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Hickman County, TN Newspaper Articles
JOHN POPLIN His Recent Visit to His Old Home and the Reflections of Other Days
(The Hickman Pioneer, October 17, 1884)
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Editor Pioneer: --- It was my lot to be brought up on the Brushy fork of Beaverdam, my father emigrating from North Carolina about the year A. D. 1830 and settling on the aforesaid little stream, then a wilderness nearly, there being only a few little squatters' claims on those little creeks. Father stopped in January, near a spring where Joel P. Morrison and the widow of David Hinson now lives; though father soon purchased a little occupant claim from one David Lancaster, where Lewis Baker now lives, and he there remained until the fall of 1854, when he moved to the head of Coon creek, Perry county, where he remained until his death, where the remains of my father and mother are now interred. My mother was a daughter of old John Hinson, the father of old Uncle George Hinson, the father of the late David Hinson who fell by the hand of Mormonism in Lewis county; therefore you can readily see that the name of Tennessee is always near and produces tender emotions with me. I was intimately acquainted in the adjoining neighborhoods of the counties of Perry and Lewis, on Swan and Cane creeks, and Duck river and Beaverdam with their tributaries, with all or nearly so of the old settlers, from my boyhood to the year 1857, and the very name of those old noble sires and dames of worthy sons and daughters with whom I spent so many pleasant hours, months and years, will ever bring vividly to my memory pleasant emotions and as I pass along over this rambling narrative I will frequently give some few of the names of those grand old worthies, whose ashes are now, many of them, marked by a slab of wood or stone, some in Tennessee and many in the States of the West.
I attended my first school, taught by a man named Jonathan Hicks; the little school house stood near the mouth of the Brushy fork of Beaverdam, where old Levi Garrett used to live. The land is now owned by the Aetna Iron Company. I left the land of my childhood on September 15th, 1857, for Carroll county, Arkansas, then ever after only visiting and reviewing the pleasant faces of my youthful companions by imaginations, hollow dreams, though it still appearing too plain to my recollection, that those hallowed memories would be brought back to my vision on my visiting those old sacred spots, though alas! how sadly mistaken was the reality in the case, a few days ago, as I traversed those little narrow gravely hollows and looked for those pleasant faces, whose countenances the bloom of youth lit up, alas! how changed was not only the face of the country, but more solemnly the transformation that had passed over poor, frail, transitory mortals of all those youthful companions and old fathers and mothers, only now and then one could I find, only by a small slab of decayed wood or stone to mark the last remains of those loving countenances, how solemn the scenes!
I left Greeley, Anderson county, Kansas, on September 1st, with the brightest anticipations for a six weeks visit to the pleasant home of my childhood, with my wife and little daughter, and after being on the railroad for three days and nights, rolled up to the little depot at Centreville, in Hickman county, Tenn., at 2 o'clock p.m. Meeting the courteous liveryman, Mr. George, at the depot, we were soon on the top of the hill in the city of Centreville. At the post office, which is kept by my old friend Easley, whose face and hair when I saw him last was all aglow with the bloom of youth, though now are so changed with the wrinkles of many summers and the silvery frosts of many winters, how rapidly my mind runs back to the days when I used to vote for the noble old patriot, J. D. Easley, for county clerk, the father of my friend whose changed appearance now stands before me. In a short time my friend, George, with his new buggy and in person was at the door of the post office, with my wife and little daughter seated in, was soon passing through town south for Beaverdam, for my brother-in-law's, Alva Breece's, a brother of my second wife, who is now living on a part of what was once the old Maj. McClaren lands, known by this title in my boyhood days. Arrived at Breece's about 5 o'clock p.m., finding my old true and trusty friend sorely afflicted and very frail, how fleeting and transitory are all material things. Being very much fatigued and wearied from the oppressive heat and the rush of railroad travel, our interview the first night was short. Next morning, being refreshed, we were highly entertained, thought the answers to our interrogations by Alva, was the cause of many solemn emotions to our minds, for in a great majority of the questions after old friends and acquaintances, the answers were they are dead! or worse, they are sorely afflicted or their minds thrown off their balance. Here we remained with our brother for several days, and visiting other old friends, viz: Jonathan Arnold and his noble lady, who was a near relative of my first wife; my wife was a daughter of Elias Deaton, an old Baptist preacher, who moved to West Tennessee from Beaverdam, in an early day.
In my interview with Katherine Arnold, the short time that I was permitted to enjoy her company, how often our minds were called back to former scenes and friends, which have long since passed away, only remaining in the frail memory of the few here. I also met with her second son, Robert Green, who was only a small boy when I last saw him, who is now the father of a fine intelligent family of children. From Alva Breece's I went down Beaverdam, by the old Aetna Iron works, which was built by M. C. Napier, some where about the year 1833, I believe, and for a number of years, there was a great amount of business done there, and a large amount of money spent; sold by M. C. Napier to old Dr. Napier; then after the death of the old Doctor, I believe the works went into the hands of Carter & Hillman, the old Dr. B. N. resided at the furnace; a generous, sociable, and charitable gentleman.
In passing up by those old dilapidated and old torn down works, how vivid was the times, scenes, and faces, long since passed, called back to my memory, as I stood near the old cribs where the foundations only remaining, I thought of a scene that took place there, long years ago. An old copper colored negro, Jo Epperson by name, sent another negro under the cribs after night to scare out some hogs, Joe standing with club in hand to knock down the shoat, as their manner was then, they would clean and cook the shoat and eat him up at one time. This time no shoat came. When the negro stuck out his head from under the crib, Jo with club, "salted" said negro down, through mistake, taking him for a shoat, coming very near killing. They then carried him up on the bridge hill and next morning sent for Dr. Carter for the assaulted negro. Now a person passing those old down-fallen works who was never acquainted here cannot form the least idea of what they were like; the old race that was dug along the west bluff of the creek, leaving the creek above the works, costing thousands of dollars, can now scarcely be traced, and the little old grist mill that stood there before the iron works were built, can only be located by persons in whose memories those days linger, which are now growing very few. From here I soon was up to the afore mentioned school house ground of my little boyish days. Then and there came rushing to my memory some things passed a half a century ago, and O! how fleeting are the moments whilst traversing in memory those passing and lovely scenes, how solemn the inquiry, where are the friends of long ago, and why am I still left? and whilst here pleasant faces with the names of many came rushing across my mind in rapid succession, until I was nearly lost to a realization of my surroundings; the names and faces of the old pioneers who first settled around here, viz: Levi Garret, old Wm. Hicks, the father of my first school teacher, Claban Berryman, the old gentleman Kimmens, Daniel Davidson, Benjamin Lancaster, his sons John and Gabriel Lancaster, old John Angel, old Jeremiah Boothe, John Hinson my grandfather, Cornelius Mathis and then lower down the creek, Robert Wade who still survives the shock of time, Thos. Warren who is now gone, Bartley Milam, Samuel Milam, Thos. Shepherd, Mark Black, Jacob Biler, Joseph McCann, Esq. McCollum father of Levi McCollum; then leaving Beaverdam, on Swan my memory still passes to numerous friends whose faces are long since familiar with other spirits in other climes, old George Peery who served for years in Hickman county as county surveyor and his sons, Robertson Whiteside who represented the county in the legislature with honor to himself and credit to his constituents, John Burcham, Abner F. Aydelotte, Samuel Aydelotte, William Duncan, and sons, the Wetherly brothers, and the Sharps, and numerous others; then in Centreville the names that still linger in my memory with the familiar faces, the Williamses, Arch and Sam, old Drs. Samuel Bird and Moore, G. W. Russell, the Huddlestons, Jack and Pleas, old Wm. Bird, the Clagetts; then on Cane Creek and Duck river I could make a long list of names whose smiling faces have long since, many of them, crossed the lonely river, and the few that remain, like myself, standing immediately on the brink, only waiting and watching for the momentarily expected beckon from the hand of a loving Father whose blessings we have so long been enjoying.
From this place I proceeded slowly up the Brushy fork by the place where Joseph Elkens lived, a little farm known later as the Jones River place, then up the old Thomas Green land where Ross Breece now lives, then to where Cornelius Mathis used to live, where Benijah Breece now lives, passing by my old time friend George W. Black, taking dinner with him, find Benijah Breece so sorely afflicted that cannot walk one step, neither can he stand alone, having to be carried and lifted as a little infant. At this place I married my second wife, the daughter of the widow, Breece, on the 22nd of April, 1854. From this place I passed on up the creek, the next little farm being the place where my father settled about 1831, where Lewis Baker now lives. How changed is the face of this country, those little narrow confined rocky hollows, the heavy rains which comes so often has washed those flint gravels down in bars and drifted up and throwed the water of those little creeks back from one place to another until those small valleys are nearly all bars of gravel. I here was as before sadly disappointed in my expectations, all disappointment.
Then from here went by the widow of David Hinson's to old Uncle George Hinson's, passing the farm where old Allen Jones once lived, and uncle of my first wife, where Joel P. Morrison now lives. Here is where the companion of my youthful days lies in silent repose in the little cemetery on J. P. Morrison's premises. Stopping for several days with my old uncle and aunt, I had a very pleasant time, though finding them greatly troubled over the sad and sorrowful ending of their son David, made our visit more solemn. From here we went to Cane Creek to our brother-in-law's, Harvey Hinson, finding the country all along our travel so much changed, washed and worn that we cannot express our feeling in any better way than to say we felt lonely and disappointed. The old farm where old Jesse Depriest used to live is worn out, and not any worse than the other farms down the creek, the old John P. A. Parks' farm, where a Mr. Cotham has lately bought, we learn that he was offered $6,000 for his farm, which does appear unreasonable to me. Then the old Sam Johnson farm adjoining our brother-in-law has bought at $3,000, (and we are sure that those prices can be beat badly in Kansas, where a man can plow all day and never rub a gravel with his plow). Then down at the old mill that was owned by Abram Whiteside, where I often went to mill on horseback when a small boy. The same scenes are hourly witnessed. Those old bare solid limestone barren hills still hold their own, more nearly than anything I found in all my ramblings.
The old John Sisco farm has been divided and sub-divided up until it does not look natural, Cane creek taking the lion's share of all the best bottoms along the stream. Then the old Jack McClaren farm and the old Amos Skelton farm, where his son Samuel Skelton now lives, and the old John Lewis land, where post office of Farmer's Exchange is now kept, owned by my old friend Sutton, is all about the same. The heavy rains and high waters of the creek have done a great damage. Here with my wife's brother and friends and relatives and acquaintances we spent many pleasant days and hours making inquires after old friends of our youthful days, until the morning of the 23rd of September, when we started from Harvey Hinson's for Centreville, retracing our steps down the Brushy fork of Beaverdam, arriving at Centreville at 12 o'clock. Passing down Indian creek we still as usual were called back by serious reflections to the old pioneers who were here in the long ago.
The old farm where old man Hickman used to live where Robert Watson now lives, and the old farm where the old widow McPeak lived, where old George Loveless used to live, then above the saw mill where Charles Johnson had a tanyard when I was a boy are still to my memory as of the days of long ago. Then coming to the hill where the road used to run up the hill, south of the present road, bring the memory of passing the place first on the hill of James D. Easley, who was county clerk of Hickman county so long, and there near by stood the little low brick school building that was then the pride and boast of the town. Passing on into the city I found more improvement and appearance of prosperity than I had seen in all my rambles in the county.
Though necessarily short here, I met an old time friend, James Briggs, whom I used to be familiar with on Swan, and had a short and pleasant conversation with him, though the result was the same for I learned that all, or nearly so, of the old friends of my childhood days are known no more in the flesh. Here I had an introduction of a few moments only to the genial and friendly person of the editor of the Hickman Pioneer. Then in a few minutes, I, with my wife and little daughter, was on the narrow gauge road for Dickson, and after traveling and retracing our steps for from one to forty miles, we arrived at Dickson about 6 o'clock p.m. tired, though real proud to think that we probably would never have to be tortured and jammed so any more by those little hard slatted seats. The is one thing though we feel duly bound to say, and that is the old gentleman who is conductor on this little crooked road is surely a Christian, for in both trips we never heard him use one ugly cuss word, and we are fully persuaded if had not been a saint, he would have swore or frowned more than he did.
John Poplin Greeley, Kansas
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