```On the stream of human nature's blood,
````Are ups and downs in every shape and form,
```Some sail gently on a rising flood,
````And some are wrecked in a tearful storm.=
|Tom Fairfield was descended from one of the best families in Virginia.
Yet he was animated by what we may call a _restless spirit_. He ran away
from home at twelve years of age, and came to Kentucky with a family
of emigrants, who settled near Boone Station, in 1791. Kentucky, until
after Wayne's treaty, in 1795, was continually exposed to incursions
from the Indians; yet, before Tom's day of manhood, the bloody contest
between the white and the red men had terminated on the virgin soil of
the new-born State--Kentucky was admitted into the Union in 1792. Yet
the heroic struggles with the Indians by the early settlers were fresh
in the memories of all. Prior to the settlement of Kentucky by white
men, the Southern and Northwestern tribes of Indians were in the habit
of hunting here as upon neutral ground. No wigwam had been erected,
but it was claimed by all as a hunting ground. The frequent and fierce
conflicts that occurred upon the meeting of the Indian tribes, together
with conflicts with white men, caused the Indians first to call Kentucky
“_The dark and bloody ground_.” At no point on the American Continent
had the hatred between the two races risen to a higher point. Long
after the peace between England and America, and the close of the war
of American Independence, the conflict between the white and red men in
Kentucky was a war of extermination. The quiet cabin of the white man
was frequently entered, under cover of night, by some roving band of
Indians, and women and children tomahawked in cold blood. White men when
taken by them, whether in the field at work, or behind a tree, watching
their opportunity to shoot an Indian, were taken off to their towns
in Ohio and burned at the stake, or tortured to death in a most cruel
manner. No wonder the early settler in Kentucky swore eternal vengeance
against the Indian who crossed his path, whether in peace or war. In a
land where the white woman has cleaved the skull of the red warrior with
an ax, who attempted to enter her cabin rifle in hand, from whence all
but her had fled--who shall refuse to remember the heroines of the early
settlers, and the historic name of the _dark and bloody ground_.
When Tom Fairfield arrived at manhood, the golden wing of peace was
spread over the new-born State, from the Cumberland Mountains to the
Ohio river.
A tract of land embracing a beautiful undulating surface, with a black
and fertile soil, the forest growth of which is black walnut, cherry,
honey locust, buckeye, pawpaw, sugar maple, elm, ash, hawthorn,
coffee-tree and yellow poplar, entwined with grape vines of large size,
which has been denominated the garden of Kentucky.
Many of the phrases, familiar to our grandfathers, have become obsolete,
such as latch-string, bee-crossing, hunting-shirt, log-rolling,
hominy-block, pack-horse and pack-saddle.
While many of their customs have been entirely forgotten, or never
known, by the present generation, a history of some of the events of the
time cannot fail to be interesting.
Tom had learned to read and write in Virginia, and this accomplishment
frequently gave him employment, for many of the early settlers were glad
to pay him for his assistance in this line of business, and it suited
Tom to change his place of abode and character of employment. He was
industrious, but never firm in his purpose, frequently commencing an
enterprise, but always ready to abandon it in the middle.
Socially he was a great favorite at all wedding-parties, and weddings
were of frequent occurrence about this time.
For while Kentucky was over-run with Indians the female portion of
families were slow to immigrate to the scene of such bloody strife,
and many of the early planters were young men, who found themselves
bachelors for the want of female association. But with the influx of
population now taking place, females largely predominated.
A wedding in Kentucky at that time was a day of rejoicing, and the young
men in hearing distance all considered themselves invited. A fine dinner
or supper was always prepared; of wine they had none, but distilling
_corn whisky_ was among the first industries of Kentucky, and at every
wedding there was a custom called _running for the bottle_, which was of
course a bottle of whisky.
The father of the bride, or some male acquaintance at the house of
the bride--about one hour previous to the time announced for the
ceremony--would stand on the door-step with the bottle in his hand,
ready to deliver it to the first young man that approached him. At the
appointed time the young men of the neighborhood would rendezvous at a
point agreed upon, and when all were ready and the word _go_ given, the
race for the bottle, on fine horses, to the number of fifteen or twenty,
was amusing and highly exciting. Tom had the good fortune to be the
owner of a fleet horse--to own a fine horse and saddle was ever the
pride and ambition of the young Kentuckian--and he won many bottles;
but the end proved that it was bad instead of good luck, for Tom
subsequently became too fond of the bottle.
Tom was young and hopeful, far away from his kindred, and he also
married the daughter of an Englishman, who was not so fortunate as to be
the owner of any portion of the virgin soil, but distinguished himself
as a fine gardener, and all the inheritance Tom received with his wife
was a _cart-load of gourds_.
You laugh, but you must remember that a few pewter plates and cob-handle
knives was all that adorned the cupboards of some of our fathers, and
gourds of different size made useful vessels. Coffee was not much in
use, and in the dawn of the Revolution a party of brave Americans had
thrown a ship-load of tea into the sea.
Tom, like many of the young planters, built a cabin upon a tract of
land, under the Henderson claim, as purchased from the Cherokee Indians,
which claim was subsequently set aside by the State of Virginia.
Tom, as we have said, was of a restless disposition, and from a planter
he turned to be a boatman. Leaving his family at home in their cabin, he
engaged to make a trip to Fort Washington (Cincinnati, then a village)
on a keel-boat, descending the Kentucky and ascending the Ohio rivers.
On this trip he first beheld the stupendous precipices on the Kentucky
river, where the banks in many places are three hundred feet high, of
solid limestone, and the beautiful country at he mouth of the Kentucky,
on the Ohio river.
He was absent from home three months, for prior to steam navigation, the
Ohio had been navigated by keel and flat-bottom boats for a quarter of a
century, and many of the old boatmen were men of dissipated habits--_bad
school for Tom_. When he returned home it was too late in the season
to raise a crop. The next winter was long and cold. Tom and his little
family keenly felt the grasp of poverty, and many times, in the dead
hour of night, when the cold wind made the only audible sound on the
outside, the latch-string of the cabin door had been pulled in, and the
fire burned down to a bed of coals, Tom and his wife sat quietly and
sadly by the dim light of a tallow candle, and told the stories of their
families. Tom intended at some future time to return to Virginia and
claim an inheritance, although, as he said, he was not the eldest son
of his father, and by the laws of Virginia the eldest son is entitled to
all of the estate in land, which, as he said, caused him to leave home;
but from other sources he hoped in the future to reap the benefit of an
inheritance.
Tom's wife, in her turn, told the story of her ancestors in the old
country, and how she lived in hope of some revival of family fortune,
which by the discovery of the necessary papers, would give her the means
of rising above the cold grasp of poverty, so keenly felt by them; and
many times through the long nights of winter, in that secret chamber
where no intruder comes, Tom and his wife, whom he always called by the
endearing name of _mother_, with a heart-felt desire to honor his infant
children, had many long and interesting interviews upon the subject of
the _ups_ and _downs_ of family fortune.
The joyous days of spring dawned upon the little household, and with it
new ideas in the mind of Tom Fairfield; it was to become a _preacher_;
why not? He could read--and must according to the philosophy of the
people understand the Scriptures. Whatever may have been the delinquency
of the early settlers in Kentucky, they were devotedly a religious
people.
Ministers of the gospel were not required to study Theology; to be able
to _read_ was the only accomplishment, except the _call_; it was thought
indispensable that a _preacher_ should have _a divine call_.
Whatever may be said of ignorant worship, many of the early _preachers_
in Kentucky were men of sterling piety, and did much to elevate and
improve the rude society of the backwoodsmen. What they lacked in
learning they made up in earnestness and a strict devotion to the
_Masters cause_; what they lacked in eloquence they made up in force.
Some extracts from the sermons of these old men have been preserved. I
quote from one handed me by a friend:
“As Mo-ses lif-ted up the ser-pent in the wil-der-ness--ah! e-v-e-n so
must the Son of M-a-n be lif-ted up--ah! That who so-e-v-e-r look
up-on him--ah! m-a-y not p-e-r-i-s-h--ah! but h-a-ve e-v-e-r-l-a-sting
l-i-f-e--ah!”
Notwithstanding this halting delivery, these old men laid the foundation
of the refined and elegant society now enjoyed in Kentucky.
Tom Fairfield wished to improve his fortune and position in society--pay
for preaching was small--but the many little needs of a family
frequently fell to the lot of a preacher's wife. With this object in
view, and waiting for the _call_, Tom and his wife attended all the
meetings. A _wonderful phenomenon_ occurred about this time, that upset
all of Tom's calculations--it was called the _jerks_. It was principally
confined to the females--but men sometimes were victims of it.
During the church service, and generally about the time the preacher's
earnestness had warmed the congregation, the _jerks_ would set in. Some
one in the congregation would commence throwing the head and upper part
of the body backward and forward, the motion would gradually increase,
assuming a spasmodic appearance, until all discretion would leave the
person attacked, and they would continue to _jerk_ regardless of all
modesty, until they _jerked_ themselves upon the floor.
Tom and his wife one day attended the meeting of a _sect_, then called
the “_New Lights._” During the service Tom's wife was attacked with
the _jerks_; the motion slow at first became very rapid, her combs flew
among the congregation, and her long black hair cracked like a wagon
whip. Tom was very much frightened, but with the assistance of some
friends the poor woman was taken home, and soon became quiet. Tom never
attended meeting again.
The old adage that _bad luck_ never comes single-handed, was now setting
in with Tom. Soon after this event, Tom returned from his labor one
cold, wet evening. _Mother_, as he always called his wife, was very dull
and stupid. Tom had attended to all the duties of the little household,
pulled in the latch-string of the cabin door, covered the coals on the
hearth with ashes--as the old people used to say, to keep the _seed_ of
fire.
In the morning when he awakened, his faithful wife, dear mother, as he
called her, was by his side, _cold and dead_.
With three little daughters in the cabin and nothing else in the wide
world, for the title to his land had been set aside. Disheartened with
his misfortunes, Tom, with his little daughters, moved to the Ohio
river.
Port William was the name given to the first settlement ever made at the
mouth of the Kentucky river.
Seventy miles above Louisville the Kentucky mingles its water with the
Ohio river, the land on the east side of the Kentucky and on the south
side of the Ohio, narrows into a sharp point--the water is deep up to
the shore. When navigation first commenced this point was the keel-boat
landing, and subsequently the steamboat landing.
Here, Dave Deminish kept a saloon, (then called a grocery). One room
sixteen feet square, filled with _cheap John merchandise_, the principal
article for sale was _corn whisky_, distilled in the upper counties,
and shipped to Port William on keel boats,--this article was afterwards
called _old Bourbon_.
Port William was blessed with the O!-be-joyful. Redhead Sam Sims run a
whisky shop in connection with, his tavern, but the point, or landing
was the great place of attraction, here idle boatmen were always ready
to entertain idle citizens. Old Brother Demitt owned large tracts of
land, and a number of slaves, and of course he was a leader in society,
why not? he was a member of the church if he did stand on the street
corners, tell low anecdotes, and drink whisky all-day-long. And old Arch
Wheataker owned slaves to work for him, and he, of course, could ride
his old ball-face sorrel horse to Port William, drink whisky all day and
run old Ball home at night. Late in December one dark night, the Angel
of observation was looking into the room of Dave Deminish. A tall man
with silver gray hair was pleading with Dave for one more dram. They
stood by the counter alone, and it was late, the customers had all gone
save Tom Fairfield. Tom offered to pledge his coat as a guarantee for
payment, Dave was anxious to close the store (as he called it), and he
said mildly as he laid his hand softly on Tom's shoulder, “Keep your
coat on, Tom,” and handing him a glass of spoiled beer, affected
friendship. In attempting to drink the beer Tom _heaved_. Dave was
insulted, and kicked him out, and closed the door. On reeling feet,
alone, and in the dark, Tom departed. In the middle of the night
commenced a wonderful snow storm, and the dawn of morning found the
earth covered with a white mantle twenty-four inches deep.
The ever diligent eye of the Angel of observation was peering into the
cabin of Tom Fairfield, two miles distant from the _Point_, and one mile
north of Brother Demitts. Roxie, the eldest daughter, found a few sticks
of wood, which happened to be in doors, made up a little fire and was
cooking some corn cakes. Rose had covered Suza with a tattered blanket,
and was rocking her in a trough. The cold wind upon the outside carried
away the inaudible murmurs of the little sisters.
At one o'clock in the evening the little fire had burned out. Rose was
still engaged with the baby, and Roxie passed the time between childish
conversations with Rose about the deep snow, and their absent father,
who she said would get the snow out of his way and come, home after
a while, then peeping out the crack of the door to watch for some one
passing. Old Father Tearful had passed the cabin, his face and head
wrapped up with a strap of sheepskin to ward-off the cold, and he did
not hear the cries of Roxie Fairfield. One hour later Suza was crying
piteously and shivering with the cold.
Roxie said firmly to Rose, you pet and coax the poor; thing and I will
go to Aunt-Katy's and get some one to come and, and get us some wood,
making a great effort to conceal a half suppressed sob; and a starting
tear. Then patting' Rose on the head with her little hand said
coaxingly, “Be good to-to-the baby, and I'll soon be back.” Leaving both
little sisters in tears, and pulling her little bonnet close 'round her
ears, she left the cabin, and struggled bravely through the deep snow;
fortunately when she gained the track of Father Tearful's horse she had
less difficulty. The old man was riding a Conestoga horse whose feet and
legs, from their large size, made quite an opening in the snow.
The Angel eye of observation peering into the east room of Brother
Demitt's house, (he lived in a double cabin of hewn logs,) saw Aunt Katy
sitting on one corner of the hearth-stone, busily plying her fingers
upon a half finished stocking; upon the other corner lay a large
dog; stretched at full length; half way between the two sat the old
house-cat, eying the mastiff and the mistress, and ready to retreat from
the first invader. The hickory logs in the fire-place were wrapping each
other with the red flames of heat, and the cold wind rushing 'round the
corner of the-house was the only sound that disturbed the stillness of
the hour.
With a sudden push the door swung upon its hinges, and Roxie Fairfield,
shivering with the cold, appeared upon the stage. Aunt Katy threw her
head back, and looking under her specs, straight down her nose at the
little intruder, said, in a voice half mingled with astonishment,
“Roxie Fairfield, where in the name of heaven did you come from?” Roxie,
nothing abashed by the question, replied in a plaintive tone, “Daddy
didn't come home all night nor all day--and--and we're 'fraid'the
baby'll freeze.” The simple narrative of the child told Aunt Katy the
_whole story_. She knew Tom Fairfield, and although a drunkard, he would
not thus desert his children. “Come to the fire, child,” said Aunt Katy
in a milder tone, and as she turned to the back door she said, mentally,
“_dead, and covered with snow_.” She continued, “Joe, I say, Joe, get
old Ned and hitch him to the wood slide, and go after the Fairfield
children--_quick_--call Dick to help hitch up.” Dick was an old negro
who had the gout so bad in his left foot that he could not wear a shoe,
and that foot wrapped up in a saddle blanket, made an impression in the
snow about the size of an elephant's track.
Roxie made a start to return as she came, and while Aunt Katy was
coaxing and persuading her to wait for the slide, Joe, a colored boy,
and old Ned were gotten ready for the venture. Dick, by Aunt Katy's
directions, had thrown a straw bed upon the slide, and bearing his
weight upon his right foot, he caught Roxie by the arms and carefully
placed her upon it.
Joe, as he held the rope-reins in one hand and a long switch in the
other, turned his eyes upon the face of the little heroine, all mingled
with doubt and fear, saying in a harsh tone, “keep yourself in the
middle of the slide, puss, for I'm gwine to drive like litenin'.”
Aunt Katy stood in the cold door gazing at the running horse and slide
until they were out of sight, and then turning to Dick who, standing by
the chimney, was holding his left foot close to the coals, said, “Tom
Fairfield is dead and under the snow, poor soul! and them children will
have to be raised, and I'll bet the nittin' of five pair of stockins
that old Demitt will try to poke one of 'em on me.”
Joe soon returned with the precious charge. He had Suza, the baby, in
her rocking trough, well wrapped up in the old blanket and placed in
the middle of the slide, with Roxie seated on one side and Rose on the
other. The slide had no shafts by which the old horse could hold it
back; it was Dick's office to hold back with a rope when drawing wood,
but he was too slow for this trip, and Joe's long switch served to keep
old Ned ahead of the slide when traveling down hill.
A large fire and a warm room, with Aunt Katy's pacifying tones of
voice, soon made the little sisters comparatively happy; she promised
them that daddy would soon return.
The news soon spread through the neighborhood, and every one who knew
Tom Fairfield solemnly testified that he would not desert his children;
the irresistible conclusion was that while intoxicated he was frozen,
and that he lay dead under the snow.
A council of the settlers, (for all were considered neighbors for ten
miles 'round,) was called, over which Brother Demitt presided. Aunt
Katy, as the nearest neighbor and first benefactress, claimed the
preemption right to the first choice, which was of course granted.
Roxie, the eldest, was large enough to perform some service in a family,
and Rose would soon be; Suza, the baby, was the trouble. Aunt Katy
was called upon to take her choice before other preliminaries could be
settled.
Suza, the baby, with her bright little eyes, red cheeks and proud
efforts, to stand alone, had won Aunt Katy's affections, and she,
without any persuasion on the part of old Demitt, emphatically declared
that Suza should never leave her house until she left it as a free
woman.
Mrs. Evaline Estep and Aunt Fillis Foster were the contending candidates
for Rose and Roxie.
Brother Demitt decided that Aunt Fillis should take Roxie, and Mrs.
Estep should be foster mother to Rose, with all the effects left in the
Fairfield cabin.
These ladies lived four miles from the Demitt house, in different
directions. With much persuasion and kind treatment they bundled up the
precious little charges and departed.
While the Angel of sorrow hovered round the little hearts of the
departed sisters.