Chapter XVI: Part 16

Back of their migration from Virginia and the Carolinas, from which most of the original settlers of Alabama came, lay a fact which largely influenced their removal. The new republic was still in course of construction. The revolution had left a chaotic condition in the older colonies, and men of sturdiness conceived the idea of going far westward, where they could create new conditions, and build for the future. They were not unprepared for the privation that was to be encountered, nor altogether unapprised of it, but in the face of these suspended difficulties, they were nerved by genuine Caucasian grit. A number of solid and substantial folk would get together and agree to removing to the west, with a common understanding of general sharers in a common interest, thereby procuring a sense of sympathetic protection, traverse the wide distance, occupy a given community in a fresh territory, and rear their fortunes together.

The most ordinary conveniences were scarce, utensils and tools hardly to be had, shoes and clothing scant, methods of conveyance rude, and thus to the utmost extremity were these original founders of Alabama reduced. The dependence for transportation was a few horses and oxen, which were employed in common by a body of hardy colonists. On the horses were placed the women and children, on the oxen the scanty household effects; the stock was grouped in a common herd, cattle, swine and sheep, to be driven on foot by the men and boys, each of whom was supplied with a gun or an implement, and thus would they begin their march to a region of which they knew nothing, save that it was without population, densely wooded and with no other denizens than those of Indians and of ferocious beasts.

Even where roads and bridges were encountered on the way, they were crude, and west of the confines of Georgia, the wilderness was untraversed save by the wild savage, whose slender paths wound the forests through. So far as these pathways were available, they were used, but oftener than otherwise these plucky pioneersmen would have to hack their way through the forests, opening paths as they slowly went. Regarded from this point of time, there was a ludicrousness in these primitive shifts, but men and women were never more serious than were these old-fashioned mothers and fathers. They were the rough germs from which sprang a civilization unsurpassed in its elements in history. Wives, mothers, and daughters, bare-headed or wearing the old fly bonnet, were mounted on poor horses, with children on their laps, or clinging on from behind, while dangling on either side of the burdened beast were packages which contained the most of that which they possessed in this world. In advance, men with axes would rapidly hew away the underbrush for a bare passage, while the bleating herd would follow, driven mostly by the larger boys. The smaller streams were waded, while in order to cross the larger streams, rafts were constructed, the timbers of which were held together by the native vines, while such of the animals as could swim were forced to do so.

There was a flow of cheer and jocularity which served as a condiment to hard conditions, and when the camp fires were lighted, the stock fed on the native grasses, and supper was eaten, men chatted and smoked, sang and told jokes, while the industrious wives and daughters would ply their knitting needles. By turns the camp was guarded against possible contingencies for the night, and the next morning the same arduous march would be resumed.

The destination finally reached, the struggles against difficulties would begin in earnest. Boundaries of chosen land would be indicated by cutting belts about the trees with a peculiar, personal mark, and then await the future for full legal possession. In the construction of temporary homes, colonists would vie with each other in the ingenuity displayed. The method most common was to select trees as corners of the dwelling, and then wattle saplings among those intervening from corner to corner, while the roof was made of bark and the skins of wild animals. The cooking was done without, in one or two small utensils. The grounds about were cleared of the underbrush sufficiently to be planted, which was commonly done with wedge-shaped rods being thrust stroke by stroke into the rich soil, the seed dropped, and covered with the foot. As for meat, there was slight difficulty, as deer, turkeys and squirrels were abundant. Shoes and clothing would soon become matters of grave concern, but the deficiency would be met by the appropriation of the hides of animals, from which grotesque garments would be made, while the feet would be wrapped about with strips of just sufficient size to cover them, the fur being turned inward, and held by strings tied about each foot. The fortunate possession of a pair of good shoes was an object of neighborhood envy. Objects so valued and prized as were real shoes, were worn only on special occasions. It was a custom long after the original settlement of Alabama, for many to take their shoes under their arms, in going to church, and just before reaching the place of worship, to put them on. Shoes that creaked were specially prized, as they would attract attention.

Small water mills came to be erected, and it was not unusual for one to take his corn on his back the distance of twenty miles in order to have it ground. This meant an absence from home of three or four days at a time. From the earliest years of the century just gone, these conditions continued in parts of the interior of Alabama till 1815 and even later. The battle of New Orleans meant much for what was then known as the southwest, of which Alabama was a part. Not a few of the future distinguished families in the history of the state, emerged from conditions such as here have been described. From straits of poverty, they came to be among the most wealthy of the state.

LAFAYETTE'S VISIT

In April, 1825, when LaFayette visited Alabama, the state was about six years old. Conditions were still very crude, there being but few roads, and they bad enough in a wet season; but few villages existed; the country was sparsely settled; the Indian was still in the land, but was now subdued and peaceable, and a few boats plied the waters of the rivers. Israel Pickens was then governor, and it was through his patriotic enterprise as a wideawake governor, that LaFayette was induced to turn aside from Augusta, Ga., and make the overland trip to Cahaba, the new capital of Alabama, instead of going to Charleston to take a boat to New Orleans.

LaFayette was now about sixty-eight years old, but he was still vigorous and active, and so far from a tour through a region largely wilderness, deterring him, he was really anxious to take it. As he came westward from Augusta, conditions grew cruder, but every possible provision was made for his comfort. For months together, he had been in the country as its guest, and the character of the receptions varied in every respect save one--the cordiality of the people which was unbounded.

The American congress had extended to him a formal invitation to return to America on a visit, the invitation being impelled by a double motive, that of showing the revolutionists of his own land, to whose vengeance LaFayette had fallen a victim, because of his democratic principles, that America was his loyal friend, and that of enabling a new generation of Americans to express their gratitude to a patriot of France, who had spilt his blood in behalf of the independence that they enjoyed. From the moment that he landed on our soil, throughout, his tour was a triumphal journey, and he was hailed with a universal tumult of honor and praise. He was comparatively a poor man because of principle. Though the possessor of vast estates in France, they were forfeited, or in plainer language, were confiscated by the government of France, because of his republican principles. The American congress voted him $200,000 in gold, and a township of land. He was deeply moved by the gratitude and love of the young nation, and often in speaking in response to welcomes accorded, his voice would tremble with emotion. It may be said, in passing, that at the one hundredth anniversary of the battle of Yorktown, in 1881, in which battle LaFayette shared, a representative of his family was present as the guest of the nation.

When LaFayette reached Washington, in 1825, there was accorded him an ovation that was almost overwhelming. From long distances the common people had traveled, some coming on foot, others on horseback, in ox carts, wagons, carriages and every way, men, women and children, to catch a glimpse of the great ally of Washington, and patriot of the revolution, and all about the city on the outside were their braying mules, neighing horses, and lowing oxen in the midst of an unbroken encampment formed by the country folk. In crushing multitudes they thronged about LaFayette, in genuine democratic style, seeking to grasp his hand, a demonstration that was as much enjoyed by LaFayette as by themselves. Henry Clay was then speaker of the house, and his speech of welcome to LaFayette is one of the most splendid bursts of oratory that ever came from his musical lips. The reply of the distinguished Frenchman did him great honor. It is a pity that these great deliverances are buried in old and musty books of which but little is known. Wherever LaFayette appeared in Washington, the unrestrained multitudes would rush frantically toward him as though they would devour him.

From Washington he planned his trip southward and westward, or toward the great Southwest, as Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana were then called. In making his dates, in advance, he knew practically nothing of the nature of the country, nothing of the difficulty of travel, so that by the time he reached the eastern border of Alabama he was several days behind time. So far from delay cooling the ardor of the people, it had just the opposite effect. The interest deepened, widened and seethed meantime, and his announced coming into a given region absorbed all things else. Even the Indians of Georgia and of Alabama were seized by the contagion of enthusiasm, and while knowing little or nothing of LaFayette or of his career, they learned that he was the friend of Washington, and a great warrior, and so joined with native ardor into the excitement of his reception. A body of painted warriors with varied and gay plumage, and with bodies stained in divers colors, and wearing red and striped blankets, insisted on becoming a part of his escort through Georgia, and cherished the privilege of serving him with the most minute servility. There is a good side to humanity always, if we only reach it. To the Indians it was a special delight to shoot down an occasional buck on the way, and to present it to the polite Frenchman between whose cultured conventionality and the rude but touchingly sincere kindness of the Indian, there was an amusing difference.

With great effort and sacrifice, Governor Pickens had made every arrangement possible for as august demonstration as the young state could give to the eminent guest of the nation. His plans were perfect in every detail, for he was an executive master, as is shown by the correspondence in the possession of the present writer, between him and the militia commanders, as well as with the civil authorities and prominent citizens. The chief difficulty seems to have been to raise a fund sufficient for a demonstration worthy of the great French patriot, for money was exceedingly scarce in those infant days of struggle, but Pickens was indefatigable, and he had a way of accomplishing whatever he set his hands to. Fortunate for Governor Pickens was the delay of LaFayette, as this enabled him to execute more to his satisfaction the vast and difficult plans relating to the series of receptions along the triumphal march of LaFayette through Alabama. For days together, LaFayette was lost to the public eye as traversing the wilderness he was lost in its depths, making his way as best he could from the Savannah to the Chattahoochee under the protection of the Georgia escort of militia and painted Indian warriors. The correspondence shows that he could not be heard of for days together, but on the banks of the Chattahoochee the provided escort waited, day after day, till he should appear. He at last came within sight and the demonstration began, and novel enough it was. Of this we shall learn more in the article next succeeding.

LAFAYETTE'S RECEPTION

Large barges were in readiness to convey the party across the Chattahoochee to the Alabama side, where was gathered a multitude of distinguished citizens, a troop of Alabama militia under General Taylor, and a body of Indian warriors in their native attire, who seemed more enthusiastic than the others. As the barges glided toward the bank, the Indians raised yell after yell, and rushed to the edge of the water to receive them. They were under the command of Chilly Mackintosh, or Little Prince. So soon as the barges were arranged for landing, the Indians dashed on board, unhitched the horse from the sulky that bore LaFayette, each vying with every other to render the promptest service, and drew the vehicle to the top of the steep bank with every indication of delight.

When all was over, speeches of welcome and the response were in order. Here LaFayette met a former aide of his, who had served him during the Revolution, as a young man, but now somewhat advanced in life--Rev. Isaac Smith, a Methodist missionary to the Indians. LaFayette recognized him, and gave a warm and affectionate greeting. In the exuberance of his zeal, the missionary begged that they bow in prayer. There under the tall trees of the river's bank the party bowed in solemn prayer, LaFayette and the Indians joining, and with uplifted voice, Mr. Smith prayed the blessings of heaven on the great patriot. The Indians intent on showing their interest proposed to have a game of ball for the entertainment of LaFayette, after which Mr. Smith invited him to his humble home, where they recounted to each other the scenes of their lives since they parted at the disorganization of the army, about forty-three years before.

After a season of rest, LaFayette started with the cavalcade along a road which led through an uninhabited region for almost a hundred miles, he riding in a fine carriage drawn by four beautiful grays, and attended by the uniformed state soldiery and the Indians, who proposed to see him safely through their own territory. So complete were the arrangements made by Governor Pickens, that at proper intervals, along the dreary and monotonous way, there were the amplest provisions for refreshments, of food, shelter, and rest.

At Line Creek, twenty miles from the village of Montgomery, the limit of the territory of the Indians was reached, and here they took formal leave of LaFayette. Their chief, the Little Prince, made a stirring speech to LaFayette in his native tongue, not a word of which did LaFayette understand, and guided solely by the gesticulation and facial expression of the chief, the old patriot replied in English, not a word of which did the Indians comprehend. With much ceremony they shook hands with LaFayette, and quietly turned on their march to their homes in the woods.

At Line Creek, the ranks of the cavalcade were largely reinforced by the addition of a fresh installment of troops and of many distinguished citizens, who had made their way across the country from different directions, in order to share in the demonstration. Once within the confines of civilization the journey to Montgomery and beyond was relieved by the cultivated fields of the white man, now in the bloom of young and promising crops, and the homes of refinement dotting the country over. This was a great relief to LaFayette, who had been buried for almost a week in the depths of an uncultivated wilderness. The improved roads enabled the procession to make greater speed as it moved toward the village of Montgomery.

On a range of hills about two miles from the village, arrangements had been made for the cavalcade to halt for the formal reception to be given by the governor, who had come from Cahaba to meet the distinguished guest at that point. On each side of the road was a large, snowy-white tent, between which, over the road, was an arch of beautiful artistic construction, beneath which stood Governor Pickens and his suite awaiting the arrival of the eminent guest. When the carriage which bore LaFayette halted under the arch, Governor Pickens advanced to greet him, and after a mutual introduction, the governor proceeded to extend the courtesies of the new state, in apt and well-chosen terms, for which he was remarkable, and was followed by the reply of General LaFayette, in phraseology just as happy. This was followed by a sort of improvised reception on the spot, when the distinguished citizens of the state were presented to LaFayette one by one. In the meantime, the ladies who had come to assist in doing honor to the occasion, remained in the tents, and the governor taking the arm of the great guest, led him into the tents and introduced him to the ladies. This occurred at noon on Sunday, April 3, 1825, and immediately after these initial ceremonies were over, the procession again took up the line of march for the village of Montgomery, LaFayette now being taken in the carriage of Governor Pickens. A band of music attended on the procession, the notes of which were mingled with the acclamation of the multitude, the volume of sound increasing as Montgomery was approached, as fresh accessions were made to the procession. Every object that could create noise and din was brought into use, among which were the detonations of powder, which in the absence of guns was confined in such a way as to cause a loud explosion, and bells of every size were rung, the people seeming determined to make up in noise the deficiency of population, for at that time Montgomery was nothing more than a small town.

Once in the town, the most sumptuous quarters possible were placed at the disposal of LaFayette and his party, and though he was fatigued, the people pressed in to greet him. LaFayette and the governor dined privately together, and in the evening attended together divine service.

Monday brought to LaFayette a busy day. Citizens had come from every quarter of the state to shake his hand, among whom were some old veterans who had served under him in the campaigns of the Revolution. His eye kindled at the sight of a Revolutionary soldier, and his greeting was always one of the most ardent affection. He must need have a brief off-hand chat with every old soldier that came in to see him. A busy day was followed by a ball given in honor of the eminent soldier and patriot. This lasted till 11 o'clock at night, when a procession was formed to escort him to the river landing, where three small steamers were in waiting to take the party down the river to Cahaba--the Henderson, Balize and the Fanny.

The next article will conclude the account of the notable visit of LaFayette to Alabama.

LAFAYETTE'S DEPARTURE

As one now goes up Commerce street, Montgomery, from the railway station, he will find about midway between the station and the Exchange Hotel, on the right side of the street, a bronze tablet in the wall on which is inscribed this valuable bit of historic information: "On this site stood, until December, 1899, the house in which Marquis de LaFayette was given a public reception and ball, April 4, 1825, while on his last tour through the United States. This tablet is placed by the Society of the Sons of the Revolution in the state of Alabama in lasting memory of this illustrious patriot and soldier of the Revolution, the friend of Washington and the youthful champion of liberty. April 4, 1825-April 4, 1905." On the same tablet appears the figure of LaFayette with the accompanying dates of 1776 and 1883, and beneath appear the words, "The Sons of the Revolution." While our people have been generally negligent of the preservation of notable spots, it is an occasion of gratitude to the Sons of the Revolution that they have so thoughtfully saved this site from utter obliteration.

Resuming the narrative where it was left off in the first article, with respect to LaFayette and the large escort that accompanied him on the boats down the river, the flotilla reached the village of Selma the next morning, where a stop was made to enable an eager multitude who had gathered from different and distant directions, to catch a glimpse of the illustrious guest of the nation, and to grasp his hand. The stay was necessarily brief, for the boats must steam rapidly on to Cahaba, where the people of the new capital were eagerly waiting to extend to LaFayette a really great welcome.

The sight of the boats coming down the river was sufficient to raise from the throats of the assembled multitude on the bank of the river, a loud acclamation, attended by the waving of handkerchiefs, hats, umbrellas, and banners, accompanied by the loud booming of guns and the ringing of bells. It was difficult for LaFayette to descend the gangway, so eager were the people to reach him and take his hand. Once on shore, and Mr. Dellet, who was charged with the task of extending the speech of welcome, delivered his speech, which was fitly responded to, when a long procession was formed, which marched to the courthouse, which was tastefully decorated throughout, and a formal reception was held. This being over, a sumptuous dinner was in readiness, and, after dining, LaFayette was allowed a few hours of respite. After refreshing himself by sleep, he appeared again, and the ingenuity of the people seemed to be exhausted in the methods devised to do him honor.

His stay at Cahaba was the shorter because he was already several days overdue at other points. Plans had been made for a stop of a day at Claiborne, Monroe County, then one of the largest and thriftiest towns in the state, but which is now practically extinct, but the miscalculation in fixing advanced dates forbade a stay of only a few hours in this bustling little river center. An elaborate ball had been prepared for at Claiborne, in honor of the French hero, but he was unable to remain, and after some hours of delay the boats proceeded southward, bearing the LaFayette party, the governor and his staff, and a multitude of attendants on the several steamers.

The next important point to be reached was Mobile. No place in all his travels exceeded in demonstration that accorded by this Alabama metropolis. The wharves were thronged by the eager crowds, watching for the first appearance of the boats descending the river, and their appearance was the signal for the shouts of the multitude, the ringing of church bells, and the booming of big guns. The usual ceremonies were gone through of speeches of reception and the reply, banquets and receptions, into all of which LaFayette entered with the snap and spirit of a boy. He had been much refreshed and invigorated by his trip down the river, and this unusual amount of rest gave him fresh elasticity. He seemed to throw off all reserve, and yielded himself with abandon to the festivities and gaieties of the occasion. He was no more happy than was Governor Pickens, who was intent on the highest possible expression of hospitality to the national guest, and the more so, because he was so insistent on his coming to the young state. To the credit of Governor Pickens, be it said that there was not a jar or jostle in the elaborate plan and arrangement which he had conceived and executed to the letter, from the time LaFayette set foot on the soil of Alabama till he left it forever.

The stay in Mobile was cut somewhat short for the reasons already given, as New Orleans was on the tiptoe of expectation of LaFayette's arrival. Governor Pickens remained with LaFayette till he left the utmost limit of the state. The finest boat that had yet been built for southern waters, the Natchez, was to convey LaFayette to New Orleans. The Natchez was accompanied by other steamers, which bore the large escort, but Governor Pickens and LaFayette sailed out of the port of Mobile to Mobile Point, where Governor Pickens took affectionate leave of his eminent guest. The separation of these two eminent men was most affecting, as they had become mutually much won to each other. It was agreed that they should continue to correspond so long as both continued alive. LaFayette asked that a copy of the paper containing an account of his visit to Alabama be sent him, which explains the following letter:

"My Dear Sir: According to my promise, I directed a paper to meet you
at Pittsburg and again enclose you one herein. This contains but a
partial account of our doings when you were with us. You will receive
a packet which I have caused to be directed to you at Boston, giving
an account at each place where you stopped in your journey through
this state, believing that it may be satisfactory to you, or to some
of your friends, in giving a reference to the incidents occurring here
on the gratifying occasion to our citizens of the young state of
Alabama.

"I hope you will have reached Boston by the time you wished, in good
health and spirits, after a journey unexampled in our own or any
other time; a march so extended, so rapid, and at the same time so
triumphant has never been the boast of any personage before, and it is
truly a source of common congratulation among the friends of
republican institutions and of free social order throughout the world.

"I am too sensible of the fatigues of your late journey, of those
gratifying attentions by which you will be surrounded when this shall
have reached you, to add anything to them by a longer letter without
material to make it interesting to you.

"Hereafter when you shall be enjoying the tranquillity of your own
domestic circle, I hope to have the pleasure of corresponding with you
in conformity with your kind invitation when I parted with you.

"I am, with sentiments of profound respect and esteem, your most obt.,

"ISRAEL PICKENS.

"General LaFayette."

This is a literal transcription of the first letter addressed by Governor Pickens to General LaFayette.

OLD SCHOOL DAYS

No change that has come to later times has been more radical than that in our schools. The discipline, management, method of instruction and general spirit of the school have all undergone a thorough transformation. In the early days, the old blue-back speller was a sine qua non in the elementary schools. Its columns and battalions of words, ranging from the least spellable words to those that are octosyllabic and even beyond, all of which had to be learned by rote, made many an excellent speller of the English. The modern method of acquiring ability to spell may be superior, but one who ever mastered the old blue-back was never known to be an indifferent speller. Consigned to the limbo of the junk heap, the blue-back may be, but to master it was to become the possessor of most of the words in common use, and more besides.

In former days the location of a country school was selected with reference to the largest possible patronage, while many boys and girls were forced to trudge the distance of several miles each morning to attend, and return the same distance home every afternoon. The buckets with curved wire handles would contain the dinners of the children of a given family. School periods extended from eight in the morning till four in the afternoon, with three brief intervals of recess during the day. For a well-regulated school, the furniture comprised plain, unpainted seats, none too comfortable, and unpainted desks. Where not so well regulated the seats were of split logs, backless, with peg supporters, and no desks, save that of the teacher, which was used at different times by a given class of students in taking writing lessons from the teacher.

This teacher sat on a platform, which was slightly raised, in order to give him complete oversight of each pupil. Within his desk were securely kept the sinews of discipline in the form of a number of well-seasoned hickories, flexible, tough, and just long enough for faithful execution. These were a source of terror to all alike, for under the nature of the discipline there were no immunes in view of certain infractions.

The rules of discipline were generally harsh, hard and drastic, the very essence of the unreasonable. A pupil failing to spell a given number of words, or to give a given number of correct answers, was straightway drubbed. This was done in a most mechanical way, as the machinery of discipline must, of course, run regularly. Nothing was said, but the teacher would administer the flogging, and go straight on with his other work. The fear of punishment, so far from acting as a stimulus, was a barbarous hindrance. Study was not pursued so much as a pleasure, as it was from fear of punishment.

A "big boy," one past sixteen generally, was given the alternative of a flogging in the presence of the school, or of downright dismissal. No respect was had for the difference between a laborious, earnest student, who might be slow of acquisition, and one who was bright and quick, though the former might be the solider of the two, and often was. School was taught according to certain arbitrary rules and not according to the principle of common sense. Most schools were therefore regarded by pupils as terrors, and not as places of mental pleasure. A "tight" teacher, as the rigid disciplinarian was called, was much in demand. Many a pedagogue would lose an opportunity to procure a school because he was "loose," or, as we would say nowadays, because he was reasonable, and not a ringmaster with his whip. No higher commendation was there than that one would flog even the largest boys. In consequence of this condition in the early school, the teacher was held in almost universal awe, with no touch of congeniality with any pupil.

In all recitations save those of reading and spelling, pupils would sit. The spelling classes were somewhat graded, and, in reciting, would stand in a line facing the teacher, who would "give out" the words to be spelled. Each syllable had not only to be spelled and articulated, but in spelling, each preceding syllable was pronounced, even to the close of the word. If, for instance, the word notoriety was given, the pupil would spell n-o, no, t-o, noto, r-i, notori, e, notorie, t-y, te, notoriety. When it would come to spelling long words, they would be rattled off with a volubility that was often amazing. It was interesting to hear words like incombustibility and honorificabilitudinity spelled after this fashion. As with a vocal fusillade, the pupil would clatter off long words, building each up as he would proceed, the teacher would stand with his head slightly careened to hear it properly done. Whatever other effect such exercise had, it gave clearness of articulation. If a word was misspelled, it was given to the next student with a "Next!" from the teacher, and if successfully spelled by the one next below him, he would "turn down" the one who failed, or, in other words, take his place in the line, sending the one who failed nearer toward the foot of the class. Like trembling culprits the pupils would thus stand throughout the recitation, and everyone who had missed spelling a given number of words, walked mechanically up to the teacher and took his drubbing. Every class of spellers was only a body of culprits on trial.

One of the choice pranks of those early days was that of "turning the teacher out." When a holiday was desired, and had been previously declined, a revolt was almost sure to follow. A secret conclave of "the big boys" was held, a mutiny was hatched, a fearless ringleader was chosen, the plans were laid, and the time of the real issue awaited. On the morning of the desired holiday, the young conspirators would reach the school an hour or two in advance, barricade every door and window so that none could enter, and quietly await the coming of the teacher. He would usually demand that the house be opened, when the leader would inform him that it would be done solely on condition that he would give them a holiday.

The teacher's ingenuity, tact, or physical strength was often sorely taxed by a juncture like this. It was not an easy thing to handle a half dozen or more determined boys just emerging into manhood, and those whose quiet grudge prompted a desire for a tilt, at any rate, and the teacher must either yield and thus lose his grip thereafter, or take the chance of a rough and tumble with the odds against him. The usual method of settlement was to sound a truce, and compromise on some satisfactory basis. One advantage always lay on the side of the teacher--no matter how stern or severe his method of adjustment in quelling the rebellion, he would have the moral reinforcement of the parents, but it was an advantage that might prove more than a forlorn hope, if he should attack a body of muscular country boys.

Happily, those days are gone, with some slight advantages, perhaps, over some of the present methods, but with immensely more disadvantages. At least, the tyranny and brutality of the olden days have given place to common sense.

THE CROSS ROADS GROCERY

Among the defunct institutions of a past era in the state's history, is that of the country grogshop, which was known in those days as "the cross roads grocery," a name derived from the enterprising spirit of the keepers of such places to locate where the roads crossed, in order to catch more "trade." Many of these country saloons became notorious resorts. These places were the rendezvous of the rustics of the hilarious type in those far-off days. These rude trysting places were the weekly scenes of coarse sports, gross hilarity, and of rough-and-tumble fights. Hither the rowdies gathered from a wide region, drank freely, yelled vociferously, and fought not a little. The monthly muster of the militia was usually in connection with one of these rural institutions, and hither would come "the boys" for an all-day frolic. While squirrel guns and old flint and steel rifles were used in the drill, these would never be brought into requisition when the combats would usually ensue. Shooting and stabbing were far less frequent then than now, the test of manhood being in agility, strength, and the projectile force of the fist. There were bullies, not a few, and when one got sufficiently under way to raise a yell like a Comanche Indian, it was regarded as a defiant banter. This species of "sport" would usually come as the last act of the tragedy of the day.

Among the diversions of the day was that of test of marksmanship. The stakes were usually steaks, or, to use the terminology of the time, "a beef quarter." To be able "to hit the bull's-eye," as the center of the target was called, was an ambition worthy of any rustic. A feat so remarkable made one the lion of the day, and his renown was widely discussed during the ensuing week. No greater honor could come to one than to be able to win a quarter, and "the grocery" was alluded to as a place of prominent resort throughout a wide community. There were also "racing days," which was applied to foot races as well as to horse racing. There was a track for each hard by "the grocery," and in the foot races the runners would strip bare to the waist, pull off their shoes, and run the distance of several hundred yards. Brace after brace of runners would test their speed during the day, the defeated contestant having always to "treat the crowd."

This was varied, in turn, by horse racing day. Two parallel tracks were always kept in order by the grocery keeper for this equestrian sport. Scrawny ponies that had plowed during all the week were taken on the track on Saturday, betting was freely indulged in, the owners would be their own jockeys, and amusing were many of the races thus run.

Still another sport, cruel enough in itself, was that of the "gander pulling." A large gander with greased neck would be suspended to a flexible limb overhanging the road, and one by one the horsemen would ride at full tilt, grasp the neck of the goose, and attempt to wring it off, while his horse was at full speed. With many a piteous honk, the goose would turn its head here and there to avoid being seized, and it was not easy to accomplish the required feat. A given sum of money was the usual reward to the successful contestant. This cruel sport of more than seventy-five years ago was among the first to disappear from the programme of rural diversions. The reader of "Georgia Scenes" has been made familiar with this sport, which at one time was quite popular.

"Muster day," which came once each month, was usually one of bloody hilarity. The crude evolutions on the field being over, "the boys" would return to the grocery, and, after being bounteously served several times at the bar, they were ready for the fun, which usually began with a wrestling or boxing bout, in which some one who was unsuccessful would change the scene into one of an out-and-out fray. When temper became ascendant, which was not difficult under the condition of free imbibing, one violent blow would invite another, when the crowd would form a ring around the belligerents, and cries of "Stand back!" and "Fair play!" would be heard on all hands. If one interfered in behalf of a kinsman or friend, he was pounced on by another, and not infrequently as many as a dozen men would be embroiled in a fisticuff battle. Nothing was tolerated but the fist. Not even a stick could be used, though when one was down under his antagonist it was accounted lawful to use the teeth, or even to fill the eyes of an opponent with sand, in order to make him squall. When the shriek of defeat was sounded, the successful antagonist was pulled off, and some one treated him on the spot.

It was by this means that bullies were produced in those days. Sometimes a bully would come from some other region where he had swept the field, in order to test his prowess with a local bully. Bets would be made in advance, and the announcement through the region, a week or so in advance, would serve to draw an unusual crowd to the scene of pugilistic contest. A ring was drawn in the sand, and while the contest would begin in a boxing exercise, there came a time when it grew into a battle royal with the fists. The champions of different neighborhoods each felt that not only was his own reputation at stake, but that of his community. Bulls on the pastures would not fight with greater fierceness than would these rough rowdies. When one or the other would "give up," then would come a general disagreement among the boozy bettors, and the entire crowd would become involved in a general melee.

Saturday night usually brought fresh accessions from the neighboring population, and frequently the brawls would last throughout the night. Broken fingers, noses, well-chewed ears, and dislocated teeth usually made up the casualties of the day. Bunged and beaten as many were, they would resume their usual labor during the next week, while the scenes of the preceding Saturday would be the subject of general comment, and the end of the following week would find them again at the grocery.

These groceries, so called, prevailed throughout the South till the opening of the Civil War, during which it is presumed that the belligerently disposed got full gratification on fields of a different type. Among the changes wrought in our social life by the war, this was not among the least. Efforts to revive "the grocery" of the "good old times" after the return of the few from the battlefields of the war, proved abortive, and thus vanished this popular institution in the states of the South.

EARLY NAVIGATION

The rude crafts that once floated our magnificent rivers were crude and primitive enough, and were but a slight advance on the dugout or canoes of the red men. The heavy, clumsy flatboat, propelled in part by long oars used by the hand, and in part by long poles let down from the edge of the boat and by the pressure of the body urged slowly along, and by the use of grappling hooks to pull the boat upstream, were in use far into the twenties of the nineteenth century. These boats were of limited surface capacity, difficult of management, and exceedingly slow. An indication of their sluggish movement is afforded by the fact that in 1819, when Honorable Henry Goldthwaite was on his way from Mobile to Montgomery, to make the latter town his home, he was just three months on the voyage up the Alabama River. With slow movement and noiselessly, these heavy craft would be propelled up the river, and on approaching a given point the boatmen would signal their approach by firing a small cannon kept on each barge for that purpose. After the invention of the steam whistle, now so common, by Adrian Stephens, of Plymouth, England, whistles came at once into use on all American waters.

For ages these great streams had been rolling wanton to the sea, and after the occupation of Alabama by the whites, the natural advantages were readily recognized, but as nothing was then known of the steam engine, of course there was nothing left but to employ the most available craft for transportation. For a long period, only the awkward barges and flatboats were used. It may be readily seen how the introduction of steamers on our rivers would facilitate individual and aggregate prosperity, which had been so long retarded by the slow process of navigation already mentioned.

Though Robert Fulton's first grotesque steamer appeared on the waters of the Hudson as early as 1807, and while a steamer had not yet been seen in these parts, enterprising spirits, in anticipation of the coming use of steamboats, organized a company at St. Stephens, the territorial capital, in 1818, which company was duly authorized by the legislature of the Alabama Territory, and bore the name of the St. Stephens Steamboat Company. This was followed two years later by another, which was incorporated under the name of the Steamboat Company of Alabama, and a year later still came the organization of the Mobile Steamship Company. If it is supposed that the fathers had no enterprise in those early days, this will serve to disabuse the minds of all doubters. They were dealing in steam futures, but they were ready for the coming tide of steam progress. In due course of time, these rival organizations introduced steamers on the rivers of the state, but they were not rapid of locomotion, were at first small, rather elaborate in adornment, and afforded some degree of comfort to a limited number of passengers. These diminutive floaters were gradually displaced by larger vessels, the number multiplied, and by 1845 magnificent packets were lowered from the decks and became "floating palaces" on our waters.

At first, a steamer was propelled by a wheel at each side, but this gradually gave way to a single wheel at the stern. The period of the career of these magnificent steamers was a brief one, lasting not more than fifteen or twenty years before the outburst of the Civil War.

Railways in Alabama were still practically unknown, and steamboat travel was exceedingly popular. On the best and finest steamers the entertainment could scarcely be excelled. The staterooms were often elegant, and always comfortable, and the tables were banquet boards. The best country produce was gathered at the landings, and the table fare was one of the boasts of the steamers. The most sumptuous carpets were on the floors of the passenger saloons, while superb furniture was alike pleasing to the eye and comfortable in practical use. The boats were constructed with three decks, known, respectively, as the lower, the middle or passenger, and the upper or hurricane deck.

During the cotton season, which extended from September to March, or about one-half the year, the boats would descend the rivers loaded each trip with hundreds of bales of cotton, and returning, would be laden with merchandise, while in both directions, there was usually a throng of passengers. On some of the most elegant steamers were calliopes, the music of which would resound at night over many miles of territory pierced by the rivers. Nothing known to entertainment or comfort was omitted on a first-class steamer in the forties and fifties.

Many of the landings on the rivers were located on high bluffs through which a flight of steps would lead from the summit to the water's edge, the length of which flight would sometimes exceed several hundred feet. Alongside the uncovered stairway, was a tram for a wide car, which was nothing more than a platform on wheels, which wheels ran on two beams of wood, the surface of which was sheeted with iron. The car was operated by means of a pulley on the summit, which, in turn, was operated by a mule or horse moving in a circular enclosure. The freight from the steamer was strung along the bank below, to be cared for by the warehouse above. When cotton was to be shipped from the top of the bluff, a number of deck hands would go to the top of the steps, and each bale was slid down the tramway to the boat. The bale would be started endwise and descend with whizzing swiftness, strike the lower deck, be seized by the hands below, and put in place.

Great were the days of the reign of the steamboat! While slow, compared with later methods of travel, steamboat passage was the acme of comfort and enjoyment. The social pleasure afforded was unsurpassed. While it would require several days to go two or three hundred miles by boat, the element of time was not so much a consideration in those leisurely days as it is now, and the regret was often that the time of the passage was not longer. During the busy season the schedule of the boats was most irregular, and not infrequently passengers would wait the arrival of the boat for twenty-four hours, and sometimes even longer.

It was interesting, the contention and competition among the rival boats for freight and passenger traffic. In order to be able to advertise the popularity of a given steamer, the subordinate officers and others of the crew, would solicit passengers at the hotels of the terminal cities, and would not only offer free passage, sometimes, but actually offer a consideration of a small sum of money, in addition, to such as would make choice of that steamer in preference to another.

The war greatly crippled boating on the rivers, and with the rally and rehabilitation of the South from the effects of the war, the railway came on anon, and the steamers largely disappeared from our rivers.

HARRY, THE MARTYR JANITOR

Howard College, then at Marion, was burned on the night of October 15, 1854.

Dr. Henry Talbird was at the time the president of the institution, and his nightly habit was to make a thorough inspection of the grounds and buildings, in order to see that all was well. After making his usual and uniform round on the night just named, he went to bed somewhat after ten o'clock. He had fallen into deep sleep, when he was aroused by the ringing of bells and the loud cry of "Fire! Fire! Fire!" On rushing out, he found the lower floor of the dormitory all ablaze, the fire already having begun its ascent up the stairway.

To this day the origin of the fire is a mystery. It was in the fall of the year, the weather was still warm, and there was no occasion for fire about the building. The basement was one mass of rolling flames when first the building was reached. In a house near by, the janitor, a negro boy of twenty-three, was sleeping, and when he reached the scene, the flames were moving steadily up the stairway. He made a movement as if to plunge into the flames, when he was warned to keep clear. He replied that he must save the boys who were sleeping on the two upper floors, and did plunge through fire and smoke, and disappeared beyond.

Within a short time many of the people of the town had gathered, and the boys began to leap, one after another, to the ground. Ladders were brought into requisition to aid those on the highest floor to escape. Every student was aroused by the heroic colored janitor, and all but one had descended safely to the ground.

The young man who was still missing soon appeared at a window and was saved through the exertions of the late Dr. Noah K. Davis, late professor of philosophy in the University of Virginia, and several others.

About this time the negro boy, burnt almost bare, and raw from his burns, his hair burnt from his head, and his eyebrows and lashes gone, appeared at one of the highest windows and flung himself to the ground, about sixty feet below.

He rolled over on the grass a dead man.

His body was drawn from under the influence of the intense heat, and every effort was made to restore life, but he had been burned to death, and evidently had thrown himself from the window to prevent his body from being consumed in the burning building.

The terrible fire was now lost sight of in the attention which was bestowed on the faithful negro janitor. He had given his life for others.

The following morning, elaborate preparations were made for the becoming burial of the heroic Harry. Negro slave, as he was, he was honored with a burial from the leading white church of the town.

The building was packed with wealthy planters, merchants, lawyers, and their families to do honor to the hero of the fire.

In the funeral services leading citizens arose, one by one, to pronounce eulogies on the dead slave.

Flowers were in profusion, and the procession to the cemetery was composed of the carriages of the wealthy. Greater distinction could not have been shown the most eminent citizen of the town.

At the grave, every possible consideration was shown, and mournfully the vast crowd turned from the grave of an humble slave. A sum of money was at once raised for the purpose of placing a high marble shaft at his grave, and in the cemetery at Marion it still stands conspicuously, with the inscriptions undimmed by the storms of more than half a century. On the front of the shaft is the inscription: "Harry, servant of H. H. Talbird, D.D., president of Howard College, who lost his life from injuries received while rousing the students at the burning of the college building, on the night of October 15, 1854, aged 23 years." On another side appears the inscription: "A consistent member of the Baptist church, he illustrated the character of a Christian servant, 'faithful unto death.'" On still another side appears the language: "As a grateful tribute to his fidelity, and to commemorate a noble act, this monument has been erected by the students of Howard College and the Alabama Baptist Convention." The fourth side of the monument bears this inscription: "He was employed as a waiter in the college, and when alarmed by the flames at midnight, and warned to escape for his life, he replied, 'I must wake the boys first,' and thus saved their lives at the cost of his own."

Here humanity asserted itself to the full. Uninfluenced by any other consideration than that a young man had proved himself a hero in a dire crisis, every worthy man and woman was ready to accord to a dead but heroic slave, the merits of his just deserts.