Democratic Sentinel, Volume 3, Number 29, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 August 1879 — STORIES OF THE OLDEN TIME. [ARTICLE]

STORIES OF THE OLDEN TIME.

Glimpses of Life In Kentucky In the Karljr Days.

BY W. W.

In giving sketches of primitive times in Kentucky and Tennessee, the clerical profession and their gatherings appear to figure rather conspicuously. The reader must bear in mind that, at that period, so limited, comparatively, were the means of traveling—a good deal of it being done altogether on foot or horseback—as well as good carriage roads, that very few outsiders in the way of lecturers or other speakers ever found their way there. Consequently, in the remoter or wilder districts, where,indeed,the inevitable stump orator was constrained to find his way, the chief source of entertainment—l mean it in no invidious sense—was the pulpit, however rude its surroundings or however marked the oddities of those who occupied it; for many of the preachers really prided themselves on eccentricities, real or somewhat affected, which gave them a wider field and larger audiences. In illustration of the difficulty of penetrating Tennessee in ante-railroad times, evea the central portion of it, and especially in the winter when the rivers were sometimes very low, and perhaps partially frozen, a long stage route across Kentucky being the other alternative, fancy—which, however, was the sact —our musical celebrity, M. Strakosch, stuck on a sand-bar in a solitary part of the Cumberland, on his way up the river in a small steamer, and stranded, too, for several days, short both of provisions and fire; and then fancy further the great leader of opera feelingly describing liis troubles on that occasion, the hardships undergone and the “cold taken,” until ho could express it no more emphatically or plaintively than to affirm that lie was then and there, as a consequence, troubled “with schwindlirig [swimming] in mine head.” Of course, that was a long time ago; and he “ HpiktH ” better English now, and is under no necessity of making precarious jaunts into the interior and off of the lines of railroads—and good luck to him—for lie is remembered as an affable and pleasant gentleman; but the hardships ho underwent were not singular, and it is my purpose to deal with some of the incidents and conditions which grew out of such disabilities. On a horseback jaunt then upon one occasion to look after some land titles up on big Handy, being detained for a few days while the surveys were being looked into, I was honored with an invitation to attend a “quarterly meeting,” under the supervision of Elder somebody, whoso name—for he was a local celebrity—l have forgotten. Setting out on horseback in company with my entertainer and his wife, half a day’s ride brought us to the place, a large double log-house with an L attached, a mansion so much above tiio average of the section that it was the very aristocracy of log-cabinism. We were very emphatically welcomed to the place by a remarkably sturdy gentleman in Kentucky jeans, a man of herculean build, about 5 feet 11 inches in height, about (50 years of age, with iron-gray hair in short vigorous curls, which,crowning a massive, bullet-shaped head, didn’t need a marked expression of bull-dog-like courage, qualified by kindly expression, however, to stamp him as indeed a peculiar specimen of Kentucky growth and sturdiness, such as a stranger would look at twice before concluding to needlessly arouse or provoke.

Calling one of his sons—for contrabands wore hardly known in that portion of Kentucky—lie directed him to “take our horses;” and then, leading the way, wo quickly found ourselves in a large room which, opening into others, contained the rustic congregation, constituting a camp-meeting on a small scaio—for the ’Squire had undertaken the charge of finding quarters on his own premises for as many as chose to stay through the several days the meeting was to bo held. On glancing around upon the company I found, not a little to my annoyance, for I hated to be picked out, as it were, from the crowd, that, excepting the presiding elder, I was the only marked outsider—marked as such by a suit of “ store clothes” (broadcloth), instead of wearing the inevitable Kentucky jeans. first pronounced result to m 3 was that, when the tin horn was sounded for dinner, I, although comparatively a youngster, was pitched upon to dine at the first table along with what might bo called the General and his staff, viz, the elder, two ortlireo preachers and their wives, and several others, old people, distinguished by their standing in society or in the church. Taking position or being assigned to a place about midway at the long table, my first blunder was a fuuny misconception of Kentucky “hospitality;” for when the’Hquiie’s wife sentdown to me a plate containing several slices of boiled ham, although a good deal confounded at the bountiful supply, I was a good deal worse confounded when the good lady called out to mo from the end of the table, as I was accepting plate and all, “ Stranger! I intended that to go round!” Bashful and confused before at my rather novel surrounding, it took just that to—as the expression is—“ obfuscate mo completely.” However, 1 got over that sort of thing—later.

But—while on this part of my story —I must rolato how I sought to mend on the ’Squire’s determination to make mo dine with the magnates of the occasion. Deliberately absenting myself at meal-time by a saunter into the woods near by, although carefultyhuntcd for, I couldn’t be found when the horn was blown. Timing my walk, however, I drifted in to the table with the advance of about the second or third platoon of youngsters, and then found—to my dismay—that in the scarcity of plates, of hot water, or something else, or because it was only a “ crowd of boys,” I was expected to dine from my predecessor’s unwashed plate. Tho reader may believe that 1 was on hand at meal-time for tho two days after that, after confining myself for that meal to dry bread, and one or two other articles not requiring a plate at all, my actions—fortunately, for what they might have considered fastidiousness—not being observed

The “ camping out,” as it might be termed, when bed-time came didn’t dismay the ’Squire and his hospitable family at all. The huge double log house sufficed to accommodate four “ preachers ” and their wives somewhere, the floor, above stairs, besides, being p aved with a long series of straw beds, answering for, perhaps, twenty of the M rank and file ” of the occasion, the young men. Of perhaps fifty more I oould take no account, but as it was summer, or rather early fall, and the average Kentuckian is what some one terms a “ shifty ” specimen of humanity, all managed well enough pretty cerainly. And the sermons! They were fair specimens of much that we hear upon such occasions; but what must the reader think of a fervent and exhaustive appeal against the abuse of “jewelry,” making the half dozen or so of pretty girls in the congregation who had managed to bedeck themselves with copper brooches and other specimens of “ washed ” bijouterie hang their heads sorrowfully at the thought of so much sin committed in the innocence of their pntutored hearts. Surely the reverend

brother must have been “ hard up ” for a subject when he could make the limited chance presented for the acquisition and display of so few “ pretties ” the occasion of arraigning and pronouncing severe judgment in such a quarter. But, leaving the quarterly meeting proceedings, which had afforded me a chance to study some new phases of Kentucky life in that regard, I must not forget a study of some of the peculiarities of the old’Squire himself, too remarkable to pass over, as illustrating some new features of primitive life in Kentucky. He had been —as his build and appearance indicated —indeed, he had been the “ bully " and terror of his own and several counties adjoining. “ Converted,” fortunately, before he had broken all the available heads and noses within forty or fifty miles, he. for a longtime afterwards, like Job’s war horse—■“ snuffed the battle afar off.” Compelled by his religious “ profession” to resign all ideas of fighting any more himself; perhaps, too, admonished by some stiffness in the back and limbs, yet he could not bear the idea of the “scepter departing ” from his house—a “ lawgiver”—“ rough and tumble ” law—from “ between his feet.” Thinking it over in the intervals between “meetings,” and unable thus far to get up any “religious change ” in either of his four “boys ” —the oldest was near 30—he became morbidly curious, and somewhat anxious to ascertain which of them was to sustain in his own person the pugilistic honors he had himself so hardly won. The youngest, the bullet-headed and slightly paren-thetical-legged image of himself,was just getting beard upon his lips, while the other three had nothing marked about them as “bullies;” indeed, the oldest was meek, rather lantern-jawed and cadaverous looking, giving no prospect whatever of fighting, hardly in selfdefense.

Puzzled then, and anxious, the ’Squire hit upon a notable and ingenious test of manhood, one which seems to have been original with himself, for, somehow, he had come to think that a “strong stomach ” meant a plucky and strongman; and he could only satisfy himself in one way on that score. “Hog-killing time” having come, he one day set his four sons down to so many pounds of raw, fat pork apiece, determined that he who could gorge the most of it must inherit the honors of the house. Unfortunately for his experiment, however, the lean and cadaver-ous-lodkiug elder son put away a pound more of the meat than either of the other more “chunky” brothers. Notwithstanding this test of “gameness,” he showed no inclination to become a bruiser, and the old ’Squire feared the honors of his house were departed, never to return. Let me hasten to say, however, that in this he was agreeably disappointed, for at the time I was at the quarterly meeting the young one, the veritable “chip of the old block” in appearance, was industriously thrashing every body that crooked a finger at him in his own as well aS the neighboring counties, proving that the old gentleman’s diagnosis of bullyism had proven indeed a signal failure. But even in his “converted” state, if he was reminded that Andy had “cleaned out” Bob Jones on “court day,” while he indeed grunted out something about the “sinfullness” of so doing, his eyes s parkled, and the crisp iron-gray locks on his round head seemed to bristle in sympathy. The quarterly meeting over and the hospitality of these really kind people earnestly and warmly acknowledged, a trip further south and still, somewhat parallel with the Big Sandy river gave me the chance of further experiences in observing the simple habits, and noting the limited resources of the people. Overtaken by the darkness one evening as I was making my way on horseback, as customary, down a deep and narrow valley studded with patches of corn here and there, I at last happened upon a cabin, miserably small and poor, and inhabited by an old couple, and their daughter about 16. With nothing for supper when I arrived except milk, of which article they seemed to have a good supply, it was a matter of real interest, apart from the special interest in the chance of supper, to see how little nonplussed they were, and with what hearty good will they set about making me comfortable. With fresh wood from the “clearing” close by, a rousing fire was soon blazing in the ample log chimney, and with my horse blanketed and consigned to a fence corner in the yard with a good supply of corn and “fodder” —(dried leaves of the corn) —I had nothing to do but to look on at the preparations for something to eat. There was no flour or meal in the cabin—as already intimated—but, with a wide-awake activity which reminded one of the feats of a gymnast, the young girl flew around, procured some corn and all turned in to shelling it; and then slio knelt on the floor beside a couple of millstones about a foot in diameter, and with a horizontal motion whirled out two or three quarts of com meal with a deftness pleasant to look upon. Speedily consigning it to a kettle over the fire, tho result was a dish of “ mush and milk ” fit for anybody; and I retired to my rough couch made of sticks driven into the logs ot the cabin, and covered with split oak boards and clean oat straw and quilts, impressed anew with the reflection of how simple at least are the wants of those who have been accustomed to limiting their desires, and see but little to envy in others. The only regret expressed was that I bad not happened to stop with ’Squire Bentley, up the valley, whose house I had passed, for “he is rich;” and when I questioned tho old man as to “what made riches there ” —“ why,” was the reply, “he is worth at least a thousand dollars.”

The enlightened and reflective reader may, perhaps, wonder what constituted “life”—enjoyment—for these people, so largley isolated from the outside world, shut into these narrow valleys by high mountains and bad roads! Of course, their amusements mere limited—it will hardly do to put preaching among these—l would intimate once more—although, if an outsider could have seen them pouring out by twos and threes on herseback from the valleys, to gather at some log chapel of a Sunday morning—boys and young women with their faces shining with excitement, they would be compelled to think something unusually pleasing was on hand—something more stirring than grave discourses on abstruse doctrinal points, hard to comprehend. At one of these gatherings, where I had chanced to spend the Sabbath, the meeting being held in the house I was stopping at—will it be believed—the little congregation, hearing from my host that I had a flute in my saddlebags, must needs have a few airs, having —all but one or two - never heard or seen such an instrument before! I played as well as I could for them, but I am afraid it was like the sermon of the cooper who had made barrels all the week and preached on Sundays. Some one complained of the quality of his deliverances, and, in vindication of his efforts, he said, “he made a barrel for 25 cents, and it was worth it; and he preached for nothing, and it was worth it!” Let me add that my Kentucky friends—the most untutored of them in music—although they might not know much about a flute, they did know a good deal about a flddjp, and what it could accomplish, top, Phicago, IJI. •' l * - '