MEMOIRS OF HOLIDAY HYDE HAYLEY

FOREWARD

In writing this little sketch of my memories of the past, I hope to 
leave more sunshine and sorrow.  Remember that no cloud is so dark that 
it has no silver lining somewhere.  No doubt but that I will leave out 
many things I should record, but I will give the past as it comes to me 
as I write of the last seventy-four years.

APPENDIX by Hubert Albion Hayley, grandson.

On the 14th day of June, 1848, I was born in Marshal County, 
Mississippi, fifteen miles west of Holly Springs.  I was born in a l
og  cabin with a puncheon floor, and I am proud I was born in that 
lowly cabin.  Jesus, the greatest one who ever lived, was of lowly 
birth, and for that cause I am glad I was not born in a palace.  My 
parents  were from North Carolina and belonged to the Missionary 
Baptist Church.  The old set before them belonged to that church as 
far back as I can trace the record.  My mother was Jenevia Hank Perry, 
and her parents were from the old state as well as my father's people.  
The older set were English and Scotch with a claim of some Irish blood. 
The Hayley side was closely connected with the Hyde family.  Some of 
the Hydes were prominent in King Charles' parliament, and my 
Grand­father Hayley was very fond of some of the Hydes, and he 
named me in honor of one of the Hyde family.  Holiday Hyde was his
name, so I was named Holiday Hyde Hayley.  My Grandfather Hayley died
when I was about seven years old, and my father and a cousin looked 
after my Grand-mother's business as long as she lived.  Her death in 
1859 brought a great change in my life because the old home had to be 
sold for a division of the estate.  My father rented the old home for 
one year, and during that year I attended school in the old log house 
as I had been doing for two years before then.  My aunt was the 
teacher and I had a book with a big red turkey on the front.

I never saw my Perry grandparents as they died before I was born. I 
recollect my Great-Grandmother Perry.  Her maiden name was Richards, 
and she was the dressiest person I have ever seen.  She was eighty 
years old, I think, when I saw her last, and she dressed all the time 
as if she were ready for the ballroom or a wedding.

We lived on what was called the old Paten Road, the highway leading 
from Alabama and Georgia to Arkansas through New Mexico to the gold 
fields of California.  At the foot of the hill upon which my father's 
house stood was a beautiful valley covered with a general variety of 
shade trees.  A nice little brook which ran through this valley 
furnished water for the travelers who generally camped in the valley 
at night.  As the tide of emigration was heavy in the years from 1855 
to 1860, there would be a great many people camped there at night. 

In those days people believed in what they called haunts and bull 
fights and such things as that.  They would sit around their campfire, 
and talk, and my father got in the habit of sitting with the people 
and hearing the wonderful stories they told.  My two brothers and I 
were nearly always with him on these visits, and we always had a new 
supply of ghost yarns and bull fights to tell about.  Some of the 
stories would make the hair stand up straight on a negro's head.  
Sometimes we were even afraid to go to the house after we had heard 
some very horrifying tales.  My father would then let Brown, the old 
negro nurse, go along with us as a sort of bodyguard.  I think my 
father believed some of the tales he heard, but Brown said that there 
were no witches since the Witch Endes called up Samuel once, and he
scared her so badly that she died and that there had been no witches 
since then.  He said there were devils of all kinds and he thought 
the campers had a lot with them to be talking such things to children.  
After that my mother stopped our going to the camps, but she did not 
stop our being afraid of the dark.  Brown said he was not afraid of 
any ghost that ever was.  One night my cousin and my aunts made a 
ghost out of a white sheet and dressed my cousin up Klu Klux Klan 
style and sent him to the apple orchard.  Then they sent Brown to 
the orchard to drive out some hogs. Brown met my Cousin all dressed 
up in the sheet, and my cousin told Brown that he was a ghost and 
had come for him.  Brown told him that he was lying and that he was 
just a negro who was there stealing apples and that he would cut out 
his liver.  Brown made a dive at my cousin and had torn part of his 
clothing off before the womcn could stop him.  That settled the ghost 
business around the old home.  My people brought quite a number of 
negroes with them to Mississippi.  The Hayleys were well-educated and 
more inclined toward agriculture and books than to anything else, while 
the Perrys were more in commercial and trading lines.  I never heard of 
one of either name ever having been charged with a criminal offense.  
My father had one brother and seven sisters.  My uncle had four boys 
and only two of them ever had a family that I know of.  My father 
raised four boys, and they all had families and from them the Hayley 
name is now beginning to increase.  I am the oldest of the four boys, 
R. J. is the next, and W. C. the third.  I have two sister, to come in 
next-Laura W. who is dead now, but she left a large family of children.  
Then comes in Judson Mecurin.  She has some children.  After that the 
fifth boy comes in, but he died when small.  Then comes in L. A.  He 
is dead, but he left a nice family to help build up the name.  Then 
comes in Jenevia Smith who has raised a large family, and they live 
in Hill County, Texas.  The youngest child is Marthy Helen Cathy, and 
she has a family of four children one boy and three girls.

The first thing I can recollect was when I was four years old, and my 
aunt came to see my mother and brought Silvey, a negro, to nurse her 
baby and sent her out to look after me and my brother, Bob, and the 
baby.  My brother, William, had just arrived at our house.  Silvey took 
us around to the backyard and pulled apples from a favorite tree.  When 
they scolded her, she pulled out and left my brother and me.  From the 
time I was four, I can remember things which happened.  I played with 
the little negro children a lot.  I never learned much about things 
away from home as my mother always kept me close at home when I was 
not in school.  I was never more than fifteen miles from home in my 
life before I was twelve years old.  I went to school a great deal of 
my life from the time I was five years old until I was fourteen, but 
it seems to have done me but little good.  My first twelve years were 
spent on the farm, and my life was a quiet one.  I did not know the 
world was much bigger than the state of Texas.  About the only very 
great excitement I can think of at this time was the killing one day 
of a neighbor woman by a negro.  The negro belonged to her husband, 
and he told her of a turkey nest out on a branch of a tree near where 
he was plowing.  She went to get the eggs, and while she was in the 
field, he abused her body and choked her to death.  Everybody came, 
and the negro was hanged and then burned.  It created a great 
excitement and caused much fear among the women and children.  It was 
common in those days for things like that to happen.  They always 
hanged or burned the negro who was guilty on the spot.  They would come 
for miles to be at the burning or hanging which generally came off the 
next day.  The negro would break for the brush as soon as he committed 
the crime, and the men would soon run him down with a pack of trained 
dogs.  The next day they would burn or hang him.  Such was life in those 
days wherever the negro lived, and I notice it has never been taken out 
of them by anything but good treatment.

In the fall of 1860 my father bought a new home in Desota County, and 
we moved.  Well, this moving was a new thing with me and brought about
a few things.  I recollect one, and the first of much excitement, was 
me putting off a blast of powder.  Before we left the old home, we were 
gathering up our traps and plunder and getting things ready to move.  I
was left with the children to catch the chickens while my father went 
out to the farm to gather up the tools, and my mother ran out to tell 
one of the neighbors good-by.  I noticed my father's old powder horn 
hanging on the wall. Right then I felt like doing something to 
celebrate our moving so I took down the powder horn and got a hoe and 
dug a hole in the ground and tromped an old bottle down with a 
pound of gun powder in it as hard as I could. I got all the children 
out and centered them around the hole but at a distance. Then I took 
a fishing pole and lay down flat on the ground and pushed a live coal 
of fire into the hole and off went the blast.  Such a mix-up I have 
never seen before, and it blew out a hole about like the entrance to 
Mammouth Cave and covered the children with dirt and smoke.  I am sure 
that was the biggest explosion that ever came off in Marshal County.  
At least it was for me.  About the time I touched it off my father came 
up behind me and my mother in front.  My father landed on me with both 
feet and a four foot board in one hand.  Well, when the dirt and sand 
all settled down and I could see I was still alive, I was glad to think 
cyclones traveled in great haste and sorry boards were ever made.  I 
had heard of a cyclone coming near my uncle's the year before and I 
was sure that was what had struck me when the blast went off.  I had 
seen a few little magic lanterns and sleight of hand tricks and had 
fought hornets and yellow jackets, but I had never been to a carnival 
like this before.  I had hunted possums and rabbits all my life and 
had struck a few skunks and had seen mules run off with plows, but I 
had never seen any­thing like that blast, and I remember that as my 
starting out in the world.

In a little while we were ready to move to our new home where I spent 
three of the happiest years of my life.  We soon had everything ready 
to load on the wagons, and by the next morning all the wagons were 
loaded.  We were ready for an early start.  My father borrowed a nice 
horse and buggy to carry my mother, and they rode in front of the 
wagons.  We had about nine wagons to carry all of our things.  Only 
one belonged to us,and the others belonged to our neighbors who came 
along to help us.  My father was in the lead, and I was in the rear 
driving our wagon with the grub box and other things to be used on 
the road.  We went seven miles before noon.  The cattle caused quite 
a bit of trouble that morning.  In the afternoon we went nine miles, 
and then we camped for the night.  My parents and the smaller 
children stopped at a farm house for the night, but my two brothers 
and I stayed at the camp with the wagons. It was the first time I had 
ever camped out.  It came a light snow during the night, but we had a 
good time.  We reached the new home about ten or eleven the next 
morning.  It was just about 18 or 20 miles from the old home.  Some of 
the neighbors wanted to start back that afternoon so we unloaded the 
wagons, and they started back.

About the time we got the wagons unloaded I heard the greatest 
commotion I had ever heard except the gun powder explosion.  I called 
to Brown to know what on earth it could be.  He said it was a train 
crossing the river bridge below the station two miles away.  The closer 
the train came, the more noise it made.  It soon came around the 
curve, and such smoking and puffing I had never seen before.  The 
train was heavily loaded with cotton and was a very long train.  I was 
sure the thing was burning up when it passed the house.  We had put 
the teams and cattle in the lot and fed them, but when they heard the 
awful noise the train made, they broke out of the pen in a mad stampede.  
Old Buck was the best possum dog that ever went to the woods, but he 
knew nothing about trains, and when the train came by, Old Buck took 
to the back track and ran to the river and stood and howled until Brown 
went down and brought him home.  He had no desire to cross the bridge 
any time after he saw the train.  About the time the train was opposite 
the house, a bunch of hogs crossed the track, and the train began to 
blow and make a fuss that would make Gabriel turn in his grave.  I ran 
and got behind a big stump to hide.  In a little while the train was 
gone and everything got calm.  Later another train passed, but it was 
a passenger train loaded with people.  It went by in a little rush with 
little puffing so we did not get so badly scared, and we were soon glad 
to see the daily trips.

We soon got the house in order, and we were out looking at the new 
home. It was beautiful country, and I have always regretted the move 
from the old home in the Mississippi hills.

In a few days I went out to see what the prospects for rabbits were. 
I had Old Buck with me, and we soon had some rabbits in holes.  They 
were easy to get out with a little twisting, so we were not long in 
getting what we wanted, and we started for the house.  I had heard 
there were bears and all sorts of wild animals in the country, and 
this was my first trip out. I heard a strange sound that I did not 
understand.  I stopped and listened. It sounded like the school bell 
back at the old place.  About that time I saw something coming.  I did 
not know what it was so I stood perfectly still. It walked up to me 
and smelled my hand.  It had a little bell on its neck, and that was 
what I had heard.  I stuck my fingers in the collar, and the thing 
came up on both hind feet and landed smack in my face with both fore 
feet.  The blood flowed like a stream had opened up as I struck the 
ground. The thing threw up its tail and off it went.  It looked like 
a bale of cotton rolling down the sand without any roping, and Old Buck 
was right at its heels. I went to the house with the blood running down 
my face.  I was somewhat dazed, and my mother thought the old mule had 
thrown me.  I told her I had been in a bear fight, and that Old Buck 
was after the bear, and I was sure he would catch him.  That scared my
mother, and she said the bear would kill the dog. We all loved Old 
Buck, and he had been in the family as far back as I could remember.  
All the children started crying, and mother sent Brown with a gun after 
the bear.  In a little while Brown came back with Old Buck trotting 
along by his side.  We were all glad to see him and wanted to know what 
happened to the bear.  Brown said it was no bear but Dr. Elkins' pet 
deer, and the doctor said if it came over to our house any more to give 
him a little salt, and it would follow us anywhere.

Things were changing fast with me now.  My father put me and the boys 
to work cleaning out fence corners and cutting briars.  Once he and 
Brown got busy on the school house that they were building for my aunt 
to teach in. They already had a fine school in one half mile of the 
one that was to be taught by my aunt, but it was crowded, and my aunt 
was a fine teacher from college with several years experience.  She 
soon had a good school going and kept it going through all the war.  
Lusian Allen and I were the largest boys in the school.  We sat on 
the same seat, and it was not long before he and I were fast chums.  
We were as Jonathan and David, and their love could not have been 
stronger than my own love for Lusian, and I never doubted his love for 
me.  He had a sister whose name was Florence.  I always thought she
 had the sweetest name I ever heard, and I wanted to name one of my 
girls Florence.  But my wife did not like the name and said she knew 
lots of names that suited her better, and she did not believe in 
keeping up names of people not related to us.

The other school was taught by Professor Joe Farley, and several of 
his pupils were grown young men and ladies.  They were all well-to-do 
farmers in that neighborhood, and the young people were well up in 
their books.  In a little while war was declared.  The first year both 
schools were full and worked together.  They were only one half mile 
apart, and most of the young ladies came to my aunt's school after the 
first year. The Farley school went down on account of so many going off 
to war.  Prof­essor Farley was soon off himself, and left both schools 
for my aunt to manage.  The young men were going off to war as fast as 
they were old enough to go.  Three other boys and I were the only boys 
over fourteen left in the school - Lusian Allen, Tom Love, Nat Jones, 
and I.  We heard quite a lot about little boys going to war so we got 
us a copy of Hardies Military Tactics, and we started drilling.

In May, 1863, my aunt decided to have a big May Day for the school in 
honor of some of the boys who were home at the time.  It was the second 
day of May, and there was never a day like that day.

Talk of war was stirring up our land.  We had a good school all the 
time for we made a fine crop that year.  We ginned hundreds of bales of 
cotton for our neighbors, and it seemed as if we were going to get rich. 
We stored the cotton for another year.  In 1861, we planted another 
crop, but war was declared and general confusion was all over our land.  
We had another school year, and it progressed well.  The Yankee Army 
started to move south, and the people were restless.  The young men 
were going to the army all over the country.  Congress passed a law 
that the cotton should all be burned, and things were very confused.  
Another year, the war was in full blast, but the school continued 
nicely.

Lusian Allen and I grew fonder of each other.  If we were not in his 
home, we were in mine.  Our mothers liked for us to be together.  His 
parents were old Presbyterians while my parents were Missionary 
Baptists, but both of our mothers were very pious and taught us to be 
godly in all things.  If I had all the paper I could write on for a 
life time, I could never tell all the good things I can remember in 
the life and characters of those two great women.  My own mother did 
not do as much praying in public with me and Lusian as his mother did.  
My mother had a different way of training us, but it always reached 
the mark.  My mother was one of the greatest characters I have ever 
known and was so considered by all who knew her.  Mother Allen was 
strict and good.  She always made us read a chapter in the Bible every 
Sunday morning. She would have us get down on our knees, and then she 
would kneel by us and pray for us and ask God to guide us through the 
day.  Sometimes Florence would read and kneel with us.  I was always 
glad when Florence read because she was a better reader than we were.  
The Allens seemed like kin to us.  I thank God for the good of love 
and Christian training Mother Allen gave me in early life. Had it not 
been for the early training of my mother and this good woman, I am 
sure the world would look different to me now.  The lessons I learned 
in early life have returned to me in my old age and have brought me 
much joy.'

I must say right here that in those earlier days I associated with a 
poor black slave, Brown, who left a light burning for me that will 
never grow dim. As I grow older, the light grows brighter, and some 
day I will meet Brown again. He nursed me when I was a babe and guided 
my footsteps as I grew older.  His skin was black, and he was a poor 
bound slave, but his soul was white.  Somewhere in life he had met the 
Savior.  I suppose my dear mother had told him the beautiful story of 
a Sovereign's love.  Let it be as it may--he knew the way, and he loved 
to travel it.  His life proved to me that God loves the pure in heart 
regardless of color or race.  I look back to the dim and dis­tant past 
and see many things I did not understand then but now I do.

However, I must mention one who has been by my side for fifty-four 
years. She has tromped thousands of miles through rain, sleet, and 
snow, through sun­shine and cloud and was always trying to keep me from 
the breakers.  I will speak more of her later on as I have not reached 
the time in my story when she came into my life.

I must get back to the May Day picnic and rally in 1863.  The war had 
been going on for sometime,and everything was badly stirred up, and 
there were many changes.  Cotton was burned; negroes were going to the 
Yankees who were holding the Mississippi River as far as Fort Pilles. 
We were wondering what would happen next.  The South called for more 
troops and placed the age limit at sixteen.  A grand rally was held at 
the school, and we had a May Day picnic.  The best speakers of the 
neighborhood were there, and their patriotic speeches stirred up the 
boys.  We had a fine program, and a large crowd was there.  The 
Hernandes boys were a part of the program with their brass band. I was 
captain of our school company of boys.  The boys were small, but they 
made a good showing.  Billy Runes was captain of the Hernandes Cadets, 
and they were all about grown, and a few days later they were all at 
the front. The girls had a fine program.  They were all dressed in 
white with white wreaths around their heads made from the ivy with a 
little red tint.  I have never seen anything like that in all my life 
when the girls walked up on that stage and waved those little 
Confederate flags and sang "Dixie".  The world turned over for me when 
they came marching around, and Florence threw her little flag over me 
and sang out, "Three cheers for my bonnie love:  We will marry when 
the war is over:" That was all I could stand.' My mother was on hand 
as general manager of the picnic tables.  She was a queen when it came 
to such things as that.  She had Brown on the grounds with a force of 
young negro boys and girls with white aprons and white handkerchiefs on 
their heads to handle the boxes and to attend to the wants of those at 
the tables.  That sort of work was always done by colored servants in 
those days, and each one tried to excel the others.  My mother 
understood what she was doing, and she made it a good day for the 
soldiers who were present.  My mother was a young woman then, and she 
was very popular with the girls.  She generally had some of them with 
her, so when the picnic was over some of the girls went home with her.  
After they had all gone, my mother remarked to me that she was well 
pleased with the days performance.  She said we did well in our drills 
and that the girls did, too.

Fifteen years of my life had been planned and guided by one of the 
great­est women God ever made.  She was my aunt and school teacher.  The 
last three years of that time she had one of the best Teachers of all 
times to help her. Pure in heart, godly in all things, she kept the 
school running even during all the var.  Her husband was killed? and 
she had to change in order to raise her children.  She started the 
school the year before the war started and kept it running until the 
war closed.  There are old men and women scattered through out the West 
that she gave their first lessons to in that little log school house on 
the hill.

In the next three months I spent my time in helping to lay by the crop, 
and a part of the time I was in the Allen home.  They were my best 
friends, and I liked to be with them.  In fact, Florence seemed to be 
as close as Lusian, and I felt as if she would be mine if I got through 
the war all right.  Florence seemed to think as I did, but the war was 
close, and she was not mine.

The morning in September came, and I was to leave for the war.  Brown 
stood at the gate and held the reins of my little horse, Billy.  I was 
up against the greatest time of my life.  I had never been away from my 
mother before this.  Think, oh, think of a boy not yet sixteen telling 
his mother good-by for possibly the last time, and then going off to 
war.  She asked God to take care of me and to bring me back home.  I 
could not speak; my heart was too full.  My little brothers and sisters 
were standing around me and sobbing with grief.  My mother did not shed 
a tear but gazed into the distance as if she were watching for my 
return.  I knew her heart was over-flowing.  As I approached my horse, 
I could see great drops fall from Brown's eyes as he put his arm around 
me and helped me to mount.  Brown said, "Young Master, do not forget to 
pray.  You will come back again."  My last command to him was to take 
care of my mother, and he promised that he would be there when I 
returned.

Little Billy was a game little Indian horse, and I had put a lot of 
time in working with him the last three months.  Like other boys, I 
liked a trick horse, and Billy was full of tricks; but I was not at 
that time hunting sport. Billy reared up and chewed on the bits and  
had to run a little bit, but I was in no mood to play and soon had him 
feeling as sad as I.  I had a little piece to go to be with the 
company, but I was soon in line.  We had to go by the Allen place, and 
I stopped to tell them good-by, but none was at home.  The negroes 
could not tell me where to find any of the, family.  Little then did I 
think, "I have seen my dear Florence and her people the last time."  
Right there I drank the first cup of wormwood and gall I had ever 
drunk, but I did not drink it all.  I love to look back on those 
days--the sweet memories it brings me.  What if I had known then that 
I would never see Florence and Lusian again.  I am so glad God is so 
good and never puts more on us than we can bear.

I was soon right on the battle line and was wounded in the first round 
and lost a lot of blood, but no hide, so I kept going.  The surgeon 
said it was only a slight wound, and it healed and left no scar, so I 
have never talked about it much.

I was in several battles.  Some of them we won and others we lost.  
From September 15th, 1863, until the close of the war I was always on 
duty, ready for the call day or night.  My record was a good one.  I 
had no desire but to carry out orders, and before the war was over I 
was Sergeant Major of my regi­ment.  My Uncle Bob Perry was killed.  He 
was my captain and had a fine repu­tation as a soldier and a man, and he 
was a close friend to Co1onel Matthew Forrest.  In respect for my 
uncle, I was told, came the appointment for me. As long as I was near 
home someone was coming to our camp with word from home, I could hear 
quite often, but then after awhile we were so far away that no news 
came through.  We fought the battle of River Cross Road, and we took 
Fort Piller.  Finally, we took Memphis.  We had a fight at Oxford, 
Mississippi, and then we drifted over to Harrisburg, on the Missouri 
and Ohio Railroad.

That was in the summer of '64, and such I hope the world will never 
see again.  It was a hard fight for the Rebels, but we will always 
think if General Steven D. Lee had not been on the scene we would 
have won the battle.  General Lee was in command, and he threw us in 
the fight by details and not as an army.  When one brigade gave out, 
he would retire it and put in fresh troops.  General Forrest wanted to 
put all of our forces in at one time, but General Steven D. Lee was 
his senior officer, and his orders were obeyed.  Such is war.  Guilt 
edge power has lost many battles. My brigade fought first.  We charged 
through an open field.  The Yankees were fortified in a lane made from 
old fence rows.  A little in the rear they had thrown up earth works.  
We drove them from the lane to the earthen works where they had a very 
strong force laying in wait for us.  We had lost heavy in the charge, 
and when their men raised up in the line of breast works with three or 
four to our one, it looked like a few more vollies would wipe us out.  
We were ordered to fall back.  They charged us with bayonets but never 
went beyond the fenced lane.  In crossing that lane, coming or going, 
they killed the greater part of our men.  Three days later, the Yankees 
fell back and left the field with our dead still laying where they had 
fallen.  The wounded had been pierced through with bayonets, and the 
bodies were swollen all out of shape.  We could not tell one from the 
other.  It was very hot, and they were a mass of putrified flesh.  The 
scene was the most terrible I had ever seen.  When we went to bury our 
dead, there were but few of the boys who could handle the bodies.  We 
dug long graves and buried several in the same grave.  Sometime the 
body would be so badly decayed that a hole would be dug near and the 
body rolled into it.

The battle of Harrisburg was fought near the Mississippi and Alabama 
state lines.  There were something like thirty thousand men in the 
battle. The Federals were largely in majority when it came to numbers, 
and they had an army made up mostly of well trained men from the 
Western States.  They were different from the class of Dutch and negro 
soldiers we had been fighting.

One evening at the battle of Harrisburg we were ordered to change our 
position.  In making this change we had to go around the field 
hospital where they were bringing our wounded to have them treated.  
The battle was raging in all its fury, and they were unloading the 
wounded as fast as they came in, and the doctors were cutting off 
arms and legs as fast as they came to the ground.  They had long 
tables, and the wounded were laid there.  The field hospital is a 
thing the outside world knows little about, but ask an old one-arm 
or one-leg soldier, and he can tell you the story.

I am glad I was a soldier, and yet, I am sorry, too.  I know God is 
All Power, and He alone can stop war.  I cannot tell why we have wars 
unless our ungodly lives anger God.  Lots of good men have long since 
mouldered away in the dust of that native battlefield, and their bones 
have bleached and crumbled away and in time will be forgotten.  Such is 
the history of all time. God may sometime see fit to change the plan, 
and things will be different.


I have spent 35 years in a wasted life running after things that were 
not right and following the drums of pleasure and gold seekers.  There 
is but one way to get pleasure, and that is to shun wars and gold 
seeking, and follow God, and love your neighbors; love God and trust 
all to him and all will be well in the end.

My soul is sick at the thoughts of war, and I will say little more 
about its scenes in this sketch.

After the battle of Harrisburg, my regiment was ordered to Mobile, 
Alabama, for special duty.  We were sometimes on picket duty.  Later 
we were sent to the Florida coast about Milton and Pensacola Bay.  
Here nature was very extravagant in her display of beautiful scenery.  
The whole country is one grand scene of beauty.  All sorts of colors 
grow side by side, making one beautiful basket, dotted all over with 
some of the most beautiful forrest trees.  The magnolia is one of the 
most beautiful trees anywhere.  In the fall when its large clusters 
of cherry red berries ripen and they swing out among the green foliage, 
the scene is simply grand.  The oak is another beautiful tree covered 
with a long gray moss from top to bottom.  Well, this all proves God's 
creation and His goodness to man.  I often wonder and think why man 
fell from so high an estate to one so low.  But such is time, and God 
alone can save us from our fall. He gives us a plan.  Let us trust him 
and rise again.

While in the sunny land of Florida, I had sad news from home.  My 
uncle had been killed.  He was my captain and had been left behind to 
pick up his health.  He got over it, but at the battle of Harrisburg 
he took fever, and we had to leave him there.  His death was the 
first news I had heard in a long time.

We kept scouting at our daily work for several days.  One day I was 
called to the Colonel's headquarters and handed a message from him 
to carry to Blakely for General Munsey.  I returned the second day.  
Neither I nor my horse had had anything to eat on the trip.  Of all 
the trips I made, that was the lonliest.  I saw only one man on the 
road.  I can recollect at this time only a few picketts and reliefs at 
Blakely.  I stayed at Blakely that night. After I learned that I could 
not get anything to eat, I tied my horse to a post, spread down a 
blanket and retired.  I told the commander of the post that I was a 
carrier with a dispatch for General Mannie, but the one in com­mand was 
only a Corporal or Sargeant from the pine hills without soul or brawn,
so I got nothing.  When I got back, I was notified that Harry McNine, 
the Sargeant Major had deserted and that I would take his place.

We were ordered back to Mobile, and there the Colonel got orders to 
pick one hundred men and to go to Pearl River and break up a group of 
outlaws who were causing much trouble among the people along the 
Palmettes Glades and to bring out all the men we could find who were 
subject to army duty.

When we got to Mobile we had news from home but nothing from my dear 
mother.  The messenger said my mother was well but that he had sad 
news for me.  I told him to tell me what it was.  All had been sad for 
me for the past year.  He commenced by saying, "Well, Holiday, I am 
sorry to tell you, but Colonel Allen and Mrs. Allen have died since 
you left home.  Some sort of strange disease struck the family, and 
Lusian and Florence both died, too."

Can I tell my grief? No.  I was more for God than not, and my soul was 
sick within me, and I wept because I was in the world.  I cried with 
grief and called my dear Florence to speak to me from the dead.  l 
told the messen­ger it could not be so, and he said, "Yes, it is true."  
His name was Will Coulter.  A better soldier never drew breath than he. 
 He was a true friend to me all through the war.  I love to think of 
him.  He lived by the Allens and knew them and loved them.  He had 
brought me messages from Lusian and Florence, and he knew the story of 
love that was wrapped up in my poor heart.

I wondered if any other time could have hurt deeper or have been so 
bitter and so sad.  A poor boy--I was far from home.  My clothes were 
all ragged and torn, and I had no undergarments.  I wore a little 
shirt round about and all buttoned up.  I had no socks, and my shoes 
were bad.  There was no one to cheer me.  I went to the Colonel arid 
told him my story and asked him for a furlough to go see my mother.  
He said he could not do without me as there was no one to take my 
place.  He knew my story and said that I had never failed when called 
upon, and there was now more work of greater importance coming up.  
We were going to the palmettos for thc sake of human­ity, and I had 
to go.  I rode up to the head of the column and took my place as the 
Colonel's guard.  The bugle sounded a march and the Colonel and all 
led off.  The Colonel first and then myself and Sammy, the bugler, was 
next, and then Johnny Mullens.  The color bearer and his guard were 
next.  We were soon in a straight line for the palmetto glades of 
Mississippi, one hundred strong.  A finer bunch never marched out of 
Mobile.  I knew everyone of them by name and loved them all.  I knew 
they would do to trust.  I had ridden with them on more than one raid, 
and some of them were with me at Memphis and River Cross Roads and 
Harrisburg.  I knew they were true and I had no fear, but my heart was 
sad.  The world had lost all sweetness for me.  My mother, oh, my 
mother; I would have been willing to take any chance on getting to her 
if my Colonel would only say go, but he would not.

We reached the glades and began to gather up all the men we could 
find. It was not long before the others began a gorilla war.  We sent 
messengers to them and tried to get them to stop shooting and 
surrender, but they would not. That raised the blood of our boys to 
fever heat.  We called a council of war, and the decree was that we 
would hang one of their men for every one of our men they shot from 
the brush and that we would burn their houses.  We came across a group
 waiting for us in a house.  We sent a squad of 8 men up to the house 
and called them to come out and give themselyes up.  We had our man 
force under a little hill where they could not see them, and I am sure 
they thought all of us were in the advance guard.  They came out of 
the house pour­ing buckshot into our boys.  Our main force came up that 
hill in such a storm they could not stand and they broke for the
 swamps.  We rushed them in the raging waters that were just under 
the hill on the opposite side of us.  There were five of them, and 
we captured four.  When it was over, we found that they had killed 
one of our men as they came out of the house.  We knew one of those 
fellows would be hanged for that.  The man that was killed was not a 
member of our company but was a friend and guide to show us through 
the country.  His name was Laddimier, and his home was twenty or 
thirty miles from there, so we rigged up a wagon and carried his body 
home to his wife and little children. I have never heard such weeping
and wailing.  We could do nothing to calm his poor wife, and it seemed 
that she would frighten the poor children out of their wits.  I had 
seen hundreds of dead men, and one dead man was nothing to me, but 
the grief of his wife and children was more than I could stand.  I 
was in a bad shape for such scenes.

On our return we found that another group had run in on a little bunch 
we had left behind and killed Nat Jones and turned some prisoners 
loose.  Nat Jones was guard, and now he was gone; Tom Love was gone; 
Lusian Allen was gone; and my poor Florence was gone.  Not a chum 
did I have in this wide, wide world.  I wonder if such has ever been 
the case with a boy before.

The next day came, and we were ordered to hang two of the prisoners 
and burn their houses to let them know if it were the extreme they 
wanted that we would go the limit.  I had never shown the white 
feather before in battle, but when it came to that, I threw up the 
white flag and begged for mercy.  There was no war in me any more.  
I thought of Mother Allen's prayers and old Brother Dennis, the good 
old soldier of the Cross, who roped the life line around me before I 
left home.  I could see the beacon light still burning back at home in 
old Brown's cabin, and I heard a low, gentle voice in the distance 
saying, "Come unto me all you that are heavy laden."  My heart grew 
warm, and I cried to God for mercy, and He sent out a call for our 
return.  We were soon marching from the glades back to civil­ized 
people.  It will not be out of place for me to say here that those 
people were supposed to be mostly Creoles of some sort of foreign 
blood, and a great many of the women and children could not speak a 
word of English; but that made no difference with me when I saw their 
homes going up in smoke, and the little children screaming with 
fright, and the women pleading for mercy, and the men hanging dead 
on poles.  I surely felt that it was time to go to God for relief.  
They knew the swamps and concealed themselves and shot us from the 
brush.  We did not want to kill them and did not, if we could help 
it; but we hanged one every time they killed one of us.  After we 
added five to our program, they killed no more of our men, and we 
were called to another field of action.

One evening a man told the Colonel he had not seen his family for a 
long time to stay all night on account of outlaws.  He asked for a 
guard to go with him that he might visit his family.  The Colonel 
said he would give him a guard of four if he could find that many 
willing to risk it.  I was stand­ing by, and I told the Colonel I 
would take three men and go.  He told me it would be dangerous, but 
that I could go.  I called the boys and told them what I wanted, and 
they were ready to go.  We rode to the man's house, and his wife told 
us that two of the outlaws were armed and had gone through the yard a 
little while before we got there.  It was then sunset.  She gave us a 
good supper, and we took some bedding and retired to a vacant log 
house near the main house.  This we converted into a fort for the 
night.  Morning came, and the good lady gave us a good breakfast and 
said all sorts of good things to us and asked God's blessing upon 
us before we left.  We were ready to leave when her husband asked 
her, "One of the boys has no shirt.  Do I have one you can give him?"

She said, "No, but I do wish you had told me last night, and I would 
have made a shirt for him.  I have some cloth in the loom for dresses 
for the chil­dren, and I will cut off a piece of that and he can carry 
it along.  Some woman will cut and make it for him."

She cut out a piece of that cloth and crew it up around my shoulders 
and pinned it up well over my little thin roundabout, and I felt much
 better.  In a day or so I found an old wizard of a woman who cut and 
made that shirt for me.  It was cut on the modern day style of ladies 
dresses; so I had a vacant streak all winter between the top of my 
pants and the-tail of my shirt, and it caused me much bad feeling.  
I wore that shirt home from the war, and it was a war relic for some 
time.  I finally gave it to my brother, Bob, and he did his first 
courting in that shirt.

We went to Columbus, Mississippi, and there I found my father in the 
hospital, and supplies were hard to get.  He came out to my tent to 
be with me.  I rode to the country every day to find something for 
him to eat.  About all we could get then from the commissary were 
corn meal and ear corn. We made meal coffee and poached corn.  One 
day a squirrel came by my tent, and I killed it with an ear of corn.  
I made my father a pot of gruel out of the squirrel and some corn 
meal flavored with salt and pepper.  He seemed to enjoy it very much.  
He was soon sent home with a discharge, and in a few days I followed 
him as peace was declared.  It was very rainy and muddy in the spring 
in 1865.  I had been away from home almost one year, and my clothes 
were badly worn--all but my shirt that was too short, but it was better 
than no shirt.  My pants and coat were some I had drawn from the 
Navy stores.  So were my shoes, and my hat was a palmetto straw.  I 
had been wear­ing these clothes for nearly a year, and they were tied 
together and patched in many places.  My shoes were kept on with rag 
strings roped around them.

The war ended, and I was on my way home all tired and hungry with but 
little to eat and sleeping on the ground at night without cover or 
fire. I had no matches, and the nights were cool.  I dropped down 
wherever dark­ness overtook me.  The six days I was coming home, if I
 could have put all I had to eat in one pile,  I could have eaten it 
in one day.  Once I stopped at a house and asked for some bread.  An 
old colored servant invited me to come in, and she gave me a plate 
of fine side bacon, corn cake, and a cup of good coffee--something I 
had not had since I left home.  I felt much better and was ready for 
another long walk.  I rode ten miles in a wagon that came along.  That 
was the only ride I had on the whole trip.  The next day I reached 
home.

Home:  A sad but happy reunion.  I found my mother's temples were 
silver­ing with a few gray hairs, and her cheeks were a little caved 
in.  Old Buck was gone, and the children had all grown larger, and 
old Brown was there just as he had promised me.  My dear mother had 
made me a new suit of clothes which I soon had on, and she fixed me 
a good supper.  It was cool so we had a little fire, and after supper 
we all gathered around the fire to talk.  No one ever mentioned 
Florence's name, and it was a closed book after the war.

Well, I was at home.  The war was over, and everything was sad and 
lonely. I had not a single chum left, but I was with my mother.  I 
spent a lot of time in Brown's cabin and watched him at his broom 
making and listened to him tell of the past and of God's mighty 
judgment of the wicked.  I went to work to help make a crop.  All 
the girls came to see me, but few of the boys ever came home from 
the war.  Mother wanted me to return the visits, but somehow I did 
not want to.  Mother could see that I had changed.  I used to be so 
full of fun and life, but now I was in a sad and lonely state.  We got 
the crop in good shape, and Mother wanted me to go to Wall Hill to 
school.  She and my father wanted me to stay with my aunt and go to 
school and study medicine with old Dr. Wilson. I liked the plan and 
was soon in school.  One of the first things I did was to join the 
Baptist Church.  I had but one associate at Wall Hill and her name 
was Collumby Mann.  She was my third cousin and said to be the best 
educated girl in the county.  She was a graduate from North Carolina, 
and she helped me in my studies.  We were together most of our idle 
time frox~~ Friday. eve until Monday morning. My aunt told my mother 
that Collumby was too old for me to marry, and that we were cousins 
and should not marry anyway.  No one had said much until then, but I
 knew that we could never marry after her father made some remarks 
about me.  I never called on her again until my children and hers 
were all grown, and I went to Memphis to an old Soldier's Reunion 
and met her thirty years later.  When I told her who I was, she 
hugged me and kissed me she was so glad to see me.  She is now s
leeping in the silent grave.  In memory of her, I must say that she 
filled my life with much sunshine and pleasure while we were together.

We built our new home at Wall Hill in 1866.  I stayed at home 
made a crop with my father.  I did not do anything much with books.  
That fall Father sold out the new home and moved to Cold Water and 
rented one of the largest farms in the community and hired negroes 
to work the land.  Cotton was a good price and had been a good price 
ever since the war closed.  He planted a large crop but made very 
little, and the price of cotton dropped from twenty-five cents to 
nine and ten cents.  The federal government levied a tax of three 
cents, and my father was forced into complete bankruptcy and was ten 
times worse off than when the war closed.  He had a large family of 
children to raise and neither home nor bread for them.

During the past year I had stayed at home most of the time.  On 
Sundays sometimes I would get out, but after we went to Cold Water,
I was with a dif­ferent set, and I was not long in getting out a lot.  
Every few nights I went to a party.  One day a young friend asked me 
to go to a party given in his honor.  There I talked with a young 
music teacher who could charm the birds with her music.  I had known 
her during the war, and we were good friends. She was a niece of my 
aunt and had visited her sometimes.  After a while a young lady came 
in and was seated on the opposite side of the room from me. I noticed 
she was neatly dressed and up with any of the young ladies in style 
and quality.  I asked my friend who the girl in the brown dress was, 
and she was very much surprized that I did not know.

"Why," she said, that is Eliza Bailey, Joe Bailey's sister, and one of 
the nicest girls in the whole country."

My friend took me over to Eliza and introduced us.  I sat down beside 
her, and she looked as if she would faint.  I asked her several 
questions and dis­covered that she was up in her books more than I.  
She was the most timid girl I had ever talked with before that, but 
somehow I knew she was to be my life partner before I left that seat.  
I left her that night feeling very much that she was to be my guiding 
star through life, and I was not long in making my wishes known to 
the timid lass of the post oak hills of Mississippi.

The next day I called on her and met her sister.  I told her right 
from the start that I wanted her to be my life companion.  When I 
asked her to marry me, she said she would tell me later but not 
right then.  In a few days she consented to marry me but said she 
would have to talk it over with her sister and then she would tell 
me when.  I went back later, and she said she would marry me in a 
few years.  Well, I was completely blown up.  I told her I could 
not wait that long.  She told me that she had a home with her 
sister as long as she was single and that we would have to get us 
a home and furnish it before we could marry.  Well, I will be as 
honest as I can not to make you believe I was a fool.  I began to tell 
her lots of big things I could do, and I made her believe some of it. 
 I told her I had a fine crop. I told her I would go home and see my 
mother and talk the matter over with her, so she con­sented.  I told my 
mother why we were delayed in getting married, and Mother said for me 
to marry Eliza, and we could stay with her the first year.  Then the 
next year we could rent a farm. 

I talked it over with Eliza, and we decided to marry four weeks from 
that day.  It was on Tuesday, June 27th, 1867.  We had a good time 
planning everything, so I thought I would kiss her when I left.  When 
I asked her to kiss me good-by, she staggered back and stared me in 
the face and said that no man would ever kiss her unless he was her 
husband, and if I thought she was that kind of girl we would just call 
things off between us.  I was so upset I did not know what to do.  
She could see that I was badly hurt, and we fixed it up without the
kiss.  We were married on the date set, and I carried her home in a 
buggy.  But I did not kiss her until we had been married a month, and 
I took her to see her sister.  When I left, her sister noticed that 
she did not kiss me good-by.  She asked Eliza why she did not kiss me, 
and Eliza said she never had kissed me. Her sister called me back and 
told me to kiss my wife before I left. Eliza stretched both her little
 arms around my neck and kissed me.  She had a big cry and said she 
was sorry she had not kissed me before.  I can never forget that first 
hug and kiss she gave me.  It filled me with love for her such as I 
had never known before, and I knew she was my own dear little wife.  
It has been fifty-four years since then.  She was young and tender 
then, and now she is an old faded rose, but I love to put my arm around 
her and press her to my heart.  As she grows older and fades away, she 
comes nearer my heart, and she is a part of me and the better part she 
is.

We lived the balance of the year 1867 with my parents, and the next 
year we rented a farm and kept house.  We had a fine cow, and we had 
more good milk and butter and fried chicken then we could use.  We 
had plenty of vegetables, fruits, and other things.  We went to 
prayer meeting every Wednesday night, and we were very happy together.  
We had our mind on God and holy things.  The time will come in every 
man's life when he needs his own counsel; and every man will do better 
if he knows that God is with him. We should trust everything to Him in 
great confidence.

In the year 1869 we moved to another place and made a very good crop. 
Cotton was from twenty to thirty cents and had been a good price the 
year before.  During that summer I was bitten by a snake and had a 
hard time of it.

One Sunday morning, on May 9, 1869, I returned from church to find 
that a young lady had come to stay with us.  We had been married 
nearly two years and felt that God had sent her to bless our home.  
We called her Annie, and we were so proud of her that we carried her 
to see all the kin folk as soon as we could. The coming of this little 
girl made things different so I went out in a few days and bought a 
nice little tract of eighty acres of land with no house on it.  Before 
winter was on I had a nice little house with three rooms and a gallery 
across the front for us to live in.  My crop was gathered, and we were 
moved into our new home.  There were three of us then instead of two, 
and we were doing fine.  I had got my mind on higher things and 
thinking I would reach the goal I had set for myse1f.  I had taken to 
books again and was buying one as often as I could get the money.

When we had been in our new house about a year, one blustery night a 
boy arrived to keep our girl company.  We were so proud of him.  We 
were doing fine.  We had a good team; the mare had a fine colt.  We 
had cows and two calves, and I never saw so many chickens, and there 
was a nice bunch of pigs.

I joined the Methodist Church with my wife although I had been a 
Baptist. We had been married four years, and my little wife was 
beginning to have great faith in me.  I would read at night and tell 
her my plans and when I found a word I could not pronounce she would 
tell me what it was.  Well, we were so proud of our boy and our girl 
and our home.  The world was moving on with us like a dream in fairy 
land.  We read all the books we could find.  We would read in the 
Bible, and thank God for His goodness to us.  We were so happy and 
life was sweet and good.  I was planning and studying how I would 
carry a message from God to lost man.  Life was going so smooth with 
us.  Little did we know then that the serpent was wrapping his coil 
around that little home and preparing to strike us a death blow. 
However, that was the case.

In the fall a man came to my home and told me some wonderful stories 
about Arkansas and what he he had found about Searcy and how much 
money he was making.  Well, I soon sold out everything we had--our 
home and even the books I loved.  I went to Searcy to get me a home 
where I would grow rich. The gold wheel had begun to turn in my brain.  
I left my dear little wife and our babies while I went to get us a new 
home.  I knew nothing at all of trading and thought the world was 
honest.  In a month I was back with all my money gone and no place to 
take my wife and little ones.  I had been taken in by a bunch of 
sharpies, and they had robbed me of all my money and given me a magic 
latern with a few cheap slides, and I thought I would soon be rich. 
The first thing I did was to demonstrate the magic lantern to my wife 
and tell her how soon we would be rich and buy a nice home in town.  
She could not see it that way.  I was simply blown up with big ideas.  
I had squandered all I had made in four years and gone out from a 
happy, prosperous home to a broad road that led me down into the most 
miserable life a man ever lived.  My wife was heart sick over the 
change.

I went on the road with the show and mixed up with the world and drank 
bad whiskey, and the fall was great.  I made some money, but I spent 
it as fast as I made it.  My wife did all she could to get me back, 
but the devil had a strong grip on me.  I was not long in seeing my 
great mistake.  When I waked at night when it was still and quiet, I 
would think of the past.  I would get so sad that only another drink 
would give me relief; so on I went until I reached the bottom, and 
great was the fall.  But we must remember that we will reap whatever 
we sow.

In a few months I was down with a very bad case of rheumatism, and 
the doctors tried everything, but nothing seemed to relieve me but 
a good shot of red whiskey.  I got so I could not walk.  I am sure 
it was all brought on from exposure with the show; so during the 
summer I bought out a photographer and went to work at that.  I made 
money faster than ever before, but what I did not drink up was wasted 
in other ways.

I started drinking first after a snake bite in 1869, then the road 
show and bad associations and sickness brought on more drinking.  I
 had almost reached the bottom when another little boy came to our 
house, but God did not let us keep him, and my wife very nearly went 
with him. That shook me up badly, and I tried to get back right with 
God.  I turned off my helper and took care of the business myself.  I 
moved to Pleasant Hill, and there I got Board for my wife, the two 
children, and myself for forty dollars a month, and I furnished our 
room.  I spent the winter there and made some money the next spring.  
I kept up the booze fight, and I was heart sick.  Sometimes I would 
wake up in the dead of night, and the angel that God had given me would 
be on her knees at my bedside pleading with God for me while I was 
sleeping off a drunken stupor.  She would plead and beg for me to stop 
drinking.

Another year went by and another little one came and followed the boy 
we lost.  This was a girl, and I was full of grief, but the red demon 
kcpt me in the same old trail.  I moved to another town and joined the 
Temperano Club.  I made a change for awhile, but I had gone too far 
with red whiskey and in a few days I was in a state of collapse and 
underwent a terrible shock from cutting out my daily supply of booze 
for a few days.  It was awful, but my wife sat by me and prayed and 
read to me and did all she could to cheer me.  She never grew angry at 
me but was always sweet and kind.  I am sure there was none other like 
her.

We moved to Byhahlia and fixed up a nicc little rented house.  I 
enjoyed the company of my family.  My wife was recognized as one of 
the church lead­ers of the community, and I joined a literary club that 
did a lot of good and raised quite a lot of money to pay off church 
debts.  We contributed over two hundred dollars to the Presbyterian 
Church at this time. Then another little boy came to our house, and 
we were uneasy about him as we had already lost two children.  The 
town women came in every day to see about the new baby and to bring 
my wife something to eat.  One day I went home from my office to dinner 
and sat down by my wife's bedside, and she said she wanted to talk to 
me about our darling baby.  Great big tears came in her big brown eyes, 
and she said that we had already lost two children which God had taken 
to heaven and that He had left us two and the new baby.  She had talked 
with God all morning, and she wanted to keep this little darling to 
help the other two to cheer us up in our old age.  She was satisfied 
that God would leave the little one in our care.  She said, "I will 
give him to God, but I will keep him, and I want you to help me raise 
these children for God."

That was what I wanted to do.  I promised to do my best.  She wanted 
to name the baby as he was several days old and said she wanted to name 
him Larkin after my Uncle Larkin Perry, whom my father thought was the 
best man he ever knew.  He was a merchant and was always helping the 
poor.  I told her I liked the name, and she pulled me over to her and 
kissed me.  I can't see how it was that she could see so far ahead, and 
I could not see to the end of my nose. She said, "This child will be a 
pleasure to us in our old age."

We stayed there about a year and made a lot of friends.  In fact, we 
made friends wherever we went.  Somehow my wife wanted to go back to 
the farm where we could raise chickens, calves, and pigs.  My health 
was not very good, but we went to the country and farmed two years 
before we moved to Texas.  I was sick most of the time, and I am sure 
I had chills at least one day out of every two during those years.  I 
attended church on Sundays and prayer meeting during the week and to 
debates on Saturday nights.  I did the best I could.

Finally, we moved to Texas; a bad move I always thought. I was sick
 and poor.  That was forty years ago, and the first twenty years after 
I came to Texas were wasted years.  Bad associations, booze fighting, 
were all a man could meet in those days.  I was not long in taking 
going the gait for twenty years of what should have been the best 
years of my life.  It is bad, but such is the case in my life.  Oh, 
how sad are the thoughts, but I must confess the truth.  Why it should 
have been like that I cannot tell, and yet all the time I was
weeping and pleading for a change. During that twenty years or more, I 
tried almost everything in life for a change and hoped that conditions 
would change and be better.  How dreadful is the scene.  When I look 
back on the past, the scene is so dark that I have decided I will drop 
out the years from 1879 to 1899.  My misery and troubles were so great 
during that period that I have decided to leave it all out of my 
little story except to say that we added two girls to our family during 
that time.  Lottie Douglas arrived on New Years Day, 1882, and Lula on 
February 15, 1885.

I am sorry to say that I was only reaping what I had sown.  I am still 
reaping but the harvest will soon be over, and I feel all will be well. 
Ignorance has been the cause of all my grief and pain.  No man who 
loves God and puts his trust in Him will ever have the road I had to 
travel.  No man will waste his life when he follows Christ.  All these 
fifty odd years I had been going along scattering grief and woe, and 
my poor little wife had been trying to cover it with sunshine and joy. 
At last she stopped the storm and turned the tide, and now we can gaze 
out on the evening sunset of life and thank God for our last days and 
for the hope we have.  The great storm has not been in vain with us.  
No man will come to grief who will trust in God and obey His commands.

APPENDIX BY HUBERT ALBION HAYLEY

I am Hubert Albion Hayley, oldest grandson of the late Colonel Holiday 
H. Hayley.  My father was William Larkin Hayley, the second son of 
Colonel Hayley. I was born March 31st, 1900.  My grandfather, Colonel 
Hayley, died in 1926, so it was my privilege and pleasure to know him 
for twenty-six years.

In the following article I wish to make some personal comments about 
him and tell of one special experience I shared with him.  As these 
events happened about sixty or more years ago, please excuse anything 
I say that could be caused by a faulty memory.

First I wish to explain that the "Colonel", as he was called by most 
of his acquaintances, was just an honorary title given him by his 
friends.  He had served in the Confederate Army during the Civil War.  
I do not know what rank he attained but always supposed that he was 
only a private, as he was very young; I believe he entered service at 
the beginning of the war at about the age of fifteen.  From my earliest 
recollection of him, his looks, carriage, and actions make me think 
that the word Colonel fitted him perfectly.  He was a little over the 
average height of men at that time, slender, held himself erectly, wore 
a mustache, and except in hot weather, a coat and black string tie.  
He also wore a broad brimmed hat, much in the style usually worn by the 
"01d Southern Gentlemen".  Also, during his later years he carried a 
walking cane.  Evidently he did not need it too much, for I have his 
last one in my possession, and it is very light and could help very 
little if a person had to lean very heavily on it. However, the most 
outstanding thing about his appearance was his dark flashing eyes, 
which usually had a mischievous twinkle in then. Although he never 
occupied any kind of office so far as I know and did not become 
wealthy, still he seemed  to be highly respected by everyone, both 
high and low.  People were always coming to him for advice, and they 
seemed to value it highly.  I can think of nothing he ever did to 
warrant the public to consider him an authority on anything, but many 
seemed to consider him an authority on many things.  To me, at that 
time, he seemed a very wise man and could always fix anything.

I was born and lived in Bronte, Texas.  During my early childhood 
Granddad lived on a farm about 15 miles northwest of Bronte, in what 
was called the Hayrick community.  His house was located less than a 
mile due east of the south end of Hayrick Mountain.  His land extended 
to the south end of Hayrick Mountain, con­taining the remaining old 
foundations of houses that had been there when Hayrick had been the 
county seat of the county.  The county seat was moved to Robert Lee 
about 1890, and all houses were soon moved.  The time I remember the 
only evi­dence left of the town were a few house foundations.  I visited 
the site of this former town in the summer of 1969, and I had pointed 
out to me some remnants of foundations; but if they had not been shown 
to me, I would have never recognized them as such.  Adjoining the town 
site is a small graveyard with only a few graves in it.  It is well 
kept up and has a state marker at its entrance which mentions this as 
being the former site of the county seat.  Albion Hayley, the oldest 
son of H. H. Hayley, and his wife are buried there.  Incidentally, I 
happen to have the honor of being his namesake.  This farm still 
remains in the family in 1969. It now belongs to the oldest daughter 
of Albion Hayley and her husband, Mildred and Lum Laswell.

Being the oldest grandson, I suppose I was accorded the usual treatment 
in such cases.  I had many wondrous days visiting them from earliest 
childhood. Many times I would visit them for a week or more at a time.

After a few years, I do not remember when, Granddad's oldest daughter, 
a widow, Mrs. Annie Parker, moved in a small house a short distance 
south of his house.  In the front of the house she had a small store 
and Post Office; she being the postmistress.  As my father was 
postmaster at Bronte from 1900 to 1924, I do not know, but I suppose 
he had something to do with her getting the Post Office.  She operated 
this place from about 1909 to 1912.  At that time she was elected 
County Treasurer and moved to Robert Lee, where she held this office 
till 1918.  I have heard it said, but I do not know for sure, that she 
was either the first or among the first women to hold public elective 
office in Texas.  She had four children: Zula, Mary, Douglas and Annie.  
Mary (White) is the same age as I and now lives in Lub­bock, Texas.  One 
of the great blessings of my life has been in knowing and associating 
with her from earliest childhood.  We had many happy days playing 
together as small children, and I have always loved her like a sister.

About 200 yards west of Granddad's house was a prairie dog town which I 
remember as covering twenty or thirty acres.  It was very interesting 
to me to watch them and try to hit one with a rock which I was never 
able to do.

Occasionally, groups of us would climb Hayrick Mountain.  At that time 
there were three deep holes which had been dug on top of the mountain, 
where it was said some Indian bones had been dug up.  This should 
interest some of you Indian artifact hunters, I very well remember that 
the top of the mountain had many arrowheads on it.  I suppose they were 
imperfect ones.  It seemed they made them on top of the mountain and 
evidently discarded the imperfects. Anyway, I remember we boys would 
stand on the southeast side of the mountain, where there was a steep 
drop off, and sail them off.  They were flat, and if you caught the 
wind just right they would sail a long ways.  We must have thrown a 
great many, and I suppose they are buried under a few inches of soil 
that has washed over them.  This may seem strange to some of you 
younger peo­ple, but at that time I never heard of anyone collecting 
them.  They could be found most anywhere in that section of country 
and especially in plowed fields.

Across the road from Granddad's house was a grove of trees on a little 
creek, and nearby was a good well of water and a brush arbor.  They 
would hold camp meetings there.  These meetings would last one or two 
weeks.  Near­by people would come in wagons, buggies, and horseback; but 
most would come in covered wagons and camp for the duration.  Most 
would do their cooking on outside fires.  They would have preaching in 
the mornings and nights and prayer meetings in the afternoons.  During 
services we children would be admonished to keep quiet and respectful.  
As I remember it, they would have various ones in the congregation give 
a prayer.  It seemed to me that some of them would pray as long as our 
sermons today.  I would stand on one foot, then change my weight over 
to the other, keeping my head bowed in respect, until sometimes I would 
nod and almost go to sleep while standing there. Finally someone would 
start "shouting", and soon many more would join in, and during the 
confusion we children could slip off and play.

Granddad had two younger daughters; Lula and Lottie.  I thought they 
were about the prettiest young women I had ever seen.  It would 
interest me very much to see them preparing themselves when company was 
expected.

I remember they frequently had big dinners at Granddad's.  As I go back 
and look at that sorry farm land there, I wonder how they could afford 
it. But, as I will explain in the last of this article, he had other 
ways of making money.  Sometimes at these dinners they would have more 
than one serving as the table would not be large enough to accommodate 
all the guests.  The children would be served at the last table.  
Sometimes we would feel like we were starving before it came our turn.  
At that time many farm homes did not have screens on the windows, and 
flies were a problem at meal time.  One thing that stands out in my 
memory was the way they solved it.  They would take a small stick four 
or five feet long, and attach old newspapers to it; then would take 
scissors and cut about one inch strips in the paper, making a long 
fringe.  During meal time, someone, usually Aunt Lottie or Lula, would 
stand and wave this over the guests at the table.  It seemed to be very 
effective in keeping the flies away, at least till the meal was over.

One time while visiting Granddad, we ran out of coal oil for the lamps. 
He took some old sardine cans, poured beeswax and tallow in them over 
a cloth wick, and for about a week that was what we used for light.  
Evident­ly the light served very well, for I remember him reading the 
Bible at length every night.

In those days people that lived in the country like he did would 
sometimes not make a trip into town for supplies for a month or two at 
a time. Usually when he did go to town, it was Bronte, fifteen miles 
away, in a buggy, and most of the time he would stay overnight visiting 
us or someone else.  People could stand the round trip in one day, but 
it was hard on the horses.

The most memorable experience I had with Granddad happened about 1910. 
I am not sure which year it was, but if it was in 1910, then I was ten 
years of age.  During this time, among many other things he did was to 
fit and sell "spectacles", as they were called in those days.  Today he 
would be called an optometrist.  I suppose he had no formal training in 
this but just trained himself.  He had a number of small suitcase style 
containers in which he carried hundreds of lenses and frames and had 
various charts and cards very similar to the ones used by opticians 
today.  He would test his customer's eyes, fit him with frames, and 
then and there insert the proper lenses and hand them to the customer.  
Evidently he must have been very good at it as he was a "spectacle 
peddler" for a number of years in his late life, and his customers 
would keep coming back to him.

In the summers he would make a tour of the northwest part of Texas, 
fit­ting and selling glasses along the way.  He carried me with him this 
summer, and we were gone almost the three month school vacation period.  
Our route was via Colorado City, Post, Lubbock, Plainview, on north to 
the vicinity of Amarillo, then west over to near the New Mexico border, 
then on back to Coke County.  I remember we had relatives living in 
Snyder, Lubbock, near Tahoka, and I believe some other places out in 
the country.  When we did not stay with relatives, he had made 
arrangements to spend the nights at various farm or ranch houses along 
our route.  But between such points we would camp out.

We made this trip in a "hack".  I will explain to you younger readers 
that a hack is built similar to a buggy, only larger.  It was made to 
have two seats, one behind the other, each seat capable of holding 
three people, if they were not too large.  He had removed the back 
seat from this hack which left quite a bit of storage space in the 
back.  He had canvas curtains which covered all around the hack except 
in front.  In bad weather these curtains could be buckled down, and it 
was more or less water proof.  The rigid top of the hack extended out 
in front which gave us protection from the sun and rain.  The only 
time we could get wet was when we had a hard driving rain coming from 
the front, and, of course, in such an instance, we would simply turn 
around, stop, and wait for the rain to quit; not so much to keep from 
getting wet, but to keep the horses from facing into the rain.  In 
pretty weather we could roll these curtains up and get the breeze.

On the back of the hack Granddad had built a chuck box similar to the 
ones used on chuck wagons at roundup time on ranches in those days.  
It con­tamed cooking utensils and whatever groceries we carried.  In 
the space between the front seat and the chuck box we carried our 
other gear.  We had to carry extra containers of water so when we 
camped where no water was available we would have some for the horses.  
Also, we carried oats to feed the horses, various tools, axle grease 
for our hack, his "spectacle cases", and various other things needed 
on such a trip.  But the largest item was our bed roll which was 
enclosed in a tarpaulin, which was always called a tarp. This tarp was 
made of heavy treated canvas.  It was water proof, and, what appealed 
to me most, it was supposed to be snake proof.  When it would rain we 
could cover up with the tarp, let the rain come down on top of us and 
stay dry as a bug in a rug, as the old saying goes.  It is really quite 
an experi­ence to sleep in one of these during a shower.  I don't know 
what it would be if it hailed, which it did not do on us.

We slept out many nights, and it only rained on us a few times.  Most 
nights were crystal clear as it is out on the Plains.  We would lie in 
our bed and look up and watch the sky.  Granddad would tell me about 
the stars and explain many things about them which I have forgotten 
long ago.  In later years it has puzzled me as to how an uneducated 
man like him could know so much more than some so called scholars of 
today.  Sometimes the stars would seem like I could almost reach out 
and touch them.  It has been my privilege to visit in some of the 
worlds most renowned cathedrals, awesome in their beauty and expensive 
decorations, but none have given me the feeling of being as close to 
my Creator as these nights under God's heavens.

We also carried "marrals" to feed the horses in.  I do not find this 
word in Websters Dictionary and have not heard the word spoken in 
years, although it was in common usage in those days.  I suppose it 
is a Spanish word which we adopted.  It was a heavy canvas sack with 
straps on it to hold it on a horse's head.  We would put oats in it 
and strap it on the horse's head.  The horse would let it down on the 
ground, take a mouth full of oats, raise his head, chew and swallow 
it, then let it down on the ground again for another bite. That way 
none of the oats would be wasted, and when not in use the marral was 
light in weight and could be rolled up and stored in a small space--a 
very ingenuous device for its purpose.

The Plains country then was very different from now.  There were a few 
dry land farmers but mostly the country was in big ranches.  We had a 
good team of horses that could make pretty good time, and I remember 
sometimes we would drive all day long, or more, between fences.  For 
our camp fire most of the time while on the Plains, we would have to 
use "buffalo chips" for our fuel, as no wood was available.  To you 
uninitiated, buffalo chips is a polite word for cow dung.  There was 
always a plentiful supply in this ranch country. It makes a good fire 
except when wet; then it will not burn at all.  Of course we did not 
drive over any paved road, all roads being dirt, and most never graded 
or worked in any waye  When the ruts would get too deep, travelers 
would just make a new road alongside the old one.  Sometimes we could 
see where several roads ran alongside the old one.  Of course, this 
was through ranch country, and no fences enclosed the road.

Almost everywhere we went the country would be full of wild life, 
especi­ally quail.  To the best of my recollection we saw prairie 
chickens and antilope.  However, I am not sure for in those days wild 
life was so plentiful we did not pay too much attention to it.  We 
would frequently see coyotes and a few times lobo wolf.  I believe 
they are about extinct out there now.  I do remember distinctly that 
we would often have quail for supper.  To save ammunition we would 
drive by ten or fifteen coveys of quail and wait until we could kill 
a big mess with one shotgun shell.

At night we would feed the horses a little oats in the marral.  Then 
in order to let them graze on the grass we would put hobbles on their 
front feet. These hobbles would enable them to hop around and graze 
but still leave them easily caught when we wanted to leave in the 
morning.  One night one of the horses broke his hobble, and we did not 
catch him till late that afternoon, and then only because he wanted his 
oats, which we carried to him in his marral.  When he reached for it 
we put a rope around his neck. We caught him so late we decided to 
spend that night in the same camp ground.

The best way to really see the country is take such a trip.  Our horses 
usually went in a fast walk.  Occasionally we would put them to a trot, 
but never, never, did we put them in a hard run like you see go much of 
in the movies for the horses could only stand a short distance of such 
a pace. Unless pulled to one side by the reins the horses would always 
keep to the road.  Therefore there was very little effort needed to 
drive them.  If something interesting came in sight there was ample 
time to look it over--very different from driving on our freeways 
today.

Traveling thru the Plains of Texas today you occasionally see, 
momentarily a mirage, but to really enjoy seeing a mirage you need to 
travel slowly.  I have never noticed a remarkable mirage when traveling 
by auto, but on this trip we saw many.  Sometimes we would see a city 
in the distance.  It was very lifelike.  We could make out the outline 
of the buildings.  It looked like they were just a few miles from us 
and would remain the same for some time. I would think we were surely 
coming into a big city; but, as mirages always do, they would finally 
fade away.

Sometimes we would travel a half day at a time before meeting any other 
travelers, then sometimes more, but never very many except when coming 
near or leaving some town. Mostly we would meet cowboys riding on the 
ranches. Always when we would meet or overtake anyone on the road, we 
would stop and have a chat.  The usual question to us was where we 
were from.  The next was if it had rained in that part of the country 
and how and how the crops looked along the way.  The cowboys were a 
well traveled lot, but most of the people we met were farmers.  They 
were all interested in crop conditions which in that section all 
depended on the amount of rainfall received.  Some of those people 
thought we were great travelers because most people those days 
confined their traveling to the nearest town and seldom ventured out 
of the county.  Some­times if we met affable people and enjoyed what 
they talked about, we would spend a half hour or more, just talking; 
and, of course, letting our horses rest, which was always the prime 
consideration.

When we camped out at night we were usually a long way from any house. 
Usually we would be miles from anyone.  We would get snug in our 
bedroll on the ground, look up at the stars, and listen to the night 
noises.  They were many, usually causes by night life, but the most 
doleful sound was the coyotes yelping.  One or two could make so much 
noise I would think there was a whole pack of them.  Of course, I knew
they were no menace to us, but what if they were, because I was 
sleeping by the side of the bravest man in the world. Occasionally 
though a polecat would come into view near the dying fire, and then 
we would lie very still for fear of scaring him and having him drench 
us. Sometimes an animal would try to get in our chuck box, but usually 
we could scare it off by shouting at it.  Every young boy in the world 
should have at least a few nights of such an adventure in his life.

Granddad was an interesting talker, and I would get him started telling 
me of his experiences, especially during the Civil War.  I became 
expert in leading him on.  He liked to talk, and I liked to listen.  
Of course, his accounts were always biased when it came to the war. 
Strange how things I learned in early youth stick to me.  Although I 
know better now, the word "Yankee" is still a little repulsive to me. 
To him it was and always remained a dirty word.  It is a pity that I 
did not write down some of those tales before I forgot them.  Perhaps 
it was because I was at such an impressionable age, but to me they were 
more interesting than anything I have ever heard or read since.  Today 
I remember fragments of them but not enough to put into words, and 
especially his descriptive words.  However I do remember him telling 
about marching for days at a time with no shoes on, but with gunny 
sacks tied around his feet, marching through the rain and snow.  Also 
about his stay in a hospital when they would amputate men's legs with 
no anesthetic of any kind other than a drink of whiskey and a rag to 
chew on.  And also about him march­ing for days with no food other than 
some dried corn in his pocket which he would roast over a fire.

I served in the infantry in World War I in the trenches of France.  My 
son and son-in-law served in World War II.  It is my opinion that the 
common soldier faces death as such in all wars, but the hardships and 
privations were greater the further back you go.

We followed the same route Granddad had made in former years, stopping 
at houses where he had been before, usually a farm or ranch house a 
long distance from any town.  Of course, where we had kinfolks we 
stopped at their house, but otherwise, it was old friends or 
acquaintances and sometimes the nearest neigh­bor would live five or 
six miles away.  Granddad would write ahead and make arrangements to 
stay there and also would send postalcards to prospective clients for 
them to meet him at that place.  Incidentally, postal cards then cost 
one cent each, and I never heard any complaints about the postal 
service. (Since I am a retired rural mail carrier, I just had to 
stick that in.)

Usually we would arrive in the afternoon; and by nighttime, sometimes 
there would be four to eight families gathered at this place.  Some 
would spend the night, and sometimes we would have to stay more than 
one day to have time for him to fit all the glasses needed.  This was 
about the end of the period of the old time western hospitality that 
so much has been written about.  Actually, these people lived such 
isolated lives they were anxious for any excuse for companionship, and 
the arrival of "The Spectacle Man" turned into a festive occasion.  Of 
course, it was unthinkable for the house owner to charge for meals or 
lodging, but since Granddad was profit­ing from it, he would always try 
to pay.  As they would never take pay, he would usually make them a 
gift, or if any of the family needed glasses, he would give them free 
of charge.  Some would have beds in their wagons.  The others would 
make down "pallets" on the floor or porch, and sometimes, in the barn.

Granddad would make his appointments to fit glasses for the next day 
and longer if necessary.  Then after supper the women would stay in 
the kitchen and visit, and the men usually sat on the front porch 
and mostly talked "politics".  They really took their politics 
seriously then, and most men had very strong opinions about their 
beliefs.  Granddad had one of those old style Edison phonographs, 
the original kind with the big horn and cylindrical records.  He must 
have had only one needle for I remember it sounded very scratchy to me.  
They would sit around and listen to it.  I remember one old man stating 
that he just did not believe the Lord intended for man to get so smart 
and have such things.

My memory is vague regarding the towns we visited.  It seemed that 
Colorado City, Post, and Plainview were pretty good sized towns.  But, 
I remember Lubbock as impressing me as being a very small town.  All 
towns had livery stables those days, and when in a city, that was the 
place we usually camped in.  I doubt that any had an auto garage.  
Usually, then, any work done on autos was done at the local blacksmith 
shop.

The town that impressed me most was Post.  This little city has a very 
interesting history, and it was in its heyday at this time.  In 1907, 
Mr. Post who was the owner of the Post Toasties company, came there 
and acquired a great amount of land around the town.  He built a large 
cotton processing mill, and it is still in operation.  They weave the 
"Garza" line of sheets and related products.  He cut up the surrounding 
area into small blocks; I believe forty and eighty acre tracts.  His 
idea was to sell these tracts to people and let them farm it and have 
plenty of labor available to work in the mill.  In order to attract 
buyers for the land, he offered it for sale with a minimum down payment 
and gave them forty years to pay for it at a small rate of interest.  
In later years this type of financing the purchase of land became 
common practice, but so far as I am able to find out, I be­lieve he was 
the first to start the practice.  He was a far seeing man, but he made 
one error.  That was that a man could not make a living on such a 
small tract in this semi-arid land.  Back east where he had his 
experience that much land was adequate.

We had dinner at the Algerita Hotel which Mr. Post built.  This hotel
 made quite an impression on me, being buil: of rock and nicely 
furnished. I understand the walls of this old building are still 
standing, but the building is closed.  We heard an interesting anecdote 
about Mr. Post at this hotel, but I don't know if it is true or not.  
They were telling it when we were there.  They said that on a recent 
visit there the waitress came to serve his breakfast and asked, "Mr. 
Post, will you have a cup of Postum with your breakfast?"  He answered, 
"H__l! No! I make that stuff to sell, not to drink.  Bring me a cup of 
coffee!"


In recent years I have gone up the Cap Rock onto the Plains by auto. 
It is a fine paved road and only requires a few minutes to get to the 
top. It was quite different then.  It was a long winding road, very 
steep in places; of course, not paved.  I don't know how long it took 
us to get from the bottom to the top, but it seemed like a long time 
to me.  We would have to stop frequently to let our horses get their 
wind and rest. Since it was a winding road, I am sure it was much 
longer than it is today.

Since starting this article and reminiscing about the events of three 
score years ago I am beginning to recall incidents, so many that all 
would make a long book.  But, as this is merely an Appendix to 
Granddad's book, I will bore you no longer.

I do want to state that during my lifetime I have traveled extensively 
in the United States, Canada and Old Mexico, and in Europe in World 
War I; but to me, this has always been the outstanding trip of my life.