new- comers" contributed more to the interest and advancement of the settlement, than Niswanger and Waldron. The old man Jacob, a man of many eccentricities of character, was a genius with all. Everything needed or useful in the economic man- agement of his affairs bore marks of his handy- work. By his probity and industry he amassed a fortune. A hatter by trade, he kept up his shop as long as he lived. He brought old man Murphey with him from South Carolina, who was long noted for being the best maker of hats in West Tennessee.
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William Murphey had his idiosyncrasies. Those of us who knew him when we were boys yet remember him and his black snakes with an amus- ing interest. The only instance "known of the snake's being cultivated and utilized is perhaps due to William Murphey; the hatter. He found them better mousers than the house cat, and intro- duced them into his shop for the protection of his furs and newly made hats. On a warm sunshiny day, you would see them coiled up in every crack and nitch in his shop, with their black eyes glistening like so many newly opened chinquepins. They kept his shop free of rats and mice. It is human to be afraid of snakes. They answered him a good purpose in keeping away the meddlesome boys. An amusing as well as a thrilling incident occurred to the old gentleman soon after he arrived in the settlement. He bad strolled out one day in the "new ground" on a snake hunt. He soon scared up,
. in the thick brush, a monster black snake, and made for it. The snake being pressed hard for a hiding place, took to a hole in the end of a hollow pole. He carefully stopped up the entrance to the hollow, and shouldering it, he started for the shop. He had gone but a short distance, when he began to experience a choking sensation; the snake had found his way out at another hole, and thrown him- self around the old hatter's neck. It being a large and powerful snake; he was unable to extricate himself. With difficulty he was able to call for help. Luckily several negro men were at work close by, who, discovering the perilous fix the old
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man was in, ran to his relief. It was only with their knives that they could prevent strangulation, by cutting the monster loose. The old gentleman was very thankful for the timely help, but sorely regretted to lose so fine a rat-catcher.
Joseph Wardlow built his first house at the big spring, forming the head of Garner's creek, and afterward made his permanent settlement below his father-in-law's, near the same creek, where he resided until the county of Lauderdale was formed in 1836, when he fixed his residence at Ripley, the newly located county site, building the first house in the place. He continued his residence in Ripley until his death, which occurred in 1863, in the seventieth year of his age. His name, long inti- mately connected and associated with the rise and progress of Lauderdale, as among the fathers of the county, is perpetuated in his noble sons, who, of the present day, stand among its most worthy and prominent citizens.
The Fishers, Blackwells, Doctor Abner Phillips, and others worthy of mention, were cotemporary in the Thompson-Russell settlement.
The settlement to the east and south of Durham- ville was formed by Matthew Fickett, Johnny Stone, William Turner, Kent Penic, Estes and others, many of whose decendants yet cultivate the land, and reside on the homes of their fathers.
Among those of the pioneer and early immigrant settlers, whose long and useful life is yet spared to recount the perils and hardships of pioneer life in the Big Hatchie country, none is more worthy a
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page in these semi-historic reminiscences than William Turner-Uncle Billy, as he is familiarly and reverentially called-who, in the spring-time of manhood, with his young and newly married wife, in company with several of his neighbors, cut loose their moorings from the shores of their native land, Kentucky, and floated out the Barron river into the Green, and down the Ohio into the Mississippi, landing at the mouth of the Big Hatchie, in the month of February, in the year 1827, in search of a home in a wild, and, to him, an unknown land.
His companions were Parson Reson B. Collins, Charles Cullin, and two young men named Adams. Heading the prow of their keel, with all their earthly goods, up the Hatchie, they poled away until they reached a point of high land interesting to look at. Dividing in search of a place upon which to locate, two took to the woods north of the river, and two south, the fifth remaining with the "women folks" on the boat.
Billy Turner and Parson Collins took to the north side, and struck out for the hills, and soon become lost in the woods. Bogueing about all day, they found themselves, at nightfall, on a high bluff, overlooking the tops of the tall trees to the north and west. They stood upon the Cole creek bluffs, ten or more miles away from their boat, bewildered in a wilderness of wild beasts. They brought a halt to gather in their confused thoughts. Turner pro- posed that they strike a fire and wait till morning. . The Parson opposed it, expressing his fears that they would be eaten up during the night by wild
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beasts. The brave-hearted Turner went to work, however, and gathered dry wood, built a fire and resolved to spend the night. Tired, and without food, he rolled himself up upon the ground to sleep. Hardly had he fallen to sleep, when the Parson aroused him, saying that he could hear "the tramp of the wild beasts;" that he could hear them "snapping and sharpening their teeth;" that they would be "eaten up alive before morning;" that he must get up and they would "watch together."
Billy, thinking that he ought to pray as well as watch, turned over and dropped to sleep again. He was again aroused from his slumbers by the Parson saying that he was dying of thirst; that if he didn't get some water soon he would die. What to do, or where to find water for his frightened, fever- ished companion, was a puzzle. Something had to be done, however, or he would die of fright and thirst. So he got up and commenced looking about for water; none could be found, unless it be under the bluff, which it seemed impossible to reach. To save life, however, they commenced slid- ing down, holding on to such twigs and rough places as they could feel; they were in utter dark- ness. Down they went, however, the Parson ahead, until they struck the bank of the creek. But how should he get to the water? The bank was perpen- dicular. The cane stood thick and heavy upon the bank, bending over to the surface of the water. The only way to get to the water was to slide down on the cane. So down the Parson crawled on top
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of the bending cane until his burning face came in contact with the cold water. Reviving from his fright, and slaking his thirst, his trouble was to get back from his perilous situation, which he had just began to realize. His friend Billy could render him no assistance, nor could he see him, with his heels cocked up in the air, and his head touching the water, for the black darkness that reigned under the bluff. After many efforts and almost superhuman exertion, the Parson succeeded in reversing his position, and getting his head up, he pulled himself to shore. They got back to the fire again-how, the narrator says, was impossible to tell. It was thus they spent their first night in the Big Hatchie country.
When the morning came, they were at a loss to know which direction to take to get back to the boat. From the high bluff the Parson heard a chicken crow. He became almost crazed with de- light, and told Billy that it was his rooster on the boat. Taking out his pocket-compass, he took the course. After several hours travel, they reached the boat, satisfied with the Cole creek hills. Cullen and one of the Adams boys had come in from their exploration on the south side, and reported un- favorably.
They went to work and poled higher up, reaching Childress' landing, where they made fast, and blazed their way up to the Thompson and Russell settle- ment. The year after "Uncle Billy" moved over and settled on Camp creek; a favorite camping creek with the Chickasaws, and from which circum-
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stance it took its name. For many years he enjoyed himself with the Indians, when they would come in on their fall hunts. He has told the writer, that he has counted as many as thirty deer, brought to their camp of a morning before the frost had left the ground. He still resides where he first made his permanent settlement in Tipton, now Lauderdale, forty-five years ago. Few men have lived so long and blameless a life as Uncle Billy Turner; noted for his many Christian virtues, he is venerated and esteemed by the community in which he lives, and highly respected by all who know him.
As a pioneer preacher, Parson Reson B. Collins proved himself unequal to the task. After a severe spell of fever, his mind lost its balance, and his friends prevailed on him to move back to Kentucky, which he did, after remaining a couple of years.
The man for the times, and suited to the work, soon made his appearanee in the land, in the person of Arthur Davis, who, lacking nothing in moral worth, or physical courage, came with the broad banner of his Master's kingdom in one hand, and the broad sword in the other. He came preaching that the wolf shall dwell with the lamb-that the "weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice's den"-that man was born to a "higher and brighter civilization." Few men knew better how to take the "bull by the horns," or win to his Master's kingdom a sinner's soul. Fond of pioneer life, he gloried in being called to preach in the wilderness. The writer is indebted to an old friend of Reverend Mr. Davis for many thrilling incidents, illustrative
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of the moral and physical heroism of the man. In the early settlement of the country, and before the building of churches, even with round logs, Mr. Davis made an appointment that he would preach at a certain school-house, on a certain day, in the vicinity of Denmark. A band of outlaws, living in the settlement, seeing the notice sticking up in the neighborhood, give it out that "no d-d Methodist preacher should preach in that house," and if Mr. D. attempted to fill his appointment, they would give him a sound drubbing. When he came to fill his appointment, he was informed of the threats, and advised that his life would be in danger if he undertook to preach. He paid no attention to their fears, and heeded not their advice, but went to his appointment. On reaching the place, he found the log-house already filled with the anxious and curi- ous of the neighborhood, and the regulators stand- ing apart with their sticks and clubs. He passed in, and up to the place assigned as a temporary pulpit. Inclining his head as a mark-of respect to the congregation, he paused and surveyed, with a penetrating eye, every member of the assembled neighborhood. Not a man of them did he know. He opened service, took his text, and preached. After the service was over, he announced au appointment, "Providence permitting," to preach at the same place again, on a stated day named, and invited the congregation to attend him out in the grove.
He passed out, as he went in, without turning his head to the right or to the left, and stopped at a
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stump. Taking off his hat and coat he laid them upon the stump, and then, turning to the assembled neighborhood, asked if there was present a member of any church, and paused for a reply. A gentle- man stepped forward and replied that he had been a member of the Presbyterian church. "That will do, sir; thank you," said Mr. Davis. "I have a wife and one child .. Her name is Drucilla. She lives at a certain place"-here giving such directions that he could not fail to find her. "I want you to prom- ise, by the vow you took when you joined the church, that if anything should happen to Arthur Davis to-day, by which he should never see her again, that you will tell her how it happened, and all about it. Now, Mr. Regulators," turning to a clump of men who were standing apart from the crowd, "I am ready for you. Come one at a time, and I'll show you who Art. Davis is." They looked at one another, and then at the preacher. "Don't keep me waiting," says he. "You have made your threats that no d-d Methodist preacher should preach in that house," pointing to it. "I am a Methodist preacher, and I have preached in it, according to my appointment. I am now ready to meet you, according to your appointment, one at a time, and you will make the acquaintance of Art. Davis."
The leader of the band threw down his club, walked up to the brave-hearted Davis and offered him his hand saying: "Mr. Davis, you are my sort of man; I like you, sir; you shall preach here when- ever it may please you to do so, and I will see you do it in peace. You are the preacher for me."
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With that the neighborhood gathered around him, introducing one another, until he had made the per- sonal acquaintance of every one present. He was ever after that a welcome preacher in the neigh- borhood.
Not long after that, a camp-meeting was being held near Denmark. Mr. Davis was, with other preachers, in attendance. It was a custom, in the early days of camp-meetings held in the Big Hatchie country, to organize a police to preserve order on the ground, and to keep out stragglers. During the progress of the meeting a half dozen or more row- dies and desperadoes, being instigated by a wild spirit and bad whisky, got up a fuss, which threat- ened to break up the meeting. The police, or guard, as they were then called, succeeded in arresting all of the disturbers, save one, who defied the guard and the whole camp-meeting. He had backed him- self in between two tents, and he was protected in the rear by another tent. The passage-way to him was just wide enough for one man to pass in. There the desperado had taken refuge, brandishing his bowie-knife, and threatening death to any one who dared put his hands upon him. Mr. Davis, hearing of the difficulty, quietly remarked that he would go and take him. Approaching the crowd which had assembled in front of the desperate man with his bowie-knife, he at once comprehended the work to be done. Reaching the entrance to the passage-way in which the desperado stood, with his glistening blade in hand, he turned to the by-stand- ers and asked that they would make him two pro-
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mises, to which they assented. "Then," says he, "you will promise me, first, if I am killed, that you will see that my wife Drucilla and the children are cared for; and you will promise me, second, that you will hang that devil," pointing to the desper- ado, "upon yon limb," pointing up to a suitable limb for the purpose. Turning to the outlaw he quietly said : "Now, sir, you are my prisoner." No sooner-did he make the first firm step toward him than the outlaw threw down his knife, advanced, and meeting him, said : "Parson Davis, you are the only man alive that can take me. I am your pris- oner." . The meeting progressed without further disturbance.
Few men possessed the personal courage of Mr. Davis. His earnest and firm personal hearing was as an array of sharp steel, when directed towards an offender. The power of his moral influence over the wicked was marked with equal success. The boldness with which he asserted his right to talk to sinners was happily illustrated at a camp-meeting held near Brownsville. The good work was going on swimmingly; the mourner's bench was filled, and gave promise of the conversion of many souls. Mr. Davis, in passing along, administering to their troubled souls, came to an old and hardened sinner, a gentleman of his acquaintance. He saw that he was "under conviction." Laying his heavy hand upon his shoulder, he said, in a loud and strong voice : "Pray! pray hard; pray with all your mind, might and soul. . You are a moving, breathing mass of putrefaction. Pray with all your mind and
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strength, for you are the very butt-cut of sin." The power and force of his language struck the old sin- ner with such terror as to his situation that he slid from the bench into the straw, and wrestled with the devil until he triumped. Such was the power and force of character of the best pioneer preacher that ever filled an appointment in the Big Hatchie country.
The first school-house in Tipton, north of Hatchie, was built in 1827, in the Thompson settlement, and old man Larkin Gaines was the first schoolmaster. The writer, with Dr. Jacob N. Wardlow, now the Clerk and Master of the Chancery Court of Laud- erdale, and Sam. A. Thompson, Esq., the present Chairman of the County Court of Lauderdale, were among his first pupils.
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