The South
Out To Rockhold, Ky.
Prof. R.C. Hitchcock
I wanted to see the people and especially the church and Sunday-school at this outpost. Now one can go out there by rail, but that is prosaic. It is not apostolic; those apostles tied on their sandals, girt up their garments and walked. But I found I couldn't do that way, for there was the big Cumberland to cross and several creeks, not to speak of "runs," "branches" and mud-holes. The circuit riders? Yes, they went on horseback; that must be my way, so I consulted Brother Tupper and he borrowed Mr. Perkins's horse, noted as being an easy-going roadster. Easy? Well, I do suppose the horse was all right, but I must indulge in one groan. It was a long time since I had been on horseback. I wanted to go to the stable to get on, but the young man insisted on bringing the steed down to the hotel as soon as he had his feed, and in due time he came, a tall fellow, and I doubted my ability to get my foot up to that stirrup, and somewhat whether I could boost myself over into the saddle if I did; so I quietly and gently coaxed him up to the piazza and actually succeeded the first time trying. How many of the gentlemen, sitting in their Sunday best on the piazza, smiled, I do not know—I didn't dare to look. I know I sat up ever so stiff and tried to look just as if I had been a circuit rider for forty years or so.
I must cross the river to begin with. Now they hadn't given me any whip and I didn't dare ask the owner of the horse—"Colt, gone four"—he said, for a whip or even a switch, but I wondered what I would do if the animal should take it into his head to turn around or do something awkward right in the middle of the river. I didn't want to get off, for I must get on again. As good luck would have it there was a kind-eyed man sitting on a stone by the riverside, and I asked him to get me a stick. He gave me one he had in his hand and I felt better.
"Does the ford go right straight across?" I asked. "No, you must make a curve up towards the dam or you will get into deep water, and there are boulders too, you must avoid, or your horse may fall down."
A curve! Now a straight line, two points being given, can be defined. And if I could steer for some given point on the opposite bank, I could hit it if the current did not take me down stream; but a curve is awfully uncertain, and my mind was in a state of perturbation. However, I got across with nothing worse than a good spattering.
I wish I could paint the pictures constantly opening on the view as I rode along. Forest clad mountains rose on every side with huge cliffs peering grimly out. Sometimes these cliffs overhung the road and occasionally a great slab of slate projected sufficiently to furnish shelter for a family. In one place a farmer had taken advantage of this and made his stable under a rock. A great slab of shaly slate projected so that he had a roof some fifty feet long and ten or fifteen wide. My mind went back eighteen hundred years and more to another stable in a rock and the wonderful scene enacted there. It was not easy to believe that the little cabins, looking like miniature houses which might be built by boys for play, were actually homes, occupied by families, father, mother and eight or ten children; but such is the case.
Seven miles of constantly changing pictures, but all beautiful, brought me to Rockhold, a name I had supposed derived from its physical characteristics, but which I was informed was given in respect to a family formerly the most important in the vicinity but now quite gone. I made my way to the little church. In front was a huge wagon and in a little grove at the back several horses tied. I had been informed that I might safely address any man I found prominent, as "Elliott," and as I entered I so accosted an elderly man whom I found in charge of a large class of young men. About fifty were present, Mr. Elliott being the only male teacher, three young ladies, two of whom I learned had been educated at Berea, having charge of classes. After the lesson I addressed the people. The characteristic that impresses me more than any other is their solemn seriousness. They listen intently and with great eagerness. They are hungry for preaching and feel it a great hardship that they can only have it occasionally. Their faces were a study. There was hardly a weak one among them and many bore the impress of great strength. But I would as soon have told a story or joked at a funeral as under their serious eyes.
The meeting over, several invited me to "go by" and take dinner, and I accepted the first offer, which was made by a nice looking young lady in mourning, who urged her claim by saying: "All the preachers go to our house and father will be so disappointed if he don't see you; he couldn't come to-day."
This country has not yet got to the point of thinking bridges necessary and roads are not for those who sit on springs and cushions. I never wished so much for a "Kodak" that I might carry away a picture which I shall always have in memory. To the long wagon, which had a high rack all around it, were yoked a pair of milk-white oxen, round and handsome. In front was seated Mrs. Elliott, holding her youngest child. At her side a boy, perhaps twelve, who guided the team by a line attached to a horn. Seated on chairs were nine young ladies and girls, nearly all in pretty white dresses.
Two miles of beautiful scenery and we reach the farm house, a commodious and substantial rural home, of John Elliott, who gave me a cordial welcome and soon the long table in the kitchen was spread with such a meal as I had not enjoyed in many a day. The menu did not record many French dishes, but everything was good, abundant and wholesome.
After dinner, Mr. Elliott told me a story worth recording. It was that of the heroic Mr. Richardson, who before the war was a teacher in that district—a Northern man—and, in the excited state of feeling in the South, was suspected of being an abolitionist. He and his wife were driven from their home and work, but protected from personal violence by the prompt and energetic efforts of the Elliotts. But as both Dr. Roy and Mr. Ryder have given the details to the public, I will not repeat them here. I will only add that of the fifty persons who had signed the paper pledging themselves to "remove" Richardson, it would be difficult to find one now in Whittley County. They are scattered or dead. But in the little church at Rockhold, the name of Richardson is a sacred one, and the stranger always hears the story.
I took leave of this interesting family with great regret. As I sat in the little grove in front of the house, with its carpet of myrtle, and looked off over the peaceful valley, I wished I might remain there and rest.
That horse had it pretty much his own way on the return seven miles, and when I thought nobody was looking I must confess to finding it a very pleasant thing to get both legs on the same side of the saddle. But I am glad I went to Rockhold. I would not lose the pictures I got there for a small sum and I hope and pray that the time may soon come when in some way a regular preacher may be provided for the people.