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                                   CHAPTER EIGHT
                             BIRTH, DEATHS, & MARRIAGES

On a Saturday, in May, 1805, we were all invited over to Bartlett and Lydia’s place for
a Bledsoe family get-together. Becky and Mama prepared a dishpan full of peach cobbler,
and a huge baking pan of the best looking and best smelling chicken pie I’ve ever seen.
We hitched up the carriage and were on our way at daybreak. Becky, Mama, Gillie,
Charity, Elizabeth, Frances, Young G., and Sarah were in the carriage, driven by Wiley.
William, Julius, Harris, and I were on our saddle horses. Wiley agreed to let Henry ride his
horse.
We arrived at the Bledsoes about eight o’clock that morning. The smell of smoke and
roasting pig filled the early morning air as we turned off the main road and started up the
long drive to their hill top home. We were the first family to arrive, and as we rode into
the yard Berryman, Lewis, Susan, Levi, and John came rushing off the front porch to meet
us. Amy and Elizabeth were waving from their chairs on the porch. 
After we unloaded the carriage, Wiley pulled it up by the barn, unhitched the horses,
and turned them into the pasture. We unsaddled our horses and ran them out the back side
of the barn into the pasture. William, Julius, and I headed out to the back of the house to
see if we could help Bartlett and the Negroes with the cooking. Becky and Mama went
inside to help Lydia, the children went to the front yard to play, and Wiley pulled a
rocking chair up by Amy, sat down and started talking. 
Mary, Bartlett and Lydia’s daughter, was the next to arrive with her husband, James
Bean. Amelia (Millie), Berryman’s widow, her daughter and son-in-law, Sarah Bledsoe
Baker and Thomas Baker, and her grandsons, Berryman, age six and Larkin, age four,
were the next to arrive. 
As we were setting up the tables in the back yard, John and Sarah arrived with all their
children. They have ten, ranging from nine month old, Mahala, up to sixteen-year old,
Karren. With the arrival of John's family, there were thirty-nine people there. Mary Bean,
Millie, Sarah Baker, and Sarah Bledsoe had all prepared food for the occasion. Needless
to say, we had a feast for dinner. 
After we had all stuffed ourselves, the men retired to the front porch for our customary
smoking, chewing, spitting, and gossiping session. Wiley and Amy saddled two horses and
went for an afternoon ride. As they rode across the pasture and out of sight, Bartlett said,
“Theo, I’ve been watching that boy, Wiley, all day, and if ever I’ve seen a love struck
young man, he fits the bill. I hope he ain’t got no serious sparking on his mind, ‘cause
after all, they’re first cousins, you know.” 
My reply, “Well, Bartlett, you've got a mighty pretty and sweet young lady in Amy.
She reminds me in a lot of ways of her Grandma Bledsoe. You know, Wiley is a well
mannered young man, and if he has any serious intentions about Amy, I’m sure he’ll talk
to you. As for that cousin bit, it don't bother me a’tall, cause I know a bunch’a cousins
who married each other and their marriages turned out fine.” Bartlett said, “That's a fact, I
guess I shouldn’t worry about ‘em.”
Wiley and Amy were married over at Bartlett and Lydia's place on July 8th, 1805, by
Preacher William Eddens of the Mountain Creek Baptist Church. Of course, all the
Bledsoes and Goodwins were there.
On February 8th, 1806, Lydia Bledsoe gave birth to their last child and died during the
birthing. Bartlett appropriately named the daughter, Lydia. We were all devastated,
especially Bartlett. Having lost a loving and devoted wife in the prime of her life proved to
be a burden that Bartlett could not bear. Fifteen months later, in April, 1807, he passed
away. It was the accepted opinion that he literally grieved himself to death. The seven
younger children were taken in by their married daughters, Mary Bean and Amy Goodwin.
After these tragedies, the remaining children referred to the new child as Judy, not Lydia.
Using the name Lydia brought them too much grief and sorrow.
Bartlett left a will, but because there was no mention of our land, and because he left
nine children, seven of them, sixteen and under, more than likely means his estate will not
be settled for several years. This is a matter of some concern to me, since we are living on
Bartlett’s land. Even though we made an agreement, and it was recorded in the family
Bible, it may not stand up in court. I haven’t expressed these concerns to Becky, but they
are always in the back of my mind. These concerns were somewhat alleviated when I
found that Bartlett's family Bible was in the home of Wiley and Amy.
On October 7, 1806, Becky gave birth to our seventh son. We named him Thomas
Jefferson after the President and my deceased uncle, Thomas Goodwin. We all called him
T.J. for short.
The early morning of November 15, 1806, was extremely cold, and the ground outside
was covered with a thick blanket of frost. At the breakfast table, Henry said, “Papa, when
we were milkin’ the cows this mornin’, I saw some fresh deer tracks back of the barn
headed across the pasture and toward the creek. Can I take the shotgun and see if I can
track ‘em down?” Henry had been hunting with me and his older brothers since he was ten
years old. He was thoroughly versed on gun safety and was a good shot. Becky said, “It’s
fine with me, just be careful and make sure you bring back a big buck. I’ve been hankerin’
for some good venison.” I said, “Go ahead.”
Henry got the muzzle loading shotgun, some powder, pads, and shot, then tore out
through the barn. It seemed only five minutes had passed, in fact, the rest of us were still
at the table, when we heard a shot from the backside of the pasture. William jumped up,
and as he started out the back door said, “My gosh, he must have caught up with ‘em in a
hurry.” When he reached the back side of the barn, William could see the whole pasture.
My heart seemed to jump up in my throat when William yelled back, “Papa, come on
quick. Henry's on the ground!” 
Everyone in the kitchen came pouring out the back door. I yelled, “Julius, come on
with me! Harris, keep eva’body else here in the barn.” When Julius and I reached the
fence, William had already picked up Henry's bloody limp body and was facing us.
Through his sobs he kept muttering , “It’s too late, Papa, he’s dead, he’s dead.” In spite of
our shock and subsequent grief, Julius and I had the presence of mind to take off our shirts
and cover his head and the gaping hole in his chest.
When William started toward the house with Henry’s body, I followed close behind,
still in shock. Julius stayed at the fence to see if he could surmise what had caused this
horrifying accident. Later that day, as the kinfolk and neighbors came to express their
sorrow, pay their respects, and bring food, William, Wiley, Julius, Harris and I were sitting
quietly on the west porch, still in a state of shock and sorrow. 
Julius finally broke the silence and said, “I found the shotgun on the opposite side of
the fence from Henry. I figure Henry reached over and started to place the gun, butt
down, on the opposite side ‘fore he climbed it. There were fresh deer tracks all over the
place, and in his excitement, he must have let the gun drop, and it went off.” We buried
Henry on November 17, 1806. 
On April 23, 1807, we all attended the wedding of our son, Harris, and Mary Bogle at
the Golden Grove Baptist Church. Harris had been spending a lot of time up in Laurens
County visiting his cousins, Theophilus T., Thomas, and Solomon. Even though they are a
good bit older than him, Harris loves to go hunting and fishing with them along the Enoree
River and Duncans Creek. Harris and Mary have made plans to move to that area
immediately after he helps us get the crops planted this spring.
Later that summer of 1807, I was sitting on the front porch when Dempsey Hatcher
came riding across the creek and into the front yard. He dismounted and tied his big gray
gelding to the hitching post. This was not an unusual sight, since he has been courting our
oldest daughter, Charity, on a regular basis since they met at Harris and Mary’s wedding.
Dempsey is a tall, handsome boy, with high cheekbones, and a clean shaven face. He’s
the son of Jeremiah Hatcher over on the Little Saluda River. The only thing that seemed
unusual as he walked up on the porch was the fact that he had on his
Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes. I said, “Dempsey, pull up a chair and sit a spell.” At that he
replied, “I shore will, Mr. Goodwin, ‘cause I got something I’ve been meanin’ to talk to
ya about.” I knew it had to be something serious ‘cause here-to-fore he had always called
me ‘Mr. Theo’.
Dempsey seemed to be uptight, so I pulled out a plug of store-bought chewing
tobacco, handed it to him and said, “Here, boy, take a big chew a’ that, it’ll calm you
down.” He nervously took the plug, peeled the paper about halfway down, pulled out his
pocket knife, cut off a huge chunk and popped it into his mouth. I had a pretty good idea
that he wanted to ask for my daughter’s hand in marriage, but I didn’t let on. I was
enjoying this too much. 
Dempsey sat there, worked on the tobacco, spit over the railing a couple of times and
started cleaning his nails with his pocket knife. Then he started rambling on, “Charity
don’t like my chewin’, reckon I gotta quit; gotta quit a lotta things when we get hitched.”
With that I grabbed his rocker, spun it around so I was staring him right in the face, and
said, “Dempsey, quit beatin’ ‘round the bush. You got something to say to me, boy, spit it
out.” 
He was so startled that he took a big gulp, swallowed his whole chew of tobacco,
turned pale green and started throwing up over the porch bannister. Through his heaving
and gagging he managed to mutter, “I want’a marry yo’ daughter, Mr. Theo, I want’a
marry her, can I?”
I burst out in uncontrollable laughter and unbeknownst to Dempsey and me, Mama,
Becky, Frances, Charity, Elizabeth, Gillie, William and Julius were eavesdropping just
inside the parlor door. When I burst out, they all started laughing and walked out on the
porch. When Dempsey finally regained his composure, he looked at me through a wide
grin and said, “Does all this laughter mean yes?” Becky and I both replied, “Welcome to
the family, Dempsey.” Charity and Dempsey were married on October 10, 1807.
Since the Federal Postal Service was established back in 1793, there has been a vast
improvement in how and when we receive our mail. We now receive an informative letter
each month from Aunt Amy and Uncle John. We also hear from David and Young on a
regular basis. 
After arriving in Georgia, in April of 1804, David and Temperance bought three
hundred acres of land in Warren County, just to the west of Augusta. Their youngest
child, Louanza Jane, was born in August after they settled on their new land.
Young and Martha settled in Hancock County, the next county to the west. In addition
to the children we saw when they stopped by our place back in March, 1804, they now
have Young, Jr., born in 1805 and Turner Myrick, born just last month, April, 1808.
Young now has around five hundred acres under cultivation, planted mostly in cotton.
Since a young fellow named Eli Whitney invented the cotton gin back in 1793 and made
continual improvements to it since that time, cotton is challenging tobacco as the leading
crop. 
Uncle John and Aunt Amy Myrick settled on five hundred acres of rich land just
beyond the Oconee River valley. Their daughter, Lucy, and her new husband, Drury
Jackson, bought a hundred acres adjacent to them. Drury is now the Circuit Preacher for
Baldwin County. John and Amy’s sons, Goodwin, James, Jordan, and Fletcher are all
married now and settled with their families, a few miles downriver from them. All a’ their
daughters are married now with the exception of Amy, who’s now engaged to a Thomas
Stith. Their wedding is planned for June, 1810.
The first Sunday in April, 1810, we all attended a big church dinner over in Golden
Grove. William and Julius rode ahead of us on their saddle horses. Me, Becky, Mama,
Elizabeth, Frances, Sarah, and T.J. rode in the carriage. William, now twenty-eight years
old and still unmarried, had just bought a beautiful coal-black stallion, named him
Charcoal, and outfitted him with a brand new dark brown leather saddle and bridle.
William stands about six feet tall, with dark gray eyes, peering out beneath an abundance
of almost black hair. Years of hard work in the fields have given him a strong, well
proportioned, muscular body. Needless to say, William struck quite a figure as he pranced
Charcoal into the churchyard that bright and sunny April morning. 
As he tied his reins to a big oak tree, he and Charcoal were immediately surrounded by
a crowd of folks admiring the horse. They all were enthralled with this beautiful horse and
the tack, with the exception of Henry C. Turner’s petite, eighteen-year old brunette
daughter, Mary. She had those beautiful dark green eyes locked on every move that
William made. After the preaching, in her own tactful way, she managed to get William to
sit with the Turner family for dinner. I don’t think William was able to get over ten feet
from her all day. I mentioned my observations to Becky and Mama on the way home, and
they both agreed that the youngun seemed to be smitten with William.
The next Sunday morning, William got up, put on his Sunday clothes and headed out
the back door. Becky and I were sitting at the kitchen table and, as he walked by, Becky
asked, “Where you goin’ so dressed up? This ain’t preachin’ Sunday.” He replied, “Mr.
Henry C.’s got a young mare in heat and said he’d pay me five dollars and feed me dinner
if Charcoal could take care of her today.” I said, “Don’t you charge him a penny,
especially if you’re gonna eat with ‘em. Besides, I’m sure old Charcoal will be glad to do
it for free.” 
As William got out of earshot, I said to Becky, “That mare’s not the only thing that
Henry’s got in heat.” With that, Becky lightly popped me on the head with a wooden
spoon and replied, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, especially on the Lord’s day.”
As we expected, William’s weekend visits to the Turners became a habit, and we
weren’t surprised at all when one afternoon in late June, William said, “Papa, I plan to ask
Mary to marry me, and I’d like to build us a little house on that knoll over behind tha’
pasture, if it’s all right with you and Mama.” I replied, “That suits us just fine. In fact, I’ve
been a little concerned that all you boys might get married and move out on your own, like
Wiley and Harris did. With you , Julius, Coot and me, I think we can continue to make a
good living for ourselves on this three hundred acres.” 
I continued, “And, even though we’re a little concerned about the difference in your’s
and Mary’s ages, the fact that you love each other is the most important thing. We’ll be
happy to include Mary as a part of our family.” 
William was Mama’s first grandchild, and as only I could tell, her favorite. She was
overjoyed when I informed her that William and Mary were getting married and building a
house here on our place. With the crops planted, we devoted all our time to the building of
their house. We cleared the knoll and because of the thick stand of small hickories, had
more than enough logs to build a nice four room log cabin with a large porch extending all
the way across the front. We built a kitchen out back and connected it to the main house
with a covered walkway. Mary stayed with us for just about the whole month of July, and
I’ve never seen a harder working woman. She lifted logs, carried clay from the creek, and
mortared with the best of us. I often wondered where that little bitty girl got all that
energy. 
Henry C. sent over four of his best field hands to help with the building. They slept in
the hayloft. With their help, we were able to put the finishing touches on their cabin by the
first of August. Nancy Jane, Mary’s mother, and Becky scrounged up enough quilts,
curtains and furniture to completely furnish the place. Coot finished two brand new
hickory rockers for their front porch. William went into Edgefield and bought a brand new
wood stove for Mary. William and Mary were married August 10, 1810, at the home of
Henry C. and Nancy Jane Turner and moved into their new home the same day.
Over the next two years the Lord blessed us with abundant crops and two wonderful
new grandchildren. Mary gave birth to Harriet, on May 1, 1811, and John M. on April 25,
1812. 
On May 17, 1812, we added a new daughter-in-law to the family. Julius fell in love
with and married one of his students, Margaret Kinnard. She was only fifteen, and Julius
was twenty- six. Nothing Becky, myself or even his boss, Aquilla Miles, said could
convince those two to wait until Margaret was a few years older. Julius bought two
hundred and forty acres from Wiley over on Little Penn Creek, built a house and settled in
there. 
When Margaret gave birth to a big healthy boy, on January 20, 1813, a few eyebrows
were raised. Mama, Becky and I were out on the porch discussing our newest grandson,
Aquila Miles Goodwin, when I told them, “Seems like Julius must’uv been teaching that
gal how to write, but with the wrong quill.” Mama quickly retorted, “Theo, if it wadn’t
for this rheumatism of mine, I’d take you out behind the house and give you a good
whuppin’. You know that cute little baby was just born a few weeks early.”

CHAPTER NINE                                                                                                              BACK