First, let's look at how she's related to me. I just like knowing the ancestors strings, tangled though they may be.
Sarah Louise (Lou) George Tompkins' mother, Mosley (Molly Ann) Bass George,
b. 17 June 1812 in Perry AL, d. 17 Oct. 1850 Marion, Union Parish, LA
was sister to my great great grandfather...
Col. Richard (Dick) Bass
b.3 Jan 1819, Perry County AL, d. 5 May 1880, Waverly, Walker County TX.
so she was my first cousin three times removed.
This first part of her memoirs covers from her birth in 1842 to the yellow fever epidemic in 1850.
(I will use italics for my comments as Notes)
THE MEMOIRS OF LOUISA GEORGE TOMPKINS
Union Parish, Louisiana Submitted by Chuck Kinnison.Sarah Louise (Lou) George Tompkins Specht
(WRITTEN IN 1926 AT THE AGE OF 84 YEARS) BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION To gratify the insistent desire of children, grandchildren, and friends, I shall begin a book of reminiscences. Some have suggested that an unvarnished life story, if frankly and simply told, might be of interest and help to others. In the careful introspection of my life I realize I have achieved so little; that there is not much to tell. Material for a book, the foundation of which depends on the gleamings from a "child's" life which began more than three-fourths of a century ago, will be mixed with much that is of little interest to anyone but the writer. While unraveling the threads that were used in the woven garment, many knots had to be tied, leaving the blemishes of neglected opportunities. Still, with the many imperfections, I am glad to say there are also happy reflections of the opportunities embraced. The seeming egotism in the book will be pardoned when it is observed that I am trying to give honor to the Great Friend who inspires the hearts of the willing and obedient. PART 1: THE FIRST HOME I was born on a farm near Hamburg, Perry County, Alabama in 1842. Elias George and mother, Ann Bass George, were the parents of nine children,--four sons and five daughters, of whom I was third from the youngest. All lived to maturity, married and raised families, except one brother, "Jeffy" , two years my senior, who at the age of eight years was thrown from a runaway horse. My parents were missionary Baptists, and we were early taught to reverence the name of Jesus, respect the Sabbath day, be kind and charitable to the poor, to servants, and to animals. There was family worship every night before retiring, and my mother would have the servants come in and to join us at such times. We were a happy family because children and servants were taught obedience to those who ruled them. We loved our servants and they loved us. My father, being a slaveholder, had a large plantation on which many supplies for home consumption were raised, such as corn, cotton, potatoes, barley, and peas. The home was a large, rambling two-storied building, and each of the various rooms had a fireplace. But the room that charmed me most was the nursery,--a large room with windows facing southward, overlooking the pasture, and in the springtime there was much interest in the horses and the little lambs as they chased each other and gamboled in the field. Our black mammy Chloe, was installed as guardian and caretaker of the nursery. Its inmates included three children, from one to five years old and two nurse girls, Mariah and Harriet, who were ten and eleven years old. The girls, under the supervision of mammy Chloe, would see to our bathing, dressing, and feeding. When the weather permitted, we were kept out doors in the sunshine and although the girls ran and played with us, our black mammy was ever near and watchful that no harm befell us. It is difficult to make it understood what love we had for Mammy and the girls. This attachment lasted even to old age. Mammy died just a few years (original sheet cut off). I would not have one think that our precious mother neglected her little children under these conditions and surroundings. She had duties devolving upon her, which could not be done by others. There were nine children to clothe and feed. While she had servants who cooked, washed, ironed and sewed, she supervised each department. There were no sewing machines nor ready-made clothing. We were strangers to most of the conveniences in common use today. Even soap and candles were made at the plantation. My father raised everything possible at home and a yearly trip to New Orleans resulted in the equivalent of a carload of provisions, dress goods from England or New England and many other things needed for the plantation. Oranges, apples, dried fruits, and candy were bought by the barrel. How well do I remember the picturesque surroundings of our home. There was a long sloping hill to the rear of the house, at the foot of which was a cold, gushing spring, and directed channels went forth to the house lot, chicken yard, and other needed places. A milk house was built over this spring, the floor of which was laid of large, flat rocks, so arranged that the stream was conducted over a channel two or three inches lower than the floor and wide enough to hold several pans of milk and butter. Our home was surrounded with mocking birds, swamp sparrows, field larks, whip-poor-wills, blue jays, and cardinals. They were never disturbed and consequently, many became quite tame, often feeding with the chickens, geese, ducks, turkeys, and peafowls. The whip-poor-wills could be heard at night in the swamp below, sometimes coming into the garden as though they wanted to serenade us from the branch of an oak tree near the house. I recall an evening twilight when one ventured on the lawn near the house-steps and called lustily " Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will!" and after satisfying himself, he flew to his companions in the swamp and soon the air was filled with their " Whip-poor-will"! and "whip-will, the widow!" Their concert lasted through the night, interrupted occasionally by the deep, sonorous voice of an owl loudly calling, " WHO! WHO! WHO! WHO! WHO! ARE YOU!". The loud laugh of another owl answered, " WAH! WAH! WAH!". I would often lie awake
(original page cut off) of sounds was inharmonious and weird; nevertheless, their singing kept me from being lonely on wakeful nights. I can't leave this subject without taking you to the squabbery, which had to be entered by climbing a stairway into a large room built in the poultry yard. It had hundreds of nests built in the wall. I often went with Mary, the maid to get squabs for breakfast and many were given to the neighbors. Other impressions of this home were the negro quarters which were a half-mile from the house. And there was a summer-house covered with coral and French honeysuckle vines where the mocking birds often built their nests. Also, there were the flowers which grew profusely along the branch and filled the air with their fragrance. These are the memories of my first home.
THE MEMOIRS OF LOUISA GEORGE TOMPKINS PART 2: MIGRATION TO LOUISIANA NOTE: The first page of this chapter is missing. She is evidently describing the wonders of the new country in Louisiana which induced her father to sell his home and migrate to Louisiana in 1848. _____________________contributant (bayous, creeks, and branches) flowing in every direction, with cane breaks and swamps and filled with deer, bear panthers, wolves; all of which helped to enhance the reports previously given him by friends,---to say nothing of the natural growth of several kinds of fruits and nuts. It is needless to say that the dear old home where my mother and father had lived since their marriage and which had been the birthplace of their nine children, was doomed. Also, a beautiful new home near Marion, Alabama was being completed. This was a large, two-story house, quite modern in all its appointments (for that time). The inside work was superior to anything of its kind today; the plastering was very hard and glazed. The parlor and hall were heavily frescoed around the edges of the ceiling, with a large wreath of flowers in the center of each for the chandeliers. My older sisters and brothers were at the age when they needed to be in college, as they had outgrown the country school. To educate them had been the incentive for building in Marion, as it was a residential city of schools and churches.
NOTE:The "beautiful new home near Marion, Alabama" was in Perry County AL, where they had been living. So it was a city home as compared to the plantation.
But to my father, nothing was too great a sacrifice for this "Land of
Paradise" ,---not even the many friends and relatives with their earnest
protests, or his popularity as a minister of the gospel. Nothing could
outweigh his desire to possess a home in this unexplored wilderness---a
venture of toil, self-denial, hardships, and untried experiences. Without
taking it to the Lord in prayer, and seeking divine guidance of Him whom he
served, he straightway sold his valuable plantation and lovely new home at a
sacrifice, and was soon in readiness for the journey by caravan. (bottom of
page of original cut off)parting with life-long friends, one of whom was her favorite sister for whom I was named. She had three sisters who were living in Louisiana, and also her mother, near whom she expected to live. But this pleasure could not compensate for the pain of parting with that precious sister who lived but three months more and whose death was mother's first great sorrow. Early in the spring of 1848, the day for departure arrived. Three or four families decided to cast their lot with us in going west, which at that time was as far distant as is California now. The trip had to be made in private conveyances, drawn by horses and mules, and it would take weeks to reach our destination. Besides this, my father was taking with him 400 Durham cattle which were to be driven by herdsmen. The caravan included about 50 covered wagons, carriages, carry-alls, and buggies. These and the horseback riders assembled at our home, and many friends came to bid us "un bon voyage" . How well do I remember that first day, which to me seemed a gala affair with many more to follow. I was too young (six years) to realize what it meant to those on whom the burden fell, nor what awaited us in the future. The morning was bright and beautiful, and although the sun gladdened the earth, it was unable to penetrate the gloom which hung like a pall of dark foreboding in the hearts of some who reluctantly bade a last farewell to loved ones. My mother rode in a carriage with four of her young children; a brother older and a sister and brother younger than I. The driver' s seat was high in front, and in the style of the period, the nurse's seat was in the rear. This was supplied with a step or foot rest and arms, as with an armchair. The first day being cold and crisp, mother had the driver stop at a store as we passed through Greensborough, and bought us children beautiful wool hoods and each a tin cup, painted red and blue, with " Boy" or " Girl" stamped on it. These were suspended from our necks with ribbons. The caravan necessarily traveled slowly and when we children were tired of riding, mother would let us get out and walk, always attended by the nurse. (Original page bottom cut off). Long before night, the captain, (father) always went ahead to find and arrange for a suitable camp ground where wood and water could be obtained, for provisions also to be made for the cattle as well as the teams of mules and horses. Having found such a place, he would wait for the crowd. The camp ground reached, the overseer of the negroes superintended the location of wagons, tents, and animals. The negroes' tents were grouped by themselves and the white families were in a different location. Each family of negroes had its separate tent; each woman cooking for her own family, while the men got the wood, attended to the feeding and caring for the stock and pitched the tents. There were log fires in front of family tents, and after all were fed and the little children were in bed, the white families would visit each other,---sit around and exchange experiences and jokes till nine or ten o' clock. The negroes would have their social time until the gong sounded for retiring; after which quiet soon reigned, except for the occasional lowing or neighing of an animal. At five o' clock, the gong again sounded and all were up and hustling with preparations to travel. Then at noon, a stop for a couple of hours was made, with rest and lunch for man and beast. We had to cross the Tombigbee River in Alabama which we found to be a half-mile wide from recent rains. It took two or three days to make the crossing, for the cattle had to be ferried across. Upon taking one load, the cattle became frightened and stampeded, and several leaped from the flat-boat and were carried by the swift current down stream, and two or three of these were never recovered. Having surmounted this obstacle, we proceeded on our journey with nothing of importance to note except that one night we camped in a lovely grove of oak trees enclosed with a rail or worm fence. A railroad track ran along the outside of this enclosure, and we were warned not to cross the fence; that a train would pass by very soon. We hadn't waited long when a shrill whistle heralded its approach. We all stopped and gazed at the wonderful monster, as it seemed to me, for in those days, railroads were rare to country people. At last we reached the Mississippi, which we crossed at Vicksburg on a ferry (bottom of original page cut off)
have been indelibly stamped on my
young mind. We finally reached our destination which was a beautiful grove of
oak trees, in the midst of which was an eight-roomed cottage. Also, there was a summer-house covered with coral honeysuckle and woodbine and in the yard there was an abundance of flowers. My father had purchased this farm with 600 acres of improved land and under cultivation, to serve as a temporary home until there were further developments. This home was three miles from Marion, a village in north Louisiana, in Union Parish. It was settled and named for Marion, Alabama by its earliest settlers who had come from that place. THE MEMOIRS OF LOUISA GEORGE TOMPKINS PART 3: THE FIRST YEARS IN LOUISIANA Father had bought 4,000 acres of timbered land within four miles of Marion, which was to be cleared and converted into a plantation,---with cottages for the negroes, a dwelling for the overseer, and with gardens and outhouses. This kept all hands busy for the first year, with only time enough to cultivate the 600 acres of the home place.
Soon after being installed in our new home, my second brother (Frank, 17) and brother Jefferson, 8 years old, started to school in Marion, riding horseback. Coming home one evening, the horse ran away with them; the saddle girth broke, and my younger brother was dashed against a tree. He lived only a few hours. Brother Frank (cousin Onie's father) after lingering between life and death for several days finally survived. This was mother's second deep sorrow. Indeed, to all the family, it was the darkest day we had ever known. In the Fall of that year, a baby girl was born to my oldest brother's wife. On being told that I was its aunt, I rose several degrees in self-importance in the fact that I, six years old, was an aunt. Seeing sister Mat (baby Josephine's mother) tatting, I gave her no rest till she had taught me how to do it and I persevered till I had made about a yard which satisfied me for that time, but I never forgot how, and often used this knowledge along the way of life. It was soon after this that mother taught me to knit. There was a negro girl of my age (daughter of the milkmaid) whom mother was training for a house-servant. She was also taught to knit. Mother would measure off five yards of thread; tie a knot; and when we had finished this task we could play for a half-hour; then she would call us and repeat the task. We would race to be the first to finish and in this way we became rapid knitters. At the age of seven, we could each knit stockings from the beginning to the end without help. Mother would have us knit the winter socks for the negro boys who worked on the farm. The thread was spun at home from wool sheared from the flock of sheep,---a flock of four or five hundred. My father had bought them with the farm also, many hogs. There were numerous milk cows, some of which gave a large bucket of milk twice a day. The next Fall, found that much had been accomplished in clearing and building, and by the time winter had set in, all the negroes were comfortably housed with large fireplaces in their cabins and good beds and plenty of wood. For our family, a temporary dwelling had been built about a mile from the plantation on a high hill with a good spring of water, and to the rear of the house was a branch running in a ravine. In the spring many wild-flowers filled the air with their fragrance. After moving into this newly built forest home, five miles from town, my two oldest sisters, Lizzie, 15 and Sue, 13 attended school in Marion, boarding at the home of mother's brother, Uncle Dick Bass. The carriage was sent for them Friday afternoons, and took them back early Monday mornings. The Spring following, father began to build a residence in Marion, having purchased 25 acres of land with a bold spring and a branch of fresh water flowing from it, which soon ran through the horse-lot and orchard, all of which was prearranged when planning the home surroundings. Our parents were bending every effort to hasten the time when we could move to town and get those old enough into school. But alas! alas! " Man proposes but God disposes." Although our forest home stood on a beautiful hill, with a spring of pure water,---and to all appearances, a most healthful location, we little dreamed that an enemy was lurking in the air, having risen from the low damp marshes and stagnant pools of water which had not been drained; and that the dying vegetation was filling the atmosphere with poisonous germs and these were inoculating almost every member of the family (white and colored) with yellow fever germs. We were all infected about the same time the physicians advised the family's removal to an old and settled place. My grandmother's home was about four miles distant,---and being unoccupied, we moved into it---carrying four sick children on beds in a carry-all. The children were a sister (Jane), my brother Elias, a colored girl my age, and myself. Two of the house servants (Julia, the cook), and Mary, the house maid, were removed to the plantation. The gardener and the milkmaid escaped. These along with two other women from the farm went with the family as house servants and to help nurse the sick. Everyday, mother rode horse-back to visit Julia and Mary to see that they were properly cared for. Physicians attended them daily and every effort was made to save them,---but all in vain. Mother was heart-broken over this sad calamity for they were almost like her own children, and they were devoted to her. The little negro girl my age who was taken to Grandma Bass's place, died a few days later. There were no trained nurses in those days, but the neighbors did everything they could in caring for the sick. In a pioneer country, citizens were dependent upon each other in times of adversity.
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A sad time, and more sickness occurs before recuperation begins for Louisa George, our narrator. This was in 1850.
Tomorrow I'll share a second chapter, but there will be several more about this interesting ancestor's life.
Sharing with Sepia Saturday.
