Advertisement
Ira & Riley Woodward Manuscript
----------------------------------------------
Return to Woodward Home Page
Return to Quaker Migrations Page
Return to Indiana Map Page
Return to Benjamin Woodward Page
Return to Jesse and Rhoda Morgan Woodward Page
The following manuscript is by two sons of Benjamin Woodward, grandsons of William & Elizabeth Millikan Woodward, and great grandsons of Abraham & Hannah Thornbrough Woodward.
As Told by Ira H. Woodward: Twin Brother of Riley D. Woodward
[Time period of the trips to Indiana would have been about 1830/31]
My father was born in East Tennessee, not far from Knoxville, in the neighborhood of Lost Creek Quaker Meeting. He made two trips to Indiana; once in company with his brother, Jesse; returned to Tennessee and married and soon started on their way to Indiana with their young brides in a wagon drawn by three horses; the third horse was hitched in front of the two. One rode the saddle horse, driving with a jerk line. Father rented a cabin west of Mooresville, three miles from where he lived, until he could erect a log house on the land he entered before returning to Tennessee for his bride, which place was in Hendricks county south of Cartersburg, where he lived a number of years. After the death of his first wife whose name was Sarah Mendenhall, he sold the farm and moved 2 1/2 miles west of Mooresville where I was born and grew up and lived and married. Our family was similar to the one of which as the story goes: A commotion was heard out in the yard and mother went out to investigate and on returning to the father said, "Your children and my children are imposing on our children." Your children were Nancy, Mary Jane, and Joseph Woodward, and my children were Jesse, Albert and Mary Jane Dixon and our children were Riley D., Ira N., Ezra H. and Sara Elizabeth Woodward. An old-fashioned family -- Nancy married John C. Harper, Jane married William J. Morgan and Joseph married Mariah Craven. Jesse died in the Union Army of the Rebellion. Albert never married--the last ever heard of him, he was in San Francisco, California about eight years ago. Mary Jane married Elihu Morgan; Riley D. married Mary C. Siler; Ira W. married Laura Lewis; Ezra married Amand M. Maris and Sara Elizabeth married Alf Moore. All of these have gone to their long home except Laura and I, Elihu Morgan, Alf Moore and Mrs. E. W. Woodward of Newburg, Oregon. Elihu was a soldier in the Union Army of the Rebellion. The house is till in good repair and is owned by my nephew, Pleasant Morgan. It was built about 100 years ago. My first recollection is of an incident that occurred when I was about five years old of age when father, sister Jane, R. D. and I had been out driving in mother's one-horse wagon, (which she used when a widow), and on returning home and crossing Neerackens creek just on the north side of the farm father drove old Jack, the yellow horse, into a pretty deep hole to let him drink. Old Jack was in the habit of taking a bath in warm weather when out in the pasture, so I suppose it occurred to him as he was quite warm and the water was cool and there was a nice sandy place, he wouldn't wait until he was unhitched from the wagon to take his bath so when he arrived, where he thought the depth of the water was just right, down he went. But alas, he had not taken into consideration the fact that it was altogether improper for to do such a thing with "the gears on" as father called the harness. So Jack just rolled over on his side to get his back good and wet, father jumped out of the wagon and was there and put his foot on Jack's head and soused him under--heard and ears. About that time, sister thought it was time to get herself and the twins out of the wagon; therefore, she jumped out and gathered us out thinking perhaps old Jack might want to take to his heels when he arose from his bath. R. D. and I got the idea that father was intending to drown him. Instead of running away, Jack was shaking his head, trying to get the water out of his ears.
Soon after this, Bert, we called him was leading a mare with a young colt out to water, so I guess R. D. thought it time to begin training the colt, proceeded to grab the colt by the tai. He said, "Gee--haw, gee-haw, meaning for the colt to turn to the left when he said "gee" and to the right when he said "haw." But, the colt, only being a few days old and its teacher beginning in rather an abrupt manner blazed away; with both feet, one of which struck R. D. in the face between the eyes and laid the skin open to the bone, running on down his nose, leaving a scar which he carried as long as he lived. I sure thought he was a gonner lying stretched out there on the ground, the blood flowing so freely. They carried him to the house and called a neighbor who was pretty handy with the needle, being somewhat of a shoe cobbler and also ran the sawmill close by. He took a few stitches to draw the skin together well. Only one place, the stitches were not quite even; however, as he grew up nature corrected the surgeon's mistake a great deal.
Folks didn't call the doctor every time some little thing occurred like that. That reminds me of the time when we had grown up somewhat. We boys were playing in the orchard when old Alec, a big sorrel horse that had learned some bad tricks such as opening the stable door, laying down a gap in the rail fence and letting all the rest of the stock into the wheat or corn or whatever it might be, came into the orchard. Father's orders were that when Alec played one of his tricks whoever saw him was to get him, take him to the barn, and tie him securely by the neck with rope which was there for this purpose. So, I approached him, calling him by name and scrambled up on him, gave a dig in the side with my heels, and started him off in a trot, and called to the boys that I was taking a ride into the country. Alec trotted up to the fence and instead of stopping for me to get off and lay a gate for him to go through as I expected him to do, he arose in the air like an old trained circus horse and over the fence we went. I had made no preparation for holding on, had no bridle rein to hold to since he had no bridle on. I didn't grab his mane, thinking he would stop. I slipped back onto his rump and when that part of him came up over the fence, he threw me 8 or 10 feet. I landed on my hands and knees by his side. He kicked at me as I fell but fortunately missed me. It jammed the bones of my left wrist so they are a little out of place to this day. I had the satisfaction or the dissatisfaction of following Alec, holding the douyble shovel, plowing corn. I had to go twice to the row or the walking breething plow or the harrow--never that of riding those days, although Alec lived to pull riding tools. He lived to about 30 years of age.
We had two neighbors of the same name of John Bray. One lived down the creek, we called "Johnny Bray down the creek" the other "Johnny Bray up the creek" to distinguish which one we meant when speaking of them. All kinds of stock ran out and farmers had to protect their crops by fencing. I have no recollection of the occurrence, but the folks tell me of the action when I was three or four years of age. "Johnny Bray's down the creek" hogs wandered up to our place and it seems that R. D. stasrted to drive them away but R. D., having a sore toe, became discouraged and left the job for me to do, and returned to the house. I went driving the hogs on toward their home as all good little boys should do when they undertake a job. The hogs took their way down toward the creek about one-fourth mile north, then down the creek, crossing it three or four places on account of there being fences on either side until they arrived home a mile or more away. Asa, the son of "Johnny Bray down the creek", said he heard a child crying for help and came to my rescue. He told the folks that I was so wet as though I had been recently baptized. He took me in his arms and carried me home across the fields as fast as she could, knowing my folks would be out hunting for me when they found I was gone. When R. D. returned, he didn't say anything about me being gone. Finally they missed me and began looking everywhere for me when my good friend brought me home. My good friend ever afterward took great pleasure telling of rescuing one of the twin Woodwards, but mixed up, he couldn't tell which one it was he rescued.
In those days, they had "subscription schools." The teacher would offer to teach for so much per month. Then those who lived within each of the schools were asked to say how many students they would send. When R. D. and I were five or there about, they came to father saying they lacked some of having a sufficient number to start the school. He thought we were almost too young, but to help in getting the school started he started us to school. They employed Sarah Bray, daughter of "Johnny Bray up the creek" for teacher and she proved to be a very good teacher for these times.
After school had been going on for a couple of weeks or more, brother R. D. took a notion he wanted to go home after noon a bit and asked the teacher if he could go but could give no reason why he should go. So, she told him it wouldn't be long until time for school to close and to remain. But he continued to plead and finally got his hat and was about to start when she took his had and hid it. While the teacher's attention was called to some other part of the room, R. D. slipped out and was making his escape toward home a mile and one half or more away. She called on me to go capture the runaway, which I succeeded in doing after a good long hard chase. I don't remember what the punishment was now that he received, but I am sure at the time it was not severe as it should have been nor near in proportion to the long run that I had to make to bring him back.
Our next teacher was the son of "Johnny Bray down the creek" --a very large man -- a cooper by trade. I remember the curtains for the window were made of some kind of white muslin which were very easily taken down. R. D. and I always sat together in school. One day we were busy at something which I expect was not studying our lessons, we found ourselves suddenly covered over with one of these white window curtains. You may guess everything suddenly became very quiet so far as we were concerned, but we could hear tittering in other parts of the room.
I remember that one of our teachers seemed to think so much of us that after a few weeks of school, he moved us right up by his desk. I suppose so he could give us better attention. These days they didn't have to hire a big husky man at a big salary to teach the kids to play. The little boys and girls played ring around-a-rosy and anty over. The next size played taphand or three corner cat ball. The big boys played bull-pen or town ball, etc.
In those days, teachers as well as parents took that part of the sacred scriptures where it says something about sparing the rod and spoiling the child quite seriously. Most teachers had a code of rules almost as difficult to observe without disobeying some of them as our traffic rules of these times: not allowed to whisper in time of school, don't spit on the floor, don't use your jacknife on the desks, don't leave your seat without permission, don't leave the school grounds without permission, don't throw paper wads, etc. Our desks were made of two-inch black walnut lumber-the recitation seats had no backs to them. We used M. C. Guffies' speller and reader and Ray's arithmetic, with slates for doing sums--no such things as tablets those days. The bucket of cool spring water was passed around occasionally in warm weather to those who were thirsty. There was one tin drinking cup for all. No thought of danger of microbes those days. I have a very distinct recollection of a day when a number of us had broken some of the numerous rules of the school. As I remember, we boys and girls as well had gone off the school grounds to the creek close by to wade. When the yankey school marm discovered the fact, she lined us up in a row and switched us on our bare feet, it being warm in weather. I never did think she did quite the right thing because to never dance, but we sure did some dancing that day. A little incident occurred that still lingers in my memory which occurred when I was about twelve years of age at school.
We were playing on a steep hillside down near the spring pushing each other down the hill. One big fellow delighted in sending the others to the bottom of the hill but didn't like to be molested himself. I finally sneaked up behind him and gave him a shove that sent him to the bottom of the hill. He flew into a rage and grabbed me up in his arms and slammed me down on the ground as hard as he could nearly knocking the breath out of me. So, when I got up, I had a good sized club in my hand and proceeded to give him a crack in the ribs. He grabbed me and slammed me down as hard as he could again and told me when I got up if I struck him again with the club, he would go and tell the teacher. I proceeded to give him the best I had and told him to go and tell the teacher if he wanted to, which he did, and the big man teacher called us both out before the school and gave us both a good threshing, for fighting which was forbidden by one of the rules of the school. After the whipping, we were the best of friends. I am sorry to relate that soon after my friend enlisted, it being in time of the great war, never came back. As I remember, he was numbered with the missing.
Instead of basketball, we had spelling matches between the country schools in our neighborhood where the young and some of the older people met alternating between different schools. After spelling for a while we had a recess of 30 or 40 minutes. The old folks visited while the young folks played games of tap-hand or drop the hancherchief.
Our winter clothing was mostly made from the wool from our own sheep. Often the neighborhood women would gather together and have a wool-picking while the men engaged in rolling logs or a barn raising.
Our large room upstairs in our house which had a fireplace contained the loom for weaving and the different spinning wheels, etc., used in those days. Our mother did the weaving until she was taken when I was about nine years of age, leaving father with seven children to care for and the oldest girl about thirteen years of age. After mother was taken, father kept the family together but home was never the same.
Father was turned out of the Quaker Meeting because he wouldn't say he was sorry for marrying out of Meeting. He said he told the committee that was appointed to see him that he was sorry the rules of the church were such. Mother made a satisfactory acknowledgment and was retained. I became the termed a "Hickory Quaker", whatever that meant. [Does he mean Hicksite?]
Our shoes were made of cowhide in those days. Father would butcher a beef, take the hide to the tanner who would tan the hide for one-half. Then we all drove to old Jakey Feazles in the wagon. He took our measure. The boys measured for boots mostly. The clothes for boys who grew so fast had to be made away too big on account of the homemade cloths like we wore. We grease our boots with a little lamp black melted in tallow to turn the water and then the water turned in instead of out. There is a lot more rain and snow in "Old Indiana" than here. (Kansas).
Often after walking home from school and wading about in mud doing the feeding, our boots were soaking wet as were our feet. It took a bootjack to get our boots off and in the morning, I have almost lifted myself by my boot straps pulling them on. Instead of blacking our boots for Sunday, we greased them.
Our Sunday-best was made of some kind of cotton goods. Our tailor was a maiden lady who lived in the edge of town. I, in the saddle, and R. H. on behind rold old Gin, our old pacing mare down to get our measure taken for our new summer suits. I was just a little bigger than R. D. when we were boys--about two pounds the heaviest, I think, although in later years he outweighed me twenty pounds. One measure would do for both as the suits were made to or three sizes too big anyway. We decided in the council before we would ask our tailor to put in an extra pocket which we called a side pocket. I was to make the proposition but my courage failed me so R. H. being the diplomatic turn, ade the proposition which was kindly agreed to by Mrs. Jackson. We had no "hand me downs" those days. All our clothes were tailor-made. The lighting systems consisted of beef or mutton tallow candles, or a wick or rag laid in a saucher with one end hanging over the side, the saucer filled with some kind of grease. In the winter, the light from the fire burning on the fireplace helped a lot. We had a candlestand which we set out in the middle of the room where we could all gather around to stuy or read. Someone must see that the candles were kept moulded ahead for it took time for them to cool after they were moulded.
The first wild ripe fruit, May apples, came the last of May; then raspberries, wild strawberries, blackberries, pawpaws, black and red haws, wild cherries, and huckleberries. Then there were the black and white walnut, shell bark, and big hickory nuts that almost make a pig squeal to eat one, and the beech-nut, hazel nut, all free for the picking.
My first love affair struck me at a pretty tender age. The lady was the granddaughter of the aforesaid "Johnny Bray down the creek." I sure thought she was a peach of a girl. I took her horseback riding--she furnished her own mount. In those days, ladies rode what they called a sidesaddle. Finally brother Albert got a navy buggy which was a pretty rare thing in those days. I concluded it would be fine if brother would let me have his fine gray horse and new buggy to take my little lady to a picnic to be held in a few days. Brother kindly consented to let me use the rig. I saddled up my horse and cantered off down to see if the little miss would be willing to accompany me to the picnic. We had no phones those times. I soon had the arrangements made, returned home as happy as a lark. I saw father sitting in the shade visiting with granddad Bray when I rode up and went in the house. Father told the folks that when I rode up granddad said who was that? Granddad was up toward ninety, nearly blind and hard of hearing. Father said that is one of the boys. He said, "Well, he will make a famous young man." You may guess I never heard the last of that for many years.
I soon heard the story of how when R. D. called on his first girl. He arrived a little late and the candle had not been lighted. He was seated in the parlor when in stepped the father of the little miss and walked over where R. D. sat and slapped him in the cheek, thinking he was one of his own boys and said, "didn't I tell thee to bring in some wood"? R. D. said, "Not that I had heard." R. D. always said it was a story the hired hands made up.
My first love affair soon ended by the lady and her folks moving away. Soon after the war broke out, father and I took a load of wheat to Indianapolis. One of the team of horses was Alec, the horse that jumped the fence with me. A man who was buying artillery horses offered father 80 collars for Alec who was four years old, but father didn't want to sell him. About the close of the war, the price of horses had advanced so that Alec would have brought $225 to $250. About the close of the war, we had a small field of wheat that was amost ruined by being frozen out which sometimes happened in Indiana as well as here. (Kansas) There were spots of good wheat, mostly around near the stumps of which there were plenty. A few years before this, father and my brother-in-law, John Harper, had bought a reaper they called it. One man stood on the back of the platform of the machine called "The Newyork" harvestor, and raked the bunches off with a three-pronged wooden fork. Before we got the machine, all the wheat and oats was cut with the cradle and thrashed with the horse-power thrasher. The old ground hog machine had about gone out of use. The hay was cut with the mowing cythe and raked by hand with wooden rakes. Father had one two-pronged pitch fork made bvy the blacksmith. All the rest of the pitch forks were made by going to the woods and picking out a nice straight grub with a fork just right for a pitch fork. Father said the field of which I spoke was not worth running the reaper over so if we boys would cut it with the cradles, we could have all it would make. We cut and bound and shocked it up and let it stand until thoroughly dry. It being uncertain when the thrasher would get to us, and we boys being a little short in cash, something like boys are these days, I suppose, we hauled the wheat in and placed it down on the barn floor as was done before the thrashing machine was invented, put a bunch of horses on it and tromped it out and cleaned it on the fanning machine run by hand. As I remember, we had less than 15 bushels of first class wheat. We sold the wheat in Indianapolis for $3.00 a bushel. I was about 13 years of age. Soon after World War (I), I sold wheat here in Haviland, Ka. for $3.00 per bushel, about 55 years after the first sale.
Advertisement
|