Everything was new and strange to us. My father went to Newark and bought eatables and such other things as we needed. We brought with us our dishes, and all our household things that could be packed in boxes, such as beds, bedding, etc.; and after we rested a day or so we cleaned and fixed up the house and made it comfortable. It was hard to learn how to cook with Dutch ovens on the hearth; and if father had not been able to tell us something a bout it, we never should have known how to do it. Father milked the two cows, and we made some butter, and my Aunt knew how to make bread. But it was along in June when we settled on the farm; and it was a very scarce time, as people did not have canned fruit and vegetables as wire do now; and I said one day, “I do want some pie and some apples to eat, or something besides chicken and beef.” Then father said he would go to town and get some dried apples; so he got his horse and took a sack to put the things in, and threw it across the horse and started off. We were all pleased with the prospect of getting some apples, and my Aunt made the pie-dough and rolled it out and had it in the pans ready, so there should be no delay when father came. I watched for his coming’, and as soon as he came in sight I gave notice in the kitchen, and dinner was hurried up. When father rode up he took off the sack and handed it in, then went to put up his horse. We took out the dried apples and all stood amazed at the dirty looking things all cut in quarters. Mother said, “We will wash them good and maybe they will make good pie;” so they washed them and put them in the pan and Aunt put in sugar and nutmeg and water and put on the top crust and set them to baking and dinner was soon ready. The pie was supposed to be done, but when the lid of the skillet was lifted imagine our consternation; the apples had swollen out of all reason and the top crust was lifted almost to the top of the skillet, and we could not eat it at all. After awhile mother ventured to ask a neighbor how to use the dried apples, and we soon learned a good many things we had never known before. We never roasted our own meat or baked our pies in England. It all went to the baker’s, and when we wanted a roasted dinner the meat and potatoes were prepared and put into a dish and taken to the bakeshop, and all we had to do was to set the table, and at dinner-time the baker-man would bring home the dinner. We bought all our bread, so had nothing of that kind to do, My mother and Auntie Baker were both good cooks, and they soon learned the American way of doing things, and got along fairly well. I was young and thoughtless; I did not bother myself about the cooking, but put in my time keeping the house in order, and trying to do everything as the Americans did. I had never seen a log-house—much less lived in one—had never been in the country in my life to stay more than a day, and then only a few times. The people and everything was so different from what I had been accustomed to that I never grew weary of watching them.
Now I must tell you about our first Sunday. Mother said there surely must be some place of worship, and we will dress for church and start early and walk up the road to see if we can find a chapel of some kind; so mother, auntie and I started. We walked about a mile but could see no chapel, but after a little we saw a young lady all dressed in white coming out of a small house, and she started up the road. Mother said, “That young girl is going to meeting, and we will follow her.” She soon discovered us and waited until we came up to her. On being asked about the chapel, she said, “Yes, I am going to meeting at old Father Taylor’s.” There was no meeting-house nearer than Newark, so we went along with her. Her name was Sarah Cliver—now Mrs. William Barrick. We found a room full of people, also the hall; but they made room for us, seating us in about the center of the room. The minister was there, and when they had sung a hymn and prayed, etc., he began to preach. We listened attentively, and everything went on all right.
After the service was ended the minister led class, the people getting up one after another and telling their experience. This was all new to us, too. We had never heard of people talking in meeting before, but we sat still and looked on and were interested until a very large girl sitting in the corner arose and talked, then began to clap her hands and shout as loud as she could yell, and it seemed as if two or three of them got at it, and they jumped up and down and round and round. They did not seem to know just what to do. We were alarmed, of course, and I begged my mother to go out, or let me go; but she said, “Now sit still-there are men enough here to keep them from hurting anybody.” We were surprised to see the people all sit still and no one try to make them sit down and behave themselves. We all thought they were crazy, and I made up my mind never to go inside that room to sit again, and after that I always took my seat out in the hall, so I could get out and run if those crazy girls ever came again, which they did every Sunday. Miss Sarah Cliver explained it all to us on the way home so that it did not scare us so much after that. The next Sunday was prayer and class-meeting, led by an old man whom they called, Brother Dixon. After many prayers had been offered he led the class-meeting, going around and asking each one to speak. He did not miss anyone, and he asked my mother and Auntie Baker to tell what the Lord had done for them. They arose and confessed their faith in Christ, as they were both Christians, and they soon entered into the spirit of the meeting. Then he came out into the hall, and after he had spoken to the others he came to me. He kept tapping my bonnet all the time he was talking to me. My bonnet was pearl-straw, and it rattled and made such a noise I could not help smiling—it all seemed so funny to me. He asked me if I wanted to be prayed for, and as I did not answer, he said, “Ah, miss, if you knew the value of prayer you would want to be prayed for.” We went every Sabbath and soon became acquainted with Father Taylor and his wife at whose home the meetings were held, and found to our great joy that they were English people, and we soon became intimate friends.
My father was very industrious; and, with the help of a hired man, soon had lots of corn planted, and a nice large garden made with all kinds of vegetables in it, and the farm put in good order.
There was a piece of woods at the back end of the farm with quite a patch of hazel-brush, from which we gathered more than a bushel of hazelnuts. How we did enjoy gathering them and putting them away for winter!
The neighbors came in to call on us. They wore large sun-bonnets, and expected us to ask them to lay them off. We did not do this because we did not know that it was customary, for we had never seen sun-bonnets before, and thought they were awful looking things. However, we soon found that a sun-bonnet was just what we needed, as the sun was so much hotter than in England.
The house in which we lived was built of hewed-logs. It had two large rooms down stairs, with a summer kitchen at the back, and a large room upstairs the length of the whole house. It was right on the main road going from Newark to Zanesville. Although we had never lived in anything but a two-story brick house, we thoroughly enjoyed our log-house and country home; and my Auntie Baker, who had lived all her life after she was grown up in London, seemed perfectly happy, and enjoyed the country very much. We raised large numbers of chickens and turkeys, and very soon had everything that other people around us had, although that first summer we did not have much to eat except what we could buy in town. It was rather hard on us at first, but we tried to get along hoping for better things after awhile.
In the fall a Methodist Episcopal chapel was built. It was on an elevated piece of ground by the road side, and about three-quarters of a mile from where we lived. It was of the good old-fashioned type. It was put on Irville circuit, and two preachers were sent to preach alternately every two weeks.
The preacher in charge was Asbury Lowry, the other was a Rev. Milligan. The chapel was named Asbury, after the Rev. Lowry. He held a protracted meeting early in the winter. My mother and aunt both joined the church by going forward to the mourner’s bench and joining on probation. They had church letters but did not hand them in, as they thought that was the way to join the M. E. church. I have my mother’s letter now, and keep it as a relic of old times. Quite a good many attended the church regularly from the first, and a number united that winter. The meetings were continued day and night for some weeks; and many were converted and joined the church. Some of the people lived quite a distance from the church—many rode on horseback, some came on foot. It was not uncommon to see two on one horse; and I remember seeing some who would wear their coarse shoes and bring their nice shoes and stockings wrapped in paper, and then sit down on a log under the hill and take off their coarse shoes and put on their nice shoes and stockings and go into meeting, then when the service was over put on the coarse ones to walk home in. That seems strange to us now, but they had to walk a mile or two through fields and woods and brush, and it was very hard on shoes. All our family attended every Sabbath, and we soon learned to love the M. E. church better than any other. We had prayer and class-meeting every other Sunday.
We were here but a short time when we became acquainted with William Seymour and wife. They were very nice people. We liked them very much, and they were very kind to us. Mr. Seymour’s father and John Channel and Judge William O’Bannon were among the first families to settle in Bowling Green. They moved there from Virginia when it was almost all in woods and the Indians were all around there, and where there was plenty of wild game. They could go and shoot a bear whenever they wanted to. But conditions were changed considerably, and the land was cleared up somewhat when we came. The families of these early settlers were large-twelve and fifteen children being the rule in those days.
Old Grandfather Seymour died before we came here, and his wife and daughter Katy lived in the log cabin just east of Judge William O’Bannon’s. She had several sons who lived near her. These were Adam, Isaac and William. Their oldest daughter, Margaret, who had been the first wife of Judge O’Bannon, died also before we came, and he was married a second time to Mary Oliver Burnham, who was a sister to Ezekiel Wood’s wife, of Newark. Adam Seymour and Aunt Betsey, as everybody called her, raised a large family of children. Zane, the eldest, married Martha Jones, of Pittsburgh. She was a very sweet and intelligent girl. They had no children. Then there was Amanda, who married David Wilson; then two other boys, Thomas and Jimmy; then Polly, who married Sam Montgomery; Rebecca, who married William Roe, Mortimer, who married Emily Williams; Bruce, married Libbie Lee, and Elizabeth, who married Edwin Haughey, of Newark, Ohio. Isaac Seymour and his family lived in a cabin close to his mother and sister Katy, but afterwards took his large family of boys and girls and moved out west. William, the youngest brother, married Catherine Spencer, of Newark. He lived on a farm close to the one my father bought, and they were our nearest neighbors, and we soon became intimate friends. Of them I will speak later on.
We had been here but a short time when we received a call from the Roe family. As they were English people, we were much pleased to meet them. They came often to see us, and I used to go there and spend a week. They had several children—John, the eldest, married Mary Dickinson. She had two sons when John left her and went to the gold country, and was never heard of afterwards. Then there was Dr. Tom Roe; William, who married Rebecca Seymour; Dick; Betsey and Sarah, whom they called Tattey. The Roe family were very good to us. They owned the place the Children’s Home now is. They had a large farm on the north side of the road-it was all in woods at that time—only one house near, but it is all built up now and is called East Newark.
I was so very anxious to learn to ride on horseback as I saw others do, but I did not know anything about a horse, and had never seen ladies ride. They let me get on one and try a little, but their horses were not very safe for one who did not know anything about it. Mr. William Seymour and wife seemed to take quite an interest in me and they came often to see us, and they told us how to do many things the way the Americans did. Along in the fall they invited me to go with them to meeting on Sunday, telling me I should ride one of their horses, which they said was very gentle. After meeting I was to go home with them to dinner, so getting the consent of my parents, I was delighted to go, and as I had been on a horse a time or two at Mrs. Roe’s, I thought I could manage it all right. Accordingly on Sunday morning I went down, and they gave me a nice looking gray horse, which they called, “Barney.” I certainly felt very proud when I got on my horse to think I could ride horseback to meeting where everyone would see me. We reached the place all right, alighted and tied our horses to the fence or trees which were around, and walked up the hill and into the meeting-house; but I fear I did not hear much of the sermon that day, for I was thinking of the nice ride and the pleasant visit I should have with my friends that afternoon. When the meeting was dismissed we came out, and as we were walking down the hill a young man stepped up and shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Seymour, addressing them as Aunt Kitty and Uncle Billy. They invited him to go home with them for dinner. He accepted the invitation, and they introduced him to me. He then got my horse and assisted me in mounting him, asking me to wait until he got his; but just as soon as he came up to my side my horse started off as hard as he could run. I did not know how to stop him, and I could not hold him, so I had to let him run. They all came after me but I never saw anyone until I was about half way home, when we came to the run and my horse stopped to get a drink. The young man then caught up with me, and was just reaching for my bridle rein, but the horse was too quick for him and started off, and never stopped until he got home. I stuck on as I did not know what else to do. Soon they all came riding up, and seemed somewhat excited, as they felt sure, I should fall off. They were quite relieved to find me safe. We all alighted and went into the house. Dinner was soon ready and we spent the afternoon very pleasantly. About four o’clock my mother and auntie came down to see what I was doing, as they thought it time for me to be coming home. Of course, they were introduced to the young man, and they were surprised when we started for home to see him come forward and accompany me, and I was not only surprised but much scared, as I well knew I was not allowed to receive attentions from any gentleman; because I was only a child, as they thought. However, we walked on, mother and aunt walking close behind us. I was too scared to say anything, but it was only a short distance, and we were not long in reaching our house. Of course, I had to invite him to go in, but I sincerely hoped he would decline. This he did, and I bade him good-day and went into the house, expecting to be questioned and scolded for the strange proceedings; but to my joy and surprise not a word was said. Soon after that Mr. and Mrs. Seymour came up and spent the evening at our house, and they explained it all to father and mother—told them who the young man was—that he was steady and industrious, of a good family—the son of Judge William O’Bannon, a highly respected man. I was a little past sixteen years of age, and they said I would be considered old enough in this country to go into company, and that girls married young whenever they had a good chance; so they made it all right with my parents, and in a few days they sent word to us that Mr. O’Bannon was coming with them to spend the evening. At the appointed time they came, and we soon became acquainted. It was getting near Christmas, and our folks invited them all to eat dinner at our house. Mother prepared a real English dinner of turkey and plum pudding and everything’ that goes with it, and the day was spent very pleasantly. After that the young man made his regular visits, and things progressed in good earnest. We were engaged a little over two weeks, the 23d of March (1841), which was my seventeenth birthday, having been set as the day on which we were to be married. Girls did not hire a sewing woman for two or three months and employ a dressmaker as they do now. I remember father, mother and I rode to town in the big wagon to get the things needed for the occasion. I got a white dress of bishop’s lawn to be married in, and a silver-colored silk for my second day dress, and the milliner in East Newark, Mrs. Wallace, by name, made me a white silk bonnet with white flowers on it. Mrs. Seymour helped me to make up dresses, and everything was soon in readiness for the wedding. I must not forget to say that Mr. O’Bannon had an unmarried aunt, they called Aunt Katy, whom they told me must be by bridesmaid. By the way, this aunt was setting’ her cap for a young man named James A. Taylor. I think he was somewhat younger than she, judging from his looks. He was a good Christian man, and a Methodist, too. He was to be groomsman, as they said then. So it was settled that Aunt Kitty Seymour and James A. Taylor should stand up with us. She also helped me with my dresses. My mother and auntie had a busy time preparing good things for the supper, and they did it well, too. Auntie Baker knew how to get up a good supper—had learned all the nice ways of cooking, so had my mother. If they had only had the conveniences to do it with that we have now; but alas! it all had to be done in skillets and Dutch ovens on the hearth, with coals put around and on top, though I think she usually roasted her meats, turkeys and all things of that kind, by hanging them up before the big log fires, turning them and basting them as they needed. Finally the day came, and we were to be married at eight p.m. As I had never seen anyone married, Aunt Kitty said it would be better for us to go through the performance in the private room first; so she stood some one up for the preacher, and showed us how we must walk out, telling me when I must speak and when to keep silent. Most of Mr. O’Bannon’s relatives were invited, and most of them came, so the room was about full. The preacher had arrived, his name was Rev. Milligan, of the M. E. church, of course, and all was ready and we marched out. The ceremony was performed and the words said which made us husband and wife for fifty-two years. But poor Aunt Kitty! Those were the only happy moments she ever enjoyed with Mr. Taylor, for soon after he married a lady younger and fairer than she; her name was Margaret Montgomery, a twin sister to Clark Montgomery. As soon as the congratulations were over we surrounded the table loaded with good things, turkey, English plum pudding, cakes, and things too many to mention.
The people were nearly all strangers to me. I had never met scarcely one of them. I remember how my cheeks burned as I knew they were all sizing me up and thinking. William was eleven years older than I. How young and green I looked; and I am sure as I look back and think of it now I was just as I appeared. The next day was the infair3, as the custom was then. It was held at the home of the groom, so in the morning at ten the judge sent his carriage, which I think was the only one in the neighborhood, to take my father, mother and auntie to attend it. William and I rode up in an open buggy belonging to Mr. Seymour. When we arrived at the house it seemed to me every room was full of guests, for nearly everybody in the country around was invited. Of course, I had to be introduced to everyone, and it had never dawned upon me that I had changed my name, and the first thing I did on being introduced to a lady was to call her “Mrs. O’Bannon;” and she never thought, and so called me “Miss Snell,” then asked to be excused for the blunder, so we were about even and we both laughed it off. I was terribly embarrassed, and it was a hard day for me, and I was glad when it was over. This was the first time I had ever been in a company, and I was exceedingly bashful any way. I had never been looked upon as anything but a little girl by my parents, and had never been allowed to go with grown-up girls and boys; so, of course, it was a very great trial for me to make my first appearance in a house full of strangers, most of whom were relatives and friends of my husband’s family.
They had a fine dinner, lovely large cakes and everything served in style; but I was so bashful and scared I could scarcely eat anything at all, so my first day was a very trying one to me. Girls do not go in company nearly so young in England as in America. The guests remained most of the afternoon. When they began to leave and I saw my father and mother getting ready to go, I began to feel rather sad, and I shall never forget the look (In mother’s face as she came to say good-bye to me. She tuned to William’s mother and said, “You will take good care of Ellen, won’t you? She is very young, and has never been away from home before.” They went away and left me standing there beside my mother-in-law. This was Wednesday. We were to go on a wedding tour on Thursday—all the way to St. Louisville, about eight miles from Newark, to visit my husband’s brother, Presley O’Bannon. We were to stop at General Thomas Wilson’s, about two or three miles north of Newark, and directly on our way. He had married William’s sister, Patsey O’Bannon. Here I was received with the greatest kindness, and was always treated that way, which I shall never forget. We remained there until the next day, then resumed our journey. We remained in St. Louisville a day and night, then on our way homeward we stopped at Daniel Wilson’s, who had married a younger sister of William’s—her name was Susan. We had a nice visit there, returning to my father-in-law’s I think on Sunday evening. And now I suppose they thought we had spent time enough visiting, and it was time for me to settle down and begin my duties as a wife and go to work. The next day was wash day; and notwithstanding the fact that they had a good, strong, hired girl, I was informed that I must wash and do up William’s shirts, also anything I had of my own. I said I had never done a bit of washing in my life. This only seemed to convince my mother-in-law that I should learn at once; so I went at it. I rubbed my fingers more than the clothes, and they became very sore and began to bleed. I went to my mother-in-law and showed her my hands, and she got some good strong vinegar and told me to wash and bathe them in it. I did this but it made them smart, so I began to cry and thought I was having rather a rough time of it to start in on. However, the clothes dried and I ironed them, and did up the shirts and dickeys as best I could. My husband had two fine shirts and two dickeys. These were shirt fronts, with collar attached, which fastened around the neck with a band buttoned in the back, and fastened around the waist with a tape string.
These could be worn over a coarse shirt. In a day or two I went down home to stay a few days. I told my mother about the washing, and she was very indignant, and told me to bring all my soiled clothes home and it should be done there. She said I should not work that hard, at least not until I went into a house of my own. But my mother-in-law did not approve of it at all. She thought I ought to do it, and learn at once to do all kinds of work, and she seemed to desire the pleasure of teaching me and making me do it.
Things went on pretty well again, only every now and then I made some awful mistakes, or did some unheard of or unaccountable things. My thoughtlessness and lively turn of mind greatly annoyed the old people, and many a very solemn lecture did I receive from my mother-in-law. She would try to impress upon my mind that I was a married woman now, and that I ought to sober down and be more thoughtful. It took no effect on me at all; I could only be my careless light-hearted self. I loved to ride on horse-back, and the faster the horse went the better I liked it. My husband was a good natured, easy kind of a man, and he took very little notice of what I did. He started off in the morning over to his farm to work and came back at night. The farm was about one mile and a half south-east of his father’s home, and across the Licking Creek. There were three hundred and fifteen acres in this farm, which his father had given him and sent him to live on it. Most of it was in woods; some of it was cleared, but there was a lot of hard work to be done on it.
I passed a month or two, staying’ part of the time at my father-in-law’s, and part of the time at my own father’s. William had what was called then a double log cabin on his farm—two rooms down stairs and two up. The upper part was called the loft, and was reached by a ladder through a place called a trap-door—only there wasn’t any door. He had a family living in it, and he had to build them a log cabin to move into before we could have this one; and then it had be fixed up some and whitewashed and cleaned. When this work was all done we moved into it. The name of the people who had lived in it was Spear. There was an old widow and three girls and two sons. They had all lived in half that cabin, as William and a man by the name of Sam Jones; lived in the other half until we were married. Sam did the cooking and housework; and one would have thought so by the way the grease had been spilled on that nice, white ash floor. We scrubbed with hot lye and sand, and kept at it, and it was a long time before I could get it to look white and clean. I well remember the day we moved into it. We did not have much to move—a bedstead and a few common chairs—straight-backed at that; no rocking chair to sit and idle away our time in, a cupboard, a small table, a coffer, that is a long kind of a box painted blue. We brought it from England fun of clothes, and mother gave it to me to keep our clothes in, as we did not have a bureau or a clothespress, but hung our best things in the front room, with a curtain over them. My mother gave me a featherbed and good pillows. At that time one would be poverty-stricken, indeed, if he did not have a good featherbed to rest his, weary body at night. Then our folks gave me some pretty English dishes. I wish I had them now, but I did not prize them then.
The same Aunt Kitty went with us when we moved. We put all the things in a big wagon, and Aunt Kitty, William, and I sat in front, and we rode over there in good style. When we arrived at the place we unloaded our goods, and I do not think it took more than an hour to set the things all in order and be ready to get dinner. William had an iron pot, a Dutch oven, a skillet, a teakettle, and a few other things to cook with. He had killed some hogs in the winter, so he had some nice smoked hams and plenty of white Meshanic potatoes. Aunt Kitty washed some of the potatoes and put them to bake. My mother-in-law gave me some bread and butter to begin with, and we made coffee and fried ham, and with the baked potatoes we had quite a good dinner. That was the first meal in our own home. After all was done and fixed up Aunt Kitty went home, and I felt that I was mistress of that one castle anyway, and I was as happy as a queen. It did not take as much to make a young wife happy in those days as it does now. I think the few years I lived in that cabin were among the most contented and pleasant years of my life, as far as temporal things are concerned. I had my little trials, of course, and suffered much through ignorance, not knowing how to manage and do things as the Americans did, having so little to do with. However, I did not let that get me down; I persevered and tried to learn. I made many failures and great blunders hut the people on the farm were very kind to me.
Sam Jones remained with us. He worked on the farm for us for several years. He was kind and obliging to me always. One thing I must mention. William had his pickled pork in a large hogshead up in the loft, and I remember I went up there to get some and saw two little mice swimming on the top of the brine. I told William, and he said, “O that is nothing’.” I soon found people did not mind a little thing like that in those days. The pork was all right, and the mice were dead and well preserved. I took them out and covered up my barrel. The pork was down under the brine, with a heavy weight on it to keep it down. Sam taught me how to make good corn-pone—a thing I had to do every day. My mother came over and showed me how to make wheat bread, as I never could eat corn bread. My father gave me a nice fresh milk cow, and William’s father gave us one also. We had a spring down under the hill, with a little spring-house. It was fixed up good so the cool water ran through it in a trough to set the crocks of milk and butter in. William milked the cows, and I strained it into the crocks. I skimmed every morning, and in a week I had a four-gallon jar full of nice cream; so I got my churn, which was stone, ready and went to get my cream, and to my utter amazement it was sour. I thought it was spoiled and dashed it down the hill. When William came I told him. He seemed to feel dreadful, and told me what I ought to have done, and that the cream was just right for churning. But the worst was to come. We had used up all the butter we had and now must do without until I could save up enough for another churning, which took me nearly a week. At the end of that time I got things ready again, thinking I knew all about it this time. I churned my cream and soon had a crock full of nice yellow butter. I dressed it as I had been directed, and set it in the spring trough and covered it up securely—poured my butter-milk into a jar, thinking it would be so nice to make corn bread, and set it in the spring-house. I then went up to the house to get a kettle of hot water to wash and scald the churn and crocks, and while I was gone our big yellow dog went to licking the crocks, and then put his head into the churn; and failing to get it out, he came running up to the house making a queer noise. I was afraid he would smother, so I ran to the wood-pile and grabbed the ax and struck the churn one blow which broke it in a dozen places. Soon William came, and I told him. He said that I ought to have waited until he came, and he would have taken the dog out. I asked him if he thought I was going to let the dog die waiting for him to come. This was all too good to keep, so he told the old people and they all talked to me and teased me a great deal about it; but his father scolded me and said I would break them all up if I continued in that wasteful way. After all I was not easily discouraged, and having received so much advice, I thought I ought to know a great deal, and things went on better for awhile. My cooking in the fire-place taxed all my skill. As there were no dog-irons, I was obliged to make pots and skillets set level on the sticks of wood, and often when my dinner was about ready to serve a stick would break and let nearly my whole meal into the fire. All these things have furnished my friends much merriment, but they were real trials to me.
I had often thought how nice it would be to go in bare feet, as nearly all American women did at that time in warm weather, but when I mentioned it to my mother, she was horrified, and would not give her consent for me to do so; but now that I was in my own house, I thought I would decide such small matters for myself. I was baking bread at the time in an oven on the hearth, and it was not necessary for me to go out of the house for anything, so I concluded to try it. Off came my shoes and stockings, and I began to caper around as I have seen quite young children do many times since; but soon fresh coals had to be on and around the oven to keep the bread baking. Forgetting my bare feet, I stepped on a live coal of fire which stuck between my toes. The pain was dreadful and made me jump and scream for dear life. The coal dropped from beneath my toes; but not knowing it was there, in my rage I stepped on it with my other foot and burned it severely also. There was no one near to hear my cries. I put my feet in cold water and waited for my husband to come home, as he had gone to town early in the morning. He came soon, but he did not know what to do. Seeing that something must be done, he proceeded to scrape a potato and place it on the burnt places until he could hear from the neighbors a better remedy. I never thought of the bread, as my burnt toe required so much attention. My mother was sent for, and she came and dressed my wounds, and, of course, told me how much better it would be if I would do as she wanted me to. It was a long time before I could walk so I could do my work, and I carry scars to this day, which often remind me of my early experiences.
After I had kept house nearly a year my father-in-law attended a sale, and he bought me two pairs of dog-irons, a large round griddle with a handle over the top and legs of it, so it could stand on the hearth and have coals put under it. I could now bake corn cakes with ease. He also bought me a crane to fasten in the chimney-place and swing over the fire with hooks to hang pots and kettles on. I was delighted with the improvement, and progressed finely with my cooking. I often think of the nice large open fire-place and the log fire. It used to take two men to roll in a back log. It would last a day and a night. We used to sit around the fire in our little cabin of winter evenings and crack hickory-nuts and walnuts, eat apples, drink cider, talk and laugh, and be as happy as if we lived in a palace. However, I had to do most of the talking, as my husband was a very quiet, sober kind of a man, and was perfectly satisfied for me to make all the noise I liked so long as he could sit still and look on without being disturbed.
But to go back to my story. The one great trouble of my life was the washing. I could not wash like I saw other women doing; I always rubbed the skin off my fingers. Sometimes William would come in and find me crying, and trying to rub the clothes with my sore fingers hurting me; so he would come and try to show me how to do it. He would pick up some of the clothes, and say, “Here, Sis, do it this way—first wet them, then squeeze them;” but I well knew that it took more than squeezing to get them clean, and every now and then I would send for Betsey Smith and have her wash up everything I could find; then sometimes my mother would come and help me, and so I got along somehow. One day I received word that the school teacher, a real nice young man, would come to supper and remain over night with us. I wanted to have everything nice, and give him a warm supper, as he had only a cold lunch at noon. I had just returned from a neighbor’s, who, by the way were tenants on our farm. She had new waffle-irons, and was baking some waffles when I was there. I thought they would be nice for the school teacher; and so I borrowed the irons; learning all I could about waffles and feeling sure I could make them, I went home, and when the time came I mixed up the batter as I was told, and had all ready for supper when the master should come, except baking the cakes which must be served hot. He finally came, took a seat by the fire, and I began to bake the waffles. The irons could not have been as hot as they should have been, for the batter ran off the irons into the fire, and I could not manage the performance at all, try and try as I would. Such a mess as I had batter all over everything, the school teacher watching me and adding to my confusion. At last almost killed with mortification and filled with disgust, I put the irons away and concluded to dispense with waffles for supper. I never knew what his highness thought of the scene. It must have been fun for him, but it was death for me.
The next spring we had a carpenter put a good large clothes-press in the front room—in the recess of the chimney. I wanted to fix up things somewhat, so I had Sam put on another coat of whitewash, and I got some red paint and painted all the window-sash, doors, and clothes-press a good bright red, and it looked real nice beside the white walls. I had no carpet, but my floor was clean and white as milk, for I will say this much for myself—as little as I knew about other things, I did keep my house as clean as a pin all over. I had green shades at the windows, with dainty little white curtains. I only had two windows, one in each room. We had our bed in the front room; and Sam, the man, had his in the kitchen. Fortunately, the rooms were large. In summer, when the weather was warm, I used to make a fire out in the yard, back of the house, and cook out there to save having the heat in the house; but this was very hard work, and I only did it in the very hot weather. We had no locks on our doors—only a wooden latch with a leather string put through a hole which we pulled in at night to keep the robbers out; but in daytime when we went away, we had to leave the latch-string out, or we could not get in ourselves. But, I guess, we did not have anything worth stealing, and people never troubled us, night or day.
After we had been married a year and four months, on the 25th of July, 1842, a dear little daughter came to bless our home. I was very fond of babies, and they all looked nice to me if they were clean, but I did think this one was the nicest and prettiest and cutest one I had ever seen. She had the softest, prettiest violet-blue eyes, with fair skin. Her hair was white, what there was of it; for, to tell the truth, it was very scarce. However, she wore a cap, as all babies did in those days. I had embroidered her six little caps. Her papa was very proud of her, and he would bring everybody in to look at her that came near the house—whether man or woman. We at once named her Margaret for her Grandmother O’Bannon, who had died many years before I was married, William’s present mother being a stepmother. My parents thought she ought to be christened, as they called it in England, and that I ought not to take her any place until that was done; so when she was six weeks old we took her to the little church at Bowling Green for that purpose. It had been announced that on that special Sunday there would be an opportunity for all the parents to bring their children whom they wished to have baptized. There were quite a number. Rev. Holiday was there—one of the preachers at that time. My baby was somewhat younger than the others. She had on a nice white dress, her sleeves tied with white ribbon, also white bows on her cap. She looked beautiful. How proud I was of her! The preacher took her in his arms, as he did all the rest, and as he handed her back to me, he said, “God bless the little Margaret,” I believe he did, for she grew up to be a lovely Christian woman, and is a good mother to her children.
In a few months after I took a poor little orphan child to raise. She had no settled home and no one to care for her; so the trustees bound her to us until she was eighteen. Her name was Senie Ann Usher. Although she was only nine years old when she came, she soon began to be quite a help and loved little Margaret very much.
About this time in the winter evenings we began to cut rags for a carpet. The tenants on the farm often came in to help me. The next summer, after the sheep were sheared, William took it to the factory. I believe Ben Wilson was at the head of it at that time, and we had some of the wool made into rolls for stocking yarn, and some for carpet chain. Then I had a girl, who lived near, to bring her spinning-wheel and spin a lot of yarn, and enough for the carpet. She put her wheel up in one corner, and she would draw out her roll the whole length of the room, and sing through her nose at the top of her voice. The noise of the wheel and her singing were awful to hear. My mother-in-law could tell just how much it would take for the carpet, as it was to have one-half wool stripes and the other half cotton stripes. The wool stripe was to be full sleyed and the cotton half-sleyed. Betsey Smith did the coloring. After a long time it was ready for the weaver, and, I think, Betsey Smith wove it. The next spring it was put down in my front room, and it was very pretty, indeed. William bought me a new bureau. It was considered very handsome. The front was veneered with mahogany, and it had a glass on top and two small drawers-one on either side of the glass. I also got a new bedstead and a few chairs-straight-backed, of course. O, how proud and delighted I was! My cabin was as cozy and nice as could be. I used to stop my work and go in and look at the room several times in a day.
Everything went on smoothly, and on the 9th of July, 1844, a little baby boy came. He was a fine fat baby, and we were glad to have him, and gave him a royal welcome. However, he was not like little Margaret. She was so very good, and she never cried, unless there was something the matter. He had not been with us long until we found out that his lungs were the strongest part of him, and he used them vigorously, especially at night. We never had a good night’s sleep until he was nearly two years old. He did not seem sick, but just cried anyway, but he outgrew it after a long time. We named him after my father, Thomas Snell. At this time my husband bought me a rocking chair. I had to have it to rock this crying baby. It was a common split-bottom chair. I have it yet, and keep it as a souvenir of the days gone by. I had used a rocking settee as a cradle so far, and I always kept it in the front room, and put my baby to sleep in there away from the noise. One day I put Master Thomas to sleep in there. He was only a month or two old. I heard him cry and went in to see what was the matter, and was surprised to find little Margaret in the room. She had, in some way, gotten the baby out on the floor, and had laid her dolly in and was rocking it to sleep. Tommy did not seem to like it very well, but he was not hurt, for a wonder.
We used to have log-rollings and wood-choppings and wool pickings. Some of the neighbors and I were often invited to wool-pickings and quiltings; and as they had no horse they could ride, I used to take two babies in my lap and ride to the place, and the mothers would walk beside me. We did not care how we went so we got there, and we would pile as many on a horse as could stick on.
The men would go on Saturday afternoon to the creek and fish with the seine. They often caught a large washing-tub full of fish—such nice large bass; then they would divide them, and we all had a good share. They were splendid.
My two little children kept me busy, but I took good care of them. This was in the days of trundlebeds, and now it was just the thing for the girl and little Margaret to sleep in.
I had no way to go anywhere—only to ride on horse-back, so I used to take the baby on my lap, the girl on behind me, with little Margaret on her lap, and our little dog in the satchel hung on the horn of the saddle, with his head sticking out at the top. I used to ride this way to my mother’s more than a mile away, fording the creek, and riding one half of the way along the canal towpath. I have since wondered that we did not slide into the canal, babies, dog and all.
We lived in the cabin six years when my father bought us a small farm of a little over sixty acres on the public road near him; and as he wished us to move on it, we did so. The new farm had a small new frame house on it—three rooms down stairs and two up. I was delighted with the change, especially for the reason that it was near the Bowling Green church. My father bought us a cookstove, and we bought some furniture and another carpet, and were now very comfortably fixed.
Ellen S. O’Bannon 