The Experiences of Uncle Jack: Being a Biography of Rev. Andrew Jackson Newgent

by W. Ed. Snyder

During this period religious services were practically unknown in Paw Paw Bend. The chief diversions were such social functions as shooting matches, wood choppings, log rollings, husking bees, and dances. The spelling bee was still of too intellectual a character to win popularity. At all such gatherings the familiar demijohn of corn whiskey was considered an indispensable adjunct.

Hence, the announcement of a preaching service to be held at the Newgent home on a following Sunday morning was hailed throughout the settlement as a new thing under the sun. Of course everybody would go. The preacher was to be Rev. Nathan Hinkle, a Methodist itinerant. It was out of no particular religious scruples that the host, Charles Newgent, volunteered to entertain the assemblage on this occasion, yet he had no aversion to preachers or churches, and in common with his neighbors, he was always ready to encourage anything that would break the monotony and afford social diversion.

It so happened that on Saturday evening before this memorable day, Pompey Smash, a negro fiddler, was passing through the neighborhood and asked to stay over night at Mr. Newgent’s. He was informed by the head of the house that he would be furnished lodging on condition that he dispense music for a family dance. The terms were accepted and there was a sound of revelry by night as the little company beat time on the puncheon floor to the droll tunes of their musical guest.

Early next morning the congregation began to assemble for worship. The presence of the fiddler led to the suggestion that the time spent in waiting for the arrival of the preacher be used to the best possible advantage. Accordingly the Ethiopian turned his fiddle—for it was before the violin was invented; the familiar demijohn was set in a conspicuous place, and the gentlemen chose their partners. Lest the preacher’s sudden arrival in the midst of such hilarious scenes be the occasion of a shock or an offense to his ecclesiastical dignity, a member of the party was dispatched to do picket service. The watchman, having imbibed too freely of the contents of the jug, fell asleep at his post. The dance had gone on merrily for some time in its rapturous excitement; the preacher and church service were utterly forgotten. When, lo! the alarm was sounded. The faithless watchman had allowed the company to be taken by surprise. The approach of the reverend was discovered in the nick of time; the dance came to an abrupt stop. To prevent the minister from “smelling a rat,” a puncheon was removed hastily from the floor, and the fiddler, the fiddle, and the whiskey jug were thrust unceremoniously through the opening into the cellar excavation below. And the people put on their Sunday faces for church.

After the services a part of the congregation, including the shepherd of the flock, remained for dinner. This necessarily prolonged the imprisonment of the negro, but when it is recalled that the whiskey jug was a prison companion, we may surmise that the hours were not so “tedious and tasteless” as otherwise they might have been. The solemnities of the day came to an end with the departure of the minister; the prison was then opened and the prisoner released. An “after service” followed, which, it may be conjectured, was more in harmony with the tastes of the congregation.

While unlimited resources lay at the very doors of these pioneer cabins, the backwoodsmen lacked the facilities for developing them. Their tastes were not so exacting as in later days, and beyond the sheer necessities and comforts of the household, ambition did not spur them on. While ordinarily the family dined on homely fare, the industrious housewife often became so proficient in the culinary art as to be able to concoct most tempting dishes with the raw products that nature placed in easy reach. The sap of the maple tree, wild grapes, paw paws, and persimmons, as well as the products of garden, orchard, and field were utilized in providing for their physical wants. Persimmons ripened with the early frosts, and when put up in maple syrup, became a staple and most delicious article of diet. By the addition of the proper quantity of whiskey, the standard remedy for most of the ills the flesh is heir to, the mixture afforded in addition to its other virtues, a sure cure for ague, commonly called “ager.” This led to an episode in which little Jack and three older brothers were the leading figures, and which he facetiously labeled “a short cut in the study of astronomy.”

The children were left alone one afternoon. The oldest of the quartet was familiar with the process of preparing the common ague antidote. The necessary ingredients were, as usual, within easy reach. So he proceeded to administer the remedy to his younger brothers on the principle that “if a little did good, more would do better.” The bearing of this procedure upon the science of astronomy becomes apparent when we remember that among the unschooled of that day it was a mooted question as to whether or not the world is round and revolves upon its axis, as the geographies teach. Jack declared that after taking a few doses it was painfully evident to him that the world did turn round and turned at such a rapid rate that he found it difficult to keep from falling off. When the mother returned she found the three younger boys lying on the floor unconscious, and the author of the mischief sitting astride a joist overhead the unceiled room in a hilarious condition. By the free use of sweet milk the younger boys were restored to consciousness, but a special treatment was reserved for the one who led them into temptation. However, Jack found this short course in astronomy sufficient for all practical purposes, and he has never had the occasion or inclination to extend it.

His early years were as happy and free from care amid these primitive surroundings, as childhood life could well be, even in what might be considered more favorable circumstances. Life was simple in the extreme, even crude, but it was the best he knew. There was nothing in the lives of his associates calculated to excite envy or cause discontent with his own lot. But in this connection one incident stands out in bold relief to mar the picture of boyish contentment.

A single garment of homespun, or “tow linen,” was all that was considered necessary in the way of clothing under ordinary circumstances for a boy of that age. It marked a new era in his life when the loose garment which covered the anatomy down to the knees was supplemented by a pair of breeches of the same material. Upon one occasion as Jack stood watching his mother as she was measuring the material for the older boys’ winter suits, he heard her remark that there would probably be enough scraps left over to make him a pair of breeches. With emotions alternating between hope and fear, he waited impatiently for the outcome. His joy was unbounded when he found that his hopes were to be realized. His mother laid him on the floor and thus marked the pattern. It was seen that the closest economy had to be used to make the goods hold out; so instead of the regulation number of two suspenders which were one piece with the breeches, the material would only warrant the making of one. By extending it from one side on the back diagonally across the shoulder, making connection on the opposite side in front, the new habiliment maintained its balance and no special inconvenience was suffered.