Birth. Name. Parent's Religion. Blood. Ancestor's
Religion and Politics. First Recollection. Father's
Family. From North Carolina to Indiana
I was born March 15th 1838 at a place now called Williams in Lawrence
County, Indiana. When the day came for me to be named, mother said,
"He looks like my brother Zachariah," but father said, "He looks like
my brother Simpson." "All right", said mother," we will just
christen him Zachariah Simpson." And that is my name unto this day.
Now, when mother said 'christen' she did not mean what is usually
meant by christening a babe, for if she had they would have had to
take me to a river, for mother and father both believed, when it came
to baptizing, that is required much water. Mother, when baptized,
was dipped three times, face first, and father once, backwards making
in each case an entire submerging or an immersion. Religiously mother
was called a Dunkard and father was called a Baptized Quaker. "Now",
said father, one day to mother, "this out not to be, we are one in
Christ, let us be one in name." "All right," said mother, "let us
drop the names Dunkard and Quaker and simply call ourselves Christians."
"Just so," said father, "but we must live Christians as well." And
they did.
There runs in my veins both English and Irish blood. On the paternal
side I can only trace my ancestors back to the early Quakers of
Baltimore. On the maternal side I know less, for it is only said
that my great grand-mother was a handsome, witty, Irish-woman. For
some reason, I know not what, I have always liked the humble, honest,
witty Irish people, be they Catholic or Protestant.
As far back as I can trace my ancestry they were religiously Quakers
and Politically Whigs. More recently however, we are religiously,
simply Christians, politically prohibition Republicans. I do not
boast of my ancestors, boys, for they were humble, yet,
"Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'Tis only noble to be good."
The first thing that I can now remember was, when I was two and one-half
years old, in the fall of 1840, when General William Henry
Harrison was elected the ninth president of the United States. It
was on the occasion of a big rally day for Mr. Harrison when I, with
my parents, stood by the road-side and saw in the great procession
going by, four men carrying a small log cabin upon their shoulders,
and in the open door of the cabin sat a small barrel of hard cider.
The rally cry was "Hurrah for Tippecanoe and Tyler too."
My father and mother were there, because they were Whigs, and I was
there because father and mother were there. There is a great deal in
the way a child is brought up. O, that the children of our beloved
land be brought up in the way they should go! O, that it could be
said of all parents that their children are brought up in the nurture
and admonition of the Lord; that is could be said of all teachers of
our great country as it was said of the great lexicographer, Noah
Webster: "He taught thousands to read, but not one to sin." It is
said boys, that the training of a child should begin a hundred years
before it is born. I do not know about this, but I do know that the
proper training should be kept up after it is born. Will you see to
it, that you do your part well?
My father's family consisted of seven children, of whom I was the
fifth child. Three brothers, Joshua Thomas, William Henry and John
Arthur, and one sister, Nancy Elizabeth, were older than I. One
sister Charlotte Ann, and one brother Rufus Wiley, were younger. My
father's name was Howell Hastings, my mother's name was Edith
Edwards. Father and mother were both born in North Carolina; father
in 1905, mother in 1808. They were married in 1826. My two older
brothers were born in North Carolina. The rest of us were born in
Indiana. The parents, with their two little boys came to Indiana in
1830. They made the entire trip in a one-horse wagon; crossing the
Cumberland Mountains, and passing through the states of Tennessee,
Virginia and Kentucky. Of course they had but little in their wagon;
a box or two containing their wearing apparel, and a little bedding,
and also a little tin box containing just one-hundred dollars in gold
coin and a few valuable papers, which was kept, locked and hidden, in
one of the larger boxes. This hundred dollars was all the money
father had except what he had in his pocket purse, which he supposed
would be enough to meet the expenses of the trip.
All went well for about two weeks when a man, traveling on horseback,
overtook them, who slackened his gait and traveled along with
them, forming an acquaintance. He said to them that he too, was
going to the far west (Indiana was called the far west then), to seek
his fortune. He was very kind, helpful and generous; and traveled
along with them for two days, but, on the third day morning, when
father awoke, his fellow traveler was gone. Father and the man had
slept under the wagon. Father usually slept in or under the wagon
while mother and the little boys would sleep in the house of some
family who lived by the road-side. Just as they were ready to start
that morning, mother said to father, "Have you looked to see if the
tin box is safe?" "No" said father. "Well, you better look," said
mother. Father looked among the stuff in the big box where they had
kept it, but it was not there. The man had stolen it and all that
was in it. The kind family, whose hospitality mother had shared
during the night, kept her and her children in their home while
father and the husband of the home and an officer of the law spent
two days hunting for the thief, but could not find him. So, father
and mother had to pursue their journey without their little tin box
which was the most valuable of their temporal assets. A man that
steals, should steal no more.
In due time, (1830) father and mother with their two little boys,
Thomas and Henry arrived in Lawrence County, Indiana, and settled in
the rich valley of the east fork of the White river. Father's oldest
brother, Arthur D. Hastings, Sen., had preceded father a few years to
the new state, and was ready to greet and assist his brother to make
a new home. Uncle Arthur was one of God's noblemen, an honest,
leading citizen, and devout Christian. He lived on the place he
first settled about sixty years, and died there in 1886 at the
advanced age of 85 years. Although I had many uncles, Uncle Arthur
was the only one I ever saw.
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