General Fuller, Muster, Hotels, Burlington, etc.
Ironton Register, Thursday, August 8, 1895
For the Register.
With what anticipation did we boys await the time of general muster day when the able-bodied citizens of Lawrence County, Ohio, were called together to go through with the military drill prescribed by the law?
General Fuller, of Rome, in chief command, resplendent in gold lace and shining epaulets, mounted, with drawn sword, giving command; then Colonel Andrew P. Kouns, also mounted; also Captain Carter with others I have forgotten.
Then the drill with a medley of arms of all kinds, muskets, rifles, shotguns, &c., and the men out of step treading on the heels of those in front to be sworn at and then to swear at those behind. But then to hear the fife and drum pealing out Yankee Doodle and to think, as Sam Slick says in his book – “The British whipped the world and we whipped the British,” was glory enough to balance all the worry and trouble they were going through. After the drill, the dinner, and such feasting as only our grandmothers knew how to provide.
John Carter, mentioned above, had a tame bear that he had raised, and he would bring it to town for the boys to try their strength wrestling with it, the bear usually coming out victorious. The bear grew so large and strong that he became dangerous when Carter killed him and sold the meat at quite a good price.
After the muster came the 4th of July celebration, I remember one in which the town did its best. They had a table about 50 feet long on the northwest side of the public square, under some beautiful maple trees, in front of Jas. H. Drury’s residence had a double porch fronting the square, making a good place for the band and speakers.
The Declaration of Independence was read, and a speech from one of the lawyers; then, the feast. The table fairly groaned with the good things of life. The colored folks were in their glory. An old man named Sam Bland (whom the young men had made about half drunk and had filled a two-bushel sack with the fragments of the feast for him) looked at the bag, then jumping as high as he could, said: “Burn my jacket everlasting to a day, I wish 4th of July would come every day.” The colored folks were in their glory on the 4th of July muster and “cote” week, as they termed it. They were mostly employed at different hotels, and there was considerable rivalry about the best house.
Aunt Tilda Johnson, the mother of Gabe Johnson, of your town, was head cook at Tom Clark’s Hotel and the autocrat of all the Russians was no more supreme than she was in her kitchen and the way we used to flatter her to get a taste of the good things!
Phillip Linch, an old colored man who died in your town a few years ago, was employed at the same place and was a great favorite with us boys. He was generous to a fault and would do anything to keep us from getting whipped.
Our family boarded there until we had a house built, and I thought Uncle Phil was the best man living. Phil. was a shouting Methodist at that time, and he wound up his prayer very uniquely: “Dog my cat by the land, Amen.” Poor old Phil is now in the land where trouble, sorrow, toil, and fear are gone. For they, the colored folks, were in daily fear of the kidnappers and slave hunters who were constantly looking for a chance to catch some poor runaway or kidnap one if they thought they could but get him across the lines.
When I was about ten years old, Bill Simmons and his gang came to my father’s store in search of runaway slaves. I thought as I looked at them (they were large fierce-looking men armed to the teeth with pistols, knives &c., and had handcuffs tied to their saddles) what a poor chance would the fleeing black man have, and my best wishes went out that the slave might reach Canada and be free.
Their rude, boisterous, profane language, with breath redolent with bad whiskey and tobacco, made them very offensive. The poor colored folks sighed a sigh of relief when they mounted their horses and went out in the country on their search. Simmons was the leader of a band of slave hunters and lived over in Virginia.
There was an underground railroad, as it was termed, which ran through or nearby Burlington, and many a poor slave was fed and piloted from one point to another by those who were posted having the North Star as their beacon of hope as they neared the promised land of freedom. They only traveled at night, and the halting places were just far enough apart to consume the night, lying by in the daytime.
I recollect an incident related several years ago by a prominent citizen who was an actor. He was out in the hills back of the town picking blackberries and was in quite a wild, lonely place where rocks and undergrowth were very thick.
There was no one near when he heard close by the words, “Massa, Massa,” and looking around, he saw, at last, a black face peering around a large rock. “I am hungry, Massa, most starved,” said the man. He motioned to the slave, for such he was, to go back into his hiding, and told him he would send him food, which he did. Also, he had a guide sent by another citizen and was sent on his way rejoicing. At that time, it was at the risk of one’s business and social standing to give any aid to a runaway, but thank God for the days of slavery with all their dreadful horrors are banished forever.
G.
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