Terrebonne County Louisiana Archives News.....Fifty Years Ago No. 11 (part 3) March 21, 1891
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The Thibodaux Sentinel March 21, 1891
I was not a voter, but I was large enough to do my share of shouting, halloing, 
and drinking cider.

Impressions made upon the minds of youths are often indelible, and even years 
upon years will not cause them to fade in the memory. The first barbecue that I 
ever attended rises up before me as plainly and vividly as if it was an 
occurrence of a week ago.

It took place on the Kentucky shore of the Ohio river, seven miles above 
Louisville, opposite to a little Indiana town, called Utica.

I walked down to Utica in the early morning, and was standing near the banks of 
the Ohio river, awaiting ferry boats that were coming from Louisville to 
transport us to the opposite side.

An old gentleman rode up on a large horse with elaborate trapping; over the 
horns of his saddle hung a pair of horse pistols, in their leather shields, 
pistols that were as large as ordinary hunting rifles are, at this day. They 
were of the old flint lock style. To my inquiry, who that man was, I was 
answered that “it was Gen. Clark, a famous Indian fighter,” he had ridden 50 
miles to attend that barbecue. Now, in my childhood days, I had often heard my 
mother and neighbors speak of the terrible Indians, who had often caused them to 
seek refuge in the block houses, whilst their husbands and sons were gone to 
meet the yellow warrior. Now, my young reader, have you any conception of what 
an old time block house was?

There was one, and it is still standing, about two miles from my native home. It 
was erected for two stories of stone; the first story was rather a cellar, 
within which was a fine spring; the third story was made of hewed square logs, 
so notched down at the corners that the logs touched each other, making it a 
solid structure, that no Indian arrow could pierce.

When the Indians were threateningly near, the women, children, and old men would 
resort to these block houses at night, and sometimes even in day time. There 
were port holes through which men within could fire at anyone approaching, and 
having previously collected food therein they could stand a siege of several 
days, until relief would come.

I remember another of these block houses made entirely of wood, placed near the 
Ohio river, upon which they relied to obtain water when necessary.

In connection with these histories, I had learned to entertain a profound 
respect for a man who had fought the Indians, and who had been an officer in 
those campaigns. Hence my attention was directly earnestly to every word and 
movement of this doughty general.

The Ohio river was about a half mile wide, and the wind blowing up stream, 
caused the white caps to roll pretty lively. Gen. Clark, after looking at the 
stream, remarked “Oh, I can swim that river with my horse easily.” But, I 
noticed that he took the ferry boat like the rest of us. I somehow conceived the 
idea from his actions and language, that a great warrior (and this General Clark 
had been a good Indian fighter) might be, at the same time, a great boaster, an 
idea that later experience has not entirely erased from my mind.

I crossed over the river; I had never heard a man make a speech and the height 
of my ambition was to do so. So, as soon as I reached the barbecue grounds I 
noticed a man, whose breast and shoulders were above a crowd of men surrounding 
him, whom I concluded to be someone making a speech; I started towards him, but 
when I came within 25 yards of him, he began to move away, still maintaining his 
height over the people around him.

It was the famous Jim Porter, of Louisville, then about 25 years old, and eight 
feet seven inches high. Porter was then considered to be the tallest man in the 
world, and was a long, gangly, awkward sort of a being. As I had seen him 
before, I moved towards a stand not far off, where I heard the first speech of 
my life. The speaker was Governor David Wallace, of Indiana, the father of the 
Gen. Wallace who was killed at the battle of Shiloh, and of Gen. Lewis Wallace 
the celebrated author of that grand romance, Ben Hur, a book which has perhaps 
been read by more people than any romance ever written.

When he finished he was followed by Henry Clay Junior, who in the battle of 
Buena Vista, some years after fell, as Lieutenant Colonel of a regiment of 
Kentucky Infantry, yielding up his life for his country. Being wounded, four of 
his soldiers was carrying him off the field, but being pressed by the enemy, he 
ordered his men to save themselves and leave him to his fate, as they could not 
save themselves and him also.

The Mexicans rushed upon him and lanced him to death. Nothing gave a Mexican 
more pleasure than to murder a wounded man or a prisoner.

After I heard these speeches I turned my attention to the barbecue tables, and 
to the drinking of cider, to both of which I did full justice as far as my 
memory recalls the facts. The election finally came off, with results 
astonishing Whigs as well as Locofocos.

Gen. Harrison received 1,275,017 votes, Van Buren received 1,128,702 votes, and 
James G. Birney, the first candidate who ever ran on the abolition ticket 
received 7,059 votes.

Gen. Harrison received 234 electoral votes, Van Buren had 48. New Hampshire, 
Virginia, South Carolina, Alabama, Illinois and Missouri voted the Locofoco 
ticket.


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