Pulaski County KyArchives News.....The Young Pulaskians Adventure 20 Years Ago August 22, 1879 ************************************************ Copyright. All rights reserved. http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://www.usgwarchives.net/ky/kyfiles.html ************************************************ File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by: Ron Holt http://www.genrecords.net/emailregistry/vols/00003.html#0000607 May 26, 2005, 2:59 pm Stanford Interior Journal August 22, 1879 Stanford Interior Journal 22 August, 1879 Written for the Interior Journal by E. Tarrant. The Young Pulaskians Adventure 20 Years Ago. “Did I ever tell you of my romantic trip to Texas, long ago, and how I came so near being used as a fancy tassel on a limb of one of those rough, ugly elms in the Trinity bottom, by the city of Dallas?” I replied in the negative, and urged his story. The speaker was Lieut. John H. Black, son of Mr. William Black, who was formerly a prominent citizen of Adams Mills, Pulaski County, Ky., and for a number of years, Sheriff of that county. Mr. Black having met with financial disasters, in order to retrieve his fortune, in the year 1868, moved with his entire family to Kansas, where he died in 1869. The subject of my story, after trying Kansas eight years, became so disgusted at the visitations of the grasshoppers, and more thoroughly so with several mortgages on his fertile land, varying from 20 to 32 percent, that, in June, 1877, he returned to Dallas County, Texas, near the scene of his former narrow escape, which will be related in its proper place. But to his narrative: “In the year 1859, myself and two associates, Richard Newell and John Cullip, became terribly afflicted with a desire to seek our fortunes in the Lone Star State. They were respectively the sons of Dr. H. Newell and William Cullip, two well to do citizens of our vicinity, and of the highest respectability. My age was about 18 years; my companions about one year younger. I had told my father of my desire, and tried to get his consent; but, he had serious objections, such as being too young to go so far from home, of want of knowledge of the world liability to run into danger, and being led astray by temptations. We were at that particular age, in which, with some few superficial ideas, we thought we knew it all; and counted the cautions of our parents as so much old fogyism. Failing to get my father’s consent, Newell and Cullip did not mention the subject to theirs. We quit talking openly, implying that we had given up the trip, but still made private preparations for the journey. We selected a time to start when we knew that my father and Dr. Newell had peremptory business in Frankfort, and as a further precaution, to prevent being followed and captured, we chose the mountain route to Nashville. This proved fortunate; for we afterwards learned that Newell’s uncle, and Cullip’s father, went as far as Lebanon, on the Louisville route, and finding they were on the wrong track, returned. Our money matters stood thus: I had $17, Cullip $5, and Newell 50 cents. I had also, a splendid young horse, saddle and bridle, cash valuation $125. (I had been offered $115 for the horse alone). It was our intention to cash my horse and equipments at Nashville, and take steamboat passage, gentleman’s style, to Texas. We started at night, and met with no interruptions. It occurred to us after starting that we could better our condition by horse swapping on the road, getting boot; for, be it known to you, we had the most profound opinion of our ability to out trade any person we might meet on that route. We made seven swaps, certifying our skill as jockeys at one time getting $27.50 to boot, and at another $7.50, till we finally swapped for a large grey horse, fat, proud looking and majestic. We were highly elated over our success. As we were now approaching Nashville, we were puzzled to know how to price our immense bargain, whether to ask $150 or $200 for him. On traveling him that evening, his gait seemed rough, and his disposition stubborn and contrary. That night we lodged with a very sensible man, and a thorough gentleman. The next morning of starting, our horse was too stiff to step over the high door sill; and fearing that he had become foundered, we called our host for his opinion. After looking at his mouth and examining him thoroughly, he informed us that his pampered appearance was not intended for future utility, but merely to make him trade well; that his stiff joints, ill nature, stubbornness, and other eccentricities was due to extreme old age. Our estimation of him immediately toppled down and with it, a magnificent air castle. In vain we tried to sell him, nobody seemed to fancy him, till at last we made a forced sale of him and equipments for $10, making $45 realized for a $125 horse and equipments. Failing to take passage at Nashville, we found ourselves on the road to Clarksville. Our funds ebbing too low to take cabin passage, looked upon with suspicion by almost everybody, and we becoming suspicious of everybody ourselves, thinking of pleasant featherbeds and other luxuries left behind us, we became seriously homesick. Cullip and I, made propositions to return, but Newell’s determination held us on. At Clarksville, we took deck passage like poor vagabonds. O, what a fall from our expectations at starting. And at Cairo we transferred to a shackling Mississippi steamboat. Aboard was a contractor for repairing the levee on the Mississippi side above Vicksburg who proposed to employ us at $30 per month and board, which we thought was a liberal offer, and we eagerly accepted. We landed at Shipworth, and were put with a crowd of rough Irish from St. Louis, the very riffraff of creation. Our fare was on equal footing with out company blue beef, sour bread, crackers and onions. On our hard beds that night, we pleasantly dreamed of the fine peach and apple pies and the charming eatables fixed up by the hands of our mothers and sisters far away. We were aroused early the next morning, and put to work before breakfast. I to trundling a wheelbarrow up an inclined plane, Cullip and Newell to shoveling dirt. Owing to my muscles not being hardened and trained to such work, it was just as much as I could do, with all my strength, to manage my wheelbarrow; and my companions were soon wearied in handling the shovel, so that by breakfast time, we were nearly played out. We got up from the table before the rest finished eating, and going off to ourselves, and holding a consultation, it took us but a few moments to decide that such hard labor and rough fare might be appropriate for St. Louis Irish, but were unsuitable for young gentlemen fresh from Pulaski, and we vanished immediately. Tramping fifteen miles down the river, we crossed at Lake Providence, Louisiana. Here we laid in a supply of cheese, crackers, dried herring, &c, and resumed our journey. About night we struck one of those gloomy wilderness swamps, so common in this section, and traveled some three or four miles, when we became so fatigued that we decided to camp in a cane brake. While starting our fire, a cracking noise near by convinced us that a bear was on hand, and intended to devour us for supper. Our only defensive weapon was a bowie knife, which being at the bottom of a sachel, we hadn’t the time then to reach it. So we hastily decamped, leaving bruin in full possession of our camp ground. We soon found where an old bridge across a bayou had been torn up, took the timbers and built a bear proof shanty, laid down and slept, but were awakened by the hooting of some Southern owls, whose strange voices we didn’t know, but on holding a counsel of war, we decided there was no serious danger, and returned to our slumbers. The next morning we found a settlement about a mile from the bayou, got our breakfast, and continued our journey. In the evening, we were overtaken by a gentleman who employed us to pick cotton at 75 cents per 100 lbs., and were directed by him to report to his overseer on his farm, some four or five miles distant, which place we reached at night. But we had ominous forebodings immediately on seeing the overseer, while weighing out the cotton picked by the numerous negroes on the place, occasionally thrash a luckless darkey who had failed to come up to his task, though he received and treated us civilly. The next morning we commenced business and picked about an hour, when myself and Newell getting behind, consulted, and decided that cotton picking was too tedious and no money in it, and concluded to jump the contract. We called Cullp back and told him our decision, but he refused to follow suit on account of the lightness of his pocket, and other reasons. I being the moneyed nabob of the party, generously gave him one dollar, all I could spare from my almost depleted funds, and I and Newell once more took the road for the promised land of Texas. Our journey was continued all day through a thinly settle country, and when the sun was getting low, we were about to enter a gloomy wilderness 18 miles in extent, but we fortunately med an old man who advised us of it, and the danger of being devoured by wild beasts if caught in it after night. He also directed us where we could find lodging for the night. But we didn’t consider our situation much improved. The family looked dark and uncouth; rough looking neighbor men came in after night fall; private conversation was held by them with our host; and finally, all left us with the women. We had already become alarmed, and the scream of a panther, the first we had ever heard, resembling the voice of a woman, but far more shrill and startling, did not tend to allay our fears. We awaited for what might come with our faithful bowie knife ready for service. On their return we overheard their talk, and all our fears vanished; it appeared that they had met for a hunting spree. A few days afterwards we got in with some Alabama emigrants wagons, with whom we traveled till we reached Marshall, Texas. There we left them and nothing happened worth of note till weary and homesick, we reached, in November, my uncle Calvin Black’ s house, two miles West of Lancaster, in the Southern part of Dallas County. We found times dull and but little doing. For three months we were employed at nothing but odd jobs. Chapter II In March, 1860, Richard Newell having become seriously homesick, money was sent to him by his father, and he returned to Kentucky. At the same time, I got into partnership with Mr. Milton Rawlins, in an extensive job of wagoning, he furnishing wagon and team, and I doing the labor, sharing half the profits. I continued at this for three months, making fifty dollars per month. During the summer months, several important towns in Texas were fired, evidently the work of incendiaries, which, after developments showed, were merely the preliminaries of a gigantic insurrection of the negroes, incited, perhaps, by fanatical white people. Of this number, the present city of Dallas, then only a moderate sized town, was almost totally destroyed. The excitement was becoming intense. The day after the burning of Dallas, myself and William Rawlins, son of my employer, out of mere idle curiosity, started to see the burnt town, some 15 miles distant. The country was not fenced up then as now, so we went the nearest route across the prairie, and didn’t strike the Lancaster and Dallas Road until within four or five miles of town. Soon after reaching the road, we discovered a fire some half a mile off, which we supposed was straw burning, as it was the custom of people in this section to burn straw at threshing time. (It proved to be a grainary belonging to a man by the name of Miller). We went on about a mile to Clear Creek, and stopped to water our horses, and were met by a negro from the direction of Dallas, who stopped to water his mule. He closely observed us, but we paid but little attention to him. We proceeded a little distance, when we met six men in a dashing lope, who spoke as they passed, but didn’t stop. We went on to Dallas, hitched our horses, looked around at the burnt district awhile, sat down under some shade trees, where quite a number were collected talking about the fire, destruction of property &c. Soon we saw some men advancing, which proved to be the squad that we had met near Cedar Creek. The leader (who I afterwards found out was Constable Crockett McKinsey), was asked if he had made any discoveries. He replied that he thought he had, and came to where myself and young Rawlins were sitting. He asked us where we were from, and what road we had come in on. To which we replied, giving the place of our residence and the route we had come. He then asked our names and our business there. Our names were given, and we told him we had no particular business there, had heard Dallas was burnt and had come to see the place. We saw suspicion of our guilt so plainly depicted on the countenances of those surrounding us, that we almost felt guilty ourselves, and became alarmed; though at this time we did not know the special crime of which we were suspected. Other questions were asked and answered, and he remarking that he believed we were the one’s he was hunting for, drew and cocked his pistol; followed by the others, demanded our surrender, and searched us for weapons. We were surrounded by the squad and taken to the Courthouse, followed by about two hundred men and boys. There Rawlins was taken from me, and I was subjected to a stern and rigid examination by a lawyer. He asked me where I was from. I replied “from Kentucky.” My business to Texas? I replied, “that like many other young men, I had come to make a fortune.” Many other questions were put to me about our meeting the negro at Cedar Creek, the burning of the grainary &c. All this time scowling faces were upon me. Pent up expressions were every now and then escaping: “Infernal Yankee” “Guilty” “Hang him.” You, yourself on one occasion; while belonging to Wolford’s cavalry, was surrounded by a howling mob in Lexington, and can partly appreciate my situation, but there, you were in a good sized company and well armed. Here there were only two of us, unarmed, and I, a thousand miles from home. A panorama of my past life, with all of its joys and boyish memories passed rapidly in my mind and at the same time I could feel the coil of the rope tightening around my neck. Rawlins was now brought in, and though his family had been here for years, they were not so well known then as now, and he could not identify himself. He was put through the same ordeal as myself, and his answers corresponded so nearly with my own, that the older heads among the excited throng, thought it best, before proceeding to extremities, to make further investigations. We afterwards learned that they decided to hang us that night, if not proven innocent. It appeared that the negro whom we had met in the morning had gone into town and merely reported the firing of his master’s granary (who was a bachelor and from home) without giving particulars and that constable McKensey and squad whom we met soon after, were sent to overtake the negro and try, if possible, to get a clue from him of the perpetrators of the deed. On being overtaken and questioned, he told them that two young men had come there and fired it, and the description he gave of them and their horses, exactly suited myself and Rawlins, and that was what caused our arrest. A committee was now sent to Miller’s to make further inquiries. Miller, in the meantime had returned before the negro man had got back from Dallas, and on questioning a negro boy, was told by him that an old man and a young one had stopped to get a drink of water, and had done the deed. The committee returning with this report, and as the two tales didn’t correspond, our prospects brightened, but still we were not released. Another party went to Miller’s and whipped the boy, who confessed that he himself had applied the torch, that his uncle whom we met, and caused all our trouble, had given him a dollar to do it. On the party’s return, we were released, but too late to go home that night. On reaching Lancaster the next day, we found the news of our capture had preceded us, and we were gratified to learn that a company was being made up to release us. Times were now getting squally. Yankees and strangers were under the ban of suspicion. I had made one narrow escape and had serious objections of going out of the world by strangulation in too big a hurry to make proper preparations for the journey. Besides this, my secession sentiments were not the most orthodox, and I thought it best to shake Texas dust from my feet. The dark cloud of the impending storm was hovering over the land, and when it burst in all its fury, I was back in Kentucky, and soon joined Bramlett’s regiment as a Lieutenant’ served some time; resigned; re- enlisted, and served till the close of the war as a private in Wolford’s cavalry. Of those who figured with me in this narrative: Poor Rawlins joined the Confederate Army, and laid down a brave and noble life in the “Lost Cause.” John Cullip, whom we left in Louisiana, afterwards came to Eastern Texas, remained till January, 1861, when he returned to Kentucky, and was a daring soldier during the war in Wolford’s cavalry. For some years, I have lost sight of him, but think he has gone to the “returnless bourne.” Richard Newell too, served in the Federal Army, and when peace was made, he returned to Pulaski and nothing could induce him to leave his sterile hills around “Buncombe” and try once more his fortune in strange lands. He married, and with his half dozen brats, when there is a simultaneous failure of the blackberry, acorn and chestnut crops, how he manages to get his family through safely , well, it is none of my business.” Lancaster, Texas, August, 1879. File at: http://files.usgwarchives.net/ky/pulaski/newspapers/theyoung370gnw.txt This file has been created by a form at http://www.genrecords.org/kyfiles/