Pen Pictures, of Eventful Scenes and Struggles of Life

by B. F. Craig

During the church service, and generally about the time the preacher's earnestness had warmed the congregation, the jerks would set in. Some one in the congregation would commence throwing the head and upper part of the body backward and forward, the motion would gradually increase, assuming a spasmodic appearance, until all discretion would leave the person attacked, and they would continue to jerk regardless of all modesty, until they jerked themselves upon the floor.

Tom and his wife one day attended the meeting of a sect, then called the “New Lights.” During the service Tom's wife was attacked with the jerks; the motion slow at first became very rapid, her combs flew among the congregation, and her long black hair cracked like a wagon whip. Tom was very much frightened, but with the assistance of some friends the poor woman was taken home, and soon became quiet. Tom never attended meeting again.

The old adage that bad luck never comes single-handed, was now setting in with Tom. Soon after this event, Tom returned from his labor one cold, wet evening. Mother, as he always called his wife, was very dull and stupid. Tom had attended to all the duties of the little household, pulled in the latch-string of the cabin door, covered the coals on the hearth with ashes—as the old people used to say, to keep the seed of fire.

In the morning when he awakened, his faithful wife, dear mother, as he called her, was by his side, cold and dead.

With three little daughters in the cabin and nothing else in the wide world, for the title to his land had been set aside. Disheartened with his misfortunes, Tom, with his little daughters, moved to the Ohio river.

Port William was the name given to the first settlement ever made at the mouth of the Kentucky river.

Seventy miles above Louisville the Kentucky mingles its water with the Ohio river, the land on the east side of the Kentucky and on the south side of the Ohio, narrows into a sharp point—the water is deep up to the shore. When navigation first commenced this point was the keel-boat landing, and subsequently the steamboat landing.

Here, Dave Deminish kept a saloon, (then called a grocery). One room sixteen feet square, filled with cheap John merchandise, the principal article for sale was corn whisky, distilled in the upper counties, and shipped to Port William on keel boats,—this article was afterwards called old Bourbon.

Port William was blessed with the O!-be-joyful. Redhead Sam Sims run a whisky shop in connection with, his tavern, but the point, or landing was the great place of attraction, here idle boatmen were always ready to entertain idle citizens. Old Brother Demitt owned large tracts of land, and a number of slaves, and of course he was a leader in society, why not? he was a member of the church if he did stand on the street corners, tell low anecdotes, and drink whisky all-day-long. And old Arch Wheataker owned slaves to work for him, and he, of course, could ride his old ball-face sorrel horse to Port William, drink whisky all day and run old Ball home at night. Late in December one dark night, the Angel of observation was looking into the room of Dave Deminish. A tall man with silver gray hair was pleading with Dave for one more dram. They stood by the counter alone, and it was late, the customers had all gone save Tom Fairfield. Tom offered to pledge his coat as a guarantee for payment, Dave was anxious to close the store (as he called it), and he said mildly as he laid his hand softly on Tom's shoulder, “Keep your coat on, Tom,” and handing him a glass of spoiled beer, affected friendship. In attempting to drink the beer Tom heaved. Dave was insulted, and kicked him out, and closed the door. On reeling feet, alone, and in the dark, Tom departed. In the middle of the night commenced a wonderful snow storm, and the dawn of morning found the earth covered with a white mantle twenty-four inches deep.

The ever diligent eye of the Angel of observation was peering into the cabin of Tom Fairfield, two miles distant from the Point, and one mile north of Brother Demitts. Roxie, the eldest daughter, found a few sticks of wood, which happened to be in doors, made up a little fire and was cooking some corn cakes. Rose had covered Suza with a tattered blanket, and was rocking her in a trough. The cold wind upon the outside carried away the inaudible murmurs of the little sisters.