Excerpt from The Tracy-M'Cune Genealogical Record, compiled by Mrytie C. Magrath (granddaughter of Almira TRACY McCUNE), Camden, N.J., August 6, 1900.

Grandmother McCune's Own Story [hand written note "1880"]

Grandmother Almira McCune's letter to the Cincinnati Enquirer, answering a request from that paper for pioneer records of Ohio People:

"I saw so many writing their history I thought I would write a little of mine. My grandfather, Moses Tracy, was born in Connecticut in 1728, and my father was born there in 1771. [Jonas Tracy] His father enlisted in the war of 1775 and served over seven years. My father was bound to a blacksmith, and when he had learned the trade he went to the State of New York. He was married twice. His first wife had three children. His second wife had five. The names: Almira, Philura, Polly, Moses and Calvin. Father emigrated to Ohio in 1817. I was then 9 years old. We settled on Federal creek, Athens county, where I still live. When we came to Ohio we had a hard time. No schools nor churches and very few settlers. When we got here father had money enough to buy a cow, and my half brothers would hunt. Deer and turkeys were numerous, so we had plenty of meat. I went out to work, and learned to spin flax and tow. I lived with my aunt. She could weave. She went to the tannery and got cattle's hair. We would mix a little tow with it so it would hang together and would card and spin it and weave it into blankets. It was like the worst kind of soldier blankets. I learned to weave and to plait rye straw and make hats. I have made straw hats and walked to the Ohio, at the mouth of Hocking river, which was fifteen miles, to a store to get a calico dress. Two neighbors went with me, and we went through a piece of woods that was nine miles long. There were no horses in the country. The work was done with ox teams. When we would go anywhere we had to walk. The only sleigh ride I ever had before I was married was behind an ox team. If we got one calico dress each year we did well. I made hats and sent to Marietta to get my wedding dress. I have worked for five weeks for one dress. There was no public money for schools. If we attended a school we had to pay our tuition. When I was 15 I went to school three terms. When school was out I worked five weeks to pay for one term of school. When I was eighteen years old I married Samuel McCune. He was born in Athens county, where Canaanville stands now. We had nothing to begin with, but my husband built some boats and it brought us some money, and we bought one hundred acres of land. He cleared it, planted fruit trees on it, and we soon had enough to make us comfortable. As our property increased our family also increased until we had twelve children. We had fifteen children in all, but three died in infancy. Six sons and six daughters are still living. They were: Amy, Henry, Jane, George, Susan, Levi, Sarah, Eliza, Charles, William, Lucy, and Samuel. They are all living in Athens county except our son William. He married and went to Wisconsin. Our children are all married. Our youngest son runs the farm. In the year 1862 we sold our one hundred acres for ($8,000) eight thousand dollars and bought two hundred and twenty acres for seven thousand, where we now live. My husband is 82 years old. I am 72, and we have been married fifty-five years. On my husband's 80th birthday our son from the West was at home with his family, and we made a great dinner, and all our twelve grown children, and twenty-eight grandchildren, and seven great-grandchildren and many neighbors and friends took dinner with us. There were one hundred in all. An artist came and took the family group. We both have good health, for which we are very thankful. We have divided our property with our children and we have enough to keep us while we live, and we are waiting for the Lord to call us home. I hope I shall be ready when the summons comes."

Fireside reminiscences from Samuel and Almira McCune to their daughter Ann Eliza, who was home with them several years during her widowhood. Told in their own language. What grandmother said:

"I was born in the town of Palmyra, New York, Wayne county. My parents had been previously married, and my father's first wife, widow Brown, with two children of that name. I was the oldest of the fourth set of children, and had half brothers and sisters and step brothers and sisters who were all raised together by my parents as one family. I remember well the war of 1812. Father enlisted, but was only a short time away from home until he had his leg broken in two places by a vicious horse he was shoeing for an officer (he being a blacksmith by trade.) He got so, after his return home to Palmyra, that he could walk about and was thinking of going to his regiment, when he accidentally (I don't remember how) broke his leg again. It was not set right, and caused him to walk lame all the rest of his life. He was not able for duty again during the war. I remember well when Soda Point was burned by the British. My brother Moses was but a few days old and father still confined to his bed with his broken leg. A man riding at full speed came to our door, yelling, 'Turn out! Turn out! The British have hove in sight!' He was bareheaded, and his long hair (as they wore their hair then), was flying in the wind. Father owned but one horse. He was grazing in the yard. The man jumped off the winded horse he was riding and turned it loose, put the saddle on our horse, mounted and rode away, screaming, 'Turn out! Turn out! the British have hove in sight!' My half brother George Tracy and David and Arvin Whaley took such firearms as we possessed and started to help all they could, leaving us younger children half scared to death. But father and mother told us we were safe; that the British would not leave the lake so far as that, but we could not sleep. We could see the fire of the burning town and hear the guns. The British only staid long enough to fire the town. The people were doing all they could to defend themselves, and they were coming from the country, but few reached there until the British were far out of reach of their firearms. Near morning we heard a noise at the door. We were too much frightened to know what to do, but father told my half sister Esther Tracy to open the door. She did so, and there stood our horse. The man rode him hard by the looks and then turned him loose, and he had come home and was rubbing his nose against the door. Our boys returned in the morning. If father or mother had either one been well enough to be out of bed we would not have been so frightened, and I being so young would not have remembered it so distinctly."

The Trip to Ohio.

"Soon after father got well we moved to Canandaigua, on the northern shore of Canandaigua lake, in Ontario county. [New York] We lived there until the fall of 1816, I having reached 8 years old the previous June, when we with some other families emigrated to Ohio. We all started with wagons, aiming to reach the Allegheny river before winter came. When we came to the Allegheny mountains they were covered with snow. We camped, and the men took the wheels off the wagons and put runners on the axles, making sleds of them and in that way we finished our trip to the river.

"We stopped at a logging camp where they were lashing logs together to float down the stream to a southern market. They were lashed in great rafts, solid together, and then those rafts were lashed together with chains so they would have three or four feet play.

"A great many rafts were joined together that way, and emigrants were allowed to float down to any point on the river on them. Father, like the rest of the home-seekers, sold his team and fixed up a tent on one of these rafts. When the rafts were floating with the chains stretched between them they were all of three miles in length, but as long as it was they had enough families to load them. People had collected there from all parts, going to settle further West. We floated down the Allegheny and down the Ohio until we came to the mougth of the Hocking river, where we landed to choose us a home. One laughable incident that happened on the way, among other interesting occurrences: The rafts being coupled about four feet apart, were continually bumping together and then floating apart the length of the chain, the captain of each raft giving orders to be very careful in going from one raft to another.

"An unruly boy belonging to one of the families undertook to jump across when the rafts swung apart and he fell into the river.

"My half brother, Arvin Whaley, was standing near and saw him sink, and as he came up caught him by the hair and pulled him out in time, as the logs were coming together and would have mashed him if he had been a moment later. The mother of the boy was going to beat Arvin for pulling her poor boy's hair when he was almost drowned, and the captain had to settle her by threatening to put her between the rafts, but said, 'No, I won't do that, for you might come up under a raft instead of between them, as your boy did. But if you don't quiet down and behave yourself, I will put you on shore right here and leave you.'

"We staid at the mouth of the Hocking river until father could find a place, which he did on the banks of Federal creek, about three miles from where it empties into the Hocking river. The farm is now owned by John Rathburn. We left Levi and Amy Brown in New York State. They were both married, and I nver saw them again, but remembered them so well that I named two of my children after them in after years. My half brother, George Tracy, got a place in a cooper shop while we were at the mouth of the Hocking river, and my half sister, Esther Tracy, found a place to work, and we left them there. They often came home, but not to stay long, as they both married while there. My half brother, David Whaley, was a "bound boy" to a cabinet-maker while in New York. He did not like his master, and ran away.

"Father took pity on him and went to the man and settled the matter, then brought David to Ohio with us. The country was new, and our nearest neighbor was two miles from us. Henry Barrows, the ancestor of all the Barrows now living here, owned and run a grist mill and a distillery for many years at that place. There were a few families scattered along the Hocking banks, and the nearest in the other direction was a settlement where Amesville stands now. Ames was an ancestor of Bishop Ames, and he laid out the town lots, and the town was named for him. There were Dean, Cutler, Cable, Boyles, and McCune. One of this McCune family became my husband a few years later. Father having been a good blacksmith he went to work at that, and David had almost learned the cabinet trade, and being ingenious he was soon prospering at that business.

"Hannah and I went to Aunt Polly Sales', and took Philura with us. As we were going home through the woods we found a little kid deer, and it commenced to follow us. We tried to drive it back, and tried to run away from it, but it kept following, until we decided to take it home with us to keep it from starving, as it seemed to have no mother. We would carry it a while to rest it, then let it run along with us till it got tired again. Mother scolded me for catching it, but let us keep it until it was two or three years old. Father then got a neighbor to shoot it, as it had grown so mischievous and did so much damage to the crops. Another time we three girls staid so late at Aunt Sales' that night overtook us when not more than half way home. It was a pretty moonlight night, so we could see to follow the path all right, but there was not a house of any kind between our house and aunt's house, that we had left at a distance of about five miles back. We travelled as fast as we could, running and walking in turns, till we heard the wolves begin to howl--no unusual sound to us, but horrifying at that time and place. Hannah and I took Phila between us, carrying her by the arms, and would make her run as long as she could. Then Hannah would take her on her back, and run with her as long as she could stand it, then we'd make her run between us again. Once we heard a panther scream not far from us, while wolves were howling ahead and on all sides of us.

When we got near home, we heard our old dog barking, and Hannah called to him as loud as she could, and he came running to us, and then we felt safe, and found we were all so tired we could scarcely walk, and all began to cry. Father was not at home, but we could see mother in the door waiting for us, and she began to scold. But Phila said, "Don't scold us; we are punished enough for staying so late." Then mother took Phila on her lap and cried with us, but told us never to stay at aunt's so late again.

When I was sent for to come to brother David's and show his wife how to weave, I started from the home near Hocking, and it was farther than I thought. It grew dark, and I had to guess the way I was going. I was very much frightened, but at last found my way. David had made his wife a loom, and she thought could weave, but did not know how to put the piece in the loom. I had only seen my aunt Polly do it, but never had undertaken it myself. I was only a child then, but I put the piece in the loom for her, and then she could not weave, and I finished the work.

When I married Samuel McCune his father was dead, and he, the oldest son, could not well leave the mother, as she was a cripple, so he took me there to live as one of the family. He had five brothers and one sister at home, and two married sisters in homes of their own. Two of his brothers (Jacob and William) soon married, and the rest of them lived with us there until my third child, Jane, was six months old, when my husband, having bought the farm from his brothers and sister, sold the farm to Nathan Dean (now owned by Barney Henry) where the place called Broadwell is now a village. Thomas, Joseph and Sylvester bought land where Armandale now stands. Joseph farmed, and the other two put up a saw-mill on the property now owned by Seldon McCune, son of Thomas. Frank McCune, son of William and Philura, owns the farm where Joseph first settled.

Mother McCune kept house for her single boys while she lived. My husband loved hunting, and being a good marksman brought in more game than we needed, especially wild turkeys. I kept a two gallon jar to salt turkey in, and at times I would have so many that I would only cut off the thick breast and throw the rest away, and frequently had the jar packed full to use when he was too busy on the farm to hunt. For years we were hardly ever out of bear meat, venison or turkey, and plenty in the house. I carded, spun and wove nearly all the winter clothes worn by my first children; then, as factories were built near us, I got my wool carded into rolls, and sometimes had it spun, but always did my own weaving and that of the neighbors. We sold the farm on Federal creek, after having lived there just thirty-five years to a day. We moved to a farm near Amesville that had formerly joined the John McCune farm. We bought it from John Boyles' heirs. John Boyles was a brother of my husband's mother. We moved to this farm March 26, 1865.

The first bear ever killed by grandfather Samuel McCune.

At 12 years old he took his dog and gun (the two things always took with him) and started for the woods on what is now known as Tick Ridge, where chestnuts are always growing even now. He had filled his hunting bag, when he saw a large bear filling himself with chestnuts under another tree. He touched his dog, and gave him to understand that he was to watch quietly, and then waited until the bear turned so he could shoot according to his father's instructions, behind the fore shoulder to reach the heart. He hit him, and he tumbled over, and he sent the dog to see if he was dead, and the dog snuffed around him, and came back wagging his tail, as much as to say, "he don't need me."

Grandfather had heard that if he disemboweled a bear and then turned the bear over them and placed his nose on the bowels that other animals would not touch it, thinking it was a trap. He tried hard to turn it over, the dog helping him by pulling hard on the tail, but he couldn't move it. In starting away he met two men on horseback and told them about it, and they went with him and arranged the bear as he had tried to do. He and his father went after it with a cart next day, and he said in his old age that he had killed scores of bears after that, but that was the largest one he ever saw to shoot.

In going to Athens once, and carrying his gun, as everyone did in those days, he was passing a very wealthy man's house. He was Baron De Steiger, and he brought his retainers with him to this country. Henry Oberholzer was one of them. As grandfather was passing in sight of the house he saw a deer and shot it. The Baron saw him shoot it, and sent Oberholzer out to ask him what he would take for it. Grandfather said, "If the Baron wants it, tell him to come and buy it of me, but we don't have any lords and ladies in America." The Baron had been quite exclusive, in the manner of the dignitaries of the old country, but, after receiving the message from the serving man, he appeared and greeted grandfather with a pleasant smile, and said he guessed he would have to become an American citizen, and asked him now much he would take for the deer. As he had never seen one shot down before, he was anxious to possess it, and if he would dress it he would pay him a good price for it. Grandfather said, "As I shot it on your premises it belongs to you, and as I am going to Athens, and can carry neither the deer nor the meat, if you will call your men out I will show them how to dress it."

He then asked grandfather's name, and after that he and the Baron were always friends. The Baroness had several children, but all died. She lived near Sarah McCune Cone, the minister's wife, and she sent for her and asked why it was that American children lived and her's (sic) died. Sarah made her understand that an active life was necessary, and told her if she were a worker as Americans are that she would be stronger and her children would be stronger. She was astonished, and exclaimed, "Work! Why I cannot work." Sarah told her to plant and work all the yard herself. Keep the flowers from weeds and sprinkle them herself. She grew to like the work and walked about the grounds far more than she ever did, and the next child, a boy, was a healthy child, and he became a lawyer in Athens and lived a long life. The Baroness was a warm friend of Mrs. Cone as long as she lived.

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