Tatum Days, Fall 1911 - Spring 1913 - Smith County, TX Contributed by Dr. Alma Moore Freeland Submitted by East Texas Genealogical Society P. O. Box 6967, Tyler, TX 75711 Copyright. All rights reserved. http://usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm ***************************************************************** Memories of School Days in Tyler and Some Smith County Schools 1898-1951 By Alma Moore Freeland (1904-1991) A copy of this book is in the Tyler Public Library. Permission has been given by Jerry Moore, nephew, to publish articles from this book in the Smith County TXGenWeb Archives. TATUM DAYS FALL 1911 - SPRING 1913 Tatum! The very word sends a thrill of happiness through my heart. It was in Tatum that I started to school. It happened one Monday morning in September 1911. On that day a new wonderful world opened up for me. We had just moved to that little town on the Santa Fe in Rusk County, about twenty miles from Henderson and Longview, for Papa to assume his duties as superintendent of the local school. Of course I was no stranger to a schoolhouse; I had shadowed my father on weekends and afternoons in his Starrville and Whitehouse days; I had "helped" him get the Tatum building ready for the opening day. But it was not until I sat at my very own desk; touched my very own primer, slate, and copy book; exchanged glances with my new classmates; and felt enveloped in the warmth of my beautiful teacher's smile and greeting that I knew I was on the threshold of a lifelong glorious experience. How right I was! That day's glow of anticipation has never left me; it has dimmed at times but it has survived hardships, disappointments, and delays of all kinds, and even today--seventy six years later--each morning brings enthusiasm for exploring new ideas, thoughts and knowledge. These in turn stimulate exciting challenges and opportunities for rich personal growth. Happy is my day when as evening approaches my heart feels a deep sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. And it all started among the tall pines in a little East Texas sawmill town! How thankful I am that an early period in my life was spent in Tatum. A second early Tatum school experience, and the one I most frequently shared with my students during my teaching days at The University of Texas at Austin, happened one cold winter evening soon after supper. A big wooden box had arrived and Papa had promised to open it that evening. No doubt he had purposely delayed the event so as to increase our curiosity and readiness. One by one he slowly pried up the nails; at last the top swung back to reveal mounds of old newspapers and excelsior. Then with tantalizing slowness he removed it and there lay rows of BOOKS. One by one he placed them on the wooden floor--big books, little books and a few brightly colored ones. Sometimes I think that was one of the most significant events in my life; I'm sure it was a part of the beginning of my lifelong love for the printed page. As I touched each book with loving hands I felt as if I had touched magic itself. Of course I didn't verbalize my feelings at that time, but for the second time in my Tatum school days I knew I was hovering on the edge of a new world. Time has proved the validity of that reaction. As I opened the books I soon realized they were much too difficult for me to read, but that did not deter my determination to learn to read them. Indeed, that challenge may have accelerated my growth in mastering the printed page. Interestingly, the book that seemed most likely to meet my immediate need was Hawthorne Is Miraculous Pitcher. I always had a tender feeling for the story; it represented the miracle that had happened to me that long-ago evening in Tatum. Occasionally, a student in one of my Childrens Literature classes would report on the story, thereby unwittingly prompting the professor to relate the above story about her introduction to library books. In an historical record prepared by Ellie Williams, a high school student, the following statistics were given for Tatum in 1911. The population was given at close to 500. There were nine grocery stores, two drug stores, two meat markets, one restaurant, two barber shops, one saddle and harness shop, one bank (in a brick building), one blacksmith shop, one cotton gin, one sawmill, two livery stables, three physicians, two church buildings, one brick kiln, two hotels and one newspaper plant. There was also one "good" school building; a superintendent, two classroom teachers and approximately ninety pupils. The 1911 schoolhouse was a two-story frame building; one upstairs room was closed except for lodge meetings. The historical account also said that Tatum grew up around the plantation home of Mr. Albert Tatum who came from Alabama about 1850. The name for Tatum just came naturally. Of course when we lived in Tatum I was much too young to be interested in any background information, but I did spend many hours visiting a classmate who lived in the still stately ante-bellum mansion surrounded by old crepe myrtles, dwarf hawthorne and pale, scrawny rose bushes, all degenerates of those once healthy cuttings tended so lovingly by the pioneers from Alabama. We played among the headstones in the family cemetery which had recently become the resting place for other Tatum community residents. There was always a mournful, eerie sound around the place as the wind drifted in and out the branches of the old cedar trees. The time and place held such a fascination for me that I made a special trip years later to see it again. It was a terrible mistake and served only to remove some of MY most cherished memories of those days. It left unanswered the question I sought--who was my little classmate? Since there didn't seem to be any descendants of the Tatum family around, I assume her parents were tenants or caretakers of the old place. It was to this community that John R. Moore brought his wife, Lola, and their four young children. After a two day train journey they were tired, dirty and very hungry. But the vision of a speedy ride to their new home, where their furniture had been set up, good food, warm baths, and early bedtime for all soon vanished. They were shocked to learn no house was available; the furniture remained in a freight car on a railway siding! Fortunately, we found rooms and kitchen privileges in the home of Mrs. Jim Waldron, one of the kindest people I have ever known. It was the beginning of our family's most rewarding friendship and lasted until her death many years later. We lived with Mrs. Waldron, her daughter, Miss Ann, and granddaughter, Virginia, for about two months while our house was being built. We were such a sorry sight that first day, I'm sure it was a difficult decision for the gracious Miss Jim to take us into her home. I think her heart was touched by the pale, young mother's unspoken plea for help. Although she undoubtedly shared Miss Ann's dread at the prospect of living under the same roof with four noisy children, I think eventually she felt our love and affection for her was compensation enough for the sacrifices she made in our behalf. Mrs. Waldron was an able, intelligent, and well-to-do business woman and her support of and friendship with the new school superintendent and his family gave them a certain prestige and security. School Related Experiences My overall conclusion after years of association with schools at all levels is that the most important factor in the educational program is the faculty, and specifically the teacher who must be supported by the administration, other faculty members, parents and the community in general. To be sure beautifully equipped, carpeted, air-conditioned buildings, broad curriculum offerings, fine athletic programs and other extra curricular offerings are to be desired, but they are dispensable, not essentials; they are supplementary factors only. I was most fortunate in having superior teachers in Tatum. Misses Annie Laurie Allen, Irene Strong, and Veasey Yandle were three teachers I shall never forget and my gratitude to them is sincere and everlasting. I know nothing about their scholastic qualifications; they were probably teaching on County Teaching Certificates Supplemented by Summer Normal School sessions and periodic County Teacher Meetings. So were most, if not all, of their contemporaries. The superintendent did have a degree from North Texas State Teachers College in Denton, which made him above the average in qualifications for teaching at that time. I'm confident the superintendent and my teachers recognized my potential for learning and provided the stimulation that helped me to enjoy going to school and that inspired me to want to take advantage of every opportunity for learning and growth. Memories of many Tatum school experiences seem to bubble up as I examine the boxes of records that have somehow survived the years in an old trunk in my sister's storeroom. I was surprised to find an envelope with powdered bits of a pressed flower and remembered it was once a dainty purple violet. It is hard for me to believe it and many other kinds of wild flowers grew in such rich abundance in mossy spots on the school playground! They surrounded our wigwam playhouses which the older boys helped us build. Among the stately pine trees grew young saplings used to make the framework; the boughs made a good covering. Inside were discarded furniture, broken mirrors, chipped dishes, braided rugs, pans and other articles. We spent our recess and lunch time playing with our dolls and grasshoppers. Much ingenuity was displayed in designing clothes and matchbox houses for the latter who unfortunately had the habit of spitting tobacco-like fluid over everything. Then we were back to our more docile dolls. Lunchtime in the wigwam was a delight. Our food was packed in syrup buckets and it must have been a sight as dozens of us approached the grounds each morning with a bag of books over one shoulder and a shining syrup bucket in one hand. In the buckets would be fruit in season, fried salt pork and baked sweet potatoes, and biscuits with butter and syrup filling a hole made with one's finger. After holidays and Sundays we might have bits of chicken, ham, turkey and cake. This was when the sharing business was most fun; sometimes real bargaining took place over some special morsel! It was in the Tatum School that I first became aware of my father's great interest in drama; he seemed to take advantage of every opportunity to provide school and community programs, we had Chapel almost every day in the upstairs room with the big stage at one end. Bible reading from the Holy Book itself; spontaneous prayers, patriotic and hymnal music, storytelling with emphasis on moral living, talks by ministers, lawyers, physicians, merchants and other citizens made these early morning events important period in each school day and supplemented parents' and teachers' efforts to provide apositive, character-building environment that would stimulate wholesome attitudes and ideals for present and future living. We must remember that all this took place long before the Supreme Court, the Government and all kinds of vested interests issued rules, laws and demands that have completely obliterated or changed America's behavior and attitudes--and not necessarily for the betterment of its people. Sometimes the chapel programs were very informal; the superintendent and the teachers as a rule provided the entertainment and the instruction. Once in a while we children were invited to participate. one morning he asked for volunteers to recite a poem or tell a short story. Before I knew what was happening I was on that stage, kneeling with hands in a praying posture and reciting a poem I had found in my reader; it went like this: Evening Prayer--A Poem Father, we thank thee for the night, And for the pleasant morning light. For rest and food and loving care, And all that makes the world so fair. Help us to do the things we should, Tobe to others kind and good; In all we do in work or play, To grow more loving every day. As I read the above, I am astonished. First that I did it; but more important that I would not be permitted to do it at all today. We have come a long way--the direction is debatable! For a big community night program, the faculty and children had worked long, hard hours practicing, decorating the stage, and preparing materials for a final tableau. Mamma and Mrs. Waldron made me a beautiful, wine-colored wool dress. When we arrived backstage the evening of the performance, I stood horror-stricken--all my classmates stood around attired in flowing, pastel colored cheesecloth robes. Someone had forgotten to tell me about the costumes. One thing was for sure if it was attention I craved, I got it. That dark dress stood out like a sore thumb; everyone noticed me; however, that was small compensation for my feelings. Unfortunately, it left me with a kind of inferiority, and I always thereafter wondered if I was properly attired when I stepped on a stage which must have been thousands of times during my long career. However, the program that evening must have been a huge success for the others if one may judge by the applause and the many "Oh's" and "AH's" when the brilliant colored light- from the tableau powder was ignited. It was a sort of dream world for all--except me. Another community program was "The Old Maid's Convention." It was an hilarious comedy and-acclaimed a rip-roaring success for Professor Moore, who played the lead, and his supporting cast consisting of Mamma and fifteen other Tatum women. The lead in Uncle Josh was also played by the superintendent; the other characters in this play were high school students, patrons and other Tatum residents. The charge was 25 cents for adults, 15 cents for children; the proceeds were applied on the purchase of a piano. By today's standards my first two years of school would be considered dull and inadequate. Not so! The critics would probably be most vocal about the curriculum, the scarcity of books, and meager equipment and supplies. It is true the schools in those days usually followed a single textbook--a reader--which determined the scope and content of the curriculum as well as the method for teaching reading and spelling; at that time the phonics approach was used. The phonics versus other methods still cause controversy; for my part I have decided the important issue is to inspire and stimulate children so they will want to read so badly they will learn by whatever method is used. Although the single textbook brings up the problem of quantity, an examination of such books reveals a remarkable quality in content. Such books contained poems, folk tales, simple myths and legends, proverbs, historical, patriotic and biographical selections, and Bible and family life stories. Each was selected for its character- building purposes. Such books helped the school supplement the efforts of the homes, churches and other community agencies to develop responsible, honest, spiritual-minded and patriotic citizens. In this way a teacher didn't have to apologize for using material that taught children the difference between right and wrong or that showed a belief in the spiritual side of life. It certainly made life easier for all concerned. Discipline was an easier matter; politeness and concern for others could be expected; the work ethics was implanted in the mind and was demonstrated in a willingness to work harder on school work and willingness to help care for school property. There were few, if any, custodians and this type of work had to be done by students and teachers. The current feeling of many today who believe the world owes them a living was non-existent when I was a first and second grader in Tatum. One of my annual goals was not to be absent or tardy a single day. To maintain my record I hurried off one cold morning and arrived at school minus my big black bloomers which I wore over my long "johns" (we called them union suits). When Mamma found them she knew I needed them in that cold drafty building; she sent them by my little five year old sister, who arrived safely but half frozen. I put them on in the cold stairwell. I hope I kept Mae with me long enough to warm her up. Family-Related Experiences in Tatum I like to recall some of those events that happened to our family when we lived in Tatum; most were pleasant--some were not so. In the late fall of 1911 it was extremely cold and when we moved into our new home after several weeks with Mrs. Waldron in her snug, weather- proof home, we soon learned our house was not going to be very comfortable. Pretty homemade quilts, thin cotton blankets, wood- burning cookstove and bedroom heater did little to remove the bitter wind that seeped into the rooms through cracks in windows, doors and the single walls of our four room box dwelling! But our closeness as a family and our love and concern for each other did much to compensate for our lack of physical warmth. Unfortunately, we were often ill from severe colds and malaria which was prevalent due to mosquitoes breeding in the swampy river bottom land near by. Incidentally, it was the lowly but vicious insect that terminated our otherwise glorious days in Tatum. One day in the spring of 1913, Mamma declared she was tired of dispensing bottles of Grove's chilltonic to little yellow faced children, husband and self--her arm was worn out from shaking down the thermometer! She was leaving Tatum! We arrived in Winona bag and baggage in the fall of 1913. But that happened after those memorable evenings when Mamma cooked our supper on the flat-topped bedroom heater--the kitchen was too cold. Wrapped in our warmest clothes we ate her delicious hoecakes with real butter, ribbon cane syrup and Grandpa Hill's homecured bacon or ham. We were even allowed to drink Arbuckle's Coffee. We didn't have a cow and milk was scarce. Mamma was an immaculate housekeeper; the beds were spotlessly clean; homemade quilts and blankets frequently sunned; even the feather beds were lugged out for airing much too often according to Papa. Frequent baths for all of us resulted in mounds of clothes for washdays. The floors were pine and scrubbed until they were white and often besplintered and a hazard for us barefooted children. One of us seemed always to have a kerosene or turpentine bandage foot from which a splinter had been removed. A second hazard was caused when we stepped on live coals around the big washpot. Since I was the one old enough to stir the Clothes, it was I who generally let out the bloodcurdling yells. If the burn was bad enough Mamma would excuse me from the chore and I usually recuperated in the swing on the front porch. From this perch one day I discovered the glorious colors one could enjoy simply by gazing toward the Sun with eyes closed. (No one had cautioned me about the danger from such an act!) That huge washpot moved with us from place to place and was not retired from active duty until after Mamma died. Sometimes we stayed alone when Papa went to a Teachers meeting in Longview, Henderson or Carthage. Mamma would let Mae and me sleep on the other big wooden bed in her room. She would let Travis sleep with her; the baby was in his cradle. How sweet it was to wake up and hear Mamma and four year old Travis singing their favorite hymns. His was "There's Power In the Blood" and those rough walls must have echoed with the sacred melodies. We had few worldly goods in those days but we were a close family with lots of love. I cling to my memories of our association with the Baptist Church in Tatum. My feelings have been expressed in the 1977 issue of Chronicles, Volume 16, Number 2, page 32. I quote them below: In 1912 John R. Moore was ordained a deacon in the Baptist Church, an honor and a responsibility he cherished all his life. There one cold, snowy day we arrived at church to find no fire in the potbellied stove and few devout friends. But in no time at all Papa became custodian, bell-ringer, pastor and organist! As if by a miracle the sun streamed through the tall spire-like windows, the snow glistened and sparkled, the stove radiated warmth, the sweet sound of the church bell was heard as Papa pulled the rope to the belfry,--and finally we were as one in the spirit of devotion in the House of God as Papa read from the Holy Book and played "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God" on that old-fashioned organ. Only once more in my life have I enjoyed such a memorable spiritual experience." Services were held in each of the four churches in Tatum once a month. This enabled each citizen to attend all of the services if desired. Our pastor, Elder T. M. Kinsey preached every second Sunday morning and night. On Sunday, April 28, 1912 we were having lunch when suddenly the sultry calm of the morning was changed to great gusts of wind and almost total darkness. Then Papa's voice usually so calm and even became loud and urgent as he directed us to run next door to our pastor's home. Brother Kensey and his family were as frightened as we. I can remember no sequence of events; everything happened so quickly. I do recall Papa and Brother Kinsey were each standing at a window and that I knelt down and peered through a small space in the window just as a tornado lifted the gin's roof and swept it through the air effortlessly. That scene always came to mind when I read The Arabian, Nights and the tales about the flying carpet. The effects of the tornado really never left our family. Papa never forgot it and for the rest of his life when a tornado was predicted, he dressed and prepared himself and his family for any contingency. It had a devastating effect upon that little community too. The entire business section, the churches and most all homes were destroyed or very badly damaged. There were three houses not touched; our home, the physician's home across the street and Brother Kinsey's home where we stayed during the storm. Yet with all the destruction around us no life was lost and few people were injured. Unfortunately, Tatum had scarcely rebuilt and recovered from the tornado when the commercial area and a few nearby homes were destroyed by fire. Papa was away that night attending a Teachers Conference and my teacher, Miss Veasy Yandel, was spending the night with us. We were awakened by the sounds of bells and gun shots. we ran outside and found the heavens aglow with leaping flames, the air heavy with smoke billowing up in thick black clouds. Miss Yandel and I dressed and decided to go nearer town but soon lost our courage and returned to share our findings with Mamma. When I read Gone With the Wind and later saw the film, I found the fire in Atlanta very similar to the Tatum one. Eventually, as was the case after the tornado, Tatum business houses were rebuilt. However, it seemed to me the town had lost some of its past vitality. In our Tatum days life was much simpler than in later years. Our parents found time to work and play with their children. How I treasure one morning when Papa and I went fishing in the countless pine tree-lined brooks. I was equipped with a bamboo fishing pole and a tiny fish hook fashioned by my father from a dress pin. It dangled at the end of a twine string and I was instructed in whispers to dip it into the dark pools. Completely uninformed as I was in the art of fishing, somehow I knew when I had a bite--the string suddenly disappeared. How I must have looked when I pulled out that flashing, golden sunfish! I was to enjoy such exhilaration again under the supervision of my husband, a skilled fisherman, when I landed a huge walleyed pike in a lake near Bemiji, Minnesota, twenty-five years later. Incidentally, I was still using a worm for bait, much to the disgust of my companion whose bait box was filled with an expensive array of lures and hooks. Somehow Mamma, busy as she was with the endless tasks incumbent upon a conscientious wife and mother, found time and excercised the patience to teach me to make doll cothes. When Papa wrote my name on a piece of brown cloth, she taught me how to embroider it and the scallops with bright turkey red thread. Though considerably frayed, that piece of my handiwork has survived the years and reminds me of those happy, carefree Tatum days. I never learned to be an accomplished seamstress but that didn't really matter; the important point is that I had those moments alone with my mother. In my childhood, playtime at home or school was an informal, spontaneous adventure. It was seldom directed by adults breathing down our necks admonishing us to "remember the rules." We were free as the air to follow our individual interests or to join others in group games. Toys and other play equipment were of necessity simple and usually homemade; store-bought articles were too expensive for the average person. Besides what was the advantage? The noise made by a spoon and pie tin or a homemade bamboo whistle was just as effective as that produced with a store-bought article. Ida and Hope, my rag dolls were as dear to me as Vesta with her naturally curly hair. Who could ask for greater excitement than that felt when one soared high into the air on the rope swing on the front porch or the big oak tree in Mrs. Waldron's yard? When could one count faster than during a rope jumping contest? Was there ever such sweetness as that in the cup at the syrup making mill? Where was one's curiosity better satisfied than at the mill watching the stacks of sugar cane and sorghum converted into gallons of boiling juice by the big, old mule circling the vat hour after hour? How many children, today have wallowed in the fragrant pine sawdust at the mill? This was one of our favorite pastimes when our parents or an adult could go with us. Sometimes even now when I can't sleep, I try to imagine my body again pink, plump and tingling from the soft caresses of the downy flakes of sawdust. There were other places we liked to visit; among these was an afternoon spent at Mrs. Waldron's. While mamma and Mrs. Waldron sewed, cooked or just talked we children played in the yard under the chinaberry trees. One afternoon just after I had heard them discussing the sinking of the big ship, the Titanic on April 15, 1912, 1 recall sitting in the swing, my legs dangling, my toes twisting in the soft sand, my mind questioning. I was aware of the magnitude of the situation, but not knowledgeable or mature enough to know where, what or how it had happened. I only knew that death had come to many people. Up to that time I do not think had ever attended a funeral of a friend or a member of our family,:. I especially liked to visit my schoolmates and on Saturdays I often spent the day with Leland Mullins, who lived nearby; Lillian Vincent and Lois Kurkendall. Lillian lived "out in the country" and I adored going to their farm. We walked miles looking for sweetgum trees and stretchberry vines. What bliss! When we mixed the gum and stretchberries we could blow huge bubbles which often stuck to our teeth, face and clothes. we went up and down the brooks looking for little bubbling springs; a discovery was announced with loud squeals of happiness. The fun usually ended when I got home; my gum-streaked mouth looking like a clown's; my sturdy shoes a muddy mess; my freshly starched and ironed morning bonnet and apron as limp as rags. But I always concluded it was all worth any price I had to pay. Today it seems incredible that little girls of my time could have found such happiness and satisfaction in such simple activities! But life was not without some excitement and on two occasions near tragedy when our baby brother almost died from drinking medicines. The first time he found a bottle of Grove's Chill Tonic. Access to the bottle was probably easy enough for every member of the family sooner or later fell victim to malaria, chills, fever and other diseases in that mosquito infested country; the only remedy available was thought to be the tonic. A bottle probably stood on every table, dresser and cupboard. We were told to keep the baby awake and for hours someone had him in arms walking--walking and sometimes patting his face and body. The second time we were at Mrs. Waldrons and Virginia, Mae, and I were using bottles of soapy water to blow bubbles. In my joyful excitement I forgot that Mamma told me to "keep an eye on the boys." The baby saw the bottles and by some means never understood, he crawled up to a low dresser and found a bottle to use as he had seen his sister do and drank the contents. It was nip and tuck for many hours; again we went through the walking routine. This time I was held responsible (I was at school the first time). Since then I have always had a deep feeling of sympathy for older children in a family charged with the responsibility of baby-sitting or watching. I know at the time I felt that I never had any time left for myself and I'm sure I developed a rather "un-sisterly" attitude toward my siblings. At least one time in my life I savored to the full the feeling of great wealth. On one of my regular trips to the post office for us and Mrs. Waldron, I saw a piece of dew-encrusted, greenish paper glistening in the sunshine at my feet. Miss Anne watched me from the front porch as I picked it up and then threw it down. She called to me to bring the paper to her; it was a ten dollar bill! When no one claimed it after we inquired around, it was given to me. For days I was the object of much attention from the younger children; and for days I dreamed of ways to spend my fortune. The truth is I don't know what happened to that ten dollars. The chances are it was used to buy a new pair of shoes, a sweater or for some household need. I wish I could remember that it was used in some way for Mamma. She sacrificed so much for us and received so little in return. The best of everything went to us children and Papa. She was so proud of her husband; and I bet it went toward a new blue suit. Through homemade lye soap, vigorous stirring in the washyard, boiling water, and a blueing rinse, Monday's wash emerged bright and clean. The homemade ironing board rested between the tops of two chairs which often wobbled precariously. A well-polished pair of high-topped shoes and a carefully brushed black hat completed Papa's uniform for many years to come. (Incidentally, in my opinion he was very good looking; my Mother was very pretty with a beautiful complexion.) I have thought about Mamma's almost obsessive attention to her husband and children, and I have decided she experienced a kind of vicarious pleasure and that every moment for her was filled with a deep feeling of love for us. For one thing she didn't care to participate in activities outside her home; too, she was not a demonstrative person and it was her way of showing her affection. One night a particularly exciting event occurred. Unexpecte guests arrive after we had eaten our supper; there was no refrigeration in those days and meals had to be prepared from scratch. Mamma sent me to the Kinsey's to borrow anything. Just as I opened the gate a great firey object hurled itself through the heavens. I was speechless when I threw myself through the kitchen door; Papa went in my place; I don't know what luck he had. I have always thought the object was a meteor, but recently I checked my encyclopedia and found that a comet called Encke's Comet was sighted in the heavens in 1913; so I presume that was what I saw. Although we returned several times to visit Mrs. Waldron and other Tatum friends, our formal departure took place in the spring of 1913. Our furniture was on its way to Winona, but we went to Troup to spend the summer in our little home there to await the opening of school in the fall. While we stood on the platform at the depot that night, I saw Mrs. Waldron press a bill into Papa's hand. That five dollar bill was a considerable amount in those days. Somehow we all knew we were ending a special period in our lives. The train came and soon only a few feeble lights marked Tatum on the Santa Fe.