Jefferson County, Illinois - Chapter 28: Nuggets Picked Up by the Wayside, 1909

Chapter 28: Nuggets Picked Up by the Wayside

"Hew to the line, let the chips fall where they may," is a good motto for those who attempt to write history. This we have tried to do, regardless of whether the persons written of are living or dead. We are authorized to locate men in this world - "By their fruits ye shall know them" - but when they cross the divide, it is not ours to even attempt to fix their status. That only belongs to to the great and only Creator. The good book gives us the obituary of every man that ever lived in these words: "He lived so many years and he died." "He did that which was pleasing in the sight of the Lord - or he did that which was evil in the Lord's sight" and there we leave them.

back to us after the lapse of many years. Among our first acquaintance in Mount Vernon was Adam Clark Johnson, the historian from whom we have copied liberally in these pages. We have many times enjoyed his quaint sayings, have worked together with him in temperance work and the Sabbath school cause, and have known and respected him as a brother. We went out with him one Sunday to East Salem church to hold a Sunday school convention. We were importuned to teach a class which we finally did under protest. While trying to impress upon the minds of the boys the importance of living a Christian life, we propounded the following question: "Why do people call Brother Johnson a Christian, children?" "Because they don't know him," was the ready answer of a bright eyed boy. We "called the little fellow down," and he willingly admitted that he did not know Brother Johnson, and neither did he, for everybody knew that Adam Clark Johnson was a Christian in deed and in truth. But this incident shows the importance of being knowable.

One On General Anderson

Years ago every speaker in political campaigns had a speech of his own, and only one. Some of the Democrats, including "Bill" Anderson, as we called him, and Charlie Robinson, the then school teacher, held a night meeting in the school-house in McClellan township. They all delivered their piece leaving Bill for the closing, but the pieces were long and dry and the audience, which was small at the beginning, kept dwindling down until when it came Bill's time to orate, the half that remained slid silently out of the side door, leaving nobody but Bill and Charley in the school room. Bill didn't seem to notice the evaporation of his audience and "kept going." Finally Charlie handed him the key to the door and gently

Speaking of Joy Seed being named for Rev. Ephraim Joy, reminds that one day we saw that reverend gentleman in a grove in Grant's pasture gesticulating and loudly talking, apparently to the trees. From the words heard as we passed by and from what we heard at the church the following Sunday, we felt convinced that he was simply "practicing what he preached" - just as all good ministers and church members ought to do.

And there was Brother John H. Hill, John Will Baugh's father-in-law. You remember how he used to catch up all the popular melodies of the day, putting them and some of the good old Methodist hymns together he would make the old church houses ring out sweet songs of praise. And he had no excuse to offer, except that he didn't believe the devil was entitled to anything good, especially any good tunes. An old sister used to say, "Brother Hill is not a "big preacher," but he is powerful in the hymn book.

And Rev. John Thatcher, the old people remember him for his oddities. He had a farm just north of town, which he cultivated as he preached. He drove out in an old shack of a buggy. One day some of we boys saw him coming with a large barrel across his buggy, while he stood up in front of it to drive the old gray horse. We dodged behind the Asa Watson hill to see the fun we felt sure was coming. Sure enough, as he drove down the hill the barrel rolled over him and the old gray, throwing him to the ground, while the horse went trotting down the hill. The Reverend jumped to his feet and looking after the disappearing buggy said in his peculiar snappy way, "I don't see how they can stand up and drive." Of course we boys were disappointed in the kind of words he used. But Brother Thatcher also practiced what he preached.

Walx,'S History Of Jefferson Co., Ill

Rev. Zenas Clifford was another peculiar character, but a fearless one. During the war he was chaplain in the army as well as presiding elder in Southern Illinois. He was a "minute man," always ready to do duty wherever found, on the field, in hospital or in the pulpit. He had no use for forms and ceremonies, when duty required speedy action. Our older people will remember how he used to come into our most aristocratic churches, shed his old blue army over coat, throw it down at his feet, and as he did so announce a hymn and request the congregation to sing. He was an outspoken Peter Cartright kind of a preacher, except that instead of coming down from the pulpit to thrash the offender he would everlastingly blister such with stinging rebukes. We remember on one occasion he was preaching from the text, "Thou are weighed in the balances and found wanting." A lot of smart-alecks kept running in and out and he waited patiently for them to settle. Finally a couple of starchy-up-starts, members of the best families, got up and started for the door just as Clifford was repeating the text, when he raised his voice and added. "That's right, as fast as you shoats are weighed, just pass out." No more went out that time. At another meeting he severely rebuked a young man for acting silly, when an old lady came and sat down by the boy and kept him quiet until the service was over, when she told Clifford that her son had been kicked on the head by a mule, which was the reason of his wild actions. Ever after that he would give the incident and explained that he refrained from rebuking young fellows who kept "cutting-up" in church, for fear some of them had been kicked in the head by a drove of mules. This settled them.

Joshua P. Barrett was a man of peculiarities. One of these was his having a father-in-law living with him who was said to be the father of twenty-six children - old man Tong - whose remains repose in Old Union. Another peculiarity was. he persisted in keep- ing pet bears in a pen near the academy; he lived where Charley Poole now lives. The only zoology we ever learned was in teasing these bears on our way to and from school. The only day in the year when these bears got a rest was when a big circus came to town. Another oddity of the old man was (odd indeed in those days) - he was an abolitionist of the darkest hue. Another oddity was raising queer children like Amos B., Cyrus A., good fellows of course, but -

It was no unusual happening for a colored man fleeing from slavery to freedom to pass through Jefferson county and they always had help and sympathy in their laudable desire for freedom. "The law was for the Sheriff to arrest such and put them in jail and advertise them, and if the owners did not come after them they were sold to the highest bidder, to labor for their buyer until the owner should come after them. One by the name of Jackson - a goodhearted old man, had been in jail for some time. He was the only inmate and it fell to the writer to take his meals to him. And finally the jailer put him out in the truck-patch with the writer to "hoe corn." This truck-patch was located where the Mount Vernon lumber yard now is extending west to the Carlyle road. Our sympathy had been aroused in behalf of the old man, and he was not long in finding it out, and he said: "If you were me and wanted to go to Canada, where there is no slavery or being sold away from your family, what would you do?" We did not hestitate to give him an answer. We told him we would lose no time in going. "Well," said he, "may I go?" "Yes indeed," exclaimed we, "go if you want to." "God bless you young massa," said he and he went up the branch in the direction of Uncle Tommy Casey's, and

Another Child Lost

In a former chapter we gave two thrilling incidents of lost and found children in Rome township. Now we have another, with a sadder ending than the others. In 1826, Joseph McMean settled in Jordan's Prairie. In the fall and winter his boys devoted some attention to trapping. One day they left the cabin with their traps as usual, when a little four year old sister started unknown to them, to follow. Her parents supposed she had been taken along, and knew no better until their return, reporting that they had seen nothing of her after leaving home. The alarm was spread and search kept up for many days, but the child was never found. Not a trace of her, not even a shred of clothmg was ever discovered to even hint at what become of the little tot, and to this day the mystery is impenetrable. No trace of Indians was discovered, but the most plausible theory was that some prowling Indian picked the child up and carried it off. Never till the books and the mysterious of all ages are opened and all things revealed will the sequel be known. It may be that the secret has been revealed to the parents on the "other side" e're this.

Do you recall how we had to "hack it" to Ashley and sometimes have to get out and pry the hack out of the mud and be half a day getting there and then wait for the train and hack the balance of the day. And now we can go in every direction twice a day with speed and comfort and get home for supper.

We boys used to go swimming in the deep mill pond, where the Jefferson lumber yard now is. One evening some of us went there and found the lifeless form of Capt. W. A. Thomas in the pond. He had evidently been cramped and overcome by the water which was a little cool. We took the body to the old camp-house, where an inquest was held. The Captain was a Mexican war veteran and was loved and respected by everybody. He was "Bob's" father. During Doctor Plummer's term of office as Mayor of Mount Vernon, two of our town hunters were out all day hunting turkeys, which then lived in the timber. Failing to get any they were returning and seeing a lot of black turkeys at a farm house they stopped and inquired of the lady who came to the door, "Will you sell us a couple of those turkeys?" "Yes," said she, "we keep those black turkeys to sell to hunters." "And you won't give us away?" said the speaker. "No, indeed," said the lady. "What makes you think so? Doctor Plumber has bought half a dozen from me when out hunting and I have never given him away yet." "Here Jimmy, go out and give these boys a couple of them hunters turkeys - they are paid for. "

Down at Pavey Chapel, named after General Pavey, after the colored people got things going they decided to have an icecream and strawberry festival. In making his announcements the preacher said, "Brudern and Sistern, we's going to have a cream and berry doin's next Friday night. De brudern will pay for de berries and de sisterns will give de milk." We were not invited and can not tell whether "de sisterns" responded or not.

Every community has its professional fishers. One of Mount Vernon's champions had been sitting on the banks of the creek all day and coming later displayed a couple of nice fish, but his wife saw they did not look like Casey Fork, and she said, "Colonel, I have been awful anxious about you. "

William Hicks, one of the first pioneers, was the first man to raise wheat in Jefferson county. He built his ranch on what is known as the Denny Robinson place, one and one-half miles west of town. Built what is now the bam, with lumber ripped out by a whip saw, and much of it is good and sound yet. He went to Kentucky, horseback, and returned with a bushel of wheat with which he sowed and reaped a good crop. He threshed it on a dry rawhide and fanned the chaff out by throwing the grain in the wind and letting it fall back down on the hide. Then he saddled his horse and took as much as he could carry back to Kentucky to have it made into flour. Mr. Hicks was born in 1 777, during the Revolutionary war. He took part in the War of 1812, and passed through what is now Jefferson county on his way to join the army. He also took part in the Mexican and Civil wars - was a lieutenant in the regiment to which the writer belonged. He sold the first place and bought the Bill Grogan farm in McClellan township, where he died in 1865, aged eighty-eight years. None of his children are living except Mrs. Thomas B. Ford, of McClellan township.

The first camp meeting was held at Union in the fall of 1 820, in charge of Rev. J. W. Walker, and others. Many and memorable were the camp meetings at Old Union, under the old shed that used to stand there. The writer attending some big meetings there as late as '44 and '46, and afterwards at the Old Short Camp grounds, four miles east of town. The Holiness people have a splendid camp ground eight miles south of Mount Vernon, near Bonnie, where camp meetings are held each year.

We believe men may back-slide from their religion and policies and be renewed again, as this coincides with our observation of men, but it is not a course to be recommended. A man ought to satisfy himself that he is right before he espouses either religion or politics, and then he ought to be true to his choice - unless later events show him he was mistaken ; and then he ought to publicly admit his mistake. In politics we have had two parties with occasionally a mushroom growth of reformers as side line. In the fifties we had the American, or Know-Nothing party, which for a time seemed destined to rule the country, but is soon subsided. In the nineties, the Farmers Mutual Benefit Asociation business sprang up and the farmers all over the west gave up their good money to get into it. Mount Vernon was the seat of its official organ, the Progressive Farmer, and its circulation was enormous. But like the organs of the third parties before it and since, it flourished like the morning-glories or four-o'clock for a while, and then took its place in our newspapers' grave yard.

In order that the next historian may have a "starting point," in regard to climate, weather, etc., we may state that the year 1908 has been an unusually drouthy one in all parts of our country. In fact, a bit of history has been raked up to prove this drouth is the longest since the year 1 762 or one hundred and sixty-two years ago. There are no "old settlers" to tell about it, but history does tell us that no rain fell in that year between May 1 st and September 1 st. The people of the thirteen original colonies (for that was before the union was formed) had to send to England for food for their stock. The streams dried up, the fish died and stock suffered. It was exwall's history of JEFFERSON CO., ILL. 293 tremely dry in the Ohio and Wabash valleys, which, however, were then practically unsettled. But notwithstanding this great drouth of the present year, the modes of cultivation are such that a fairly good corn, hay and vegetable crop has been raised and the farmers have realized big prices for whatever they had to sell.

Jefferson county has produced some very bright and effective preachers and evangelists. In the beginning, some of the Caseys, Johnsons, Maxeys and others were true and faithful interpreters of the Scriptures, much like the evangelists of old, and though they are all gone their works do follow them. In later days we have had many other good ones, even in the present generation their voices have not been silent on the line of full and free salvation. Among them we mention two Shiloh boys, who without prestige or money have forged themselves to the front - Revs. J. M. Driver and Ed Fergerson. The former was the son of Judge Driver, who died but a few years ago. Young Driver ranks as one of the most eloquent pulpit orators of the day. He secured a good education and has been listened to with delight by people in Boston and other eastern cities. He is now pastor of the People's church at Chicago, and is excelled by none in his eloquence and devotion to the cause of religion. The other, Ed Fergerson, as he is known, although not so highly educated, is a wonderful power in the pulpit, and especially at camp meetings. He has calls from over half of the states of the Union to come and hold camp meetings. He came to the ministry from the farm, via a railroad laborer, and is known as the Railroad Evangelist. He is a wonder to many, but is thoroughly a man of God, with a promise of many days of usefulness.

\V. Duff Piercy, a native of Jefferson, Indiana, and a son of the pioneer. Dr. J. B. Piercy, who died recently, is a young man of considerable ability and as a teacher and speaker, and bids fair to achieve good success in his chosen line of action. He has recently been placed on the literary lists, as a chautauqua lecturer, and will no doubt become popular as such, if de does not permit low grade politics to eclipse his higher ideals of righteousness. Until recently he has held the position of private secretary to Congressman Foster of this district, but claims that it was not only distasteful but unremunerative, and we are glad to see him turn his abilities in what we consider a better direction. He is a Shiloh township production along with Rev. John M. Driver, and Evangelist Ed Fergerson.

People have troubles - of course they do - some real ones, but more of an imaginary character. This is fully illustrated by an old sister, who in the class meeting used to reiterate the plea that she had more trouble than anybody. Oh, she had trouble, trouble, trouble, but she would always conclude by saying, "But thank God, most of my troubles never come to pass." Just so with many others. Let us not cross the bridges we have never reached, is the sequel.

Then there is another great mistake people who are trying to be religious make. A reporter at one of our big meetings, on giving an account of a service held by Rev. Driver referred to above, said, "he uttered one of the most eloquent prayers ever delivered to a Mount Vernon audience." There it is - people seem to think that the average prayer is delivered to the audience, and how often is it the case? We do not know, but God does - better pray to the Creator and the true worshiper will be benefited, whether the audience is or not. As we have already said, if anybody wants to use these thoughts they are welcome to do so, for as Pilate said, "What we have vyritten - we have written." And we trust the same may do somebody some good.

Comrade Vic Rosenderger, of McClellan township, boasts of being the first man to volunteer for the defense of the Union and the flag, after fortress Monroe was fired upon. He immediately went to Centralia and joined the Twenty-second Regiment, which was forming there. He served his three years out and re-enlisted and served two years more, making five years "or during the war. He is still hale and hearty at the age of seventy-three.

Senator Sam Casey, with a broad gauged laugh, used to tell a good one on Green Depriest; when the inhabitans all turned their hogs into the woods and let them fatten on the masts, acorns, nuts, etc. Sam said all the neighbors had hogs on mast but Depriest, but when hog-killing time was ripe, Depriest who lived in the hog ranches had all the hog and hominy he needed, although he never owned hogs. Finally a few of the neighbors went to him and said: "Depriest, don't bother our hogs this fall and we will give you a thousand pounds of meat when we kill them." Depriest hung his head and after studying a minute said, "make it fifteen hundred, and by-Dod its a dicker." And this carries us back to "them old hog-killing times," with all their joys edible and social. We feel sorry for the people to whom the joys of hog-killing time is a sealed book, when neighbors used to help neighbors and swap fresh meat for vegetables, etc., and the delights rising from trying out lard, the musical scruntch of the old sausage grinder; and gravy; and the cracklin'-bread, and Johnny cakes, on the hearth, then the stomach pleasing meals of roast ribs and boiled back-bones, kraut and dumplings, ham hock and cabbage, pig-feet, souse, pumpkin-bread, etc.; yum, yum, go away with your fine-haired repasts, your French chefs, cafes, and foreign lingos, but give us the good old-fashioned "hog-killin' times." O me! O my!"

Saturday night, last, one of our old citizens heard a noise in his chicken house. He grasped his gun and went to the chicken house door. "Who's there?" shouted our friend, but no answer. "Who's there? I'm going to shoot!" A trembling voice from the furthest corner, "Deed sah, dey am't nobody hyah,' ceptm' us chickens."

We are satisfied that several Jefferson county fellows were cut out for capitalists, including ourselves, but unfortunately - or fortunately - as the case may be - the capital was "cut out" before we happened along.

Asa And The Skunk

Asa Watson said he was never "skunked" out but once. He went down to the pasture branch, back of his place on the hill north of town to hunt his cow, when he suddenly ran on to a skunk. Asa tried to "renig" and run, but the skunk "took it up," and played his trump card much to Asa's disgust and as he "jerked up a chunk and hurled it at the skunk," he said he smelled seventeen distinct kinds of perfumery, each one worse than the cheap musk of the nineteenth century, which used to almost prostrate the boys as we went "nosin" about among the sweet-scented girls. After the above incident Asa always gave Mr. Skunk both sides of the road when about to meet him.

When the writer kept hotel at the northeast corner of the square, a tramp burglarized a room in broad daylight. He was arrested, taken before the grand jury, found guilty, pled guilty and Judge Boggs, who was on the bench, sentenced him to two years in the penitentiary - all the same day. But the funny part of it was, the Judge got the names mixed and said, "Two years will be the term of Mr. Wall in the penitentiary." This was the first and last time we have been sentenced, but the Judge corrected himself and the other fellow got the benefit of the sentence. This reminds us that

In fact, with the great increase of population big prices for produce have come to stay. Where eggs used to be a drug in the market they can not now be had for less than thirty cents per dozen, and butter twenty-five to thirty-five cents per pound, and other things in proportion. The day of cheap things has passed in the line of vegetables and clothing, and also we trust we may no longer have cheap men.

Dry Summers

All the older inhabitants will recall the dry summer of 1854, when there was no rain during the hot months, when the crops were a total failure and feed and bread-stuffs had to be hauled from a great distance at big prices. It was the worst drouth Jefferson county ever had. The writer was working at the Hagerman Brothers saw mill on the Richview road, near Jefferson City, and drove oxen to wagons, loaded with lumber from the mill to the site of Centralia, which was then a barren prairie waste, without a house or a tree, having just been located and named. Now it is a place of ten thousand people, with fine houses and trees galore. By this sign

(dry weather talk) which we do not care to repeat now. we well remember the dry summer of '54. There was one creek between the mill, and the site of Centralia that contained some stagnant water and into that pool those oxen would plunge at break neck speed in spite of all the loving words we could utter. Another very droughty summer was that of 1881 and corn was ninety cents a bushel and other things in proportion. And then the past summer of 1 908 was an exceedingly dry one, cutting, short crops and even killing pastures, so that prices are quite high. Were it not for the poultry crops and the cows, it would he hard sledding in the household and in the barn this winter.

After the drouth, the fall rains came and now the wheat fields "stand dressed in living green" and to the thinker there it more of life in these delicate tints than in all the joyous blooming of June roses. These generous fall showers mean something - yea much, to the tillers of Jefferson county soil. We plow, sow, plant and cultivate all to no purpose unless aided by the weather. Our comforts depend upon "seasonable showers." City folks know nothing about the tragedies of life when creeks grow shallow, wells go dry, ponds dry up, and water tanks fall to pieces and springs cease to flow. Strange how humanity feels its kinship with all life at such a time. It has been well said that "rain is as necessary to man as to vegetables." A wonderful question is this - the relationship between humanity and the elements between history and meteorolgy this moisture in the air and plenty of blood in the veins, and yet we feel the constant need of these. Then from these comes the central thought of human existence, that "by the sweat of the brow, man may eat bread all the days of his life." God furnishes the sod, the sun, the air, the dew and the life, but man must furnish the labor, the sweat.

In our sketch of the county we have aimed to touch upon the principal facts connected with it of a historical nature. It is not likely we have harvested all the items that might have properly been used, and yet we believe the older inhabitants will feel that we have tried to do them justice and that we have done fairly well, considering the environments. Looking back over the intervening years we see a wilderness, almost uninhabited by white people, its solitude unbroken by a sound of civilization, we now see booming towns, productive farms, commodious farm houses and barns where there was log houses and stables. Instead of the old log school-houses and churches, we now see nice white school-houses and still larger churches, and all the modern improvements, and railroads and telegraphs and telephones in every direction. The verdant wastes have disappeared and civilization has come to stay. And the energies which have made the present will not falter, for,