Autobiography of Z. S. Hastings Part 1

Autobiography of Z. S. Hastings.

by Z. S. Hastings.

Effingham Kan.

Christmas, 1911

Dear Paul,--

I am sending to each of the other boys a copy of my Autobiography like this I send you. I hope you will be interested in it; read it, preserve it, and give it to some of your children, to be read and handed down and down until the second Adam comes the second time.

I am sure I would be glad to have something of this kind from my father, even from his father's father's father's, etc., back to father Adam, the first Adam.

Z. S. Hastings

C H A P T E R O N E

Birth. Name. Parent's Religion. Blood. Ancestor's Religion and Politics. First Recollection. Father's Family. From North Carolina to Indiana

I was born March 15th 1838 at a place now called Williams in Lawrence County, Indiana. When the day came for me to be named, mother said, "He looks like my brother Zachariah," but father said, "He looks like my brother Simpson." "All right", said mother," we will just christen him Zachariah Simpson." And that is my name unto this day.

Now, when mother said 'christen' she did not mean what is usually meant by christening a babe, for if she had they would have had to take me to a river, for mother and father both believed, when it came to baptizing, that is required much water. Mother, when baptized, was dipped three times, face first, and father once, backwards making in each case an entire submerging or an immersion. Religiously mother was called a Dunkard and father was called a Baptized Quaker. "Now", said father, one day to mother, "this out not to be, we are one in Christ, let us be one in name." "All right," said mother, "let us drop the names Dunkard and Quaker and simply call ourselves Christians."

"Just so," said father, "but we must live Christians as well." And they did.

There runs in my veins both English and Irish blood. On the paternal side I can only trace my ancestors back to the early Quakers of Baltimore. On the maternal side I know less, for it is only said that my great grand-mother was a handsome, witty, Irish-woman. For some reason, I know not what, I have always liked the humble, honest, witty Irish people, be they Catholic or Protestant.

As far back as I can trace my ancestry they were religiously Quakers and Politically Whigs. More recently however, we are religiously, simply Christians, politically prohibition Republicans. I do not boast of my ancestors, boys, for they were humble, yet,

"Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only n.o.ble to be good."

The first thing that I can now remember was, when I was two and one-half years old, in the fall of 1840, when General William Henry Harrison was elected the ninth president of the United States. It was on the occasion of a big rally day for Mr. Harrison when I, with my parents, stood by the road-side and saw in the great procession going by, four men carrying a small log cabin upon their shoulders, and in the open door of the cabin sat a small barrel of hard cider.

The rally cry was "Hurrah for Tippecanoe and Tyler too."

My father and mother were there, because they were Whigs, and I was there because father and mother were there. There is a great deal in the way a child is brought up. O, that the children of our beloved land be brought up in the way they should go! O, that it could be said of all parents that their children are brought up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord; that is could be said of all teachers of our great country as it was said of the great lexicographer, Noah Webster: "He taught thousands to read, but not one to sin." It is said boys, that the training of a child should begin a hundred years before it is born. I do not know about this, but I do know that the proper training should be kept up after it is born. Will you see to it, that you do your part well?

My father's family consisted of seven children, of whom I was the fifth child. Three brothers, Joshua Thomas, William Henry and John Arthur, and one sister, Nancy Elizabeth, were older than I. One sister Charlotte Ann, and one brother Rufus Wiley, were younger. My father's name was Howell Hastings, my mother's name was Edith Edwards. Father and mother were both born in North Carolina; father in 1905, mother in 1808. They were married in 1826. My two older brothers were born in North Carolina. The rest of us were born in Indiana. The parents, with their two little boys came to Indiana in 1830. They made the entire trip in a one-horse wagon; crossing the c.u.mberland Mountains, and pa.s.sing through the states of Tennessee, Virginia and Kentucky. Of course they had but little in their wagon; a box or two containing their wearing apparel, and a little bedding, and also a little tin box containing just one-hundred dollars in gold coin and a few valuable papers, which was kept, locked and hidden, in one of the larger boxes. This hundred dollars was all the money father had except what he had in his pocket purse, which he supposed would be enough to meet the expenses of the trip.

All went well for about two weeks when a man, traveling on horseback, overtook them, who slackened his gait and traveled along with them, forming an acquaintance. He said to them that he too, was going to the far west (Indiana was called the far west then), to seek his fortune. He was very kind, helpful and generous; and traveled along with them for two days, but, on the third day morning, when father awoke, his fellow traveler was gone. Father and the man had slept under the wagon. Father usually slept in or under the wagon while mother and the little boys would sleep in the house of some family who lived by the road-side. Just as they were ready to start that morning, mother said to father, "Have you looked to see if the tin box is safe?" "No" said father. "Well, you better look," said mother. Father looked among the stuff in the big box where they had kept it, but it was not there. The man had stolen it and all that was in it. The kind family, whose hospitality mother had shared during the night, kept her and her children in their home while father and the husband of the home and an officer of the law spent two days hunting for the thief, but could not find him. So, father and mother had to pursue their journey without their little tin box which was the most valuable of their temporal a.s.sets. A man that steals, should steal no more.

In due time, (1830) father and mother with their two little boys, Thomas and Henry arrived in Lawrence County, Indiana, and settled in the rich valley of the east fork of the White river. Father's oldest brother, Arthur D. Hastings, Sen., had preceded father a few years to the new state, and was ready to greet and a.s.sist his brother to make a new home. Uncle Arthur was one of G.o.d's n.o.blemen, an honest, leading citizen, and devout Christian. He lived on the place he first settled about sixty years, and died there in 1886 at the advanced age of 85 years. Although I had many uncles, Uncle Arthur was the only one I ever saw.

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C H A P T E R T W O

Indiana. The Stars fall. Move. Texas. The flood of 1844. First School. White River's Pocket. No Nimrod. A Fish Story. Clarksburg.

At the time of father's arrival, Indiana was only 14 years old and contained about 300,000 inhabitants. Its capital city's first Mayor was inaugurated two years before I was born and three years after the stars fell.

In 1842 when I was about four years old my parents sold out and moved down the river five or six miles and bought a new, larger and better farm with a large two story hewed log house and a big double log barn, and a good apple orchard. The farming land was bottom and lay along the river. Here we had some sheep and cattle on a few hills and some hogs in the woods, that got fat in the winter on white oak acorns and beech nuts. And here we had a large "sugar orchard" as the Hosiers called it--hard maple trees by the many from which, in the early spring, flowed the sweet sap by the barrels full which we converted into gallons of maple syrup, and into many cakes of maple sugar.

It was while we lived here, when I was six years old, there was the greatest flood, known to me, since the days of Noah. I remember it well. You too, my boys, will never forget the year when I tell you it was the same year, 1844, in which your best earthly friend was born, your mother. But I did not know anything about her until twenty years afterwards.

The flood was great. All the lower lands were under water. Mr.

Greene's, the ferryman, our nearest neighbor's family had to go in a canoe from the door of their kitchen to their smoke house to get meat. All our cattle and hogs were in the stalk fields near the river, and all were drowned, except one large, strong cow which swam more than one half mile, almost in a straight line, and was saved.

We could see the cattle huddled together on a small island knoll away down in the field next to the river. The poor creatures would stand there until the rapidly rising waters would crowd them off the knoll, and then they swam until exhausted and overcome by the great distance, and turbulent waters when they would go down to rise no more. I was the first to see the cow which swam out. Looking down through the orchard where the waters were swimming deep, I saw the end of her nose and the tips of her horns above the water. Slowly she came, almost exhausted. But finally she found footing where she could stand and then the poor creature stood and bawled and bawled for quite a while, and then walked to her young calf which was at the barn on the hillside.

About this time I attended my first school and my teacher was my cousin, Arthur D. Hastings, Jr., who lived to a good old age, and died September 15th, 1906 within a little more than a stone's cast of where he taught. My first and only textbook at school for a year or more was Webster's blue back Spelling book. It had both Spelling and Reading in it. I learned all from end to end. The teacher said I ought to have a reader, so farther bought for me, McGuffey's second reader; as soon as I got hold of it I ran with it to the barn loft and sat down on the hay and read all that was in it before I got up.

The next day the teacher said I ought to have a higher reader, so father bought for me McGuffey's fourth reader, the highest that was, and these two readers were all the readers that I ever read. Grammar was not so easy. My text-book was Smith's. I would start at the first of the book, and get about half through at the end of the term.

This I did for a half dozen years or more. Finally when I started to high school I took up Clark's grammar and finished it.

But, to go back a little, father after the great flood, went down to Texas and bought several hundred acres of land and came back and sold his farm intending to move to Texas, but changed his mind and sold his Texas land for a song in the shape of a beautiful colt. This colt grew into one of the prettiest and best horses your grandfather ever had. But remember it cost hundreds of acres of land which are worth thousands of dollars now. It was like paying too much for your whistle.

If we had gone to Texas, boys, I do not know what might have been but I do know now that you are and that you have one of the best mothers that lives. Often have I heard her pray with tears in her eyes that you and all the boys might be saved from the use of tobacco and strong drink.

Father next turned his attention towards securing a home in the pocket of the White River, which he did by buying a farm in Daviers County on the border of Clark's Prairie and adjoining the village of Clarksburg, which is now the city of Oden. At the time of our removal to Clarksburg I was about nine years old. We liked our new home. At this time Daviers County was a wilderness of brush, trees and swamps, with plenty of wild game,--deer, c.o.o.ns, opossums, squirrels, turkeys, ducks, quails, s...o...b..rds, and of wild fruits, grapes, plums, crab-apples and strawberries. And of fish of all kinds, nearly.

I never was much of a Nimrod. Many times I saw deer, and once when I had a gun upon my shoulder, but I did not take it off. Early one morning a flock of thirty or forty wild turkeys came within a rod or two of the kitchen window, but when we opened the door instead of coming in, they flew away. Some days after that I heard turkeys gobbling in the woods, and I took the gun and went where they were and shot one dead. Happened to hit it in the head. Once I shot a crow and killed it.

One day I shot and killed four or five squirrels. Often I trapped quails and snow birds. The biggest fish I ever saw caught I did not catch. Brother Henry, who was nine years older than I, caught it.

It was a cat-fish, and Henry and a boy named Billy James, who was less than six feet tall, ran a pole through the fish's gills and carried the fish between them suspended from the pole which was rested upon the boys shoulders, and the fish was so long that its tail tipped the ground as the boys walked. Now, this is the biggest fist story I ever tell, except the Jonah story, and I believe both.

We liked Clarksburg because it was a good place for schools, Sunday Schools and churches. I hardly remember the time when I was not in school, Sunday School and church. I think to this day these are good places for boys to be.

My parents were always anxious to have their children in school and made many sacrifices to this end; as a result their five boys all were public school teachers before they were out of their teens.

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C H A P T E R T H R E E

Certificate. School. Tophet. Father's death.

Spirit Rappings.

At the age of seventeen, I sought the county school examiner that I might procure a license to teach. I found him at his school teaching. He had me wait until noon, then we went to the woods close by. It was a warm beautiful day, and the examiner sat on one end of the log and I on the other. Then the questioning commenced. Why he even asked what reading was, and although I had been reading for ten years I could hardly tell. He asked me how far it was from Dan to BeerSheba, and then laughed at me because I did not know. He asked me if I had never heard the phrase "from Dan to BeerSheba." I told him it seemed to me that I did once hear an old preacher say something about a young man named Dan who was handsome and strong, but he got into a pretty dangerous place one time among some lions, but he came out all right, the preacher said, because he would never drink beer or wine or whiskey or anything that would make a man drunk. I do not think the examiner ever heard that story before, so he quit asking such irrelevant questions and got to business, asking about vowels and consonants, and accent and emphasis, curves and loops, Tories and Whigs, order and discipline, etc. etc. until he said that will do, and wrote me out a certificate to teach. That county examiner was my oldest brother, hence the fun. From then on, I was a public school teacher for about 15 years. I stood the test many times in Indiana, Missouri and Kansas, to secure a teacher's certificate, but never failed to get the first grade. Of course, I, in the meantime, spent about three more years at school. My popularity as a successful teacher came at once, even at the first term, so much so that they sent for me to come and teach for them in a place called Tophet. Boys, if you do not know what that means look it up in the dictionary. The place was so bad, that teachers for several years had not been able to teach to the end of the term. The bad boys and girls would run the teacher off. I knew all this. And instead of going with a rod, as other teachers had I went with love and firmness determined to win right in the start the respect and confidence of the big boys and girls. I succeeded.

The first death to occur in my father's family was the death of my father himself. In the early fall of 1854 father's health began to fail. The disease was dropsy. Dr. Sam Elmore, the resident physician of Clarksburg did all he could, faithfully attending father all the fall and winter up to the day of his death. But about one week before death, the doctor requested that we send for Dr.

McDonald, who lived in Newberry, a town about eight miles away. This we did, and Dr McDonald, a skillful and learned physician, came to see father twice that week. The last time was on the day before Christmas. When he left to go home, he requested us to let him know father's condition the next day after noon. The next day was Christmas. Father seemed much better all afternoon. Many friends and neighbors came in to see him. He talked more than usual. The day was a cold, dark, drizzly one. We had no telephones then, so on horse back in the afternoon, through cold and sleet, I made my way to tell the doctor how father was. The errand was not hard for me, because I loved my father and he was better, I thought, and I wanted to tell the doctor. As soon as I entered the doctor's office, I said, "Father is better." The doctor asked me several questions about him which I answered. He then turned to get some medicine and as he turned I saw him shake his head negatively. He gave me a little phial filled with medicine and told me to give father two or three drops every two or three hours and added, "If your father is better in the morning, let me know." I went home with a sadder heart than I had when I came to the doctor's, for I do not think the doctor thought that father was better. And so it proved for when I returned Mother said father had seemed better all afternoon, so much so that his friends, and even my oldest brother and sister, (who were now married, and lived, the one three miles distant, the other one mile), had returned home to take rest.

But now, (it was about dark when I returned) said mother, "he seems to be much worse, you would better go for your brother and sister."

So I went at once the one mile and the three miles, and sister and her husband, Mr. Chas. R. Reyton, went at once and not long afterwards brother and his wife and their two little children and I returned, and we all stood around the bed of death. Father said but little, but finally said to all. "Come near." We did so, and he said, "Good bye, it is but a little distance between me and my eternal home, and I can soon step that off." He closed his eyes and was dead.

It was almost midnight, Christmas day, 1854. He went at the early age of 49 years, 7 months 23 days. I was a little more than sixteen years old. My youngest brother, and the youngest child of the family, Rufus Wiley, was a little over five years old. Youngest sister, Charlotte Ann a little over thirteen.