HOME PAGE                                                                                                                     BACK

From William Goodwin:
 
                            CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
                        A TWO HOLER, OF COURSE 

   After we left Papa, Mama, and Sarah, Willie T. continued to cry for the next mile or
two, then settled down in the back of the wagon to pout and watch Jack driving the team
behind us. The milk cow was tied to the back of Jack’s wagon, and Charcoal was fully
saddled and tied to the back of our wagon.  When we came to the first crossroads, all the
wagons stopped for their noon break. This was where we would leave the Federal Road.
We said our goodbyes to the Hayes, the Littles, the Woodsons, and the Jacksons, then
turned right on the trail to the southwest and Mt. Willing. It sure was a lonesome drive
without all the other wagons. 
   Simpson has been begging his mother for the past thirty minutes to let him ride the
horse along side the wagon. Finally I said, “For gosh sakes, Mary, let the boy ride the
horse. He knows how. And another thing, let Willie T. ride behind him. Maybe it’ll stop
those sobs I keep hearin’ from back there.” I stopped the wagon and put the boys up on
Charcoal. From there all the way to Mt. Willing late that afternoon, they were both happy
as a dead pig in the sunshine.
   We set up camp just below the land office in a small oak grove by a free flowing spring.
When the news got around that some new settlers were camped by the spring, we must’a
hadda visit from eva’body in the village. They were all friendly, and just about eva’ one of
‘em offered us lodging for the night. They were all asking questions ‘bout their relatives
back over in the Edgefield District. 
   We were completely taken by surprise when a group of ladies came walking up with a
big pot a’ fresh beans, a pot a’ beef stew and a pan a’ cornbread. They handed it to Mary
and said, “We know you’re worn out and figured this would help.” Mary, being very tired,
was completely overcome by the thoughtfulness and generosity of these new distant
neighbors. She started to bawl ‘bout as loud as Willie T. did early that morning. When she
finally regained her composure, she said, “Thank you so much. You just don’t know how
good it makes me feel to find folks like y’all after a month out in that wilderness.” Every
last one of ‘em chimed in, “Oh yes, we do. We all made the same trip five years ago.
That’s exactly why we’re here.” 
   I was waiting at the front of the Alabama Company of South Carolina land office when
the doors opened the next morning. A tall, heavy set, well dressed, middle-aged man, with
very noticeable buck teeth welcomed me in. “He said, my name is Abner Peabody. You
can just call me Rabbit. All my friends do. You must be William Goodwin, right?” I’m
glad he ended his introduction with a personal question. It got my mind back on track. I
was just about to lose my composure, like Mary last night, and bust out laughing at such
an appropriate nickname.
   I answered, “That’s right, how’d you know?” He replied, “A friend a’ yours, Henry
Hill, came in about a month ago, and reserved a two hundred fifty acre parcel a’ land for
ya. It’s located south a’ here, right this side a’ the Butler County line on a small stream
that runs into Wolf Creek. It’s only a few miles from here. You just take that road straight
across the street. It goes down to Wilcox County and dead ends on the river at a village
called Camden. Y’all turn off it ‘bout three miles south, before you get to old man Bragg’s
store. Ain’t much of a road when you turn left off the main road. It’s more like a two-rut
wagon trail. Nobody except the Cassadys and Sullivans live down in that neck a’ tha’
woods. They call the area Palmyra. You will pass the Cassady and Sullivan farms before
you get to your land.”
   Peabody unfolded a map, marked the exact boundaries of our land, and marked where
to turn off the Camden road. He handed it to me, and said, “At two dollars an acre, that’ll
be five hundred dollars.” I paid him, picked up the legal papers, and started back down to
the wagons. The name ‘Rabbit’ kept coming to my mind. I tried to suppress my laughter
as I passed people on the street, but couldn’t do a very good job of it. When I got back to
the wagons still grinning, Mary asked, “What’s so funny?” I replied, “Oh, nothin’. I’ll tell
you later.” 
   Jack had both wagons hitched up, the stock tied off on the back and was ready to go.
Harriet had insisted that today it was her turn to ride Charcoal, and, of course, Willie T.
put up a howl to ride with her and won. Mary said, “You know when we see Sarah again,
I’m gonna give her the devil for spoilin’ that boy so. She’s just ruint ‘im.”
   After we had traveled a few miles, Mary said, “Look way down the road there in front
of us. Is that two riders by the side a’ tha’ road?” As we got a little closer, I agreed, “It
sho’ is. Reach under the seat and get the shotgun. Ain’t no tellin’ what they want.” They
were right in the middle of the trail  where we planned to turn left. We stopped and one of
‘em said, “I’m Dan Sullivan, and this here’s ma’ neighbor, Calvin Cassady. Rabbit
Peabody told us you’d be here anyday now. Calvin was in town yesterday when y’all set
up camp. We just wanted to welcome y’all and take ya down to y’alls new land. It sho’ is
nice to have some new neighbors.”
   Calvin, through a big smile that covered his whole face, said, “Yeah, I’m gettin’ sorta
tired a’ lookin’ at Dan’s ugly face. We’re happy y’all finally made it.” I said, “This is my
wife, Mary. My boy, Jack, is driving the other wagon. That’s my younguns, Harriet and
Willie T. on tha’ horse. This here’s Simpson ‘tween me and his ma, and that’s Nancy Jane
sittin’ in her ma’s lap.” Dan said, “I’m glad to meet all a’ y’all. My wife, Jennie, and
Calvin’s wife, Martha, got a big dinner ready for us when we get down to my place. Y’all
just follow us.”
   Dan was a slim, wiry built man, sporting a full red beard. He seemed to be in his late
twenties or early thirties. Calvin was middle-aged, short, and very stocky. He seemed to
be smiling every time you looked at his swarthy face. As we were following them down
the trail, I turned to Mary and said, “You remember Papa talkin’ ‘bout some Sullivans he
ran into back in Edgefield? Seems they were headed to Alabama. Wonder if Dan’s any kin
to ‘em. I’ll ask ‘im when we get to his place.”
   As we pulled into the yard, two women, one carrying a small baby, and the other
leading a small boy, came out the front door to meet us. Dan’s wife, carrying the baby,
said, “My name’s Jennie. This is Martha. Y’all get down and come on in.” We introduced
ourselves, walked up on a huge front porch, and sat down. Dan immediately said, “I’ve
run into a couple a’ Goodwins in the past few years. You wouldn’t happen to be kin to
Young or Theophilus, would you?” I answered, “Sho’ am. Theo’s my father, and Young’s
my great-uncle. I figured you might be the Sullivan what Papa talked about so much. He
met you and your brother at the blacksmith’s over in Edgefield a few years back.”
   A sad look came over Dan’s face as he said, “Yeah, that was me and James. James died
of the fever down at Ft. Claiborne three years ago. We named little James over there after
him.” 
   Mary was now holding the baby. She said, “He’s so cute. How old is he?” Jennie
answered, “He’ll be eight months old come Sunday. His middle name is Griffin, after my
maiden name.” Mary asked, “Where you from ‘fore you came to Alabama?” Jennie
replied, “My folks moved down here to Monroe County, Mississippi Territory, back in
1815, right after the Creeks surrendered. They got passage on a big cargo ship to Mobile,
came up the river on a river boat, and settled close to Ft. Claiborne.”
   Harriet chimed in and asked, “Miss Martha, where’d your folks come from?” Martha
answered, “Well, we came over here with a big wagon train, just like y’all. We left our
home in the town of Mt. Willing, South Carolina, ‘bout five years ago. I was a couple a
years older than you at the time. Calvin and his folks were with the same group, and me
and him just sort a’ hit it off real good. We got married in 1821.” Harriet, being very
inquisitive, asked, “Y’all got any babies yet?” She said, “We sure do. That little three-year
old, playing out there under the tree with Willie and Simpson, is John Calvin Cassady.
He’s our only one so far.” 
   While we were eating the scrumptious dinner they had set for us, Dan said, “I notice
y’all didn’t bring any Negroes with y’all. You plannin’ on buyin’ some?” I answered. “No,
never have owned any. I may try to rent some to help with the land clearin’. I sho’ need to
get a crop in this year.” 
   Dan replied, “Well, Jennie’s pa left us with ‘bout fifteen of ‘em when he died a couple
a’ years ago. Her ma moved on to Mississippi to live with her sister, Jennie’s aunt. We just
finished puttin’ in ‘bout a hundred and fifty acres a’ cotton and fifty acres a’ corn last
week. I got twelve good field hands just sittin’ ‘round eatin’ and gettin’ fat right now.”
Calvin said, “Amen to that, I got eight of ‘em doin’ the same thing.” 
   I asked, “Y’all mind if I rent ‘em from ya for a few weeks?” Dan said, “Naw, I ain’t
gonna rent ‘em out, but if y’all ‘ll feed ‘em, you’re welcome to ‘em.” Calvin said, “Same
goes for mine, and I got  four of ‘em what’s doggone good carpenters, if you can use
‘em.” I said, “Now, I got the money to pay y’all for their use, and I expect to do just
that.” Calvin, through a big, disarming smile, said, “William, that’s what good neighbors
are for. ‘Sides that, I may need some help from you one a’ these days.”
   After dinner, Dan and Calvin rode on over to our land with us. It was an area of gently
rolling hills covered with big pine, oak, sweet gum and hickory trees. Calvin said, “I know
y’all left the Federal Road a couple a’ days ago, but I got a surprise for ya. If y’all look
over in the next little valley and across the creek, you’ll see that same road. The Butler,
Montgomery County line lies ‘tween here and the creek. The line borders y’alls land on
the south side.” 
   I was shocked and said, “I thought the road continued straight south through Butler
County.” He said, “No. Below Ft. Deposit it takes a southwesterly turn through the
northwest corner of Butler, by Ft. Dale, and then southwest along the border of Conecuh
and Monroe and on down to Ft. Mims and Ft. Stoddard in Baldwin County. If there’s eva’
any Indian trouble, the best place fa’ y’all to head is to Ft. Deposit. It’s only a few miles
east a’ here.” I said, “If that’s the case, then it’ll be easy to take our crops down to the
road and then south.” Dan said, “No. A fellow named Frank Baskins put up a big gin
house in Fostoria. That’s over past Bragg’s store. He’ll gin it, buy it and then haul it over
to the river. All we gotta do is get it to tha’ gin. After ginnin’ costs, we cleared
twenty-four cents a pound last fall.”

 
   Calvin said, “I heard in town yesterday he’s puttin’ in a grinder and some big vats this
summer. They say he’ll be able to grind your cane, and make syrup for ya for a few cents a
gallon.” Dan said, “I been grindin’ and boilin’ my own for the past two years, but it sho’ is
hot and tirin’ work. If what you heard is true, I’ll prob’ly just haul my cane over there.”
   We continued southward to the top of a hill overlooking the creek and the Federal
Road. It was covered with live oak and hickory trees. Mary and Harriet, both at the same
time said, “Stop!” Mary pointing straight ahead, said, “This is it! We’ll camp here and
build our house right on top a’ this hill in the shade of those tall oak trees.” Harriet was off
Charcoal and running ‘round through the huge trees, pointing out where the house oughta
sit. 
   Dan said, “We’ll feed the Negroes eva’ mornin’ ‘fore they come over and eva’ night
when they get back in. Mary, all you and Harriet need to do is fix ‘em a big pot a’ dried
beans and buncha fried cornbread fa’ dinner. That’ll keep ‘em goin’. We’ll be back with
‘em early in tha’ mornin’.” We thanked them for their wonderful hospitality, as they both
mounted their horses and rode off to the north. The next morning, March 22nd, we heard
singing and chanting as the Negroes headed up the north side of the hill. 
  We had already finished breakfast. Mary and Harriet were down the south side of the
hill washing pans in the large spring Jack and Simpson had found late yesterday afternoon.
It flowed out from under the roots of an ancient hickory tree that must’ve been sixty feet
tall. The spring was only ‘bout fifty yards from where we planned on building the house. It
flowed downhill another fifty yards and emptied into the creek.
   Dan rode up ahead of the column of Negroes. He said, “Big Jake, here,” as he
indicated with his thumb, “will be in charge of ‘em. As you can see, he’s big enough to
back up any orders that you or him give any of ‘em.” Jake looked to be in his late twenties
or early thirties, ‘round six four and ‘bout two hundred forty pounds, with muscles on top
a’ muscles. I agreed, “Yeah, Dan, I think he can handle the job.” Dan said, “Just sit down
with him, tell him what you want done, and he’ll take it from there. He’s one a’ tha’
smartest Negroes I eva’ dealt with.” 
   With that, Dan rode off. He yelled back over his shoulder, “If y’all need me for
anything, just send one a’ yo’ boys.” I was a little surprised to see that they had brought
several teams of oxen and plenty of tools with them. The night before, Mary and I had
decided to clear about two hundred thirty acres of the land and leave all the trees on this
hill, which would be our homesite. I immediately beckoned Jake to come on over and sit
down on the ground by me. 
   I picked up a hickory stick and drew out the plans for a dwelling on the bare ground. I
said, “Jake, the very first thing I want ‘em to build is an outhouse back over on the north
slope of the hill which will be to the back side a’ the house.” Jake grinned and said,
“Yas’suh, I can sho’ unnerstan’ that. You want a one holer or a two holer?” I answered,
“A two holer, of course. With all a’ our younguns, we’ll need it.” 
   He asked, “Missa William, does you want eva’thang built outta logs or does you plan
to get some sawed lumber?” I answered, “All logs.” He immediately called to a bunch of
younger Negro boys, “Tony, you and Cato and the rest a’ y’all younguns grab some a’
them buckets and head down yonder to tha’ creek. Now, don’t y’all come back up heah
‘til eva’ one of ‘em is full a’ good creek clay.” He called out, “Zack, you, Bo, Frank and
Pete come on ova’ here.” 
   He then turned to me and said, “Dem fo’ ‘niggas’ is de’ bes’ builders in dese parts.
Dey’ll have y’all under a roof in less’n two weeks.” He then turned to the four and said,
“Now, y’all be sho an’ lissen to what Miss Mary an’ Missa William heah tell y’all, an’
build dat house ‘zackly how they say.” Turning to Mary, he continued, “Miss Mary, I’m
leavin’ all a’ my boys ova’ heah to help y’all. You an’ Missa William keep ‘em busy and
make ‘em behave, and dey’ll do a good job.”
   As Jake and I stood talking, the boy called Tony, came running up the hill hollerin’,
“Papa! Papa! We found a clay pit down yonder big as a barn! It got a’ nuff good yeller
and gray clay in that bank to build a’ hunnert houses! Come on, let me sho’ y’all.” Jake
yelled back, “Boy, where’s yo’ manners? Can’t you see we’s talkin’?” 
   I said, “Come on, Jake, let’s go see what they found. We can talk on the way. Those
boys are excited, and they need a little braggin’ on anyway.” Sure enough, they had found
a big pocket of good building clay. Jake pulled out a big handful and said, “Boys, y’all
sho’ right. This is some a’ tha’ bes’ buildin’ clay I’ve eva’ seen.” We left the boys grinning
from ear to ear. On the way back up the hill, I asked, “Jake, all a’ them yo’ boys?” He
grinned and said, “Fo’ head of ‘em’s mine. Tony, he’s sixteen, Cato, he’s fo’teen, Little
Jake, he’s thirteen and that little ‘un you saw, that’s Sam. He’s jus’ nine.” 
   As we reached the top, Jake asked, “You want all the land ‘cept this hill cleared,
right?” I said, “Right.” He split the other sixteen in pairs, gave ‘em a crosscut saw and an
ox and sent ‘em off down the hill. He separated four of ‘em and told ‘em, “Find the tallest,
straightest hickories y’all can find at the bottom of the hill, cut ‘em, strip ‘em sho’ nuff
clean, and have the oxen drag ‘em back up here to Zack.” He sent the rest to the
boundaries of our land to work their way back in.
   As he left, he asked, “Missa William, I sho’ hope you can keep them younguns a’ y’alls
back up heah close to tha’ wagons, cause dey’s gonna be trees fallin’ all ova’ tha’ place
down yonda’. I sho’ wouldn’t want none of ‘em to git hurt.” In a matter of minutes we
heard singing, keeping time with the sawing, and, as Jake promised, trees started falling all
over the place.
   Mary and Harriet set up the big iron pot on spits over the fire and started boiling dried
beans. Jack, Simpson, and Willie T. started hauling rocks and clay up the hill and curbing
the spring. I told them that while we had the labor, I was going to have them dig a well.
They wanted to do it anyway. Jack reasoned, “Pa, we gotta have a springhouse for
storage, so we figured we’d go head and curb it.” It made sense to me. They worked like
bees from morning ‘til night and completely curbed it in. When Mary called them to
supper, they all drug up the hill, tired and wet as drowned rats. 
   They were surprised at the progress made on the house that first day. The foundation
was finished, and the log floor was in. I spent most of the day watching in amazement, the
logs for the floor being shaved down with a planer so the floor would be flat and level.
The ends of the floor logs were cut down on each end to mesh right into the assembly of
logs that made up the walls. The floor was ‘bout three feet off the ground, and as the logs
were wedged into place, all the boys were sent underneath to caulk the cracks with clay. 
   The next morning, as the walls were going up, Zack said, “Missa William, we gon’ be
chinkin’ ‘tween them logs fo’ long. Sho’ would be nice if’n we had ‘bout three a’ fo’
wagon loads ‘a good straight oak boa’ds, so’s we could pack in dat clay, ‘den cover each
crack wid’ dem boads frum log to log.” He continued, “Dey’s a sawmill right down da’
road out yonder, ‘tween heah and Fot’ Dale. It sits on tha’ banks a’ Wolf Creek. Would’nt
take ‘em no time to cut us up some. If we had enough, I could cover tha’ flo’ wid ‘em,
offsettin’ tha’ cracks, and then wall up tha’ inside a’ tha’ house. Y’all ‘ud sho’ nuff have a
nice lookin’ house ‘den, an wid’ it bein’ built outta ‘dese good hickories and dem oak
boards I been talkin’ ‘bout, it ‘ud be heah when we’s all dead and gone.”
   By the end of the day, Jack and I had made two trips to the sawmill and hauled four full
wagon loads of good straight oak lumber back up the hill. The level of work put in the
first two days was repeated as regular as clockwork every day, excluding Sundays. During
this time, Jack and I had to make two trips over to the landing on the river to pick up
supplies. There was a huge general merchandise store over there right by the docks. It
supplied most of the hardware and tools for the farmers in this area. Calvin Cassady said
everything was usually much cheaper over there than at the store in Greenville or Mt.
Willing, ‘cause there were no extra costs added in for hauling it inland.
   The closest route to the river was past Bragg’s store, through the villages of Minter
and Richmond. ‘Bout four miles past Richmond, the river makes a big turn toward the
east. The docks in that big turn are appropriately called Big Bend. The trip there was
‘bout fifteen miles. It took about five hours one way, with a two-ox wagon. A brand new
steam paddle wheeler made two trips upriver as far as Montgomery each week. As Calvin
had told us, the military did a good job of maintaining the road and bridges. Since the new
steamboat started it’s runs, all the supplies for Fort Dale and Fort Deposit come upriver by
boat to Big Bend and then by wagon to the forts.  
   We made our first trip to the river on April 15th, to pick up farm tools. While there the
paddle wheeler Nettie Quill eased into the docks from downriver. Jack was so excited, he
ran right up to the edge of tha’ docks to get a better look. Deck hands at the front and
back of the boat tossed off two thick ropes which were quickly secured to the dock.

Others lowered a wide gangplank to the dock. When the ropes were tightly secured to the
docks, a railing was put into place on each side of the gangplank. To my surprise, about
two dozen mules were herded down to the docks and driven to a large holding pen across
the road from the store. Mules were a rare sight. We had seen a few on the trip to
Alabama, but not up close. We had always used oxen for farm work.
   After more cargo was unloaded, the heavy set young man who had been giving all the
orders came strolling down from the deck. He had a big smile on his face as he walked up
to me and Jack and asked, “Boy, is this the first time you’ve seen a paddle wheeler? You
sho’ did seem excited when we were pullin’ in.” Jack answered, “No sir. We saw one at
Augusta, on tha’ Savannah River, but not this close up.” The captain reached out his hand
and said, “My name’s Frank Johnson. I shook his hand and said, “My name’s William
Goodwin, and this is my boy, Jack.” An even bigger smile came on his face when I said
the name ‘Goodwin’. 
   He said, “Well, I’ll just be damned, you gotta be old Young’s kin folk. He told me to
be on the lookout fa’ y’all eva’ time I pulled in heah. Y’all come on, I’m gonna give y’all
the grand tour a’ this boat.” As we followed him up the ramp, he asked back over his
shoulder, “William, you knew yo’ great uncle owned a boat didn’t you?” I answered, “No.
What kinda boat?” He laughed and said, “This ‘un you’re standin’ on right here.” 
   I stopped in my tracks as we stepped on the deck and through a look of utter
astonishment, said, “My God A’mighty. I knew he was doin’ well, but he must be sho’
‘nuff rich!” Frank replied, “If he ain’t, he’s sho’ gonna be from what he tells me. He sho’
made me a good deal when he bought this boat. He furnishes the boat and labor and gives
me a fourth a’ eva’thing we clear on freight and passengers. Won’t take too many years a’
this fo’ he makes me rich, too.”
   He gave us a full tour and then took us to the his plush living quarters. We sat down at
the kitchen table, while his cook, Adalina, an enormous Negro of ‘bout three hundred
pounds, poured us a cup a’ coffee. Between sips, Frank said, “Now, William, I’m in
Mobile two or three times a week. If it’s somethin’ special you want me to pick up for ya
down there, it won’t cost you a cent for pickin’ it up and bringin’ it back upriver for ya.
It’ll only cost what I have to pay for it, and I always get a big discount. Those merchants
down there know what side their bread’s buttered on.”
   I said, “I wouldn’t want to put you out none.” He replied, “Ain’t no bother a’tall. I’ll
just find what ever you want, pay for it, have the Negroes load and unload it, and then you
can pay me for it.” I said “There’s two things I need right now. Some framed windows,
two dozen of ‘em, and a big cook stove.” He said, “The windows come in all sizes. What
size you want?” I replied, “Four by four, if you can get ‘em. If you can’t, any size you
can.” He said “Fine. If y’all meet me back here a week from today at the same time, I’ll
have ‘em for ya.”  
   He got up from the table and said, “Sounds like they got the wood for the firebox all
loaded. Guess we better be headin’ on upriver.” As we started down the gangplank he
hollered, “Any time y’all want ‘a go upriver to visit y’alls kin, just meet us here on the
docks.” As we headed back home that afternoon, all Jack or me could think or talk about
was our tour of the boat. It was just about dark when we got in that night. We must have
spent the next two hours telling the family ‘bout all the exciting things that happened
today.
   Jack and I were back at the docks a week later. Sure enough, Frank had brought a
fancy wood cooking stove and all the windows. We brought both wagons, thank
goodness, ‘cause they were both fully loaded when we pulled off the dock. We stopped at
the mule yard, picked out two fine looking young mules, haggled the dealer down to
fifteen dollars each, tied one to the back of each wagon and headed home. The whole
family was elated when we pulled in that night. We’ve never had glass windows before. 
   All Mary could say was, “It’s sho’ gonna be nice to be able to cook on a nice stove like
this.” Then, as an afterthought, said, “What did all this finery cost us, William?” I smiled
and said, “Not countin’ tha’ mules, less’n a hundred dollars. Can you believe that?” She
said, “That’s great, but what did those stupid lookin’ mules cost, and who’s gonna plow
‘em anyway?” 
   Jack said, “Mama, they only cost fifteen dollars each, and when next plowin’ time
comes, Simpson will be able to handle ‘em. Sho’ will help me and Pa, won’t it Pa?” He
continued without waiting for an answer, “Mules ain’t as strong as oxen, but they’re sho’
lot easier to plow.” Mary laughed as she asked, “Jack, where in the world did you find out
so much ‘bout mules?” Jack replied, “The man what sold ‘em to us. He said, ‘Fo’ too
long, oxen are gonna be a thing a’ the past’.”
    As the Negroes cleared a plot a’ land and stumped it, Jack and I, along with two a’
Dan’s field hands, were right in behind them with the oxen, mules, and plows, preparing
the rich, black virgin soil for its first crops of cotton, corn, and wheat. We planted a
hundred fifty acres a’ cotton, fifty acres a’ corn, and twenty-five acres a’ wheat. We left
fifteen acres for pasture, four acres for sugar cane and ‘bout an acre for vegetables. The
hill with our house covered ‘bout five acres. The fifteen acres of pasture land extended
around the hill on the western side and included about a half-mile of the creek run. As the
smaller saplings were cut, they were used to build a rail fence around the pasture.
   The house was finished. It had a big parlor, a dining room, and two bedrooms on the
first floor with a staircase leading up to four more bedrooms on the second floor, two on
each side of a wide hall. Out back of the dining room, ‘bout twenty feet from the house,
was a big kitchen and pantry. We had two glass windows in each corner bedroom. All the
bedrooms were on a corner. We put two windows side by side in the parlor, two on each
wall in the dining room, and one on each of the four walls in the kitchen. There is a huge
stone fireplace in the parlor. We saved most of the oak, cut it into one and three foot logs
and stacked it between two hickory trees in the back yard. The shorter logs will be split
into stove wood.
   Both the roof of the house and the kitchen are covered with thick hickory shingles that
were cut for us down at the sawmill. The land is cleared and planted, and all the Negroes
are now finishing a springhouse covering the big spring, a smokehouse, and a barn. Jake
and his boys dug us a deep well right off the kitchen porch, curbed it up seven feet off the
ground and four feet above the porch extension, and covered it with a shingled roof. Mary
was pleased when she saw she could walk right outta tha’ kitchen and draw a bucket a’
good fresh water, without eva’ touching the ground.
   Dan, sold us a sow with a litter a’ twelve pigs. Calvin sold us a half dozen good laying
hens and what he called a rambunctious rooster. Jack, Simpson, and I finished a chicken
house and a pig pen out back a’ tha’ barn. We were finally able to sit back in the rockers
on a brand new front porch and take pride in all that had been accomplished in the past
eight weeks.

CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN                                                             BACK