YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE A Story of LIFE IN TEXAS Written by Himself About Himself New York Chicago Toronto FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY London and Edinburgh Copyright, 1916, by FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY New York: 158 Fifth Avenue Chicago : 125 N. Wabash Ave. Toronto : 25 Richmond St., W. London: 21 Paternoster Square Edinburgh : 100 Princess Street TO MY CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN FOREWORD WHEN I announced to my good friend Cullen Thomas that I was writing an autobiography, he said, " I should think it would be very interest ing — to you!" It has been interesting to me, so I spared him, and it may be, kind reader, that before this recital is done you will wish that I had spared you. Until I wrote this book I had never talked about myself as much as I wanted to. Every time I have sat down with a friend to talk to him six or seven hours about myself, he has butted in to talk about himseli, with the result that I have never until now been allowed to finish the story. Here it is, however, in all it's gorgeous fulness. This volume, while it contains many sentences written in the lighter vein, has at bottom a serious purpose. While I realize that the publication of an autobiography may sug gest that the writer has an unwarranted degree of self-im portance, it is nevertheless true that a faithful recital of the incidents of any life, however humbly lived, cannot fail to be invested with a degree of human interest that will be both inspiring and instructive. While all of this is true, this book would never have been written if it had not been for my desire to record for my children and grandchildren the incidents that follow. I wish my own father, his father, or his father's father, or all three, had written just such a work for me. Another incentive to the publication of this volume has been that of preserving in permanent form the history of a period of our Texas life that is being rapidly obscured, and unless thus chronicled would soon pass from public view. viii FOREWORD I have sought to be true to the history of the era thus trav ersed, and I believe the story will hold more than a passing interest, not only for the people of our own State, but for other minds as well. The greatest purpose of this book is to help other men, and particularly young men, to properly project their lives, and to nobly live them. The story is frankly told, and in its recital I ha^•e sought to point a moral rather than to adorn a tale, and to magnify those high ideals that have conspired to the making of the great men of our country. And now this story, with all its faults, whatever they are, and its excellencies, whatever they may be, is sent out with the hope that above everything it will make for the happiness, prosperity and usefulness of those who shall peruse its pages. Dallas, Texas. J. B. Cranfill. TABLE OF CONTENTS Chapter Page I. Ancestry and Birth i II. Some Recollections of Childhood lo III. Other Recollections of Childhood. ... 19 IV. Down in Gonzales County 29 V. Mv First Book — Bastrop County School Days 42 VI. Some Boyhood Reminiscences 55 VII. " Busting a Broncho " 66 VIII. An Old-Time Country Dance 72 IX. A Boy in Love 80 X. A Hardshell Baptist Foot Washing. . . 89 XI. Concerning My Father 94 XII. The '70's in Bastrop County loi XIII. The Story of a Great Affliction 106 XIV. Nervousness, Nuisances and Noise.... 117 XV. Some Suggestions for Nervous People. . 126 XVI. The Story of a Mob 130 XVII. Closing Scenes in Bastrop County. . . . 134 XVIII. The End of Our Residence in Bastrop County 143 XIX. On the Old Chisholm Beef Trail 147 XX. The Story of a Stampede 154 XXI. In the Hog Creek Country 159 XXII. The Story of My Conversion 164 XXIII. Baptism and Church Membership 173 XXIV. Odds and Ends of Events, 1876 177 XXV. As a Country School Teacher 188 XXVI. School Life at Crawford 198 XXVII. Closing Scenes at Crawford 212 CONTENTS Chapter ^^^^ XXVIII. The Vaughan Murder and Its Con sequences 22 ^ XXIX. The Stull Murder and Its Conse quences 229 XXX. A Backward Look at the Crawford Days 239 XXXI. As a Country Doctor 242 XXXII. My First Patient 247 XXXIII. A Growing Medical Practice 250 XXXIV More About Life at Turnersville 254 XXXV. A New Departure and a Unique Inci dent 260 XXXVI. More About Turnersville 266 XXXVII. Breaking Into Journalism 269 XXXVIII. Odds and Ends of the Life at Turners ville 275 XXXIX. The Trail of the Serpent 279 XL. The Life at Gatesville 285 XLI. More About Gatesville 290 XLII. An Enlarging Field 303 XLIII. Other Incidents in the Life at Gates ville 309 XLIV Odds and Ends of the Life at Gates ville 318 XLV Our First Great Sorrow 322 XLVI. My First Baptist Convention 330 XLVII. Luther Benson 333 XLVIII. Debate With Roger Q. Mills 335 XLIX. The Move to Waco 341 L. Foregleams of a New Career 350 LI. The Beginning of a Great Affliction. .357 LII. On a New Trail 361 LIII. The Story of Four Conventions 365 LIV. Entering Upon Another New Work. . .371 CONTENTS xi Chapter Page LV. As Superintendent of Missions 377 LVI. Ordination to the Ministry 380 LVII. The Death of My Mother 384 LVIII. An Accident and Many Incidents 387 LIX. A Growing Missionary Work 393 LX. Private Business Matters 396 LXI. More About the Mission Work 398 LXII. Another Plunge Into Journalism 402 LXIII. An Eventful Year in Prohibition Work 407 LXIV. Campaigning for the National Prohi bition Party 411 LXV. The Baptist Standard at Waco 418 LXVI. Trying Days for the Standard 422 LXVII. H. J. Chamberlin 426 LXVIII. Some Passing Incidents 434 LXIX. The Beginnings of S. A. Hayden's Assaults 439 LXX. A Lull Between the Storms 442 LXXI. New Blood in the Standard 448 LXXII. The Hayden Litigation 453 LXXIII. Some Details of Literary Work 457 LXXIV As A Sunday School Teacher 460 LXXV. As AN Editor 463 LXXVI. Giving up the Baptist Standard 465 LXXVII. As a Business Man 470 LXX VIII. Two Friends and Their Letters 473 LXXIX. Some Doctors I Have Known 477 LXXX. The Death of My Father 480 LXXXI. As A Church Member 482 LXXXII. George W. Truett's Call to Dallas. . . .487 LXXXIII. Working for Prohibition 488 LXXXIV. R. W. Sears 491 LXXXV. Some Closing Words 494 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Portrait of J. B. Cranfill Frontispiece Dr. Eaton Cranfill, Father of J. B. Cranfill 3 Mrs. Martha Jane (Galloway) Cranfill, Mother of J. B. Cranfill 5 A Familiar Scene in Parker County in 1858 15 Dr. T. E. Cranfill 35 "When Springtime Came the Brands of a Cow Oft Bespoke Three Owners" 37 "Busting a Broncho" 66 A Broncho, and His Way With a Tenderfoot 69 Mrs. Amanda J. WiUiams 72 Mrs. Carrie Snead 78 J. B. Cranfill, When He Loved Sallie 80 A Cowboy, and His Way With a Cow 148 J. B. Cranfill, When He Taught the Crawford School 198 J. B. Cranfill, Tom E. Cranfill and Thomas Mabry Cranfill 250 Mrs. Tom E. (Mai Seay) Cranfill and Children 251 J. B. Cranfill, When Editor of The Gatesville Advance 286 Mrs. J. B. Cranfill 287 Carroll Britton Cranfill 322 J. B. Cranfill and Luther Benson 333 Dr. John O. McReynolds 357 Dr. Dero E. Seay 359 Rev. George W. Truett, Pastor First Baptist Church, Dallas 382 Miss Mabel Cranfill 418 B. H. Carroll 448 C. C. Slaughter 448 J. B. Cranfill, When He Moved to Dallas 450 B. H. Carroll, Jr 46s Rev. E. P. West 466 B. J. Robert 467 Rev. N. A. Scale 468 Dr. and Mrs. R. C. Buckner and Mrs. Westerfield 475 Dr. J. T. Harrington 477 Battle Creek Sanitarium 478 Dr. John H. Kellogg 478 Mrs. Lillian (Cranfill) Lindsey 480 Mrs. Josephine (Cranfill) Richardson and Child 482 R. W. Sears 4pi ANCESTRY AND BIRTH I KNOW very little of my forefathers or foremothers. That I am descended from Adam, I have never had a doubt. Where the genealogical tree branched out and where the line of kinship diverged, I do not know. I am pretty sure that I am also descended from Noah and his bunch. There is Noah to deny it. (Pun No. i.) Whether from Shem, Ham or Japheth, I will not pretend to even sug gest, but until I became a vegetarian I was partial to ham. However, I feel that I am a descendant of Japheth. I have no late photographs of Japheth, but there is a family resem blance between my folks and Japheth's folks. My father's family were English and my mother's Scotch. The Cranfills came to North Carolina before the American Revolution, and so did the Galloways. My mother was a Galloway and my father's mother was a Galloway. My father and mother were third cousins. The tradition in our family is that the name Cranfill was originally Granville. My father's oldest brother, dear Uncle Tom Cranfill, long since, through predestination, in the Home above, (he was a Hardshell Baptist,) detailed to me once a very interesting tradition concerning the name Cranfill. He said we were related to Lord Granville, of England. That is a great credit to Lord Granville. It never bought us anything, even if true, but it was an interesting statement and one I had intended to investigate if I ever visited the Old World. I would like to go up and speak to Lord Granville and ask him if we didn't look like twins. In the event we did, it was my pur- 1 2 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE pose to have him go and show me the family tree and see if we could trace a connection of such an intimate nature as to justify me in asking a loan of sufficient funds on which to return to America, but I have never had a chance to go to England and perhaps never will. If I do not, this question must remain unsettled. Our name came from somewhere and it might just as well have come from Granville as from any other source, and if we are really related to a lord over there, I do not see that it has ever hurt any of us. We are not puffed up over the matter and would not be if we were related to all the lords of England, because I do not believe it would buy us any more to be related to a lord than to a common Englishman of the ordinary garden variety. We know a little more about the Galloway side than we do about the Cranfill side. I had a long talk once with my cousin, the late Bishop Charles B. Galloway, in his home at Jackson, Mississippi, and he told me the Galloways of Amer ica all descended from a Scotchman of that name who came here and turned loose upon an innocent and unsuspecting public seven sons. They scattered to the various parts of the United States, some coming South and some going North. The Galloway from whom my mother was descended went to North Carolina, and the Galloway from whom Bishop Galloway was descended went to Mississippi. They were a very prolific family. My mother's forebears were soldiers in the American Rev olution. I tried some years ago to connect up with them be cause I wanted to join the Daughters of the American Revo lution and be a sure enough somebody, but I found that so many men had become Daughters of the Revolution that the clerks in the Department at Washington had acquired that tired feeling and didn't want any more daughters to come in. There possibly has been organized a D. A. R, Union and nobody can come in now that hasn't a Union card. r)K. .ATox- Ckan-fili,. Fathkr of J. B. Cf ANCESTRY AND BIRTH 3 However that may be, there is no doubt that the original Galloways were Revolutionary soldiers, and I am inclined to think that the Cranfills also were. Both of these families settled in the Yadkin River country in North Carolina near to Daniel Boone. They knew Daniel well, and the tradition in our family is that when Daniel came across from North Carolina to Kentucky, the Cranfills and Galloways came with him. There is a further tradition that either Daniel Boone married a sister of the original American Cranfill, whose name was Jeremiah, or that Jeremiah married Daniel's sis ter, or that they married sisters. I was not present at the time and cannot really testify as to the facts in the case. However, they did come across with Daniel Boone and they settled in various parts of Kentucky. The Boone tradition was so strong in my family that one of my names is Boone. If I had been living then, I am sure Daniel and I would have been boon companions. (No. 2.) The public has never known exactly what my name was, and I might as well tell it here so as to let it fit into the Boone part of the story. My name is James Britton Buchanan Boone Cranfill. When I was a little boy, I found myself burdened with too many initials. It never was called to my attention until I started to writing-school and began to learn how to write. I attended a writing-school that was taught by a man named John L. Pyle, who afterwards became a Baptist minister and missionaried a lot out in the Panhandle country. I have never seen him since I was eight years old, but he was an awfully nice man and I hope he is living now and doing well. When I learned how to sign my name, I went home one night in rather a pathetic frame of mind. I took my mother off to one side, and after hanging a while to her apron strings, I asked her if she would allow me to express myself con cerning the question of my initials. She said she would, whereupon I said as follows : 4 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE " Mother, I cannot be happy in the thought that I will have all my life long to sign four initials to my name, and I want you to let me drop two of the B's so that my name will sim ply be J. B. Cranfill." My mother was a good woman, sympathetic in her nature, tender of heart, loving and kind, and so she kissed me and said if I wanted it that way it should be so. I therefore dropped two of the B's. I do not know whether I dropped the Buchanan-Boone B's, or the Britton-Buchanan B's, or the Britton-Boone B's. I only know that I sign one B to ex press the three names, Britton-Buchanan-Boone. It may be that my name has been Boone all these years. In any case, we were connected with the Boones at that early time and I think a great deal of the memory of Daniel Boone. I read all the story about him when I was a lad and I am glad to believe that my ancestors were friends of his. He was a pretty lusty old chap and did some rather straight rifle shoot ing in the days when rifles and rifle-shooters were scarce and badly needed. I feel pleased that my name was Boone and may yet be Boone. Anyhow, I am somewhat Boone-ish, I know, and it makes me feel good every time I think about it. My mother and home-folks called me " Britton," which was, by vulgarians, abbreviated to " Britt." The latter ap- pelation I detested, just as, later in life, after I became a doctor, I rebelled at being called " Doc." My grandfather's name was John Cranfill and he had six sons. My father was the third son and was named Eaton Cranfill, his grandmother being an Eaton and undoubtedly related to T. T. Eaton, late editor of The Western Recorder. It is altogether probable that I would not mention this fact if T. T. Eaton were now living so he could deny it, but the dear, good man is in heaven and there is no chance for him to say that this part of the biography is incorrect, so I set up the claim to being a kinsman of his. We talked about the Mrs. Martha Janf ( (jal[.owav) Ckakfill. Mother ok J. B. Cranfill. ANCESTRY AND BIRTH 5 matter more than once, and there were times, when he was editor of The Western Recorder and I was editor of The Baptist Standard, that we were perfectly willing to claim kin, but there were other times when he wouldn't for the world have agreed to it, nor would I, so we let it go at that. My father was bom near Paducah, Kentucky, September 26, 1829. My mother was born near Princeton, Kentucky, February 4, 1829. They married when they were about eighteen years of age, and after my oldest sister was born on December 31, 1849, they loaded all their belongings, in cluding the baby, in an ox wagon and started for Texas. This, to my mind, was an awfully brave thing for these young folks to do. In those good days even Kentucky was wild, and the contemplation of coming to Texas and becom ing identified with this new land was one from which the average poverty-stricken youth would have shrunk in terror. My father, however, was not only an enterprising pioneer — he was a brave man. He had in him the best blood that has ever coursed in American veins. Pioneer blood is always the best. So they fared forth on one bright day, driving the ox team down the big road that pointed to the West, with my mother and the baby up on the front seat and the dog trot ting by the tar bucket under the wagon. I do not know all the details of that long journey, but I do know that when they finally landed in Texas, they found themselves at Cal loway, Upshur County, whence my oldest uncle, Tom Cran fill, had already gone. He was pretty well situated there at that time in the pottery business, and a brother of my fath er's mother. Col. C. C. Galloway, was located at Gilmer prac ticing law. I remember very little of Col. Galloway, but he was a man who stood well in his community and made his mark in his profession. Eastern Texas was at that time too slow for my father. There were no Indians down there and no excitement of any kind, and no wide outstretching prairies where he could se- 6 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE cure for himself some rich new land. He staid there but a little while and pushed on out into Western Texas, settling for a short while in Denton County, then going on out fur ther into Parker County,' where another brother, Isom Cran fill, had preceded him. He reached Denton County about 1853, and my brother. Dr. T. E. Cranfill, was born in Den ton County November 17, 1854. Pretty soon he pushed on to Parker County and settled on Dry Creek, near where Whitt now stands and very close to my Uncle Isom's home. At that time, Parker County was a wilderness — an unset tled, wide stretch of prairie and timber with very few settle ments and with the few straggling families living in constant terror of massacre by the Indians, who swept down upon them on every moonlit night. Parker County was organized in 1857. I was born in that county there on Dry Creek, near where Whitt now is, on September 12, 1858. I was very young when I was born and so I do not remember the details of that auspicious incident, but I have heard my mother say that it was on a Sunday morning and that I made my advent into this sublunary sphere on a very beautiful sunshiny day. I am glad of this, because if there is anything in the world that I really and truly despise, it is a sour-visaged, long- faced, dyspeptic misanthrope who is out of joint with him self and all the balance of creation. My mother and father both were Baptists. So far as I know, most of the Cranfills and Galloways have been Bap tists ever since the days of the apostles. I think it is to their credit that they came of such splendid ecclesiastical stock. They were not all missionary Baptists. My father and mother were members of what was then called the United Baptists. These were made up of Baptists, as shown in Spencer's His tory of Kentucky Baptists, that had formed a union between the anti-missionary and missionary Baptists, and churches of this type were constituted in various parts of Kentucky and some even down as far south as Texas. Later on in his ANCESTRY AND BIRTH 7 career, my father became identified with what is known in Southwest Texas as the Primitive Baptists, but they were not at any time the two-seed branch of the Primitive Bap tists. On the contrary, they were men of more than usual intelligence and did a vast amount of good in their chosen fields of labor. My father was really always at heart a mis sionary and so was my mother, and I am proud of the fact that they never at any time went to the great extreme, either theologically or in their views concerning missions and edu cation, that some of them did. Some years before their death, they both became actively identified with the Mis sionary Baptists. I have always been glad that Parker County was organ ized in 1857. It was undoubtedly organized on purpose for my advent. It would have been a most unfortunate cir cumstance if I had been born away out there and not have had a county of some name to have been born in. I rejoice in the fact that Parker County came to the kingdom for such a time as that, and that Weatherford had already become a fort, so that after my coming into the world, my parents could bundle me up any old night and rush into Weatherford with me to save me from being killed by the Indians. I would not have needed to be scalped, because at that period of my career I was as bald as I am now. Between the two extremes, however, I did have some hair, but it is not neces sary now to enter upon a subject so full of harassing rem iniscences. (Another pun.) Speaking of Weatherford and the Indians, I will detail here the reasons why my father subsequently abandoned his residence in Parker County and went back to Upshur County. He despaired of a speedy subjugation of the wil derness. The Indians were frightfully active. They would come down, steal all the horses in the community that they could get their hands on, murder such settlers as were ex posed, and hasten back to their mountain fastnesses farther 8 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE north and west. My father had begun to be prosperous in his affairs, but one day he told my dear Uncle Isom Cranfill that he preferred to go back to a safer post for his family rather than stay in that section, even if he could prosper materially there in a much greater degree than he could down in Eastern Texas. For that reason, he bundled us all up before I could remember about it and took us down into Upshur County, where we resided during the period of the Civil War. It is a sad and painful fact to recite in this Chronicle that twelve years after my birth, in 1870, after we had removed from Upshur to Southwest Texas, my uncle's eldest son, Linn Boyd Cranfill, a youth of fourteen years, was killed by the Indians within a quarter of a mile of where I was born. He had gone out to tether his pony and the Comanche Indians swept down and shot him in sight of his father's and mother's home. It was a frightful blow to us all, but it confirmed my dear father in his conviction that he had done the right thing in taking us back into the older settled portions of the State. My Uncle Isom Cranfill was a good man and prospered in worldly affairs. He strayed off from the original Cran fill faith and joined the Church of the Disciples. He was a very ardent advocate of the teachings of Alexander Camp bell, which he believed profoundly were the teachings of the New Testament. One of the memories I have of his visits to my father at various times is that they would literally talk all night about their religious differences. They loved each other tenderly, and my father believed that my uncle was so far astray that he labored with him as if the whole world depended upon convincing my uncle of the error of his way. They went on that way unto the end, my uncle dying some years ago in a Fort Worth hospital after a serious ANCESTRY AND BIRTH 9 operation, and my father a few years later down at Waco, of which event I will speak subsequently in this chronicle. This set of Cranfill boys were awfully full of fun. They laid traps for each other. They were very active physi cally"; they were men of good mental make-up and each one did his share of the world's work in whatever situation he was placed. I remember to have heard my father relate an incident that occurred when he was a boy in his father's home. It happened one morning that another brother, John Cranfill, who was subsequently killed in the Confederate service, drank the coffee when it was almost boiling hot. His father had not yet sipped his coffee, so my Uncle John turned to his mother and said, " Mother, why on earth have you brought to the table this morning cold coffee ? " My grand father, hearing this remark, supposed that the coffee really was cold, so he took a big sup of it in his mouth and it scalded him quite severely. That was great fun for the boy, but he had to have his fun down at the back of the field, because the old gentleman made for him in double- quick time, and if he had caught Uncle John, he probably would have had to drink all of his coffee and eat his food off the mantel-piece for some weeks following. As the mat ter went, however, he got safely away, and when my grand father got over the first flush of his anger, he laughed heart ily about it and forgave Uncle John when the boys came home at noon. II SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD THE first conscious recollection that I have of any place is of Calloway, in Upshur County. I must have been about two and a half years old when my father landed again in his first Texas home. The first thing that I can remember is that my brother and I were playing with Albert and Luther, Uncle Tom's boys, close to the old clay mill, where my Uncle Tom fashioned the jars and jugs and crocks and other pottery ware. My uncle was a good potter and a very honest one. He made all of his vessels full measure, out of good clay, and was in all respects one of the most conscientious men I ever knew. One of the first things I remember is the death of his little son Ira. I do not remember now what caused Ira's death, but it was deeply impressed upon my mind. The next thing that I remember with any great vividness is an accident that befell me. We lived about three miles from Uncle Tom's, and one of the greatest joys of my early childhood was to go to Uncle Tom's and stay all night. My father let me go one night to spend the night with Uncle Tom's boys. They were early risers and it was in the win ter time. When Albert, the oldest boy, got up next morning to build the fire, I wanted to be very smart, so I got up, too. The live coals had been left in the fireplace, so Albert began by stirring up these live coals. I was not yet fully awake, so I went close to the fireplace, intending to lean up against the jamb. I missed the jamb and fell into the fire. My left hand was plunged directly into the bed of live coals. When lo RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 11 they got me out, I was in an agony of pain. They immedi ately sent for my father, who was a physician. I was born left-handed, but became an ambidexter. At that time, my mother was somewhat grieved over my left-handedness and felt that when I recovered, if I should fully recover from my burn, I would be right-handed, but I was not, because left-handedness is in the brain and not in the hand. It was a long time before I got well. When I found my self entirely recovered, I was still just as left-handed as I was before. I throw right-handed. I use a hammer or a hatchet in my left hand. I use a pen or pencil in my right hand. I use a knife in my left hand. I sleep right-handed, I snore left-handed. I laugh right-handed. I walk left- handed. I ride a horse left-handed and drive an automobile right-handed. I go to church ambidextrously and sing unan imously. By the way, when I used to sing in the choir at Waco, a lady friend of mine said that she loved to see me sing. She never expressed herself as to whether or not she loved to hear me sing. One of the recollections of that period of my childhood was concerning the unfortunate experiences of a Hardshell Baptist preacher by the name of Stringer. He was preach ing at the Stony Point chapel not far from Calloway, and the chapel had as its pulpit the old-fashioned style of boxed- up affair so familiar to the Christians of a former genera tion and so much used even, now in some of the far-off country places. This pulpit, as it proved, was somewhat un steady on its pins. He took his text from that Scripture which says : " Lo, I come in the volume of the book to do thy will, O God ! " All who have ever heard the Hardshell Baptists preach know that they are quite vociferous in their exhortations. I was quite a little boy. I could not have been over three years old, I take it, but I was very earnest and rapt in attention upon what the preacher was saying. I was cuddled up on a bench with my head in my mother's 12 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE lap, but I was not asleep. When the dear old minister reached the climax of his gesticulations and vociferations, he verily yelled out his text, " Lo, I come in the volume of the book ! " and as the word " book " was escaping his lips, the old pulpit took a forward lurch and down came pulpit, preacher, Bible, water pitcher and all. We thought he had " come in the volume of the book " for the last time, but he arose unharmed. He was some what abashed, it is true, but still smiling, and while the inci dent broke up the meeting, it broke none of his bones. At another time, at that same meeting-house, a disaster occurred concerning me. I was reposing in a deacon-like slumber on the little bench that sat right in front of this same pulpit, which had been repaired and steadied, and while I was soundly sleeping, I tumbled off the bench and fell prone upon the floor. This excited the congregation very materially and excited one little boy to the extent that I have never since allowed myself to fall asleep horizontally while the service was in progress. Upshur County is a white-sandy, red-clay, piney-woods, sweet-gum, sasafras-bark country. It has now become quite distinguished as a home for the Elberta peach and other sandy land products, but then the Elberta had never been heard of and all that we grew down in that part of Texas were water-melons, vegetables, corn, cotton and sugar cane. The crop that we grew on our little rented farm consisted chiefly of corn. It was not profitable at that time to grow cotton. The cotton gin had not yet made its advent into those ends of the earth, and the only way that cotton was picked from the seed was with the fingers of women and children — I mean ginned. Of course, we picked the cotton after the same style as cotton is picked in the fields now, but we really and truly picked the cotton off the seed. My mother owned cards, slays and a loom. She was a capable seamstress and made all of our clothing. During RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 13 the time of the Civil War, which was just then beginning, she not only fashioned the clothing from the cloth, but she carded the cotton and spun the thread and then from the thread wove the cloth from which she made our clothes. Many is the time that I have helped her as she used the shuttle and wove the cloth, and I seem now, as I am writ ing down these words, to hear the hum of the old spinning wheel as she marches back and forth on the plain pine lum ber floor, busying herself in spinning the thread that was to make the cloth from which we were to have our new suits of roundabouts and other garments. At that time my mother seemed to me to be an old woman, but as I look back upon it and count the years, I know that she was only thirty-two or three years old. She was a very young woman as we count age these days, although then she was the mother of four children, I being the youngest of the four. It was during this period that I attended my first school. It was taught by my uncle, John Cranfill, who was the best educated one of that family. He had an insatiable thirst for knowledge and by some means had enjoyed better ad vantages in the old Kentucky home than had my father and the older sons. My father was not learned, so far as book knowledge went, but in the high sense of the term he was an educated man. He did not learn to write until he was a grown man, and his ability to read did not come to him until he was almost grown. However, he was a great lover of books and his quest for knowledge abode with him until his last days came. So great was his love of books that he made it a point to buy a book every chance he got. When ever there was a sale in the neighborhood, he always went to the sale and bought the books. It was in that way that he accumulated such a splendid library. It was a kind of " Old Curiosity Shop " of a library, in that there was no co-ordination in the selection of the books, but notwith- 14 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE standing that fact, he accumulated one of the finest libraries known in any country home in Texas in his day. He never learned to cipher or extract the cube root, but he could ex tract more good, common, hard horse sense out of a book than any man you would meet in a day's journey. Uncle John kept a little country school near Calloway be fore he enlisted in the army, and I was the tiniest boy in the school. I remember how loving and kind he was as he taught me my A B C's. I had an old blue back Webster spelling book and he took great pains to induct me into the mysteries of my first school experiences. The school did not last for long, because the call of his country came and he enlisted in the Confederate army. A little later my father went out, too, and between the two went my Uncle Tom, who was the most ardent secessionist in the family. My father was a Union man. He did not believe that we should ever have had a Civil War. He did not agree with Jefferson Davis nor with those hot-heads in the South who felt that the South should secede from the Union. He was a great admirer of Sam Houston, who at that time was the leading citizen of Texas. Sam Houston was a Union man and one of the last acts of his life was to make a speech against secession. So unpopular did he become that he was almost contemned by the men who had fought with him at the battle of San Jacinto and who had afterwards elevated him to the presidency of the Texas Republic. My Uncle Tom was a Jeff Davis man to his heart's core. He went out early and fought long and heartily for the Stars and Bars. My Uncle John went, too, and my father went, but my father went just as many another Southern patriot went, because he could not bear the thought of sep aration from the men he loved and with whom he so long had labored. I do not remember when Uncle John's school broke up, but I know it was the war that broke it up, and I have be- RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 15 fore me now his soldierly form and bearing as he donned his gray Confederate suit and started for the army. My Uncle John was a masterful man in every way. In some ways he was the brightest of the six brothers who fared forth from the old Kentucky home. I have heard rpy father relate an incident which illus trates Uncle John's magnificent sense of humor. As I have hitherto related, my father moved from Kentucky to Up shur County, then from Upshur County to Denton County, from Denton County to Parker County, and from Parker County back to Upshur County. My Uncle John was with him on all these journeys. Old Texans who recall the wan derings of the early settlers will remember how common place it was for them, when they met out on the road, to ask each other many questions. The common salutation was : " What is your name? Where are you from? Where are you going ? What was your name in the old States ? How many children have you ? " etc., etc. As my father and Uncle John and the test were moving back from Parker County to Upshur County, they were met by one of these inquisitive pioneers. He looked at my Uncle John — great, tall, stalwart young fellow that he was — and asked : " Where are you from? " My Uncle John replied : " We are from everywhere else but here, and we are try ing to get away from here just as fas as we can." My Uncle John fought through the war and was killed at the battle of Mansfield, La. It was in one of the very last engagements of the Civil War that my Uncle John received his mortal wound. He lived only a few days and died glory ing in the fact that he had given his life for his country. As I have said before, he was a magnificent looking man. He had but recently married when the war came on, and when he left home, he left his dress suit, his top hat and his 16 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE other fine doings back at home for his wife to keep for him. It was not long after his death before his widow married again. I can never forget the indignation that I felt when I saw her second husband wearing my Uncle John's clothing and his hat. I had for the first time in my life a feeling that I wanted to commit a murder. I was but a little boy. I could not have been more than seven years old, but the mem ory of that man wearing Uncle John's fine clothes and his silk hat lingers with me as one of the pathetic incidents of my child life. My father took sick when he was in the army. The com pany of which he was a member had struck camp near Tyler, in Smith County. The camp was known as Camp Ford. There may be soldiers in Eastern Texas who were members of his company who will remember this old camp. He was so very ill that it was thought he would die, so my mothe! took us four children and after a long and tiresome journey in an ox wagon, we reached the camp where my father was sick. He was suffering from a form of heart trouble. Of course the privations of army life had much to do with his illness, but he was sick besides, and there never was a glad der, happier soldier in the army than my father was when he saw us come into the little tent where he lay prostrate on his bed. We staid in Camp Ford six weeks. That was the only army life experience I ever had. I look back upon it now with tears. I was but six years old, and there were many of the dear, grizzled Confederate soldiers there who had been long from home and whose hearts were hungry for the love and caresses of a little child. Those soldiers liter ally spoiled me to death. They let me ride their horses ; they picked blackberries for me ; they gave me such little delica cies as they could command, and in every way showed me the sweetest, dearest and kindest attention that any little boy ever enjoyed. I remember that during the time we had a RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 17 mock runaway soldier to deal with. I-Ie made out that he was going to desert, and away he went out through the woods, with the other soldiers after him. One of the great big soldiers took me on his back and let me run along with the rest, and such a merry chase we had ! These dear fellows gave me tobacco-stamps and told me it was money; they gave me Confederate bills and told me how very, very valuable they were, and in every way they not only loved and petted me, but they teased me as well. It will not again perhaps become apropos in this chron icle to say a word about our Southern soldiery. To my mind they were the most charming, lovely, courageous men that ever fared forth upon a hopeless quest. They were every inch men to the manner born. They were generous, noble, brave and true, and while many of them fought, as my father did, against their heart convictions, yet they went forth panoplied and ready for the fray to do battle for their country. Stonewall Jackson is my ideal soldier. I venerate Robert E. Lee, but I do not think that any Southern general deserves to outclass Stonewall Jackson. There were, how ever, many Stonewall Jacksons in the private ranks — men who had not had the opportunities of military training at West Point, but men, nevertheless, who had in them all the elements that made Stonewall Jackson great. I love the Southern soldiers. There is not one now of the great South ern army, however old and however bent his frame, but commands my heartiest respect. I love them for the things they loved, and I love them for the things for which they fought. If I had been a grown man then, I would have had exactly the views my father held. I never believed in slavery ; I never believed in secession ; I never believed any great deal in the statesmanship of Jeff Davis, although I doubted not his patriotism nor his honor, and I never be lieved in any of the steps that our Southern leaders took in 18 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE the direction of bringing about the Civil War. I do believe in the memory of the soldiers that are gone and in the goodness and patriotism of the men yet left among us. Ill SOME OTHER RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD 1HAVE not lived in Eastern Texas since we left there January 21, 1866, but I have a tender recollection of our residence there for the five years from 1861 to 1866. I never can forget the sweet gum trees, the sasafras bark, the hickory nuts or the blackberry patches that so charmed our childish hearts. I would give much for a good chew of sweet gum now, and my heart has longed full many a time for a supply of the old scaly-bark hickory nuts that we used to gather in old Upshur County, and sasafras tea was a luxury in war time — a luxury we enjoyed to the full est possible extent. The sasafras roots jutted out from the sides of the guUeys everywhere, and all we had to do was to gather them and scale the bark. We were then ready for the nicest beverage that was available during the time of war. Speaking of the war, I must recite in this connection the courageous manner in which my mother met the trials and tribulations of that unhappy time. We were poor people before the war. My father had studied medicine and was practicing before the war began. He had not accumulated much, but we had our cow, our horses and had gathered together some. little luxuries. The home in which we lived was a rented home, but my father was arranging to buy a home. We owned no slaves. The only negro that we ever had was the one we had when the war broke out, whose name was Till. She was hired from some slave-owner for 19 20 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE an annual rental, but I do not remember the amount that my father paid for her. She staid with us until the war was over and for some years afterwards, but none of our family, so far as I knew, were ever slave-holders at any time. My mother was a devout Christian. When the war be gan, she clung more closely to her Bible and her religion than she had ever done before. There were only five of us in family. Counting the colored woman that we had, there were six. There was no man about the house. Every responsibility for the conduct of the home fell upon my dear, sweet little mother. She was a small woman, never in her life weighing over ninety pounds, but she was a very bundle of energy and determination. Every night during the great war, when my father was away, my dear mother would take the family Bible from the table, would read a chapter to us little ones gathered about her knee and would then bow in family prayer. She carried us up to God, ask ing for His help, for His guidance, for His protecting love and care, and then she would pray for father, who was away, for the armies of the South, for the reign of God's great grace everywhere and for a final triumph of the right. In all the experiences of my child life, and indeed, in all of those of later years, nothing has ever come to bless my soul more graciously than these Scripture readings and these prayers of my sweet mother. She gave us an object lesson in religion that will linger with me to my dying day and will gladden me when my redeemed spirit is with God. Never, in all my wanderings in after years, when I was a wild, reckless, thoughtless Texas cowboy, did I entirely get away from this devotion of my mother. At another time, far later along in my youthful years, when I was out plow ing in the field, I heard a voice but I could not locate the voice, and creeping up a little closer still, I heard her pray ing for me. She called my name, she pleaded with God to RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 21 have mercy upon her boy, to make him a good man, to cause his life to be a blessing to the world. These incidents I am setting down here because I cherish them with a grateful heart, and because I feel that their re cital may be helpful to other mothers and to other sons, and if I may be pardoned a word of preachment as I go on with this chronicle, I exhort mothers who may read what I am here writing down to so live in the presence of their chil dren that those children will look back upon their childhood lives as the happiest period, and richest in sacred memories they can ever have. Even if I had wandered farther still than I ever went in my wild cowboy life, I would never have been able to get away from the impression made upon my young heart when, as a very little child, I knelt in that little family prayer meeting in the old East Texas land. My father was not wounded in the army, but when he returned, his health seemed almost shattered. He had been through some hard campaigns and when the war was over he came back to find that what little he had was gone, and, like the average Confederate soldier, he had to begin his entire life anew. He had his faithful little wife and his brood of children, but beyond that, nothing. However, my father was the thriftiest man I ever knew. I make no ex ceptions. I believe if he had been suddenly let down into the heart of the Desert of Sahara, he would have soon had a good horse, a wagon and other equipment for service. Exactly this happened to him after his return from the Con federate army. He went immediately to work and got to gether two teams — one team of horses and one of oxen. I neglected to tell you that he did bring back home from the army his fine blooded saddle horse. I wonder how that ever happened, but it was true. By some means, he kept his horse all through the war, and when he came back, the horse was in fairly good condition. This was a stock of horses that he secured in Parker County, and he kept that same 22 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE breed of horses unto his dying day. From 1858 to 1903 is a long stretch of years, and yet up to within a year of his death, he owned some of this same blood of horses. When he had gotten his new belongings together, he started forth with his little family to move again. We left Calloway January 21, 1866. The entire state was in an unsettled condition. There were roving bands of soldiers from both armies. The war had turned loose upon this new country many strange and desperate men. . My father had with him one young man friend, whose name I do not now recall. He was a faithful man and my father esteemed him highly. He, together with our own little family and the negro woman, constituted the party. We had the two teams, one a two-horse team and the other of two oxen. The young man rode the fine big horse my father loved so well. My father drove the horse team, and the ox team was driven by turns by the colored woman and my brother. On a certain day as we were entering Leon County, we missed our way. It seemed a strange coincidence that every man and every bunch of men we met seemed to tell us the wrong road. It aroused my father's suspicions. He soon imbibed the idea that these men had been following us and had gotten in ahead of us to throw us off the route so as to rob us of our horses and what little belongings of value we had. Towards evening, my father, in absolute defiance of all the directions of all the men we had met, used his own judgment and again we found ourselves in the main thoroughfare. It was then quite late and it was necessary for us to find a camping place. This we did in a little motte of elm trees where we found an abandoned house that had been used during the Civil War, but now was vacant. My mother found blood on the floor and the walls, and when we went to draw water from the well, our bucket struck something solid. We became afraid that some man had RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 23 been murdered in the house and thrown into the well. These things were discussed at supper, and the incidents of the day, together with the weird surroundings of the place, gen dered a feeling of insecurity. About ten o'clock that night, my father awoke, and I, who was sleeping in the wagon with my father and mother, heard him wake my mother and begin to tell her of his dream. He said he had dreamed that we had been attacked by a band of robbers. He had been able to rout all the rob bers but one very large woman, who withstood all of his assaults. He had cut the muscles in her arms with his bowie knife and had shot her, but nothing he did served to check her advance. With that he awoke. The young man who was journeying with us heard him talking to my mother, but was so far away he could not hear what he said. Being himself aroused, however, he ap proached our wagon and told my father that he had had a very strange dream, whereupon he recited exactly the same dream my father had dreamed. The coincidence was so sensationally suggestive that after a little counsel together, my father and the young man and my mother decided that we would arouse all of the family, harness up our teams and drive on. It was a bright winter night. The moon was full, and in a few minutes every one of us, children, dogs, horses, oxen, men and all, were as wide awake as we ever had been in our whole lives, and we took the road with great eagerness. I never saw oxen travel so. Never did I see horses so alert to get away, and the whole bunch of us seemed rejoiced in the thought of going forward. We trav eled twenty miles before we stopped and struck camp some little while after daylight at a point near Cotton Gin, Free stone County. We never knew whether the robbers came that night or not. If they came, their birds had flown, and whether there was real danger or not, we never knew. In his move, my father was making for Comal County. 24 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE Uncle Charles Galloway had moved to Comal before the Civil War and had settled on York's Creek. He and a num ber of his sons were living there and my father was journey ing to settle near him. We rented land the first year from a man named Davis. The land had not been cultivated dur ing the war. It had grown up in cbckleburs and weeds of various kinds, and rattlesnakes and other reptiles abounded everywhere. I never knew, in all my rattlesnake experi ences, of so many of the genus crotalus as we found in this Comal County farm; but every one of us entered upon the work with zest and earnestness. I was big enough to wield a hoe, and with the negro woman, my brother and my father, we soon had cleaned up enough land on which to plant a crop. We planted it in corn and cotton. Happily, not one of us were bitten by a rattlesnake, but our escapes were almost miraculous. Our negro woman cut off the head of a rattlesnake and the snake, head and all, was dead. She picked up the snake's head to look at it, and by some means became inoculated with a slight amount of the virus. It took very prompt attention on my father's part to save her Hfe. York's Creek was about equidistant from San Marcos and New Braunfels, being about eight miles from each point. My father did most of his trading at the latter point, but fre quently went to San Marcos. As soon as the crop was pitched, he replenished his stock of medicines and let it be known that there was a doctor in that section of the county. He soon began to establish a medical practice in connection with his farming operations, and so, on the whole, it was not a disastrous year for us. We made fairly good crops, both of corn and cotton, and inasmuch as cotton was 25 cents a pound, we sold it to good advantage and found ourselves, in the fall of the year, much better off than we were at the beginning. Comal County is a prickly pear county. That is what we RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 25 called them, though now they are called cactus. It had been a very hard time for the cattle. There had been no proven der made in several years and so the old time Texans util ized the cacti as feed for their cattle. I was one of the boys that helped to do it. We cut bunches of cacti down even with the ground, built bonfires of mesquite twigs and bushes, and after having pierced the prickly pear with pitch forks, we burned the thorns off and gave it to the cattle. They ate it voraciously and it undoubtedly saved the lives of thousands of head of stock. Mr. Davis, our landlord, had a boy named Billy. He was my playmate, but he was four or five years older than I. He was a big enough boy to do a man's work, but I was not. I loved play with all my heart and the great game that we had in those days was mumble-peg. It was played by throw ing a knife into prickly pear leaves. The knife would stick in the prickly pear, if it was correctly thrown, and after the game was played, the boy that lost had to " root the peg." The peg was a little stick sharpened to a point and driven in the ground. The boy that was victorious had a right to drive the peg. He could strike it two strokes with his knife handle with his eyes open and had to strike the last stroke with his eyes shut. Sometimes the peg was driven down into the dirt and the boy had to grabble in the dirt in order to get it up, which he did by pulling it up with his teeth. One day, when Billy and I were finishing a game of mum ble-peg, Billy's father, who had set the young man to a much more important task and had thus found him " playing hookey " from his work, said to him : " Ah ! And here you are again playing mumble-peg. It seems to me that your highest ambition in life will always be that of mumbling the peg." And the father's sad prognostication came true. That fall my father moved again. If he had remained in any one place in Texas where he originally settled, he would have become a man of wealth. As it was, he lost so much in 26 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE moving that he was never able to accumulate any great amount of money or property. This time we moved down into the edge of Gonzales County close to where it joins Caldwell. The point was within three miles of where Luling now stands. At that time no railway had been projected through that part of Texas. The nearest railway point was Columbus, about one hundred miles away. In that section were some old-time Kentucky friends of my father. There were Henry Scoggins and Henry Wade and old Uncle Billy Wade and Mrs. Zillah Hale, who was the widowed daugh ter of Uncle Billy Wade. All of these he had known in his old Kentucky home, and I think that is one reason why he moved down into that section of Texas. There are some memories of Comal County that I shall always cherish. The farm we tended that year was on the old San Antonio road. This was the great thoroughfare between Nacogdoches and the boundless West. It was the road over which the Texas troops journeyed when they went to their immolation in the Alamo. Along this road was the great frontier telegraph line that stretched from the East to San Antonio and beyond. There comes down to us a story from those frontier times that may be of interest to thfe reader. Tom Ochiltree was a remarkable character. He was born in Eastern Texas, but belonged to all Texas and was withal a thorough cosmopolitan. At one time Ochiltree was a re porter on The Galveston News. He went out West to give the details of a feud in which a number of lives had been sacrificed. Telegraph tolls were ten cents a word. When Ochiltree reached the end of the telegraph line, he found the following message from The News: " Wire us the facts. We will get up the embellishments in the office." Whereupon Ochiltree at once fired this answer back at them: RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 27 " Go to the devil 1 I will furnish the embellishments and you can get up the facts in the office." I do not vouch for the authenticity of this story, but I remember the old frontier telegraph line under which I lounged on many a summer day, as I listened to its wierd music while the messages were carrying their news of cheer and tragedy. It was in Comal County that my mother taught me to read. I still had the blue back Webster speller and we bought a new McGuffey's First Reader. The First Reader of that period was fully as elaborate and as difficult as the Second or Third Reader of school book lore is now. I went into books like a fish goes into water, and found no difficulty in mastering the arts of reading, writing and spelling. I cannot remember when I learned to punctuate or capitalize. I absorbed this knowledge from the books I read. When I reached composition and rhetoric, I found that I had already known the very rudiments they taught. Education in those good old text books was of a better quality than the training our children are receiving now. While the text books were a little more difficult, their work amounted to much more than the school work of the present time. I am impressed with the fact that the average graduate of our colleges of today is sadly lacking in the very rudiments my mother taught me. It was not difficult for me to understand punctuation, capitalization and spelling, and in this fact was a prophecy of my future years. Newspaper men are born. Like poets, they come into the world without any heralding and with instincts and intuitions that fit them for their chosen task. God makes them and in the highest sense equips them for their life estate. It was not long before I mastered, "Twinkle, twinkle, lit- 28 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE tie star," and all those grand old poems and stories with the morals that dear old McGuffey gave to us, and I went on through the spelling book clear into the reading part where the old man was chunking the boy out of the apple tree with clods, along there somewhere with " Old Tray " that fell into bad company, and so there began the ground-work of such intellectual culture as I afterwards achieved. IV DOWN IN GONZALES COUNTY WHEN my father reached the new field of opera tion, he found his old friends a great help to him in establishing a medical practice. He did not at tempt to farm when he reached Gonzales County. We only had a small field there. He branched out into growing sheep, cattle and horses, but gave most of his time to the practice of medicine. There was much sickness and the people had begun again to be prosperous. United States currency was of little value. Confederate money was all dead, hence most accounts were paid in gold. Cotton was 25 cents a pound and even the negroes were fortunate in making excellent crops. Father had a large medical practice and was away from home most of the day and night. He was a magnificent collector and people somehow loved to pay him what they owed him. His professional earnings were placed in shot- sacks and kept very secretly. Upon one occasion, when mother and father wanted to know exactly how much money they had, they asked all of the children to leave the one room in which we lived, so that they could attend to some private matters of their own. I was curious to know what these matters were, so I peeped through a hole in the wall where a chink had fallen out and saw them counting the gold. How much they had, I do not know, but when we got down into Bastrop County, dur ing Christmas week of 1868, less than two years from that time, father had sufficient funds with which to buy a modest farm. 29 30 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE One of father's best friends was Henry Scoggins. He was a gambler and a whiskey drinker, yet a man of big- heartedness and generous to a fault to his friends. He was a fighter and a man who in gentler times would have been called a desperado. He carried his weapons all the time, as all the Texans in that time did, and was ready at a moment's notice to either shoot or be shot. During our stay in Gon zales County, he was shot all to pieces once and knocked in the head another time, and he cut the throat of a man at another time. One night, when we were all in bed, a man galloped up to our gate and called for father. We soon learned that it was Jim Scoggins, old man Henry Scoggins' grown-up son. We were all alert in a moment and I heard him say to father : " Pa and I have just been in a big fight over at Johnson's store and I have killed old man Sorrells." We all felt very sorry for him. He did not have a penny in money, but he was riding a splendid horse and of course was making his way into some distant county. Father loaned him some money and he went on his way. We rejoiced next day to find that old man Sorrells was not dead. Young Jim Scoggins thought he had cut his throat, but instead he had simply cut deeply around the back of his neck, severing some muscles and ligaments but penetrating no main veins or ar teries. The whole thing came about through a row between Henry Scoggins and old man Sorrells. They had been drink ing and gambling together and old man Sorrells was about to kill Henry Scoggins when the son Jim got into the fight, with the result I have stated. At another time, at a horse race that Henry Scoggins was conducting, he got into a difficulty with the man on the other side and the man quickly drew his gun to shoot him. Scog gins darted under his horse's neck and the man fired. He shot only one time, but he gave Scoggins six distinct and DOWN IN GONZALES COUNTY 31 separate wounds. He was all doubled and twisted up under the horse's neck and that bullet did more execution, not to kill him, than any bullet of which I ever knew. It was hard work for my father, with all the care that he could give him, to bring his old friend through, but he entirely recov ered and was none the worse for his dangerous experience. In many respects Henry Scoggins was a remarkable char acter. He became a widower and courted Mrs. Zillah Hale. They had known each other in their childhood in Kentucky, and now they were each alone. Mrs. Hale was the most beautiful woman I ever saw in my boyhood. She was of the Grecian type and a typical Kentucky beauty. Henry Scoggins besieged her to marry him. She was perfectly aware of all his bad habits and refused to marry him. He kept on courting her. She kept on refusing him. He made love to her as arduously and as steadily as any young swain would have done, always with the result that he came away with the mitten. He was quite profane. One day, after Mrs. Hale had refused five times to marry him, he went again to see her. He felt quite indignant on account of the way she had treated him. Going into her house and seating himself, he turned to her and said : " Zillah, I want to know what in the you mean by refusing so often to marry me." In her sweet, gentle way she replied : " I mean to marry you the next time you ask me." That settled it. He asked her again, was accepted and they soon were married. It was, however, not a happy mar riage, because as long as the old man lived he kept up his wild and reckless ways and led her quite an unhappy life. Father was still of a roving dispostion. No sooner had he become thoroughly prosperous in Gonzales County than he decided that he would move some fifty miles further south and settle in the edge of Bastrop County. He had ac quired no land in Gonzales County, but had made a splendid 32 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE new start in life and was well equipped for taking up his profession and for making a sane and sensible land invest ment when we reached Bastrop County. One point in the move was that in going to Bastrop County we approached forty or fifty miles nearer to the market. The Southern Pacific Railway still had as its ter minal point the town of Columbus, and this was our railroad point almost all the time we lived in Bastrop and Gonzales' Counties. During our stay in Gonzales County, father abandoned the old-fashioned wagon we had, which was a wooden axle with linch pins and the tar bucket hanging on the coupling pole, and bought what he called a " thimble-skein " wagon over at Belmont, some twelve miles away. I went with him to buy the wagon, and my father paid the $125 for it in gold. It was not of the beautifully painted type that we see nowadays, having been manufactured in a local shop, but it was an iron axle wagon that we greased with axle grease. The purchase of this wagon marked a distinct advance in our fortunes. It was very useful in marketing such products as we grew, and it also elevated us very considerably in the scale of respectability. The man that could afford a " thim ble-skein " wagon that was greased with axle grease was in many respects a bloated aristocrat, and while father was never puffed up on account of any prosperity that came to him, I did notice that he sat a little straighter in his saddle after that. It was Christmas week of 1868 when we moved from Gonzales down into Bastrop County. We almost paralleled the lines of the two counties on our way south, so that when we reached our final destination in the edge of Bastrop County, we were still only a mile or two from its intersec tion with Gonzales County. While we had shifted our loca tion some forty miles, we had not very considerably changed if we went by the geography. DOWN IN GONZALES COUNTY 33 I entered school at Plarris Chapel when we lived in Gon zales County. This school was taught by Miss Lou Scog gins, the very amiable and cultured daughter of Henry Scog gins. She was a most lovely woman and I loved her dearly. Hers was the first " really and truly " school that I ever at tended. Meantime I had been to the writing school taught by Mr. Pyle, but Miss Scoggins kept a sure enough school. The first day I was in that school, I was placed in a spelling class of girls. There were nine of them. I started in at the foot. During the day, when Miss Lou was giving out a spelling lesson, she began at the head of the class and gave out the word " major." They all missed the word. I spelled it correctly, went head and stood head of the class all of the time until I was promoted to another class. I was not a beautiful boy to look upon. I was barefooted, my hair was long, I was still wearing homespun clothes, and when I first entered that school, many of the pupils in better circumstances looked at me askance. When, however, I showed them that I could spell and could walk along with them in the quest of knowledge, they ever after treated me with the most cordial respect. Another experience in the old Gonzales County home will never be forgotten. We lived a little way from the beautiful San Marcos River. This is one of the prettiest streams in the world. It bursts out of the mountain side at San Mar cos, a river at its birth, and it is beautiful, clear and spark ling from its source to its mouth. It was in this crystal stream that I learned to swim, and in its waters I came very near being drowned. Had it not been for Billy Hale, my dear, good boyhood friend, I would have sunk in the waters to rise no more. As I was sinking for the third time, he reached me and carried me to shore. I have seen him many times since we were both grown, and I love and cherish him as I do one next of kin. Another incident in our Gonzales County life lingers with 34 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE me as I write. One day I was playing with Linn Echols, a grandson of old Uncle Johnnie Echols, when another one of the children ran out and said to Linn: " Your grandfather is dead." Linn jumped up, and with a radiant expression on his face, said : " Well, I'm going to have his knife ! " That was in a remote place, " far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife," but wrapped in the little playmate with whom I played that day was as large an endowment of human nature as you will find in the gamblers of Wall Street. Pie must, in his way, have loved his grandfather, but when he learned the old man was gone, the first thing of which he thought was how he would profit through the dear grandfather's death. It was in Gonzales County in the winter of 1866 that I first learned the meaning of those numerals. Some one had written them quite large on our barn door. They attracted my attention. While I had learned how to read and spell, I had not learned anything of figures. I finally went to my mother one day and asked her what these figures meant. She explained what the numerals signified. Her tender, kind and loving recital of our Saviour's birth and of all those gracious stories about His childhood and His life, which she delighted to relate, made an impression upon me that lingers with me still and will until my dying day. About this time, I had my first pair of red top boots. I never had before enjoyed the luxury of wearing boots. My father bought my brother and me each a pair and we were two of the happiest boys in Gonzales County. I did not keep mine long. Soon after they were given us, my brother and I, while playing down by the well, became involved in an argument. I was impetuous and somewhat intolerant, par ticularly regarding my brother, whereas on the other hand he was very gentle, patient and kind with me. He was four Dr. T. K. Cranfill, Only Brother of J. B. Cranfill. DOWN IN GONZALES COUNTY 35 years older and had been taught that he must be very care ful not to run over his little brother. I was the baby of the family and spoiled. My mother petted me and my father indulged me more than he would have been willing to con fess, so on this, as on other occasions, I tried to run it over my brother and soon became quite heated in the argument. Anger followed heat. We had pulled off our boots to wade, and so, when the real quarrel began, the handiest weapon was one of my boots. I threw it at my brother. He dex terously dodged it and it went into the well. That was the last of my red top boots. If I could then have taken the lesson seriously to heart, it would have saved me many pains and penalties in after years. When my boot fell into the well, all my anger was gone and I burst into tears. My brother, with whom I had been in such heated argument before, ran to me and took me in his arms to console me for the loss of this belonging that I so dearly loved, but the boot was gone, though the dear brother whom I had so earnestly tried to punish remained and was a consolation and help to me through many event ful years, as he is today. Bastrop and Gonzales were cattle counties. The cattle industry took its rise in those and adjoining counties. De- Witt and Bexar were also noted for their wealth of cattle, but none of them excelled Gonzales County in the output of cattle in the decade that followed. It was not counted theft for a man to brand any unmarked yearling that he found out on the range. So well was this established that unprincipled men presumed upon the cus tom and stole cattle that had been branded. Great abuses arose, and many is the time that my dear father was vexed beyond endurance from the fact that these cow thieves stole his cattle. It will be remembered that the word " maverick," now a good dictionary term, grew out of the post-bellum cattle industry. The man from whose name this 36 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE term arose was Sam Maverick, of San Antonio. He was a great cattle man and afterwards became a distinguished business man. He had, during the war, allowed his cattle to run wild, so that when the war closed he went on the range to gather them up again. Many of them were un- branded. They had received no attention during the four or five years of civil strife, and Mr. Maverick thought it en tirely legitimate for him to appropriate any unbranded cattle that he found. He assumed that all of these were his. Other men took up the same plan, and so it was a scramble be tween these new cattle men as to who could appropriate most of the unbranded calves and yearlings. Indeed, some of the unbranded cattle in the first stages of the Southwest Texas cattle industry were four and five years old. Mr. Maverick was more of an adept in coralling the unbranded cattle and they were called mavericks. Father was out of sympathy with the whole plan, and denounced it as cow- stealing. It rendered him quite unpopular among the cattle men. I wonder how he ever got through alive. He was out riding at night very much of his time, covering wide stretches of country, and he, at all times, expressed himself openly concerning this kind of cattle operations. He taught my brother and me that we should never, at any time, dare to drive in an unbranded calf or yearling unless we knew posi tively it was ours. He was scrupulously honest, and I re joice in the heritage he gave me of an unsullied name. But the cattle business waxed great. The seasons were excellent, the range was magnificent and the cattle men in dustrious. From the first of our experiences in Bastrop County, it became my most cherished ambition to be a cow boy. I knew many of the young boys who were going up the beef trail and it was hard for me to wait until I would be large enough to take my place with them and follow the slow moving herd to the Kansas and Nebraska markets up the old Chisholm beef trail. How I loved to think of \ Nf^ 1 1^ I ,ln.( I |i 1 ''I , M 1= DOWN IN GONZALES COUNTY 37 such splendid herd bosses as Gladney McVeay, Ell Barnard and men of their type; and "Nick" Miller, who was the baron of that part of Gonzales County, was my ideal of a great and successful man. When he returned from the army, he was as poor as the rest of his neighbors, but was a man of a far vision. After the inauguration of the Mav erick round-up, he was quickly in the thick of the campaign. He was not only an expert on his own account, but he em ployed such splendid cattle men as Gladney McVeay, Ell Barnard, John Greenhaw and others of like type who gravi tated to Mr. Miller as the steel filing gravitates to the mag net. Within a few years Nick Miller was the richest man in Gonzales County. The cowboys began to round up the cattle sometimes as early as the middle of February. The cattle were thin from the deprivations of the winter, but when grass " rose " they soon picked up in flesh, and as they were gathered they were put in herds and kept on the range so that they might in crease in weight and improve in condition ready for the trail. When a herd would be gathered, it was necessary to brand all of the herd with what was called the " road brand " — a brand that would be common to all the cattle that were to be driven. Every cow man had his own peculiar road brand, and this road brand was put on the cattle's left jaw. The cattle would be driven into pens and these pens would nar row into chutes. When a chute would be filled with cattle, the rear gate would be closed and the cowboys would walk along on the fence on each side and put on the road brand. Other cowboys would be busy heating the branding irons. Hundreds of cattle could be thus road-branded in a day. A herd of cattle was not a fixed quantity. It would range all the way from 1500 to 15,000 head. The ideal size, how ever, was 1500, and when this number would be gathered, duly road-branded and the outfit organized, the herd would start up the trail on its long journey for the Western cattle 38 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE market. The old Chisholm beef trail ran by way of Austin, Round Rock, Georgetown, Belton, Comanche Springs, Craw ford, Valley Mills, and on up through Fort Worth to the Indian Territory and from there into Kansas. The great cattle market of that period was Abilene, Kansas, and later on it was rivaled by Omaha, Nebraska. The cattle industry bore an important relation to all other lines of endeavor. Not much was being done as early as 1868 on the farm. Three years had elapsed since the close of the Civil War, but the farmers of Southwest Texas had not fully pulled themselves together for their farming opera tions. The average settler combined his stock raising with his farming, and that is what my father did. Part of his farm was prairie and part sandy land. We settled near Hallmark's Prairie, at a point about equidistant from Gonzales, Bastrop, Lockhart and LaGrange. The four counties of which these were the county sites cornered near my father's farm. We lived on the main thoroughfares from Lockhart to LaGrange and from Bastrop to Gonzales. Later on, the postoffice known as Jeddo was established near my father's house, but when we moved to this new home, the nearest postoffice was Hopkinsville, Gonzales County, five miles away. The next nearest postoffice was Cistern, Fayette County, otherwise called Cockrell's Hill. Our market was Columbus, fifty miles away. There were stores nearer to us. A few years after we moved there, a store was established at Jeddo. Meantime we marketed at Hopkinsville or Cockrell's Hill, and for larger purchases we went either to Gonzales or Bastrop. The rate of freight for hauling from Columbus to our point was $1.00 a hundred and the chief freight hauler was Daniel John son. He had two boys, George and Daniel, and these were our nearest neighbors and closest friends. Daniel Johnson kept his wagon busy all the time hauling produce, such as corn and cotton, down to the market and bringing DOWN IN GONZALES COUNTY 39 back such freight as was needed for the neighbors and the store-keepers. That was not a wheat country and is not to day. Flour was very scarce and the price was $12 a barrel. I do not think that we ever saw a biscuit in that part of the country until Uncle Daniel one time brought some flour back from Columbus. The man who could buy a barrel of flour was a very distinguished citizen. The only man then who dared to invest such a startlingly large amount in flour was Daniel Johnson and he made the money by freighting, so it did not come hard for him. We grew our own corn, our melons, our vegetables and had some fruit, but flour bread was a treasure to be remembered forever and ever. I never shall forget how eager I used to be to go to stay all night with the Johnson boys in the hope that their mother would cook biscuit bread for breakfast, which she often did, especially on Sunday mornings. The story goes that during this period a boy once found a biscuit. Never having seen one, he thought it was a terra pin and built a fire on its back to make it crawl. Great was his surprise when this terrapin literally allowed itself to be baked and baked again, and never would crawl. Later on he found out what the biscuit was. The schools were few and poor. The school that we first attended was one taught by a one-armed minister by the name of Johnson, now long since in Heaven. He was a good man, but all were in dread of his tremendously muscular left arm. Our schooling was fragmentary. We would get as much as two months of schooling, perhaps, in the sum mer time, and then after crops were gathered, which usually was about November 15, we would get some schooling be tween that and corn planting time. Father's plan was to begin corn planting on February 14, unless it fell on Sun day, his theory being that the early corn, if it hit, made a splendid crop, whereas the late corn usually suffered from drought and turned out poorly. It thus fell out that the 40 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE best we could possibly do in the matter of schooling would be to get from three to four months in the year. Sometimes extra things would intervene to keep us at home, and it was thus that our schooling came in a way to do us the least pos sible good. I do not lay any of this at the door of my dear father. Other farmers and stock raisers in the neighborhood kept their boys in the field and out with the cattle all the time. The schools were very small and it was only the fewest num ber of boys who were allowed to attend. Things were down to bedrock. Times were strenuous and hard, and the boy who could earn anything whatever was needed at the plow or in rounding up the cattle. My father believed profoundly in education. He did the very best for us that could be done with the means at his command, and I cherish the memory of his loving kindness with a grateful heart. We had never heard of colleges and knew nothing of the great wide world of learning. It was a Godsend to us to have the little school ing that came our way, and in that schooling we laid the foundation for those literary and mental achievements which became ours in after years. We had to economize at every point. Brother and I helped in buying our books. After we became larger and were able to handle ourselves well, we often would look out for some dead cow as we went on our ponies to school, and finding one, we would stop, take off the hide, throw it across a neighbor's fence and bring it home with us in the afternoon. The matter of saving cow hides was a corollary industry of the other branches of the cattle business. The hide was worth nearly as much as the cow. Cattle were very cheap. Beef was worth nothing, and the cattle, even when driven to the Western market, brought such small prices that it was hardly worth while to drive them. During the winter months, many of the cows would become thin and would get down " on the lift," so that it was simply a question of a DOWN IN GONZALES COUNTY 41 short time when they would be found dead. After they died, it was by general consent everybody's prerogative to skin the cows and thus save the hides. My brother and I would ply this branch of the industry on our own account as best we could. This was done with father's approval. The plan was marred by manifold abuses. I recall one thief who did much to bring this sensible plan into disrepute. He would not wait for the poor " on-the-lift " cattle to die. He would drive a nail into the cow's brain just behind the horns and then would have a dead cow to skin. Another industry arose somewhat later which was unique. I never knew of its repetition elsewhere. Cattle were very cheap and hides were valuable. Hogs were also valuable. Pork sold for many times the price of beef. Men established " slaughter houses." They would buy cattle, drive them to these slaugh ter houses, kill them, take off their hides, prepare the hides for market and feed the flesh to the hogs. This industry did not long survive, because the price of cattle increased and the price of hogs declined. It furnished opportunity for many a cow thief to take his neighbor's cows, slaughter them and hide the evidence of his crime. V MY FIRST BOOK— BASTROP COUNTY SCHOOL DAYS FATHER was very kind to brother and me. When we would be particularly industrious in our own crops, gather them quickly and get them ready for market, he would allow us to help our neighbors and thus make money for ourselves. I picked 125 pounds of cotton, for which a neighbor paid me $1.25. With this money I bought a book entitled, " How' to Read Character." I had become interested in this subject through reading the article on phrenology in " Chambers' Encyclopedia," which my father had bought at one of the numerous sales he at tended. In the earlier days of Texas, the settlers were no madic. Wagons were poor and scarce. The average settler was not able to afford more than one or two wagons and teams. When moving time came, the family who were going to move gave out that they were leaving soon and would sell at public outcry such of their belongings as they could not take with them. It was my father's custom to attend these sales and buy the books. In this way he acquired a regular " Joseph's coat " of a library, but it contained very many valuable works. Among them was " Chambers' Encyclo pedia," and in this volume was the article on phrenology to which I have referred. Later Daniel C. Bellows, a phrenologist, came to our neighborhood lecturing. He was an expert reader of char acter, was well versed in literary lore and was a born actor. He read beautifully. There was an explanation for his being 42 BASTROP COUNTY SCHOOL DAYS 43 so far from the centers of influence and culture. He was a drunkard. Every time he got a little money ahead, he went on a spree until his money was gone. He would then go out lecturing again to earn more money with which to get more whiskey. He visited us in a lucid moment and lectured on phrenology at the little Hardshell Baptist church house. One of the methods he adopted in his character reading was to call each evening for volunteers to come forward for free phrenological examinations. He would blindfold himself so that everyone would know there could possibly be no col lusion between him and the examinee. One evening the vil lage blacksmith. Uncle Asa Bellamy, went forward. He was the senior deacon of the Hardshell Baptist church, of which my father and mother were members. A good man, but as thoroughly a Hardshell and non-progressive as could be found in Texas. When Uncle Asa came to the front Dr. Bellows had no more idea who the man before him was than he would have had if he had met him in Central Africa. The first thing he said after putting his hands on Uncle Asa's head was this : " This man would rather go to hell a Hardshell Baptist than to Heaven anything else in the world." That settled it. Ever after that, during Dr. Bellows' sojourn there he was a masterful man. He did much busi ness. He examined all of our heads, agreed to write charts for us and did so much work for us that my father sold him a good horse and saddle. He did not pay in full for the horse and saddle. He was going to send the money back from his next engagement, which, of course, he never did. Thus my interest in the subject of phrenology was inten sified. After having read the article in " Chambers' Ency clopedia," I was naturally greatly interested in the lectures of Dr. Bellows. I was then about twelve years old. When I received my book, I took it out to the field with me, reading at the noon hour and reading again and again as my mule 44 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE would turn at the end of the row. It was not long before I knew it by heart, and I soon began the examination of the crania of different animals. I gathered a great collection of the skulls of cats, dogs, rabbits and other animals, both of the smaller and the larger type, and now and then would get one of my neighbor boys off to one side and feel his bumps. Phrenology has always been to me a very engaging study. I believe there is much in it, but there have been so many charlatans and frauds who have practiced it that the science has been brought greatly into disrepute. That there is a science in it, I have never had a doubt. I know, of course, that such eminent physiologists as Dalton and others have inveighed greatly against it, and I think that perhaps no standard work on physiology of today admits that phrenol ogy is what it claims. At the same time, after I studied and practiced medicine and after I made still further investiga tions of the subject, I believed in it. I will return to the question of our school books and school days. Before doing this,, however, I must refer to what I regarded as one of my father's great weaknesses. He sold the traveling phrenologist a horse and saddle largely on credit and never heard of him again. He was in this way victimized by more frauds than any intelligent man I ever knew. I have had my own day along the same line and am having it yet. Often I am reminded of my dear father, be cause any one who will come and tell me a pitiful story and put some new twist to it can appeal to my sympathies and get me to help him. Crying always gets me. I have helped more unworthy tramps, drunkards and professed unfortun ates than any man of my years that I now know of, but I am really not to be classed with my dear father along this line. He would help any poor straggler, no matter what kind of a story he told. Once a very sick man came to my father's house and ap pealed for medical attention. We took him into the house. BASTROP COUNTY SCHOOL DAYS 45 gave him a bed on which to sleep, gave him medicine, gave him food, waited on him like he was a brother and kept him with us for six or eight weeks until he was entirely recov ered. On one fair night, when my father was out on his rounds practicing medicine, the scamp stole one of his best horses and left for parts unknown. We never saw the man nor heard of the horse afterwards. At another time my father took in another doctor as a partner. The doctor was down at the heel and altogether to the bad. He was a very pitiful spectacle. He did not have a change of clothing and was up against it hard. However, he had a good address and showed evidence of culture and refinement. My father took him in, and you may be sure he took my father in. Father sent him out to see patients, finally gave him a half interest in his practice and was rewarded by the greatest exhibition of treachery I have ever known, culminating in an attempt on the part of this man to murder my father. These are samples of the manner in which my father helped the helpless, and while he was often victimized, I do not know that I would have it different could I call him back and have him live his life again. I feel the same about my own case. I have suffered much at the hands of irresponsi ble vagrants, tramps and frauds, but now and again, as I have journeyed on I have helped some worthy man to get on his feet and I have found afterwards a rich reward in the splendid gratitude exhibited and in the good record sub sequently made. The schools my brother and I attended were all common place but one. I make no railing accusation against them. The teachers received poor pay and did poor service. When I was about twelve years old, however, we came in contact with one genuine God-made teacher. My father sent us to Hopkinsville to school, five miles from hom'e. We had to ride our ponies there and we had our work to do mornings and evenings, so we had very little time for anything in the way 46 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE of study at home. We had to do all our studying at school. The teacher to whom I refer was George W. Betts. He was the first school teacher and the only one I ever had who awoke in me a real, genuine, all-absorbing thirst for knowl edge. I had loved books all my life, but I had never awak ened to the real importance of learning until I met Mr. Betts. Long years the dear man has been in his grave. I wish that he were living now to read this tribute that I pay him. He was a born teacher. He loved knowledge and had the great est gift for its impartation of any school teacher I ever knew. He taught the school called the Hopkinsville Academy, which my brother and I attended two to three months each year for about three years. We progressed very rapidly. The Hopkinsville school days were the happiest of my childhood. All my life I had loved books and papers and longed for knowledge. Now I had found a teacher whose heart and mind conspired to make him a genuine instructor. His was a splendid personality, he loved his students, he was himself a finished scholar, and there was activity and prog ress in everything he did and said. I hated farm work. There never was a day when I was a boy working on the farm that I did not resolve in my secret soul to quit farm life just as soon as I was big enough to do so. I never seriously purposed to run away. Mine was a wise father and he discounted in advance any purpose we had to run away. Now and then he would call us to him and speak to us as follows : " Boys, there are a large number of young fellows who, it seems, would love to run away. Some of them are run ning away. I do not want you to belong to that class. Whenever either of you feels that you can do better some where else than you can in your home, come and tell me so and I will arrange for you to go away in peace. I will equip each of you with a good horse, saddle and bridle, give you BASTROP COUNTY SCHOOL DAYS 47 some money to help you along and always welcome you back home." This took all of the starch out of the runaway game, and my brother and I never seriously purposed such an escapade. However, I detested farming operations to the very bottom of my soul. I hated every feature of it. I did not like to get up early. I did not like to plow or hoe or pick cotton, and I did not like the plan of retiring practically at dark, for I loved to read at night. Mr. Betts was my ideal of a way out. He so thoroughly met my heart's desire in the matter of books and schooling that I felt that I could equip myself for something besides farm work. Among our text books were Ray's Arithmetic, Composi tion and Rhetoric by Quackenbos, Ray's Algebra, Clark's Grammar and the McGuffey's series of readers. Mr. Betts was strong on spelling, punctuation and composition. He was able to do what many teachers are incapable of perform ing — he could speak and write the English language per fectly. Clark's Grammar was a grammar in which we learned to diagram. That was very difficult for me, but arithmetic, and indeed all the branches of mathematics, were easy, as well as composition and rhetoric. So strong was my brother in English composition that during one of our periods of absence from school covering a number of months, he kept up his studies in composition and took first honors at the ensuing winter examination. We both loved study and we craved to go to school with an unutterable longing. Looking back upon it now, it seems pathetic that we had so little opportunity to receive a really genuine edu cation. We had all of the features of the traditional country school. At the end of each school term, we had our exhibi tion, where we would read compositions, make speeches, act charades and finally close with some kind of joyful enter tainment. Meantime, we had our long hours for playtime. 48 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE I have always thought well of this plan. Some of the hap piest moments of my life were spent on the old Hopkinsville playground. We knew nothing of football or baseball, but we became experts in town-ball and bull-pen. One day at the noon recess we had both a town-ball game and a bull pen game going on in different parts of our playground at the same time. Boyd Mullen was left-handed and he was one of the men who was throwing at the boys in the bull pen. All at once, one of the other boys, who was engaged in the game, came running up as hard as he could and very much excited, and said : " Oh, boys, boys ! Run here quick ! Boyd Mullen has knocked Doc Stewart sensible ! " It was a fact that when we reached the bull-pen Doc Stew art was laid out upon the ground unconscious, but he soon came round and was none the worse for having gotten into the range of the man who threw with his left hand. It was during these years that an incident occurred which I look back upon even now with great emotion. I was al lowed on one afternoon recess to go down to the store. There had come into the store some evidently well-to-do peo ple, because they had bought their little three years old boy a big package of long stick candy. Mind you, I was just as fond of stick candy as any boy you could find, but our re sources were few and I had no money with which to buy stick candy. This little boy began nibbling on a stick of candy and dropped it, almost under the counter. Soon his parents came for him and he left the stick of candy lying there practically untouched. I began a debate with myself as to what would be right in the matter. I wanted the candy as bad as any boy ever craved a stick of candy in his life. I reasoned the matter out this way : The child's father had bought the candy and paid for it, so it did not belong to the people in the store. The father and mother of the child had taken the child away and it would never come back to claim BASTROP COUNTY SCHOOL DAYS 49 the candy, so there it was. As I reasoned thus with myself, I approached a little closer and yet a little closer to the candy, and finally I picked it up and took it with me. I called the attention of the storekeeper to the matter, and after having explained it to him he told me I had done exactly right. I never shall forget how good that candy tasted. Another incident occurred during this period that left its impress upon my mind. A traveling overland country cir cus came to Hopkinsville, and my father, true to his noble nature, agreed that all of the children should go. He brought mother out to Hopkinsville, with my sisters, and we all went. Mr. Betts gave a holiday for the circus, and it was really a red letter day of my boyhood. There were the clowns, the man who sold the prize boxes, the few animals they had and the acrobatic performances, which were very interesting. Among the other very engaging attractions was a sideshow in which there was a man who had never had any arms. This man could load and shoot a pistol, could write with his toes and could perform many other wonderful feats with his feet. In the circus proper, the most interesting thing to me was the badinage between the clown and the ringmaster. The two chief jokes of that day linger with me still. After they had been badgering each other for quite a while, the clown and the ringmaster darted from the main tent into the side tent, the clown in advance of the ringmaster. The latter, with apparent offense, jerked the clown back behind him and said : " Get behind me ! I won't follow a fool ! " The clown very gracefully and gently dropped to the rear, and replied : " I am not so particular. I will." The ringmaster asked the clown : " Did you ever fall in love ? " " No," said the clown, " but I fell in a well once." To which the ringmaster replied: 50 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE " You fool, you 1 What possible connection can there be between falling in love and falling in a well ? " The clown responded : " They are both mighty hard to get out of." It was surely a great day for the Hopkinsville population when this circus came. There never had been a circus there before, and the school boys and girls had the time of their lives. Another incident during this period of my school life was the commission of a murder. One morning, when my brother and I reached school- — we were some thirty minutes earlier than necessary — we found quite a crowd gathered around the little Hopkinsville saloon. When we came nearer, we found that a man had been killed in the saloon about an hour before. The murdered man was a stranger. He had coirie into Hopkinsville a few days before unheralded, had given his name and had secured work of some kind. He was up early that morning and went into the saloon to get a drink of liquor. The man who was pursuing him, having evidently learned that his victim was in Hopkinsville, rode into the town, hitched his horse, inquired for the man, was told where he was by some unsuspecting citizen, and has tened right over to the saloon, where he found the object of his search. He at once opened fire on him without giving him a chance for his life, and put five or six bullets in him. The man died instantly, and the murderer coolly again mounted his horse and galloped away. No citizen of that town ever knew the real name of the murdered man or of the murderer. There was perhaps some little attempt made to follow the murderer, but nothing serious was done to cap ture him. I can see the pale, upturned face of that dead man now as I write, as well as I saw it on that summer morning in the long ago. It was a pathetic sight. He was weltering in his blood there in front of the saloon counter, and there was not BASTROP COUNTY SCHOOL DAYS 51 a friend to weep over him, and no woman's gentle hand was there to give him that tender care that comes to loved ones gone. My brother and I attended the Hopkinsville school at in tervals for more than two years. It was the one epochal period of our boyhood life. We made gigantic strides in our quest for knowledge and discovered .what we were made of. At one of the school exhibitions I read a composition en titled, " The Advancement of Civilization." In this composi tion, though I was a boy of only twelve, I used such big words as " reverberation " and the like, and my teacher, who was the soul of gentleness, kindness and affection, thought that I had " cribbed " the composition. So strong was this feeling upon him that he taxed me with it. It almost broke my heart. The composition was entirely original ; I had not even had the help of my father and mother in its produc tion, and for my teacher to think that I would be guilty of dishonorable conduct was a wound from which I have not yet recovered. Of course, when my teacher saw how it affected me, he took me to his heart and tried to make it right, but nothing he could ever say made it right, because I knew that for a time, at least, I had been under suspicion. One view I afterwards took of the matter was that it was, in fact, a compliment to miy intelligence, because I had done better than he thought I could do, but it was a distinct blow at my honesty, as no honest boy or man will steal the product of another's brain and claim it for his own. We gave up going to Hopkinsville school in 1872. I was at that time fourteen years old. It was not the last school I attended, but it was by far the best. We quit largely be cause the school quit. Mr. Betts, having married a Gon zales lady, closed out the school and moved from Hopkins ville to Gonzales. It was a sad day for the little town when the Hopkinsville Academy closed its doors, and it was a sad- 52 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE der day for two callow Texas lads who had as insatiable a thirst for knowledge as ever pulsed in a boy's heart. The last school I attended was one taught by Dr. Hayes, who was a physician by profession, but not finding a lucra tive practice opening up to him promptly, took up the school on Hallmark's Prairie. My brother did not attend this school. There, for the first time, I fell in love. Dr. Hayes had a beautiful step-daughter. Miss Helen Bell. She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She was twenty-one when I was fourteen, but I fell madly in love with her, though I never dared to tell her of it. I loved her in secret. I would give her the most delicate attentions that any boy could devise, but she thought them the result of the natural deference that a school-boy would pay to his teacher. It was really humorous, though then I thought it serious. It was just as foolish as foolish could be, but I did not think of that phase of the subject. In 1897 I had the pleasure of meeting her, when the Baptist State Convention met in San Antonio, and of telling her of my youthful infatuation. She had married Tom Adair and they were then living at~Wael- der. She laughed heartily when I told her of my boyhood love for her. She said exactly what I expected she would say : that she had no thought of such a thing. The school taught by Dr. Hayes did not last long. I at tended it a part of one year. It was my last school, and I look back upon that short period of study as one of the bright spots in my boyhood life. But everything a boy needs to know is not learned in school. There were boys born in the narrow circle which first I knew who not only dreamed of far-off college towns and triumphant, happy graduation days, but who were priv ileged to know about it all, to see it face to face, and after wards come home medaled and degreed and finished to the highest point. While these were gone away, I was not idle, but busy in the fields and woods and learning those serious BASTROP COUNTY SCHOOL DAYS 53 actual things that make up so much of life. Those country schools were not much. Sometimes we would get ahead of the teacher. When we would come to things the teacher didn't know, he would pass us on by saying, " This doesn't need to be known," and by telling other lies like that, and make friends with his conscience by giving us a long play time at noon. We had our Friday afternoon performances, when speeches would be said. Many were the Marys who had little lambs, with fleeces white as snow, and enough boys stood on burning decks to man a navy. And there never were as many little stars that were enjoined to twinkle, twin kle all the night as there were then, and whole regiments of boys pointed toward the rafters and exclaimed : " How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high. Like a diamond in the sky ! " Not that any of us had ever seen a diamond. The thought that was always suggested to me when we got the stars to twinkling like diamonds in the sky was the Diamond R cat tle brand that was used by one of the many ranchmen of the great Southwest. While the stars, like diamonds in the sky, were getting in their work, my mind would wander to the woods and prairies, and I would calculate as to how many " mavericks " the Diamond R brand had gone on that spring. And then I would think of my father's old brand and his new one. My father was not a born ranchman. As I have said, he was reared over in Kentucky, where the people had old-fashioned ways and notions. Over there to have " mav- ericked " a yearling would have been a theft. It was thus that, after the Civil War was over and we moved to South west Texas, he never became adjusted to the new regime, in which every man branded every stray unbranded calf that came his way. Not that only, but in the early spring, before the yearlings shed, it often happened that the too enterpris- 54 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE ing cowmen branded those that had been already branded, and when the long hair was no more, the same lean, incon sequential calf bespoke two owners. It was to save the like of this that my father changed his brand. It was first a simple boot — that was all. The " boot brand " became well known, but it was so small that many times our booted yearlings came home in the spring with other and newer brands upon them, and thus came about the change. The little boot passed out except for horses, and his new brand was five letters — his Christian name — • and spanned the yearling's side from shoulder-blade to thigh. I put it on many a lean and hungry calf — all of them our own — and when it was well put on this is the way it read: EATON. I never graduated. I quit, but not before taking my degree — the degree of C. S. — Common Sense — that qualified the alumnus to parse, conjugate, solve problems in university algebra, analyze a gem from Shakespeare, make a Friday evening speech, skin a cow, " bust a broncho," brand a calf, fence a field, shoot a gun, swim a river, work a farm, or teach a school. And out of such country schools have come our Lincolns, our Spurgeons and our Charles Dickenses. Every year our col leges turn out their coterie of kid-gloved effeminates who are set to swarm for a brief period around law offices, doc tor shops and school rooms, and then sink into oblivion. They lack the grit and gumption of the gawky country lad who took a course in shop or farm while the leggy city youth was smoking cigarettes and running 'round at night. VI SOME BOYHOOD REMINISCENCES IN direct connection with the question of our school days, I will set down here some corollary facts that may be of interest to the reader, and especially to boys and young men who are striving to secure an education. My brother and I did not depend upon the school for our educa tion. When I would go down to the field, I always took books with me, and later, when my father found his cattle increasing and I was sent out to herd them, I always tied books to my saddle, so that when the cattle were quiet I would read my books. I spent many a happy hour thus in the further quest for knowledge. My father abhorred fiction. He denounced all books of fiction as lies and deceptions and most heartily opposed either the purchase or perusal of such works. Such novels as my brother and I read, we had to read surreptitiously. I re member as well as can be the first " really and truly " novel I read. It was Beulah, by Mrs. Augusta J. Evans, who became later Mrs. Wilson. My father never saw this book. If he had, he would have confiscated it and gently laid it in the fire: My oldest sister borrowed it from some neighbor, and after she had read it, let me read it. I read it out be hind the house in the chimney-corner, at meal-time, when I would hurry through the meal and run out and read before my father finished. It was rather a difficult task, as I read every word of it standing up, and was constantly afraid that my father might hasten through and find me, but he never 55 56 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE did. I afterwards read .S"^ Elmo and others of Mrs. Wil son's works. At about this time, my brother and I borrowed from Jesse and Bryan Heard, who lived at Hopkinsville, seventeen dime novels. They were of the heroic type, such as Three Buck ets of Blood, White-headed Zeke, The Sailor Crusoe, and other works of that kind. They were blood-curdling Indian stories, and when we had finished the assortment, we were about ready to secure tomahawks, scalping knives and other accoutrements and go out as Indian hunters. My father knew nothing of any of this, but I am afraid my mother did. She did not share his views on the question of fiction. She had the literary bent, and could see no harm in a good story, whether it were fact or fiction. She never encouraged us in disobedience, but now and then, when my father's views ran contrary to hers, and when she felt it was entirely right to do so, she would help my brother and me in the matter of securing such books of fiction as she thought we ought to read. She helped me, without my father's knowledge, in an other way. I wanted to learn to play the fiddle. To use a latter day expression, I was crazy about it. One day when I went to Hopkinsville to mill, I bought a fiddle from Ben Key, on credit. It had only two strings, and a poor excuse for a fiddle bow, but I took it home and gave it into the custody of my mother. She hid it in her own trunk, and we kept it secret from father. He had as great an antipathy against fiddles as he had against fiction. He thought the devil was in the fiddle because the fiddle was the instrument that was used at all the country dances. He had the old- time notion that the fiddle was wholly an instrument of evil, and he abominated it with an unspeakable aversion. Not so, my mother. Her father had been a fiddler in the old Kentucky home, and she had a soft spot in her heart for SOME BOYHOOD REMINISCENCES 57 her boy, who also wanted to learn to play. There were no violin teachers down Southwest Texas way. The old- time Texas fiddlers were self-taught. They would catch tunes now and then from other fiddlers, but on the whole they learned the tunes first, and after familiarizing them selves with the use of the fiddle and the bow, they played those tunes on their own violins. Daniel Johnson, old Uncle Daniel Johnson's youngest son, was a good fiddler and a dear friend of mine. He helped me more than any other boy. Soon I had become rather proficient on the fiddle. I never felt that I could play the violin, but I played the fiddle handsomely and had a happv time over it. Such fondness as I had for the fiddle was bound to come to my father's knowledge, and when I grew older, I told him all about it. He was a stern man and his views re mained unchanged, but when he saw how I loved music, he told me that I need not hide it any longer — that I might have the fiddle and play it at home. Dear, kind, noble, gen erous heart was he, always yielding when the hearts of his children were involved. He never did become reconciled to novels, but in after years I played the fiddle for him many times. As he grew older, his views changed, and while he never cared much for fiddle music, he lost a great deal of his former antipathy to the instrument. One of the greatest festivities of those years was coon- hunting. Raccoons grow perennially in most parts of Texas, and they were very prolific in Bastrop County. Sat urday nights, when our week's work was done, the neigh borhood boys would gather together, and we would go out hunting coons. Sometimes we stayed even beyond midnight and were always reprimanded for it. The dogs would tree the coons and we would so punish them as to bring them out of the tree so that the dogs could kill them, or shoot them out of the tree with our guns and revolvers. The tra ditional Southern luxury is ' possum, but really the coon is 58 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE more palatable than the ' possum, if he is properly cleaned and cooked. We would go coon hunting about the time of frost. We caught some splendid fat coons one November night, skinned them and dressed them while we were out hunting, and when we reached home threw them on the gallery roof to take up the night air and the frost. The next day my mother baked one and I do not remember ever to have had a more toothsome dinner than that meal was. It was during these nights that I first began to fool with smoking. I thought it very smart to smoke and that no boy could be really grown up unless he formed this habit. At first I began to make shuck cigarettes. We would carry the shucks out with us, and make the cigarettes as we lingered around the fire at night. After I learned to smoke the shuck cigarettes without discomfort, I would borrow a tiny bit of tobacco and put in one, and it was thus that I began to learn to smoke tobacco cigarettes. Later our cigarette rollers were made of brown paper. There were many Mexicans there and they were all cigarette smokers. In this way I began to form a liking for tobacco smoking, which, I am ashamed to say, I kept up, at intervals, for several years. My father learned to use tobacco when he was six years old. His father was a tobacco grower, and when he was a lad, he had much to do in assisting in the growing of Ken tucky tobacco. He learned to chew and smoke and kept both up to his dying day. He used tobacco very sparingly in his last years, but quite intemperately in earlier life. Thus I was reared in the atmpsphere of tobacco using. It was common in Southwest Texas in those days, and it was not at all remarkable that the boys followed in the footsteps of their fathers. Every father should look well to himself be fore he confirms himself in a habit that may become destruc tive to his son. It was during this period that I received my first religious impression. A sermon was preached at the little school- SOME BOYHOOD REMINISCENCES 59 house near Jeddo by Rev. John Orchard, one of the pioneer Baptist missionaries. He was an Englishman by birth, but was giving his life to religious and missionary work where he thought it was most needed. He preached a sermon at the school-house on this text : " For we are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be re vealed in the last time." I even remember some of the divis ions of his sermon. I was at the time but a very little boy, but his sermon impressed me deeply and I cherish its mem ory and the memory of this good man with a grateful heart. Another text by a Missionary Baptist preacher. Rev. L. S. Cox, greatly impressed me. It was this : " He that loveth not our Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema maranatha." Those were awfully big words to fire at a little boy, but I remember the text and the sermon and the gracious manner in which the sermon was received. The most vivid religious impression, however, which I received in those days came from a sermon preached by my own dear father. I do not know that I have yet revealed in this chronicle the fact that he was an ordained Baptist preacher, at that time affiliated with the Hardshell Baptists. He was preaching on " The End of the World." He be lieved the end of time was then impending and preached it with such power that I felt sure the world would end before I could get back to my mother. I ran out of the house be fore the sermon was over, crying like my heart would break, and ran every step of the way home — something over a half mile. When I got home, my mother was not yet in bed and I fell into her arms to tell her that the end of the world was coming that night and I was not ready for it. My sad plight touched her deeply. She consoled me as best she could, and told me that, while the end of the world must come some time, it mjight not come that night, but that whenever it came I should be ready for it and should give my heart to Christ and be a Christian boy. That was a religious impression 60 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE from which I never entirely escaped, though in after years I wandered far from God and became quite a wicked boy. Most of the preachers that I knew in my boyhood were Hardshell Baptists. They called themselves Primitive Bap tists. There was a whole family of Bakers who were preach ers — Jim Baker, Abe Baker, John Baker and William Baker — four of them. They were good men, and Jim Baker, espe cially, was a man of very much more than the ordinary abil ity. He died but a year or two ago, after having lived to a great age. Abe Baker was the one that we knew best. He was often in our home and was a man of fine character in every way. The last time I ever saw him was in the little old school-house down on the south edge of Hallmark's Prairie, when he preached a sermon on a Sunday morning shortly before we left that part of Texas. He knew me well and loved me and I loved him. I was at that time in my eighteenth year. He went through the audience, after the manner of the Hardshell Baptist preachers, shaking hands with those he desired to impress. He finally came to me, and putting his hand on my head, he said : " This may be the last time I will ever see you in this life. Remember your Creator." That was a most impressive exhortation and one that lin gers with me now. The dear good man has long since been in heaven and I cherish his memory with a grateful heart. His brother, John Baker, was exceedingly kind to us boys. He was a splendid barber in his way. He didn't shave any of us, because we had nothing on our faces to shave, but he used to trim our hair and he did it well. He was jolly, humane, gentle-hearted and loving, and while he did not class with Jim Baker and Abe Baker in the matter of culture and intelligence, he had as big a heart as any man could carry in a bosom of his size. Speaking of Abe Baker, he had had a remfarkable religious experience. He was under deep conviction of sin up on SOME BOYHOOD REMINISCENCES 61 Tinney's Creek near his home. He had been a wild and reckless boy. So deep was his conviction that he was pros trate on his back in the bed of a wagon on a summer day while the meeting was in progress. He had lost all hope of the grace of God and had given himself up, not only to die physically but to die eternally, yet he still was praying ; and as he prayed, he said that he saw Heaven open, saw Jesus actually come down, and heard His voice, and the Master spoke the words of forgiving grace and love. He arose exultantly shouting the praises of God, and from that day went to preaching the Gospel. I never doubted his sincerity, and I am not prepared to say that he did not see exactly what he claimed he saw. He lived an upright, godly life, devoted his entire time as best he could from his farm work to the preaching of the Gos pel ; he never allowed any one to give him a penny of pay, which I think was a mistake, and went on to his grave sing ing the praises of his Redeemer. You may think and say what you please about these dear, good men, but for my part I have no unkind words con cerning themi. There are many of them in this wide, sad world today — men of God who, though not fully instructed in all the ways of Christ, are doing their work for Him in their own kind way and leading countless souls into the bet ter life. One of my best loved uncles was a great-uncle, Charles Galloway. He was my grandmother Cranfill's brother. He was a dear, good man, but he had lived to be seventy years of age and had never joined the church. He lived as up right and godly a life as any church member I ever knew, but he had what he called a " little hope," and he did not think it was enough on which to come into the church. He was a constant church attendant and one of the most depend able church workers in the community. Everybody loved him, believed in him and trusted him. On a certain Sunday 62 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE night, after Rev. Abe Baker had preached one of his most appealing sermons, the congregation was finally dismissed. After the benediction. Uncle Charles said to the preacher : " Brother Baker, if you had opened the doors of the church tonight, I would have joined." Brother Baker was a man of the keenest and most un erring intuitions, so he grasped the hand of Uncle Charlie and said : " Brother Galloway, we will convene the church in con ference immediately." Whereupon he announced that Brother Charles Galloway had applied for membership. My dear old uncle was cor nered. He had been too timid hitherto to apply to the church to be received, but now under the circumstances he could not possibly back out. He told his experience, was joyfully received and heartily welcomed. The oldest men and women in the house were in tears, the dear old saints embraced each other in their joyous praises of God, and I have never seen Brother Baker happier than he was that night. On the fol lowing Sunday, Uncle Charles was baptized in one of the crystal pools of Peach Creek. I will have something more to say of this dear uncle again in this narrative. For the present, we leave him as a new church member at three score years and ten. He lived to be ninety-two and would not then have died if it had not been for the fact that his wife, ninety years of age, was accidentally killed. The shock was so great that dear Uncle Charles did not long survive the death of his wife. One of the most interesting of all of our experiences of this period was the organization and maintenance of the Hallmark's Prairie Debating Society. My brother and I were the leading spirits in this movement and continued so until we left that part of Texas. My brother was always on one side of every question and I on the other. The other boys in the community looked to us to lead them, and we SOME BOYHOOD REMINISCENCES 63 took pleasure in doing so. We debated many momentous questions, such as : Resolved, that the works of nature are more attractive to the eye than the works of art ; Resolved, that horses are more useful to mankind than cattle, and many other issues. The night on which we debated the horse and cow question, Jim Bellamy, who afterwards be came one of the most expert mechanics in the State, was chosen to represent the horse. He was a great big, over grown boy, weighing nearly 200 pounds. He was handy with his hands in all kinds of mtechanical work, but was clumsy with his tongue. It was a great embarrassment to him to get up before an audience, but Jim was brave, and that night when the question for the affirmative was called, he arose and made the following speech : " Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen : I think a horse" — then he choked down. Then he sat down. Never more could we get Jim up in one of our debating societies. He was a splendid fellow, and one of the dearest friends we had in our boyhood. During the time when this Debating Society was at its flood, the Debating Society at Tinney's Creek challenged the Debating Society of Hallmark's Prairie to a joint debate. We accepted their challenge and fared forth one Saturday afternoon to meet the Tinney's Creek boys on their own ground. I was leader of our crowd, and what I did in indoc trinating them in the way to victory was a plenty. When we reached the place of meeting they took different parts of the hall so that they might carry out my comm,ands. I was the leading champion for our society and I had in structed these boys that when I would make a certain ges ture they were to applaud. Applause is very contagious. One good applauder in an audience can touch the whole audience off at any time when a reasonably good point is made. The Tinney's Creek boy, who led out in the debate, had no applause at all. They all sat like blockheads, heard 64 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE his vociferations and watched his gesticulations without any emotion whatsoever. When, however, I arose to answer him and after a few minutes of introductory remarks, I raised my hand in a certain way, six of my trained leaders started the applause, and it was echoed and re-echoed all over the house. The same happened time and time again while I was on my feet, and the judges as well as the au dience were greatly impressed by the approval my remarks received. It was what you would call, if you were in France, a coup d'etat. I am not sure whether I made a better speech than the other boy or not, but I do know that we out-gen- eraled them, and when the debate was over, we got the deci sion and went away with flying colors. One of the incidents in this debate was a story that I told. It ran as follows : Upon one occasion a rich American land lord employed as his coachman an Irishman fresh from the Old Country. The Irishman had been in his employ but a day or two when, on leaving home for the day on his splen did steed, the landlord called the Irish coachman to him and said: " Pat, I am going away and will be gone all day. While I am gone, I want you to grease my carriage." " All right, all right. It will be done," Pat replied. Late in the afternoon when the landlord returned, Pat miet him smilingly at the gate, and the following conversa tion ensued : The Landlord : " Well, Pat, you greased my carriage all right, as I told you ? " Pat : " Faith, and sure I did. I greased it good. I greased it all over ; all of the top and all of the body and all of the running gear, and greased it perfectly except the little place where the wheel runs on, and I couldn't get to that." My application of this story was that our opponents in the debate had talked all around the question, had thor oughly discussed all facts and incidents foreign to the issue SOME BOYHOOD REMINISCENCES 65 in hand, but had never once touched the question under re view. This story made a great hit and was, as I believe, largely responsible for our victory. During these years, my father began to take a more ac tive interest in the cattle business. In his medical practice, he took in on account a great many cattle of various kinds, and now and then would accept a horse. The result was that he began to gather together quite an array of stock. I loved to work with horses and cattle. I was almost reared on horseback. I loved to ride. I enjoyed being out in the open, and it was a great pleasure to me to master the art of lassoing, which was so very important to every cowboy. With one exception, I was the best hand my father ever had with his stock. That exception was a mulatto Negro. He was one of the smoothest artists in handling stock of all kin(Js that I have ever known. VII " BUSTING A BRONCHO " INDISSOLUBLY linked with the stock business was the " busting " of bronchos. A broncho was a wild horse. Primarily a broncho meant a Spanish horse, but the word came to be used in connection with all wild horses of every kind, whether they were grown wild out on the range or were the offspring of tame horses on the ranch or farm. Every Texas boy, at a certain period of his growth and de velopment, found it necessary to tackle the broncho. The broncho was allowed to run wild until he was three or four years old. It depended quite largely upon the necessities of the case, whether he was taken up younger or was left to develop more before he was broken. The older he grew, the tougher the job we had when he was " busted," but none of the jobs were easy ones. There were professional broncho " busters " in every neighborhood, and the ruling rate — what we might call the union scale — was $5 a head for breaking them. In our case, we broke most of our own bronchos. It was only an exceedingly tough case that was turned over to a professional. I learned to ride, and, as I afterwards boasted, I could ride anything that wore hair that would stand up. I had practiced on yearlings, earlier on calves, and finally on bronchos. The manner in which a broncho was " busted " was as follows : He would first be driven into the horse lot along with other horses, and after he was thus safely penned, he would be lassoed, or roped, as we called it. The word " lasso " is a dictionary word that has found its way permanently into the literature of early Texas 66 A. .3S0NCH0. "BUSTING A BRONCHO" 67 days, but as a matter of fact, we never called a rope a lasso. We called it a rope, and we called lassoing a horse or a cow, roping them. These ropes were made on purpose for the business. A loop would be formed in the end of the rope — what we would call a running noose. Some of these ropes were hair ropes and made by the Mexicans, but most gen erally they were the regular sea grass rope so commonly known in all parts of the West today. The size of the rope usually was one-half to five-eighths of an inch, and some times, for extraordinary occasions, we would have ropes that were as large as three-quarter-inch size. After the broncho was safely penned he would be roped and then the fun would begin. As soon as he could be brought near enough to the man who had roped him, he would be blind folded. That was a long step in the direction of his subju gation. After he was blindfolded, the right kind of a stiff- bit bridle would be placed on him and then he would be sad dled. There was danger attendant upon every step of the process. After he was saddled, a substantial stick from two to two and a half feet long would be wrapped in a piece of blanket so that it could not in any wise injure the rider, and tied on the saddle in front. In our own language, we tied it to the horn of the saddle, so that when the rider mounted the saddle, this stick was in front of him transversely. After this was done the stirrups would be tied together under the horse, so that the rider's feet would not be flying in the air. There were some very expert horsemen who omitted both of these precautions, but the rule was for the rider to be thus protected. After this was accomplished, the rope would be " done up," as we called it, tied near the horn of the sad dle, and the horse would be held until the rider would mount. Then the blind would be lifted from the broncho's eyes and he would be allowed to go and cut his capers. We called it " pitching." The Northern man calls it 68 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE bucking. Called by any name, it was an exercise that the tenderfoot may well wish to avoid. The broncho would begin his operations in this way, and finding it impossible to relieve himself of the rider, he would run. There was no telling where he would land when he ran. It was just as likely that he would run into a fence as any other way. He was not " bridle-wise " and the rider had to control him as best he could. The greatest danger was that he would run into a tree or into a gulley and turn a somersault, falling on the rider. There were instances in which, after all of the ordinary devices had failed him, the broncho would lie down and wallow. This usually prevailed to get the rider off, but there have been cases known where the rider stayed on him even after he lay down, hung to him and got up with him. There were some riders who were expert enough to roll a cigarette, light it and smoke it while the broncho was pitch ing. These were extraordinary men, and none of our bunch ever attempted such exhibitions of skill while the fun was going on. We took it all plain and straight and were per fectly well satisfied to retain our place in the saddle while the broncho was doing his best to dislodge us. The worst trouble about some of these bronchos was that they wouldn't stay " busted." After they had had their way the first time and been finally tired out and subdued, the average man, if he were uninitiated, would suppose that the job was done. The exact reverse was true. Next morning when the broncho buster mounted him again, he had to go through with it all just as he did the day before, with some new variations. The broncho learned, as well as the rider, and there were samples of these wild Mexican horses that never were permanently " busted." They would have to be broken again each spring or each time they got in good con dition. They were what would be called in ecclesiastical circles, backsliders. They would become perfectly gentle for weeks and as docile as kittens, but you leave them out .\ Rroxcho, anh His Way With a Tender-Foot. "BUSTING A BRONCHO" 69 on the grass for a month or two and saddle them up for a tranquil ride and unless you were " on your P's and Q's," you would be landed out somewhere in the middle of the road on your head, while the broncho would go scampering off to the herd again with your saddle and bridle on. My father owned a mule that was of this type. Now, I do not want to tax your credulity in this narrative, so I will confess just here that I never tried to bust a broncho mule. The mules were the most diabolical buckers or pitchers in the whole range of animal life, and this particular mule, whose name was Fox, never was finally broken. One of the last things he did to me after I became his plow-boy boss was to pitch me off one day at noon when, after a hard morning's plowing, I mounted him bareback to ride to the house. I have a notion that somewhere in the seat of my trousers I must have acquired a cockle-bur. At any rate, old Fox lifted me off as nicely as it could have been done if I had ordered it. When I said that I could ride anything that ever wore hair and would stand up, I meant I could do this when I had my prerequisites all well in order. This old Fox mule was one of the best of saddle horses. My father used him much in his practice. He was always available, was absolutely tireless, was quick in movement, could fox-trot six miles an hour and was one of the handiest animals my father ever owned. I came to acquire him as my plow-horse on this wise: When I was a small boy, my father put me to plowing an other mule whose original name had been Lucy, but we ab breviated it and called her " Loose." She was to all intents and purposes the meanest animal I ever knew. She was malignant in temper, lazy in movement, indifferent in her affections and a hardened pachyderm when it came to re ceiving punishment. She cared no more for a whip or a goad than she did for the buzzing of a half-grown fly. You could whip her with the plow lines all day long or with a 70 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE whip to make her go, and she wouldn't go, nor would she accelerate her movements on any account or under any con ditions. When you would tell her to " Whoa," she would go on, and when you would tell her to go on, she would " Whoa." I fought with this mule all the time. She was exactly antipodal to all of my predilections. I was nervous, wanted to drive ahead, was anxious to accomplish some thing, and this mule was exactly the opposite. She was what would now be called in politics a reactionary. In re ligion she would have been called a two-seed Hardshell Bap tist. In society she would have been called a miser. If there is anything in the Pythagorean theory, this mule in her former state had been a devil. It soon became impossible for me to deal with her at all. My brother, who was a very kind and patient lad, inherited her, and even to this day I look back upon his acquisition with the most fraternal sym pathy. My father suggested to us that we trade mules, so I was given old Fox and my brother was given old " Loose " to plow. My brother was in all respects the best boy I ever knew. He was absolutely truthful, honest, industrious and dependa ble. He was sober, steady and temperate in all things. He was four years my senior, and to his kind and loving guidance as a boy, I owe much of what I am. I was quick, hasty, im petuous, restless and mercurial. He always held me back and taught me to be patient and even temperate. With sadness I confess that I came to be profane, but he never did. The only time I ever heard him swear was concerning this mule. One day when he had come within about ten feet of the end of the row, old " Loose " stopped and would not go to the end of the row. This was one of her pet stunts. My brother became furious. He lost his temper and began to berate her frightfully to make her finish the row. All at once she took a plunge, ran to the end of the row, and (I know it is hard for you to believe it) she jumped the fence! There- "BUSTING A BRONCHO" 71 she hung with the plow on one side of the fence, and my brother clinging to the plow handles, on the opposite side of the fence. It was then that my brother swore. Of course I could not print his language in this biography. It would not be proper. I am by that like Artemus Ward was. He said once when he was walking down the street he heard a man singing, " Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming." He said : " I did not go. I did not think it would be correct." I am sure it would not be correct to print m,y brother's words, but I did not then have it in my heart, and I haven't it in my heart now, to censure him overmuch for this out burst of temper. rpM VIII AN OLD-TIME COUNTRY DANCE i i ^'"^"^HERE is going to be a party at George Gallo way's tomorrow night ! " This is what my sister Carrie said to me on a November evening in 1875, as I came in from a hard day's work. The work in which I had been engaged was what my father always called " righting up " the fences. Every winter it was necessary to fill up the low places in the old- fashioned South Texas rail fences, and in some instances, a new " worm " had to be laid and an entirely new fence built. A party at George Galloway's was no unusual occurrence, for parties were had there frequently, and invariably meant a dance. Not the " turkey trot," " tango," or " bunny hug " of the cities ; not the " german," but an old-fashioned coun try dance, where we " balanced all " and " swung comers " from the time that the rays of the setting sun kissed the western hills until the sheen of his rising splendor pro claimed the golden dawn. There were four of us. I was the youngest, and a boy. My two sisters had really grown to be young ladies, while my brother, four years my senior, was proudly boasting of a small mustache that struggled for leeway on his upper lip. " Tomorrow night " was Thursday night, and, like all to morrow nights, it soon came and found Carrie and me dyked out in our best clothes, cantering on our ponies on the way to George Galloway's. It was a mile and a half across the country. I had my 72 ^[ks. .-Xmaxiia J. (Craxfhj.) Willia.ms A COUNTRY DANCE 73 six-shooter, which, by the way, was a cap and ball Colt, navy size, and attached to that was a dangerous looking and shining dirk, safely ensconsed in its leather scabbard. These were articles of furniture, though forbidden by law, that were much in vogue in those days, and though, at that time, I was scarcely turned seventeen, I could put three balls into a tree as I galloped by it, and was counted a good shot. Tuck Simms played the fiddle that night. It would amuse you if I could describe Tuck just as he looked. He was a small man, weighing about a hundred and ten pounds, with an eye keen as the eagle's, and when I say with an eye, I mean AN eye, because he had only one, his other having been destroyed in some duel, concerning which he was very reticent. He played " over the bass." If you do not know what that means, I will tell you. Being a left-handed man, he used the fiddle-bow in his left hand and held the instrument in his right. Playing in this way, he touched the " G " string first. We always called this playing " over the bass." " How glad we are to see you ! " said Cousin Sallie, as we entered the gate. Cousin Sallie was George Galloway's wife, and was rather a low and " chunky " woman, who wore a luxuriant assort ment of freckles and a kindly expression on her face. " So are we glad to see you," I said in reply. " Who is that strange young lady ? " I had caught a glimpse of a new, but beautiful face as we entered the house. " Oh ! " responded Cousin Sallie, " that is Ebbie Mayo's cousin, Sallie Yarbrough." " And where did she come from ? " asked Carrie. " She lives down on the other side of the Colorado on Alum Creek." Fresh arrivals put in their appearance at this point, and 74 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE thus the conversation ended. The rude log house was fast filling up. A thumping of fiddle strings and a general stir in the large square room, which served as dancing hall, bed room, parlor and reception room, warned us that a " set " was about to be made up. Let it never be supposed that there were any visible evidences which would indicate that this room was a bed room or ever had been. To the practiced eye, a number of large, inch and a quarter, auger holes on two separate sides of the house, would show that bedsteads had been there, because it was a custom, not to be grinned at, either, to fashion bedsteads by driving timbers into the wall and placing supports under them, and in that way crudely constructing places to sleep. They were not exactly folding beds, though on this evening, which, to me, was to be one of the most eventful of my life, the beds were folded, all in a pile, out in the yard, under the spreading branches of a kingly oak tree, in order to make room for the gay young sters who were giving life and inspiration to the scene. And such girls as these were who assembled at George Galloway's that night ! Typical country lasses whose cheeks were painted by the rays of the setting sun, and whose hearts, all unused to the arts and wiles of fashion, were as pure as was the heart of that first maiden who walked in Eden and beheld her reflected beauty in the waters of the Euphrates. It would not ha\'e been hard to imagine old John Milton describing another scene like that scene by Eden's placid brook, when the first woman, even to herself unknown, saw in the laughing water her own reflected charms. If Milton had been present that November night and had had his eyesight brought back to him, and had not been inspired to write another epic, I, for one, should have gone back on John. My sister Carrie and I were in the first set. We always were. She was distinguished as a dancer and so was I, A COUNTRY DANCE 75 while our less fortunate brother and sister, whose feet did not move with such Terpsichorean agility, always had to take their chances. And who was my partner for the first set? I am sure you want to know. It was none other than Sallie Gallo way, my Cousin George's wife. Did I tell you she could dance ? If I did not tell you, hear it now. She could. She did not look it, not at all, but she could hold her own with the best of them, and although there were freckles on her face, there were no cares in her heart, for she was as happy and as lithesome as the little baby who cooed on Cousin George's knee as its mother and I " swung corners " and " balanced all." The new girl was on the floor during the first set. She was at my immediate left, and whenever we " swung cor ners," I had to swing her. I wondered if she was engaged and how long she was going to stay, and oh ! I cannot tell you how many things I did wonder about her as we danced that first set. So during the intervals, while others were dancing, and we were keeping our places, I would ask questions about her. She was dancing with Sam Galloway, who afterwards married Ebbie Mayo's sister. Sam was six feet four in his stocking feet, but he was not so tall as his brother Caleb, who was six feet seven. If you will pardon a divergence, I will say that better boys than these never lived, although they were spending their lives then as they are spending them now, tilling the soil in their homely fashion in the backwoods where I, when a boy, shared their joys and sorrows. " And her name is Sallie Yarbrough ? " I said to Cousin Sallie. I had never thought about it before, but it seemicd to me then that Sallie was an uncommonly pretty name. It cer tainly must have been a pretty name, or else it could not have 76 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE been so gracefully worn by such a queenly girl as the one who stood before us. Would you like to see her? I will draw her picture for you. She was a typical blonde with a form as perfect as that of Powers' Greek slave, and with movements as graceful as any queen. Her eyes were as blue as the azure dome and as bright as the silver light of the shining stars. She wore her hair loose, which was a common fashion, and her bright ringlets of gold, as they fell on her beautifully rounded shoulders, added a charm and grace to her perfect face and figure absolutely indescribable. " Mr. Cranfill, Miss Yarbrough " — that is the way Cousin Sallie introduced us. I felt a queer something creeping up into my throat as I asked : " Miss Yarbrough, have you a partner for the next dance ? " " No, indeed," she replied. " Will you dance with me ? " " With pleasure." With these words, we took our places on the floor and waited the pleasure of the others who were to engage in the set. Tuck Simms tuned his fiddle. I seem to hear him thump ing the strings now as I write, and I seem to see him sitting in the corner of George Galloway's house, with his one keen black eye looking down the finger board of his fiddle as he adjusted the keys so as to get the instrument in tune. " Salute your partners ! " " Balance all ! " " Swing corners, and all promenade ! '' Tuck Simms could play and prompt both at the same time, although he was not so much of an adept in prompting as his uncle. Grant Simms, who did not play " over the bass " and who was far superior to Tuck as a fiddler. A COUNTRY DANCE 77 There were no violinists in those precincts. If any of those old-fashioned country folk had ever seen a violinist or had ever seen violin tunes set to music, they would have " folded their tents like the Arabs," and silently sought *he shades of the distant west in which to hide their disgust. But there were fiddlers, and such fiddlers they were! I can hear the lively notes of " Fine Times at Our House," " Cotton-Eyed Joe," " Mollie Put the Kettle On," and " Grey Eagle," as I write. Homlely old times were those times that, like the buffalo and the Comanche warrior, sleep in the mouldering ruins of a vanished age. " And how long are you going to stay up on the prairie ? " These were the very first words I ever said to her. " Two or three weeks," she coyly replied. " And will you spend all of your time at Ebbie Mayo's? " " Yes, I think I will," she said. We were again balancing to the right, and it was " right hand across " and " left hand back," and " four hands around," and "ladies, dosee" (this word an abbreviation of dos-a-dos), and "gents counter dance," and so on through the set. I really hoped that it would never end, but it did end, as all our earthly joys must end, and all too soon, and as Tuck said in his cheery tones, " Promenade to your seats," I felt the lump come up into my throat again as I said, " Miss Sal lie, will you dance with me again the next set? " She said " Yes " as charmingly as ever princess consented to be the partner of courtier. I did not realize it then, but I did afterwards, that in that brief interval of time, I had ceased to be a boy and had be come a man. I had passed the line of demarcation between boyhood and manhood in an instant, and oh ! how sad it is that be tween them at that moment there was a great gulf fixed. 78 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE which, like the gulf between Dives and Abraham, no bridge could ever span. I was in love. And do you smile as I say it ? It was no laughing matter to me, dear reader, and in all the years that have passed since then, I have never found it in my heart to laugh at the green, gawky and inexperienced country boy, with hair bobbed off, and all unused to the great world and its devious ways, who, on that autumn night, gave his heart, his whole heart, to that comely country girl. The next set was nearing to a close. As we were prome nading past the fiddler on our last round, he said to me : " Britton, I want to see you when this set is over." I always loved Tuck Simms, although my father objected very much to my association with him. He kept company with the toughest gang of outlaws that ever infested that portion of Texas, but I loved him nevertheless. " And what do you want?" I said to Tuck after the set was over, as I hastened to his side. " Who is that girl you have been dancing with ? " I felt that same trouble in my throat as I said, " Why, it is Ebbie Mayo's cousin." " What is her name ? " " Her name— is — it is Sallie— Sallie Yarbrough," I said, tremulously. " Introduce me to her and let me dance a set with her, while you play the fiddle." It was not an unreasonable request, and I replied, "Of course, I will." This was no sooner said than done. He rose and we walked across the room to where she sat engaged in a con versation with George Fry, for she was an attractive girl, and many other hearts than mine were doubtless beating faster on account of her presence that night. The introduc tion being over, I took up Tuck's fiddle and began to play. ?¦ Mrs. Carrie (Cranfill) Snead. A COUNTRY DANCE 79 The set seemed awfully long. I sawed and sawed on that old fiddle and cannot tell whether I played a tune or not, although I was capable of playing the old tunes so much loved by the young people of that time. But it was over at last, as all unpleasant as well as pleasant things will be over bye and bye. I gladly yielded the fiddle to its owner and at once sought the company of the fair damsel, whose gentle face haunted me then as surely as it did in the years that followed. And so we went on until the hours of morning came and the crowing of the cocks warned us of the approach of dawn. I really do not remember how many sets I danced with Sallie, but I know that when the party broke up, and it was time to go home, I was her escort, and that my sister Car rie, in the goodness of her heart, waited at George Gallo way's until I saw my new sweetheart home and hurried back again. I left her at the gate, but before leaving her had made an engagement to call on her the succeeding Sunday. Yes, I was in love, and I knew it. I did not dare speak about it to a soul. But on the journey home, as the stars kept us company, I thought of the bright and happy, queenly face of the matchless beauty to whom, without thought of consequences, I had unreservedly given my whole heart. Did I say it was Thursday night? Well, it seemed ten years till Sunday. IX A BOY IN LOVE FENCE BUILDING is a slow business at best. I never could lay a straight fence worm, but I do not think any was ever so crooked as the one I laid after that Thursday night at George Galloway's. Not only were the fence worms crooked, but everything I did was crooked but the one thing of loving that girl. I slept very little. There was not a minute in my waking hours that my mind was not on Sallie Yarbrough. I hardly dared to go to see her on Sunday morning, be cause there was to be preaching at the little Hardshell Bap tist church down on the south side of the prairie, and, as this was my father's and mother's church, and, as we always attended it, I felt obliged to go, and really I hoped that Sal lie might be there, because Ebbie Mayo was himself a Hard shell Baptist, and I thought that possibly the whole family might be there. Like many other cherished hopes, this hope was vain. There was more than the usual supply of Hardshell preachers on hand that day, and they all preached. My father — God rest his soul — was the last one to preach on that eventful Sunday. Jim Baker preached the fi^st ser mon, which seemed four hours long. And then his brother Abe followed him in a scarcely shorter sermon than the first, and then old Brother Ellis, who, if he had not been a Hardshell preacher, would have been a barkeeper, came in with an exhortation of great loudness and great length. My father closed the exercises with an exhortation that could 80 T. B. Cranfill When He Loved Sallie. A BOY IN LOVE 81 scarcely have been half an hour long, but it seemed to me thirty years instead of thirty minutes. I did not go to dinner. I went as straight to Ebbie Mayo's as my agile and faithful " Old Ball " could carry me. I forgot that I had heard four Hardshell sermons, and I forgot that I had had nothing to eat since breakfast, and could eat but little then, and I forgot tthat my horse was also hungry, and I forgot the whole world, which, utterly ob livious of the fact of my forgetfulness of it, went on in its remorseless rush. I forgot all else but Sallie, and when I reached the gate and dropped the reins of iriy bridle over the corner of the " staked and ridered " fence, and caught a glimpse of the girl I loved, I was as happy as was the first man when he looked upon the virgin loveliness of the first woman as her brow was kissed by the early dawn. I did not need to knock at the door, because before I could get in knocking distance, two huge dogs heralded my ap proach in unmistakable language. I do not think I had ever known anyone to knock at a door up to that period of my life. The way we made our approach known was to give a loud " hello." Every farm had its dogs. The poorer a man was, the more dogs he had. Some of these, and this was especially true of my dog, were like the immortal " Bull " of Dr. Eg- gleston's Hoosier Schoolmaster. Ebbie Mayo had just such a dog. He combined great strength and comelineess of form with the ugliest physiog nomy that can be imagined. He was of the same family as " Bull," and when he caught hold, " Heaven and earth couldn't make him let go." This fact necessarily impeded my approach, until Ebbie Mayo, who was a man of perhaps fifty, with a little patch of beard on his chin, and with slightly stooping shoulders, came to the door, quited the dogs. 82 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE You may be interested enough to know something of my own dog, which, though now keeping a safe distance, had been to meeting with me that day and followed me, keeping pace with " Old Ball " as I journeyed toward the one I loved. His name was " Puppy." That was not a lovely name, even for a dog, but I called him that the first time I ever saw him. He was as thin as a razor-back hog the day he, as a for lorn and friendless stray dog, followed me home. I tried once to drive him off, but he switched his tail so humbly, and looked at me so mournfully out of his large, clear eyes, that I took him home. That was five years ago, when I was only twelve years old, and from that day till this Sunday morning he had been my inseparable companion. He was little more than a puppy when we took up together, and that became his name. Never in all the annals of turf, field and farm was there a braver, more faithful or more judi cious dog. " ' Light and look at your saddle," was Ebbie Mayo's kindly exclamation, forgetting that I was already on the ground and ready to spring over the fence into the yard. I grasped his hand warmly, hastened into the house, and was quickly ushered into the " parlor," as I should call it now, but the fact was that Ebbie Mayo's house had no par lor, and I was invited to take a seat in the family room, from which, when I was duly seated and Miss Yarbrough was seated near me, the family quietly withdrew. " And how do you feel since the dance Thursday night ? " was my first sentence. " Oh, splendid," she said. " And do you like Hallmark's Prairie? " I inquired. We always called that neighborhood Plallmark's Prairie, even after Jeddo was established, and it is called Hallmark's Prairie until this day. It was named for an old citizen of the community, John Hallmark, whose son " Mat " was the A BOY IN LOVE 83 first boy that ever gave me a licking when I was "almost new." " Yes," she said, " I have been very much plea.sed with the people and have made many pleasant acquaintances." " I am sure," I replied modestly and somewhat timidly, " that you have made a good impression on the people here, for I have heard nothing but the highest praise of you." " Indeed ? " she inquired, " and I wonder why anyone should praise me?" " And I wonder why every one should not praise you ! '' She blushed innocently and naturally, and I continued, " The prairie has not been favored with such a charming visitor within my knowledge." And then I stopped and my heart fluttered as I wondered if I had not said too much. Her kindly eyes met mine as she modestly replied, " I am sure that I am not worthy to have such things said about me." And then I looked out at the door to see how my horse was getting on, and turning toward her again, remarked, " It is a beautiful fall, isn't it?" Some people, even in that remote country, said autumn, but I applied the plainer term and called it fall. " It is indeed, " she replied. " Are there any hickory nuts in this part of the country?" I assured her there were and that I wished it were not Sunday so that we might go nutting. " Can you climb and thrash the trees ? " she asked. Could I climb and thrash the trees ? I could have climbed to the top of the Tower of Babel if she had been looking on, and could not only have thrashed for her all the hickory nut trees in Christendom, but could have thrashed the whole Roman Empire in its palmiest days. " How is the pecan crop ? " I inquired. " Splendid, and we have been pecan hunting two or three 84 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE different days, as you will see from the stains on my fingers now." Yes, I did it. She reached her shapely hand slightly toward me, and I timidly reached mine out and looked at the stains on her fingers, and I held her hand in mine for the first time, and Bob Burdette tells the truth in his lecture on " The Rise and Fall of the Mustache," when he says that a man can hold her hand just as well the first time as he can after practicing it a thousand years. It was her left hand that she extended to me and I uncon sciously took her extended fingers in my left hand. " Are you left-handed? " We each asked the question of the other in the same breath, and both answered " Yes." Another link in the chain of destiny ! She did not let her hand linger there and I did not try to detain it, but that touch had in it a swell and flush of mag netism, that tingled in my fingers and rushed madly to my heart. There are some who do not believe in magnetism, but they never saw Sallie. I have seen ignorant negroes hobble around among a mass of trolley wires, all unconscious of the terrible electric forces that hedged them about, and I have seen listless dolts, both men and women, passing through the world, surrounded by storms of electric power on every hand, and all unconscious of the hidden forces that linger in the human heart. Oh ! that thrill — tremulous, entrancing, inexplicable, dan gerous ! I had stumbled on this discovery and did not as yet know what it was any more than Franklin knew what the lightning was when he caught a few of its kindling sparks in his handkerchief. She felt it too. I did not know it then, but I know it now. There was a mantling of blood to her cheekri, and there was a flash in her eye that I could not explain then, but I knew it later all too well. A BOY IN LOVE 85 " And how long are you going to spend on the Prairie ? " I queried. " Until next week," she said. " And why not spend Christmas with us ? " " I must be at home with Pa and Ma and my little brother." If I were writing a fictitious romance, I would say that she referred to her father and mother as " Papa " and " Mama," but she didn't. It was plain Pa and Ma, as was the custom in the higher walks of country life. In the lower strata, parents were called by the cognomens of " Pap " and " Mam." " And where will you spend Christmas ? " she inquired. " I have never spent Christmas anywhere but here around home," and then there was a pause. " What do you do at Christmas time ? " was my next question. " Oh, we have dances and candy pullings, and sometimes the boys get up a ' chivaree,' if there are any new married couples, and we pass the time away in great glee. There is to be a party at Smithville on this side the river the night before Christmas, and I have promised already to attend that." As Smithville was only about fifteen miles from Hall mark's Prairie, and as I had often visited it in hunting cattle, I knew full well where the house was that she designated. The party was to be at Aaron Burleson's, who was one of the most expert fiddlers and whiskey drinkers in Bastrop County. He was afterwards waylaid and killed, but be fore he " bit the dust," he had killed his eight or ten men. " Have you never been to a party near Smithville ? " she asked. I confessed that I never had, but that I had often hunted cattle in that section of the country. " I think I should like to go to this one," I said. 86 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE " Well, come by all means," and what a pleasant invitation that was ! " If I come, may I go home with you ? " I asked. And really, my dear reader, this was a brave thing to do, but I write it down here for the good of any faint-hearted boy who may read these pages, that the way to win the heart of the woman you love is not to stand on the order of paying her the kingliest attentions of which you are capable. If faint heart never won fair lady, faint heart never won any lady at all. Sometimes faint heart is won by some buxom maiden or last summer's widow, but, when you are in love, make bold to advance, whether you know the countersign or not, and lay siege to the object of your affections mightily. A woman who is worth winning despises a halting, sham bling, stammering, faint-hearted man, and would rather wipe her feet on him than to do anything else with him. " I should be glad to have you go to our house and spend Christmas Day with us," she replied. I looked at her as she gently turned her face toward mine, and I wanted to look at the pecan stains again, but I did not dare, so I said, " It is a bargain. I will be there and go home with you and spend Christmas day at your house." Never on earth shall I forget it. I had already counted it up. Christmas day would be Saturday and the next day would be Sunday, and I knew that if I spent Christmas day, I would have to spend Sunday, because it would not be polite to go away on Sunday morning, much less to leave there on Saturday night for a twenty-three-mile ride, with a dan gerous river between me and home. I really did not observe that it was supper time, although Ebbie Mayo's clock had been ticking right before my eyes, and striking the hour, it seemed to me, every five minutes, and Miss Meely Mayo, his daughter, had tripped in and lighted the lamp, and I heard dishes rattling, and after a little time, Ebbie Mayo beamed in on us and said, " Britton, A BOY IN LOVE 87 if you and Sallie don't come to supper, there won't be any thing left." I had not eaten a bite since breakfast, as the reader knows, but I wished then that there had never been anything like supper invented. But I went in, and, thanks to good luck, I sat by Sallie at the table, and once or twice our elbows touched, and I felt that same indescribable thrill of which I have spoken before. And after supper, what? Well, I stayed until late bed time, which was ten o'clock. Bedtime in the country comes very early. It was related of my father that once upon a time a neighbor called at five o'clock in the afternoon, and found all the family in bed. That was a malicious fabrication, because I have never known all the family to be in bed before seven. Before bedtime came. Miss Sallie had agreed to write me on her arrival home, and to keep me informed as to any change in the program concerning the party at Aaron Bur leson's. But at last good-bye time came, and good-bye time is always the saddest time of all. I grasped her willing hand, and she returned my grasp with a coy warmth that I remem ber now, and I felt that thrill surging in my heart again — and was gone. There were stars that night that came out and shed their silver light on me as I galloped over hill and dale toward my father's house, and the stars seemed happy too, and the autumn leaves that were still falling gave out tender music as the winds sent them rustling to the ground. I was happy. Never in my life had I been thus happy before. I had left the old farm, over which, through many a weary mile, between plow handles, I had followed " Old Fox," and I had left the lowing herds of cattle, which I had tended many a day ; and I had left the books which I had studied 88 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE faithfully, and that had been tied to my saddle as I rode through the forests full many a time; and I had left the little country schoolhouse where I had received the crude education that made me what I was and what I am ; and I had left everything on earth that had prose in it, and had gone into the realm of pure, genuine, innocent, primeval love, which, since the days that there was a garden planted eastward in Eden, has thrilled the heart of city and country lad alike, and has fashioned for good or ill the destinies of the many generations that have come and worked out the little story of their lives — have been born, and lived, and died— and passed into the shadows of the grave. It was the same old story that has been told over and again these many thousand times, and is ever new, and is ever fresh, and ever causes tender hearts to beat faster, and ever fires the ambition and inspires the soul and elevates the life of every man and woman who worthily and truly loves. After arriving at home and giving " Old Ball " a liberal feed of corn and oats, I went to bed and dreamed that Sallie and I had married and had a little country cottage, with the vines growing about the door, with our farm and cattle around us, and in our simple country life were unspeakably happy in each other's love, and journeying through life's mazes to the better land. X A HARDSHELL BAPTIST FOOT-WASHING MY FATHER and mother were members of the Hardshell Baptist Church that had its habitat on Hallmark's Prairie. It was made up of most excellent people. The Hardshell Baptists are very like the Missionary Baptists in their creed, but differ somewhat in the interpretation of their creed. They believe in what they call foot-washing. They base this belief on the 13th chapter of John. On a certain Sunday on Hallmark's Prairie, I went with my father and mother to the old-time rawhide lumber church down on the south side of the Prairie. You may not know what rawhide lumber was. It was lumber sawed from oak trees. It was called rawhide lumber because it wouldn't stay put. It worked beautifully when " green," but when the lumber dried under the heat of the summer sun, it warped in every direction. In some respects it reminded me of the hat, the ownership of which was ascribed to Grimes. It was said that Kis hat " hung down ten thousand ways and the like was never seen." This rawhide lumber warped in every conceivable fashion. For that reason it had to be nailed very securely. If it were not thus nailed when green, it never could be nailed, because a nail can't be driven through a rawhide lumber plank after it seasons. This church had a pine lumber floor and pine lumber seats, many of which did not have any backs to them. On this particular Sunday, Brother Abe Baker preached, and then my father preached, and Brother John Baker 89 90 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE closed with an exhortation. These dear people would begin their services at about eleven o'clock in the morning and close them some time in the afternoon, the time for the benedic tion varying with the number of preachers present and with the time it took for the Lord's Supper and the Foot- Washing. After all three sermons had been duly preached and a closing hymn had been sung. Brother Baker came down out of the pulpit, opened his Bible and read the following verses from the 13th chapter of John : " Now before the feast of the passover, when Jesus knew that His hour was come that He should depart out of this world unto the Father, having loved His own which were in the world. He loved them unto the end. And supper being ended, the devil having now put into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, to betray Him; Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into His hands, and that He was come from God, and went to God: He riseth from supper and laid aside His garments ; and took a towel, and girded himself. After that. He poureth water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith He was girded. Then cometh He to Simon Peter; and Peter saith unto Him, Lord, dost thou wash my feet? Jesus answered and said unto him. What I do thou knowest not now ; but thou shalt know here after. Peter saith unto Him, Thou shalt never wash my feet. Jesus answered him. If I wash thee not, thou hast no part witth me. Simon Peter saith unto Him, Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head. Jesus saith unto him. He that is washed needeth not save to wash his feet, but is clean every whit ; and ye are clean but not all. For He knew who should betray Him, therefore said He, Ye are not all clean. So after He had washed their feet and taken His garments, and was set down again. He said unto them. Know ye what I have done to you ? Ye call me Master and Lord: and ye say well, for so I am. If I then, your Lord A HARDSHELL FOOT WASHING 91 and Master, have washed your feet; ye also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you. Verily, verily, I say unto you. The servant is not greater than his Lord, neither he that is sent greater than he that sent him. If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them." Preparation had been made by the deacons in anticipa tion of this exercise. The bread and wine had been pro cured, as well as the basins and towels and water for the foot-washers. I reluctantly reveal a secret here. These dear, good peo ple, when a foot-washing time was approaching, always very carefully washed their feet before they went to the foot- washing. Not only that, but they put on the cleanest kind of clean hosiery. After Brother Baker had read the Scripture I have quoted, he laid aside his coat, girded himself with a towel, poured water into a basin and approaching Deacon Jack Bellamy, he knelt in front of him and said : " Brother Bellamy, may I wash your feet? " Brother Bellamy assented, and the dear man of God, thus kneeling in front of Deacon Bellamy, began to wash his feet. Deacon Bellamy in the meantime had removed his shoes and stockings. While this was going on, the women of the church, at the other end of the building, were carrying on the same exercises. The men washed each other's feet and the women did likewise. The greatest of decorum was pre served and the occasion was always a most solemn one. The foot-washing began after the Lord's Supper was con cluded. They first took the bread and wine just like other Christians do. This was done in great solemnity, and then the foot- washing followed. After Brother Baker had washed Brother Bellamy's feet. Brother Bellamy in turn washed Brother Baker's feet. At the same time, my father was busy washing the feet of old Brother Asa Bellamy, and he 92 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE in turn washed my father's feet. It was thus that, going from one to the other and reciprocating this evidence of humility and love, these dear people proceeded with their foot-washing. Many were the strangers who came down Hallmark's Prairie way to witness the foot-washing exer cises. But in every case, as far as I can recall, those who came to scoff remained to pray. There was nothing laugh able in this solemn religious observance. Whatever else may be thought of it or said of it, it was true and will remain ever true that these simple folk believed profoundly that they were doing the will of God. I must testify, to be sin cere, that on every occasion when I was present at a foot- washing, there was what the dear old folks would call a splendid meeting. They would, when the exercises were concluded, grasp each other's hand, shed tears of Christian joy, give voice to expressions of tenderest Christian love, and oft-times these dear old soldiers of the Cross would be clasped in each other's arms. Many were the misunder standings and embryo feuds that would be settled on these foot-washing occasions. No man could ever allow an enemy to kneel and wash his feet, and no man could ever remain an enemy of the man whose feet he had washed. It was thus that whatever the meaning of the teaching of the Scrip tures, the ceremonial had its part in cementing the hearts of these dear people in the tenderest bonds of Christian and neighborly affection. Now and then, as the exercises would close, some of the sisters would shout aloud for joy. On one occasion, and on only one, my mother shouted. There were others who thus gave expression to their joy in this simple service for each other, and as they believed, in their obedience to their God. I was a Missionary Baptist a long time before I became convinced that foot-washing ought to be omitted. Dr. B. H. Carroll preached a sermon on the subject that settled me forever on the question. I recite the point, that it may help A HARDSHELL FOOT WASHING 93 others. After Jesus had washed the disciples' feet and told them that He had given them an example that they should follow, He added : " If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them." Dr. Carroll's point was that Jesus gave His disciples an example of humility and loving service ; that it was not just one thing that the foot-washing illustrated, but many things. It was an injunction to humility, to service and to brotherly love all in one. It was an exhortation to helpfulness and kindliness of soul. Dr. Carroll made the point that if we limited the exercise simply to washing one another's feet, we robbed the words of Jesus of their broad and compre hensive significance. I had not been convinced by the argu ments usually employed by those who opposed the foot- washing ceremony. The point was that they had been walking for quite a little way, their feet, which were not covered with shoes, but sandals, had become soiled with the dust of the road and Jesus did for them a needed service in washing their feet. That did not seem convincing to me, but Dr. Carroll's point did. XI SOME WORDS CONCERNING MY FATHER MANY REFERENCES have been made and will be made in this story concerning my dear father. He was to me more than any other man. He was a companion to his sons. He loved us tenderly, he treat ed us with the utmost kindness, he made us obey him and we respected him. As has been stated, he was a preacher and a doctor. He never went to medical college. As a doctor he was self-taught. He became one of the best practitioners of medicine I ever knew. He was not a learned man, as men count education now. His tuition was in the school of life. His learning was profound, but it was acquired first hand with men and nature as his teachers. He accumulated a large medical library and mastered every book in it. He belonged to the reform school of medicine and, if living today, would be called an eclectic. He combined all of the best things in the medical practice of his time and was far and away the best doctor known to me. The latter day theory in medicine is, for instance, that fever is not a disease, but a symptom. It has come also to be taught in our medical schools and by our medical experts that a very large percentage of the ills to which flesh is heir are caused from what we now call auto-intoxication. My father did not apply this high-sounding term to this condi tion. He called it " engorgement of the system." He would treat what he called engorgement of the liver, or engorge ment of the intestinal tract, by " cleansing the system." He was also great in his practice in setting up reaction. He 94 CONCERNING MY FATHER 95 taught my brother and me, both of whom were medical stu dents, that at least seventy-five per cent of all the ailments in our latitude was due to obstructions and diseases in the alimentary tract. We had not then come to the time of the germ theory of disease, but my father gave medicine that would kill any germ that ever " rose or reigned or fell." I not only studied under him, but I practiced with him. From my boyhood I would go with my father to visit his patients. He treated them in the simplest kind of way by what he called emesis, or by diaphoresis or by purgation. In many cases he used all of these means for eliminating poison, and with his magnificent common sense and his inherent medical intuition, he succeeded most grandly in his medical work. The old style medication contemplated simply the curing of sick people. The latter day science has to do with methods of preventing sickness. My father's work was almost wholly pathological, yet in many instances he practiced, in his simple way, what we now call hygiene and sanitation. He stoutly opposed mineral poisons for medicines. He was not in favor of mercurialization, nor did he administer any of the minerals as medicines except upon rare occasions. If he practiced in our time he would be called, by some, a hydro- path, because he used many of the hydrotherapy appliances. He believed in water, hot and cold, externally, internally and eternally, and frequently coupled this water with what he called " composition tea " and lobelia, with a sprinkle of capsicum and ipecachuana. There was another thing about him as a physician to which I have briefly referred. He was an intuitive diagnostician. He did not need the latter day appliances in order to ascer tain the trouble with his patients. He had never fooled with microscopes or clinical thermometers, but he was as quick to detect an infection of typhoid fever, pneumonia or measles as the scientist who is equipped with the latest methods of procedure. 96 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE He was honest to his heart's core and frank to bluffness. If he visited a patient who was not really ill, but was suffer ing from some imaginary ailment, he told him so plainly and without equivocation. In this way he lost some clients, but he kept his conscience clean. He never administered what the doctors call " placebos." He hated shams of every kind. He believed in driving directly to the mark and in telling the plain truth without garnishment or double dealing. His practice extended over Gonzales, Bastrop, Fayette and Caldwell Counties. He often rode as far as fifty miles to see a patient. His reputation extended over these four counties and he had friends in all of them who would have no other physician if he were at all available. Many is the man he saved from death who had been given up by other doctors. It was the traditional thing to do, when any man or woman was given up to die, to send for my father. Many of these alleged incurables he cured, and it was thus his repu tation spread and grew until he stood head and shoulders above any doctor in those four counties. His theory of medication was to " cleanse the system." Those who are at all versed in the mysteries of medical lore know that there are but four methods of elimination known to the human frame. Poisons contained in the system must be eliminated either by the lungs, the skin, the kidneys or through the intestinal tract. In every trouble, one or the other of these avenues is closed, sometimes two, and now and then there is a congestion of all, and this, of course, is a very dangerous condition. My father's plan was to arouse the secretions and cleanse the system. In this way, his patients recovered, and when they were again in health they had escaped the multitudinous sequelae so much known to practitioners of the old school. He never salivated a patient and never left one with the terrible effects of unwise medi cation. Looking back upon my father and his career as a physi- CONCERNING MY FATHER 97 cian, I wonder how it came that he did things so well. The only explanation of it was that he was " to the manner bom,'' and that, coupled with this inherent congenital equip ment, he was possessed of a remarkable fund of common sense, which carried him through every difficulty. If he were living now and I were sick, I would rather have him come and look after me than any man that ever lived. I would, without hesitation, cast aside all of the late day medical equipment and trust to my father's good sense and medical skill rather than to any of the up-to-date doctors. Aside from my father's work as a physician, he was a splendid citizen and an able minister of the Gospel. He studied and marked his Bible, held many of its passages sacredly to his heart, and presented the Word of God both with pathos and with power. He believed profoundly in the inspiration of the Scriptures and in all those sacred doc trines that have made great men and blessed the world since time was young. He never had any doubt of any truth or any statement in the Book of God. In his pulpit ministra tions he never apologized for, but always proclaimed, the Gospel. I would not have you think for a moment that my father was a perfect man. He had his faults. One of these was an impetuosity that often betrayed him into hasty speech and action. He had a quick, explosive temper, and while he was forgiving and tender in his nature, he was as brave as a lion and was ready to resent an injury or an insult at the drop of a hat. It was wonderful about those old frontier men. They carried their guns and revolvers everywhere they went. My father, in the frontier times, would take his arms with him right into the pulpit and lay them beside the Bible. No one knew when an attack would be made by the Indians, and those old-time Texans believed that " self-preservation was the first law of nature." While he believed profoundly in 98 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE predestination, he was like the other old Primitive Baptist preacher of whom I heard. He was going from home one Sunday morning to a church appointment where he was to preach, and befoie he left he took down his gun and saw that it was in first-class condition. His son twitted him with the remark : " Father, if you believe in predestination, why are you afraid of Indians ? " " Ah, my son," he replied, " I did not know but what the Lord had predestinated that I should kill an Indian today." That was the way my father viewed the matter. While he believed in the purposes of God and in God's care of us, one by one, he at the same time availed himself of every common sense protection. During all of my youth time he kept his arms right by his bed. If he did not have his revolver under his head as he slept, he kept it in reach of his hand, and was always ready for the sudden attack of savage or marauder. A wave of indigation swept over the old Texans when the first six shooter law was passed in 1873. I was then fifteen years old and had become very expert in the use of a revolver. My father allowed my brother and me to acquire the use of firearms early in our lives. I cannot remember when we did not have these implements of de struction in our home. He had passed through the war, had lived on the frontier, and had found himself surrounded, through all of his life in Texas, by hostile conditions. When the first six shooter law was passed, we were living in Bas trop County. This law was adopted during the administration of E. J. Davis, the great Republican or Radical of that time. He was the most cordially hated man that was ever in public position in Texas, and when the six shooter law was passed, there was a coincident order empowering negroes to be policemen. Many of the negroes were equipped with arms and the white men were deprived of arms. It was almost revolutionary — so much so that the old Texans CONCERNING MY FATHER 99 ignored the law almost universally, and the result was that a good many negroes and some white men lost their lives. During this period, I remember a Democratic barbecue that was held on Hallmark's Prairie, at which Joseph D. Sayers, of Bastrop, then a young lawyer, was the principal speaker. One of our white Republicans had taken a Negro policemen there to keep order and to see that the white men were not armed. Joe Sayers was as brave as a lion. He had been a gallant colonel in the Confederate service and was then one of the rising young men of Texas. He afterwards went to Congress from his district and later was Governor of our State. Jones & Sayers were my father's attorneys, and so it was not remarkable that all of us were at this barbecue on this eventful day. When Sayers arose to speak, he looked around, and spy ing the white Republican, or Radical as we called him, he began to denounce him by name and added : " I want Mr. to understand that I am here on this ground armed. I have a pistol in each one of my pockets and I defy him and all his Negro police to disarm me. The first man that approaches me to disarm me I shall shoot deaH on the spot, and I know that my friends here will finish up the balance of the bunch." It is needless to say that there was no effort that day to disarm Mr. Sayers or the other Democrats who were present. This will give, however, some insight into the situation in Texas at that time. My father believed to his dying day that any law prohib iting the carrying of arms was an outrage on the liberties of the people, just as he believed that no man should be allowed to fence vast bodies of land and thus keep the common people from enjoying the blessings of free air, free water and free grass. He contended that any law prohibit ing the carrying of fire-arms was designed in its very 100 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE essence to disarm the honest, law-abiding citizens, but that it would at no time disarm the criminals. My father was a magnificent business man. He was the best horse trader and best judge of horses I ever knew. He would, in the springtime, come down into the horse herd and would here and there pick out what my brother and I would call a " stack of bones " and say to us : " Boys, bring that colt home tonight so that he can be put in the barn and fed." We would laugh at what we thought were our father's miscalculations, time and time again, but his judgment never failed. Every one of these raw-boned plugs that he would select would, with the stimulus of proper feed, soon bloom out into one of the finest horses in Bastrop County. It was thus that he not only conserved his own herd of horses, but he was able, by this horse sense, to buy promising colts from others and thus make a great deal of money on his horses. XII SOME REMINISCENCES OF THE '70'S IN OLD BASTROP COUNTY 1HAVE referred in a previous chapter to the barbecue on Hallmark's Prairie. This was a procedure that was emulated in many other sections of the county and State. The people were just emerging from the strife and carnage of Civil War. They had not yet emancipated them selves from the effects of the exultation of their victors. The South was stunned and subdued, but never conquered. We had the Negro question to deal with, we had our ruined homes and fortunes to repair, and we had to grow a new gen eration of men who would take their places in the walks of life and cut their full width through the disasters the great Southern people had suffered. It is not remarkable that the white folks of Bastrop County — the whites were in the min ority there at that time and probably are today — often met together to compare notes and to take a new hold upon things political and social. While Joseph D. Sayers was one of the foremost young men of that time and place, the great man of the Democratic party in Southwest Texas in the 70's was Wash Jones, of Bastrop. He was head and shoulders above any of his con temporaries. I have not heard him speak since I was seven teen years old, and since then I have heard the greatest men of the world in their most majestic flights of oratory, but I give it as my deliberate conviction that for natural oratorical ability Wash Jones has never had a superior on the American platform. There was one grave reason why 101 102 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE he never came into his own. The nearest that he reached it was when he became a member of Congress. If it had not been for whiskey. Wash Jones might have been presi dent of the United States. He was so far in advance of tfie men of his time, and so far removed from them in ability, that anything might have been possible to him had he let liquor alone. Even as it was, he was a tremendous power in all that part of Texas. His home was at Bastrop, and inasmuch as he was one of my father's warmest personal and political friends, I, as a boy, learned to know him well. I would ride half across the county to hear him speak, and this always with the approval of my father. One of these great barbecues was given near Cockrell's Hill in Fayette County July 4, 1871. My father was busy with his practice that day and so I was permitted to go alone. I was at that time thirteen years of age. This barbecue was very largely attended. I was a very little boy, and in the absence of my father I feared I would have a rather short shrift for my dinner. The speaking was to be in the after noon. There had been a " tournament " in the morning. When dinner was announced I hastened to the table in the hope that I might secure for myself a reasonably full repast. I found myself standing by " Pod " Cockrell, a brother of " Chig " Cockrell, who kept the big store on Cockrell's Hill. " Pod " Cockrell was a very staid and crusty old bachelor, about five feet nine inches tall, squarely built, with heavy muscles, deep chest and very long flowing beard. He was awe-inspiring to a boy, but none the less the boy who stood beside him that day essayed to play a joke on him. Mr. Cockrell got a full cup of coffee, but the boy got none. When Mr. Cockrell looked over the other way, the boy very quietly slipped Mr. Cockrell's cup of coffee over beside his own plate, and when Mr. Cockrell looked around and saw that his coffee was gone, he had the funniest ex pression on his face that I have ever seen. He looked along THE '70'S IN BASTROP COUNTY 103 by my plate and espied the departed coffee. At once he grew very grave and ministerial in his demeanor. Turning upon me he said : " Young man, the next thing it will be a yearling, and then a horse, and a little while later you will be an out-and- out criminal. If I were you I would stop now." I am sure that he did not know that I was Dr. E. A. Cranfill's boy, or he would have appreciated the joke and would have gently asked me to replace his coffee. Instead of that, he gave me that terrible lecture from which I have not yet recovered. When he turned away, I gently slipped his coffee back, and none of that barbecue tasted good to me. However, I managed to secure enough food to stay my hunger and was on one of the front seats when Wash Jones began his great oration on the Declaration of Independence. I never shall forget his stateliness, the majesty of his presence, the resonance of his deep bass voice, the wonderful sweep of his eloquence, or the tremendous influence he exer cised over his auditors. He held them in the hollow of his hand. After reading the Declaration of Independence, he began his address by saying : " I have selected for my text today these words : ' We hold these truths to be self-evident — that all men are cre ated equal.' " There he stopped, and from that short sentence he spoke almost three hours. The address must have begun at about 1 : 30 o'clock and it was nearly 5 when the tremendous arraignment of the South's enemies and oppressors reached its climax and its close. I have never forgotten that speech, and, as long as I live, I shall look back upon it as one of the red letter occasions of my life. It deserved to class with the orations of Henry Ward Beecher, Henry Grady, Jas. G. Blaine and Charles H. Spurgeon. Of course it was not a sermon. Wash Jones was not a religious man. He held all religion in the deepest veneration, but he had not made a 104 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE personal profession of religion. While this was true, he was dealing with questions that stirred the very nerve-centers of the people's hearts, and in a high and noble sense, that speech that day was a sermonic classic. There were other orators known to me as a boy, but none of them deserved to class with Wash Jones. There were Judge Burgess of Seguin; W. B. Miller of Gonzales, a brother of Nick Miller, the great cattle man ; John Ireland, who afterwards became Governor of Texas, and W. B. Sayers, brother of Joseph D. Sayers. Over at Gonzales there was a lawyer by the name of Parker, who was what Colonel Jones called a " Hardshell Democrat." He used to go around to the barbecues and praise the Radicals, but Wash Jones would not have any of that. He assailed them politically and personally, and our present day politicians who are unfamiliar with the history of that period know nothing of strenuous politics. A tournament was a riding contest. The plan of proced ure was to erect poles at certain distances apart and place on these poles arms, to which rings would be attached or hung on nails. The riders, each with a spear, would run past these poles, the object being to catch these rings on the spear. This was great sport and indulged in by the cowboy gentry of that period with great avidity. On nearly every barbecue occasion there would be a tournament in the morn ing or in the afternoon, and the victorious knight would be privileged to crown his sweetheart queen of the occasion. The exercise called not only for expert horsemanship, but good marksmanship, because taking aim at these rings was just about like taking aim at any kind of game. The rider's horse was also a factor of no small moment in the equation. A well-trained tournament horse was much in demand. It did not follow that a cow horse was inherently adapted to this exercise. Cow horses and cow ponies were trained, and became as expert in helping to handle the cattle as the cow- THE '70'S IN BASTROP COUNTY 105 boys themselves. A trained cow pony was worth his weight in gold, and a trained cow horse was in many ways very valuable. The most of the cowboy work was done by horses of medium size, and these horses were trained to do the much needed things when the cowboy was in action. The same was true of a tournament horse, and the man who went into a tournament without a trained mount would al ways lose. This was a fashion that gave great zest to many a neighborhood occasion, and every youth at some stage of his pilgrimage had to go through the exercise and prove him self worthy of the foemen who gathered to test his mettle. Christmas occasions were characterized by constant rounds of country dances. The Southwest Texas youth who did not attend a dance party every night of Christmas week except Sunday night, was not of much consequence. I have often ridden as far as twenty miles to attend a dance, and after the dance was over I would ride home and be ready for work in the morning. XIII THE STORY OF A GREAT AFFLICTION WHEN I was about twelve years old, I went to stay all night with my friends, the Jenkins boys. They lived about a mile from my father's house and were my much-loved playfellows at school. I had frequently thus gone away to spend the night with neighbor boys and there was nothing that- 1 enjoyed more than this. On this particular night, I ate rather a hearty supper and, as was the custom among the farm people, we retired early. I slept with the grown-up boy, Alex. Jenkins, who was afterwards many times sheriff of Bastrop County. At that time he was a young fellow on his first pins, and, like the other Jenkinses, was an unusually fine young man. After we had been in bed for some thirty minutes, I suppose, and after both of us had fallen asleep, I awoke with a terrible sense of suffo cation. I began to yell and soon aroused the entire house hold. I thought I was dying and told them so. Alex, soon had his pony saddled and went post haste after my father. Meantime Mrs. Jenkins had found the camphor bottle, and with the use of this and other restoratives I was quieting down by the time my father reached the Jenkins home. I was not feeling all right, however, and my father took me up behind him on his big horse and took me home. This was the beginning of a life-long affliction. After this I was very reluctant to go away from home to spend the night. It was true that I did go many times, but always with a feeling of insecurity and uncertainty. I felt perfectly safe at home when my father was there, and comparatively 106 A GREAT AFFLICTION 107 safe even when he was away, because my mother had learned to be a first-class physician herself in her own sweet way. She had ministered to the sick many times, and I have known her to even save life. The trouble that I had that night was what my father called " palpitation of the heart," and he said it was occasioned by acute indigestion. Whatever it was, I suffered much excruciating agony, and through the years this physical trouble, which began that way in the years long gone, has been a great handicap. I did not allow it to spoil my childhood. I went now and then to spend the night with the neighbor boys, and later on, when I had reached fourteen or fifteen years of age, I went away quite often in the Autumn, when our own cotton crop had been gathered, to assist in picking cotton for our neighbors and thus earn a little ready money. My brother, however, was always with me and he used the old-time treatment that my father loved so well, so that when I was away from home with him and took one of my " spells," he would immediately fill me up with composition tea, lobelia and ipecac, and I would soon be relieved of the original trouble, even if I had a worse one in its place. While I did not know it at the time, the trouble antedated the first spell of this kind that I had when I was visiting the Jenkins boys. It was congenital. As I have recited in this chronicle, I was born on the Texas frontier, and during all the months preceding my birth, my mother was hourly in terror of the marauding savages. She expected at any time that they would swoop down and make a finish of the fam ily. It was under these conditions that I was born, and I have been told by my mother that when I was not yet a year old, I was attacked with terrible convulsions and they thought I would die. I bit my tongue almost in two a little later on, after my teeth had come, in another spell of this kind. There are scars on my tongue today from the effects of these early nervous troubles, but you would never know 108 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE it if you heard me talk, because my tongue, I would have you understand, was in no wise disabled by these childhood troubles. The fact was, however, that I was a nervous boy, though I did not discover it until this time at the home 61 Mr. Jenkins. I had been well all my life, so far as I can remember, and after I had passed the period of early child hood, I never again suffered an attack of convulsions ol any kind. All my life, however, I have suffered with recurrences of these attacks, and as I have grown older, they have assumed protean shape and form. Every day of my life, I have used up all the surplus nervous energy that I accumulated the night before. I have never had what you would call a reserve force of nervous energy. I have lived a very active life and have been a hard worker in every line of work in which I have engaged. It was so in my childhood. I worked like fighting fire, and it was no wonder that O. S. Fowler, the great phrenologist, said of me when he examined my head in Waco, when I was about twenty-eight, that I would make as furious a charge in order to capture a mouse as I would to circumvent an elephant. That was exactly the truth. I have never quite been able to differentiate between small things and large things in my workaday life. I have fought hard day by day, battling with whatever obstructions crossed my path, and I have not been fortunate in my ability to conserve my nervous energy. If I had been a woman, I would have sometimes been called hysterical, but I have now outlived the former symp toms of that kind. In this childhood spell of which I speak, I really did think I was dying, and many have been the times in my boyhood and later in my maturer youth and years, that I felt my hour had come. I know exactly how a man feels when he is dying, and I will not be surprised at any of the symptoms when I am in extremis. My dear mother, from whom I inherited much of this neurasthenic A GREAT AFFLICTION 109 diathesis, said to me after death was on her that she felt like she had an attack of hysterics. She had the character istics dyspnoea and the other symptoms that had so much annoyed her during her pilgrimage. This trouble assumes many forms, one of which is insom nia. Many have been the nights that I have passed over hour by hour without being able to sleep. Most people sleep the sounder, the more sleep they have lost. My trouble has been that the more sleep I lose, the less I can sleep, so I have had to be very careful to take every advantage to find rest for a tense and irritable nervous system. In my childhood these spells would always be accompanied with distressing symptoms. I have been examined by the most distinguished heart specialists in the world, and have never been told by any of them that I had heart disease. Once when in boyhood I suffered an attack of this kind, I jumped out of bed, cleared the room at about two bounds and ran like a deer. I had that sense of suffocation that my Uncle Charlie, my father's youngest brother, must have felt when he had similar spells in his boyhood in the old Kentucky home. Uncle Charlie came running to the house one day, panting for breath in an agony of uneasiness and terror, and said: " Oh, mother, I have almost lost my breath, and I would rather lose anything in the world than my breath ! " I have had this experience over and over again — I do not doubt, a thousand times — and I pity any man, woman or child who ever endured the agony of this kind of suffering. Many is the night when I have prayed the Lord to send me the toothache or an ingrowing toe-nail or an attack of appen dicitis — anything in the world that would be a pain. A pain would have been such a relief. I had no pain whatever, but was suffering that excruciating agony that comes from a sense of impending dissolution. Now, I have never been afraid to die when I was in my 110 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE normal health. I have no particular fondness for dying. The fact is that I like this worid, I love the people in it and I am charmed with the opportunities for usefulness that stretch out on every hand. While all of this is true, I real ize that life's end sometime must come, and normally I have not been afraid of its end. However, when I have had spells of this kind, it has not been a normal condition, but an abnor mal one, so I have been in absolute terror of death, even when I was living the best Christian life I ever lived at all. All physicians will understand what I mean, and all others who have ever had this sort of trouble will also comprehend what I have here related. The most disagreeable manifestation of the trouble that I have ever suffered has been that of a super-sensitive ner vousness concerning the matter of sleep. I have been a great burden to my family in many ways and this I profoundly regret. I raised a daughter to be grown, as well as a son, and I know that, while I tried hard to make their childhood and youth-time years the happiest of their lives, I have been to them a great burden with respect to this affiiction. I never could bear to have noises around my home at night, and on account of this super-sensitiveness I have had to retire early and court sleep instead of sitting up in order to get sleepy. It has been one long agonizing nightmare, and while it seems now I will live out perhaps more than the average span ol life, unless a tree falls on me or I get run over by an auto mobile, the fact remains that my life has been immeasurably marred by this affliction. Even before I had eye trouble and was thus disabled from night reading, I was cut off from much study at night from the fact that it so excited my brain that after too much cerebration after supper, I could not find any sleep whatever when I had retired for rest. Now, this accounts for my absence from many public functions of various kinds. I dearly love social life. I love my friends as few men have ever loved their friends. I have A GREAT AFFLICTION 111 a supreme joy in being with my friends in a social way. I love the prayer-meetings. I love the Sunday night services. Indeed, I love all the services of the church and I love to be at public meetings. The fact, however, is that on account of this congenital neurasthenic condition I escape every one of them that I possibly can. Sometimes it has happened that under great stress of either social or religious obligation I have gone out to these meetings at night, and even if I did not do anything but sit and hear a sermon or engage in the singing, it has cost me a night's sleep. The man who is physically organized otherwise cannot understand this. My brother never could. He is just as different from me as day is from night. He can sleep anywhere you put him and in any position that he finds himself. He can cuddle up on a seat in a smoking car and sleep soundly for ten mortal hours. I could not sleep in such a position as that if my life de pended upon it. One night, after preaching in one of our city churches, I did not sleep. Next morning I asked my wife if she could account for this remarkable fact — that whereas my sermons put the audience to sleep, they kept me awake all night. I am taking my readers into my confidence in this recital, in order that when I am gone I may be better understood. 1 know that there are brethren and friends who have wondered why I slipped out of conventions and public meetings at evening time and sought my room when they thought I should have attended. I am now giving you the explanation. I have to take every advantage to get mental rest and to get quietude for my nerves, or I am unfit for the next day's tasks. I have been a great bore to hotel keepers and sleeping car agents wherever I have traveled. I always write and asTc for a room away from the elevator, fronting on the court, off the street car line. If I get a room that is exposed to the noise of the street or the noise of the elevator, it is good- 112 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE bye sleep and subjection to all the agonies of brain exhaust ing and nerve-racking insomnia. I have counted all the sheep in the universe. If there are sheep in the other planets, I have counted them. I have gone for hours and hours, trying my best to get one minute of quietude in sleep and have failed. I pity profoundly from the very depths of my soul every one who is thus afflicted, and if there were any panacea for this trouble in this world, I would give for it all of my possessions. I am not selfish in this. I know that my own tenure of life cannot be very long at best. While this is true, there are many others similarly afflicted, many more than this reader knows, and I wish that I could leave behind me some surcease of pain and strife and weariness and tears for those who suffer as I have suffered. My dear daughter has said to me many a time: " Papa, I have walked on my eyeballs all my life." The dear child is right. That may have been what caused her eye trouble some years ago, which is now very happily recovered. It is the same with friends who have been around me. I have made some of my dearest friends some what miserable when they have been guests in my home by quietly suggesting that they tip down the stairs next morn ing or up the stairs at night, and refrain from any kind of noise as they walked around the premises. Now I have delivered myself on this subject, and I would make an apology containing more words than all the pages and chapters of this book if it would erase from the past pages of my life the discomfort I have given others and the pain I have myself suffered on account of this affliction. I could not help it. I would have helped it if I could. I would have been as phlegmatic and tranquil of nerve and brain as my dear brother if I could have been, but it was not for me. Now, as I have said this much, I am going to say some A GREAT AFFLICTION 113 more. I have learned that by reasonable care I can avoid many of these attacks, and I am going to give to the readers of this chronicle some of the simple suggestions I have found helpful. I formed the habit of smoking shuck cig arettes and then afterwards put tobacco in them. Later on, I learned how to smoke a pipe, and after I grew up I became a cigar smoker. I never did smoke regularly and I never chewed tobacco, but I kept up the tobacco habit at intervals until I was thirty-one years of age, at which time I abandoned it forever. The use of tobacco on the part of nervous people is equal exactly to buying their own coffin nails and driving them into their coffins. I strongly adjure every tobacco user in the world to give up this habit. If he hasn't this trouble now, he will have it later on if he keeps up his nerve-racking indulgences. The old-time Texans were all great coffee drinkers. The first thing in my father's home when my father and mother got out of bed was to put on the coffee-pot — and they got out of bed early, you may be sure of that. They were foof- ing with the coffee by four o'clock on the summer mornings and by five on the winter mornings. They would make the coffee strong enough to float an axe, and then they would drink their first cup while they sat around the hearthstone and while the breakfast was in preparation; then when breakfast time came, they would drink another cup, and later in the day they would drink still other cups. My dear, sweet mother drank coffee three times a day conscientiously as long as she lived, and, if you count this first cup in the morning, she drank coffee four times a day. She did not think it hurt her, but, looking back upon it, after she has for many years been in her grave, I believe it was a deadly curse to her. I know that it was poison to me from the time of my childhood, but I did not know it then. I drank coffee along with the rest, and then I suffered with these nervous attacks so frightfully that I had to take nearly all 114 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE the medicine in my father's medical saddle-bags to get me straight again. As I learned to know more of myself I abandoned coffee just as I had abandoned tobacco, so that for years I have not indulged in any nervous stimulant or any narcotic of any kind. There is another matter of grave moment to every one thus afflicted, and that is the question of diet; and there is a companion question, that of exercise, which is of supreme importance. Long ago I theoretically became a vegetarian, and now I am practically one. I do not eat a pound of meat of any and all kinds in a year, and the time is near at hand when I never expect to touch meat of any kind under any circumstances. Not only is that true, but I have learned that the right kind of physical exercise, taken in the right way, is one of the best possible preventives of a recurrence of these nervous afflictions. I believe that if anyone so afflicted will steer clear of tobacco, coffee and meat and take plenty of time in which to masticate his food, he will be a long way in the direction of comfort; and moreover, if he will take due and diligent exercise each day — walking is the best of all exercise, I think — he will find himself so far comfortable that he will not recognize in himself the same person that he was before he adopted these simple hygienic suggestions. I was a great horseback rider in my boyhood, and lived out in the open air practically all day long. If I were not on my horse, I was working hard at farm labor. While all of this was true, this out-door physical exercise did not serve to ward off these recurring spells from which I suf fered. I have them less now than ever before, but I find as I go along that I am a little more susceptible to noise and the discomforts of public functions than before. I do not know how I will end up in the matter, but I am expecting the time to come, if I shall live to be as old as ninety or a hundred years, that I will have to spend much of my time A GREAT AFFLICTION 115 alone. If I do, I will keep writing on this chronicle, so that those who follow after will have a good time reading what I have said about it. I know it must be exceedingly interesting to every reader to know the meanderings of the mind of a nervous man and the distresses he has felt on account of his neurasthenic diathesis. I have found great benefit from water. I drink a great deal of water, and I am a very persistent user of water in the various kinds of bathing. I take a cold plunge bath every morning of the world, no matter how cold it is, and use water of the temperature of the room or of the hydrant, wherever I am. This has been one of the best preventives of all the other ills to which flesh is heir that I ever adopted, and I will give you a gracious fact about myself, and that is, that while I have suffered much with this nervous trouble, I have escaped many of the other troubles that afflict the human race. I have never had pneumonia. I have never had malarial fever. I have nothing like tuberculosis or asthma, and on the whole, I am a very healthy individual. Of course, if I had not had this neurasthenic trouble, I would have been a perfect specimen of physical manhood, and so, after all, while I have suffered much, I do not com plain of the fact, but rather thank God that it has been no worse. I am a good deal like the old lady, concerning whom I told a story in my first book, entitled Courage and Com fort, or Sunday Morning Thoughts. This old lady was rather neurasthenic and hysterical and she never was willing to confess that she was better. One morning, however, when she seemed to be in unusually fine physical condition, one of the neighbor ladies came over and said : " Why, Grandma, you must feel better this morning." She said: " Yes, I feel a little better this morning, thank God ! But I always know that when I feel better I'm going to feel worse. O Lordy ! " 116 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE This is characteristic of the neurasthenic, but I have been enabled by my knowledge of medicine, hygiene and therapeu tics to adapt myself to such conditions as I have had to con front, and I am very thankful that in many ways my life has been cast in pleasant places. If at any time I have ever seemed to neglect you, dear reader, or to stay away from your party, or to be absent from your association or convention, or chamber of com merce meeting, or to neglect you when you have invited me to your dinner, it was not because I did not love you, but rather because, knowing I had a certain amount of work in the world to do, I have had to forego the pleasure of doing the things you felt that I ought to do and looked for me to do, in order to accumulate enough nervous energy and strength to do the duties of the following day. This has been the way I have lived. The trouble has been my shadow every day and will follow me to my grave. I am glad that after the breath leaves my body I can have one last long sleep. XIV A CHAPTER ON NERVOUSNESS, NUISANCES AND NOISE THERE are many in this world whose chief ambi tion seems to be to make others discontented and unhappy. Some of these promote noises. Take, for instance, the firemen and engineers on our railway trains. Each engine is equipped with a demoniacal whistle. An engine makes enough noise any way, when you take into account the escape of the steam and the other general noise-creating apparatus thereunto belonging, but when you add the clanging of the bell, and the screeching of the whistle, you have a machine that is of the underworld. Of course, in the ongoing of a railway train, there is a necessity for some noise. The bell should be clanged at certain cross ings, and at certain other intervals the whistle should be blown, but the noise that engineers and firemen make is out of all reason and out of all proportion to the noise they should make. There is just at this time on one of the Dallas railway trains, a diabolical fireman or engineer who pulls out a freight train at about 5 : 30 in the morning. As he starts out of the Dallas station he begins to blow his whistle. It is a horrible whistle. It is one of those whistles that has in it compounded the groans, screeches, howls and screams of the entire antediluvian world. It is frightful in its dis cordant sound, and it is so loud that I can hear it as plainly when the breeze is from the South as if it were on my front sidewalk. Now, this brutal whistle-blower starts out blow ing his whistle at almost every turn of the wheels, and that 117 118 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE screech goes on until he is safely outside of the corporate limits, and perhaps he keeps it up until he is miles and miles away. I remember a noise that used to distress me much. I lived for twelve years in Waco, and for about five years of that time I lived in South Waco, about a block from Baylor Uni versity. Dr. Burleson was president. He meant well in the very noises that he made, but there is one man — I refer to the writer of these lines — who was caused to suffer more agony and more general discomfort and distress on account of one of Dr. Burleson's noise-making appliances than per haps any other man that ever lived in Waco. By some means Dr. Burleson possessed himself of an enormous bell. He did not hang it in the air, but suspended it right close to the ground. Every morning at six o'clock, rain or shine, Sunday and every day, this bell tolled to wake up the 150 or 175 girls that he had in his boarding hall. Now, living in South Waco at that time there were perhaps six or seven thousand people, and if one of them could sleep through the tolling of this bell, he surely had a cast-iron nervous system, and all the aural avenues, including the eustachian tube, were closed. As I have already told, I am a poor sleeper. Sometimes it is far into the night before I can compose myself to find any sleep at all. Often it happens that I do not fall asleep till early morning. This happened many times when I lived on Speight Street in Waco, so close to dear Dr. Burleson's school. Just about the time I would then be sound asleep, this bell would toll and my chance for sleep for that day had reached its end. Dr. Burleson has long since been in his grave. I would not say an unkind word of the dead, nor would I say an unkind word of the noble man if he were alive, but as a matter of fact, while he never thought of it, the tolling of that bell every morning at six o'clock — a bell so loud that its intonation sounded like the coming of an earthquake — A CHAPTER ON NERVOUSNESS 119 was absolutely against every principle of righteousness and in violation of every tenet of Christian ethics. He did not mean it so. Of this I am very sure. But the fact remained that for all of the years of his mortal existence, this abomina tion of desolation, standing where it ought not, tolled alarums to the horror and discomfort of all the nervous people in the community, and perhaps to the fatal ending of many nervous ailments. That is one thing I have against the Roman Catholics. In every Roman Catholic church in the world, they begin their morning by tolling a six o'clock bell. I roomed near one of them once, and the Roman Catholic bell was just as harassing to my nerves as was Dr. Burleson's bell, with the exception that the Roman Catholic bell was not as loud as Dr. Burleson's bell. Dr. Burleson's bell was the loudest I ever had close to me, but the Catholic bells are loud enough to bring wakefulness to the eyes of those who suffer from nervousness, and to disturb the tranquility of many sufferers who languish on beds of affliction. Nuisances of this sort should be abated by law. I do not believe that any engineer, or any college president, or any Catholic priest, or any other functionary anywhere, has the right to maintain this kind of nuisance. It is against the peace and tranquility of the public and in violation of all the high principles of Christian ethics. This brings me to another point on which I have wanted to speak for thirty years. It is with regard to the evangelists who promote six o'clock morning prayer meetings. I be lieve in prayer. Profoundly do I reverence every man who thus finds communion with his God. We do not pray half enough. Prayer is one of the most neglected of all Chris tian duties. But tliese six o'clock morning prayer meetings are as senseless as they are unnecessary. In a large measure, they are hypocritical. They are advertised and promoted for the purpose of showing forth a degree of piety that 120 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE the leaders in them do not possess. A man can pray just as well after he has arisen from a sound sleep in the regular way and had his breakfast. There is no virtue in jumping out of bed at five or 5 : 30 o'clock, rubbing one's eyes, hastily pulling on one's clothes, and hurrying away to some church house to meet a lot of misguided fanatics who think that by disturbing their neighbors, cutting off their natural supply of sleep, and hurrying together at six o'clock, they can thereby promote righteousness. In these evangelistic efforts many of these very same people do not get to bed until midnight, and here they are jumping up at five in the morning and scurrying away to meet other idiots of the same kind in a useless prayer meeting. I have attended but one of this sort and that was by accident. It was when the Texas Baptist Sunday School Convention met many years ago at Brenham. The train was quite late and we did not get to Brenham until just about 5 :30 o'clock. We were met by some brethren and advised that a six o'clock prayer meeting was to be held soon at one of the nearby churches. We had nothing else to do, and so I followed the brethren in. The breakfast hour had not yet come, so it was no loss of time to go in and witness one of these six o'clock morning per formances. I was not in very much of a praying mood. I had been on the train all night, and getting up at 5 : 30 is not exactly in my line. However, I helped them sing and I helped them pray, but they were a sleepy, languid looking bunch, and I do not believe that ten per cent of the men and women there really were in earnest in coming to the prayer rrieeting. They came because a cranky evangelist had advertised the prayer meeting and they thought that in order to be in line with his plans, they had to shake themselves loose from the best end of a good night's sleep and con gregate with him to make a show of themselves in this kind of religious observance. I class this along with the ringing of the six o'clock Catholic bell and all such heathen sounds. A CHAPTER ON NERVOUSNESS 121 Then, there are the steam whistles of factories, planing mills, flouring mills and enterprises of this sort. The first year I came to Dallas, I lived at what was then 469 South Ervay Street. This was in the neighborhood of the Dallas cotton mills. These mills employed some 300 hands, and in order, as the management thought, to get these people out of bed and into the factory on time, they had to arouse 15,000 people every morning by blowing their abominable whistle at five o'clock. They are doing that today. One morning not long ago, when I was struggling to make even with the loss of a very large part of the night, I was aroused by this same raucous noise, and I recognized it. The wind was blowing exactly from that location, and although, on a straight line, it is over four miles from where I now live, this whistle woke me up and spoiled the only chance I had for enough sleep with which to perform next day a reason able day's work. Then there are others of these factories that begin their noises at six o'clock, then on to 6 : 30, then to seven, and finally the 7 : 30 whistles are the crowning abominations of them all. You may be a good sleeper. You may be able to turn in at ten or eleven o'clock and sleep straight through till six or seven without turning over, and feel absolutely refreshed and ready for the day's work. You are an exception. Many are poor sleepers, particularly in large cities where the nerve- tension is great, and where life is strenuous. There are many occupations that demand early rising, but I never could understand, and do not understand now, why a civilized community will allow outrages of this kind to be perpetrated from year to year without complaint or comment. If there were any sense in all of this, it would be a dif ferent matter, but the great store-keepers do not blow whistles to bring their men and women to the store at eight o'clock. There are many large department stores, and many other large shops and factories, that do not find it necessary 122 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE to indulge in this kind of indecorous conduct in order to bring their operatives to their places on time. There are thousands upon thousands of business offices here and there, in which the stenographers, book-keepers, clerks and other employes have regular hours of work, and yet none of these find it necessary to disturb a whole city in order to bring themselves to their work on time. One of our latter day devices for making night hideous is the motorcycle. I do not know of anything more out rageously bad than the explosions of a gasoline engine. Automobiles have mufflers, but the average motorcycle has no muffler, and the average rider of a motorcycle has neither sense nor consciencee. It is no wonder that now and then, when one of these motorcycle operators gets his head broken, there is scant sympathy for him. It is because he has no sort of consideration for the public, and at any and all hours of the night rides through the streets making these uncouth and sleep-destroying noises. I heard a story of an old country gentleman whose mules got terribly frightened at a passing automobile. Finally, with the assistance of the automobile man and his gentleness of demeanor, he was enabled to pass the mules, and tfie farmer drove on. He had not been going forward very long until, coming down the road, passing in the same direc tion, there raced one of these up-to-date, noise-producing motorcycles. His mules were worse scared at that thaa they were at the automobile. He jumped out, grabbed the bridle of the near mule, with his wife grabbing the bridle of the off mule, and the motorcycle shot by like a meteor. He looked at it as it flashed by and said : " Well, I didn't know that blamed automobile had a colt." These and similar devices for the creation of noise are shortening human life, are causing disease, and are in every way inimical to public health and comfort. In every city there should be a Commissioner of Tranquility. He is more A CHAPTER ON NERVOUSNESS 123 important than the Street Commissioner or the Police Com missioner. If we would join hands in an effort to abate nuisances of this kind, life would be more bearable, and many a man who is now on the verge of insanity or the grave, would be saved. I realize that even in country places there is not absolute freedom from noise. There are animals out there and some of these animals make noises. The worst one of all is the donkey. He will bray in spite of all creation. He brays at about the same time the city man begins to bray, and the man who makes the noise in the city is next of kin to the donkey that makes the noise in the country. It is somewhat different in the country, any way, because the farmers are usually out of bed and at work much earlier than the town people, but there is no excuse for the town donkey, who ought to have more sense, while there is plenty of excuse for the country donkey that has been raised without such train ing as would cause him to abate his braying and let the people sleep. I hope some time that our up-to-date civilization will take hold of this question of unnecessary noise with a vigorous hand. Much can be done, but nothing, so far as I know, ever has been done. Once in a while, some agitation is made in some city concerning the matter, but it usually dies in embryo, and the strident noises of the town go on. In some of our cities the noises are so multitudinous that they drown themselves, and subside into a thick and constant roar that lasts all night. There is some relief in this, as in the count less noises there is no noise at all, but a monotony like unto the falling of rain on the roof, which may promote sleep instead of driving it away. There are men everywhere who are thoughtless concern ing the comfort of others. The tobacco smoker is just as thoughtless as the noise-maker. He has a notion that the fumes of his miserable pipe or poisonous cigar are as de- 124 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE lightful to the sensitive olfactory nerves of his neighbors and friends as they are to him. Now and then some man of this kind will take out his match and his cigar and look around and ask if smoke is offensive. Smoke is offensive to those who have not been immunized by living in the house with some tobacco-user. In many instances it is very offensive, even to these. There are thousands of delicate women who are literally being smoked into their graves by thoughless, tobacco-smoking husbands. Some are the sub jects of many and grievous ailments, brought upon them by the nicotine poison communicated to them by their husbands. It is a shame ! It is not popular to say this, but I am not writing this book for popularity . I don't care whether any body buys it or not. I am not dependent upon its sale for my living, and am going to say for once just what I think if the world comes to an end before the bookbinder gets the jackets on the first thousand copies. Another thing about tobacco smokers is that they seem to delight in getting into elevators or into close compart ments, or into small rooms, and infecting every cubic inch of decent fresh air with the fumes from their poison-dis seminating cigars and pipes. It is horrible 1 It only shows that men who are otherwise kind and thoughtful can be so far hardened by a grievous habit that they will be entirely indifferent, both to the health and the comfort of their friends and neighbors. I hope that this will be read by many tobacco smokers. They are killing themselves smoking, but that is not of as much consequence as the corollary fact that they are killing their friends and neighbors, as well as members of their own families. It is pitiful that men will not abstain from hurtful indulgences of this sort, but if they will not, they surely should have good breeding enough to go out and smoke somewhere by themselves rather than infect an entire room or home with their toxines. I hate tobacco smoke with A CHAPTER ON NERVOUSNESS 125 every fibre of my being. I do not like to smell it. I do not like to be in the neighborhood of a man that smokes, and I abominate that callousness that tobacco smokers accumulate in their thoughtless indulgence in this vice. You may ask me if I think tobacco smoking is a sin. Yes. Anything is a sin that carries with it the disaster that follows in the wake of tobacco using, and while it is not such a sin as robbing a bank or committing a murder, it is, in a sense, the commission of suicide, because no man who is a per sistent user of tobacco can possibly fill out the full measure of his life. Now I have said what I think about tobacco smoking; and while tobacco chewing does not bring as much discom fort to the public as tobacco smoking, it is none the less a vile habit and should be abandoned. My chief repugnance, however, is to tobacco smoking. A man may chew and chew and, as Dr. Burleson would say, may " spit in his ' boosom ' " or swallow his tobacco juice, while a tobacco smoker poisons the air, and at times so many tobacco smok ers have been on the street where I have been walking that the entire atmosphere of the city has been impregnated with their diabolical poison. I have stayed away from many a banquet and other pub lic meeting because of the 300 to 1000 cigars I would have been forced to smoke had I attended. XV SOME SUGGESTIONS FOR NERVOUS PEOPLE NO nervous man is quite so nervous as he thinks he is. This is exactly the point at which Christian Science, so-called, scores. Christian Science is neither Chris tian nor scientific. It has never cured a man that was really sick and never will, but it does steady the nerves of nervous people, and particularly hysterical women, and in this way, through the law of suggestion, it helps them to believe that they are not sick. Nervousness, while distress ing, is not itself an organic ailment. One of the most nervous women I knew in my yourth was an old maid that had spells of hysteria in which she and her friends all thought she was going to die. I was studying medicine. She was one of my first patients. I helped her through many a spell, and even with my knowledge of medicine, which was growing all the time, I was fearful lest she should die in one of these attacks, but she lived to be more than eighty years of age. Nervousness rarely kills. There may be an entire collapse of the nervous system that will bring a speedy dissolution, but the rule is that the nervous man, while racked with dis tress, moves on through life, possibly outliving the more vigorous man, and distancing the athlete who, through disuse of the lobes of his lungs, dies of tuberculosis, while the neurasthenic is still living on his small quota of sleep, and doing comparatively well. The thing for a nervous man or woman is to forget about it. I have been unable to do this, but here I am, as I write this chronicle, in my 55th year, weighing 220 pounds, in 126 FOR NERVOUS PEOPLE 127 perfect health otherwise, able to do a strong man's full day's work at my regular occupation, and in many ways entirely comfortable, but I have been happily fortunate in this, that I have been inclined to be fleshy and am now what you would call a fat man. It is unusual for a fat man to be nervous. Many of the fleshy men are phlegmatic, but in my case I have had the combination of high nervous tension and a tendency to become stout. I am glad this is so. It is better if you can forget about your nervousness, forget about the noises, forget about the many distressing things in life, compose yourself, and find tranquility and rest, but this is not always possible, and since it is not always possible, there are some simple suggestions that I leave with you here that may be helpful to you. Avoid all nervous stimulants. Tobacco, coffee, tea and all stimulants of every kind, the nervous man should avoid as he would the grip of the devil. There is absolutely no hope for a nervous man if he habituates himself to the use of these nerve-racking beverages, or forms the habit of taking opiates or sleep-producing drugs of any kind. The best thing for a nervous man is the neutral bath, taken at from 9^ to 98^^ degrees and in which the patient remains for from twenty minutes to two hours, depending upon the gravity of the trouble and the particular symptoms in his case. I have found the neutral bath to be the greatest relief I have ever had. It should be taken at night, and after the bath is over, the patient should be gently rubbed dry with a sheet rather than a rough towel, and after composing the nerves, should retire. Every nervous man should be very careful about his diet. He should avoid heavy foods of all kinds, and take only those that he knows are sure to agree with him. What is called the heavy protein diet should be avoided. The greatest authority on dietetics in the western world is Dr. J. H. Kellogg, of Battle Creek, Michigan. He lives upon the 128 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE lowest protein diet he can get. This naturally drives him to a diet of fruits, grains and nuts, as they are low in protein. Vegetables, as a rule, except the legumes (legumes "is beans"), are low in protein. Bread is rather high in protein and so are eggs. The whites of eggs are almost pure protein, and a diet of eggs is the very worst thing a nervous man can eat, unless it happens that he is what is called a hyperpeptic instead of a hypopeptic. The neurasthenic should chew his food. Thorough mas tication insures prompt assimilation and digestion, and while the nervous man may not be aware of the fact, there is a most vital connection between his digestion and his nervous ness. The pneumogastric plexus is called the abdominal brain. It has a very intimate connection with all the nerve centers, and if a man's digestion is out of order, that of itself will bring him a sleepless night. Therefore it is of exceeding importance that the nervous man should carefully choose his diet, and thoroughly masticate his food. He shoud avoid over-eating. Most of us eat twice what we should eat, and do not chew one-fourth as much as we should chew. If the average man were to divide his food by two and mul tiply his mastication by four, he would find his nerves stronger and his general health improved. I am a thorough convert to vegetarianism. While I stifl nibble at meat to a limited extent, I am thoroughly convinced that meat foods of all kinds should be tabooed. I do not believe, to begin with, that we should kill our friends, the lower animals, in order to eat them, nor do I believe that a meat diet is wholesome or necessary. We can procure all of the food elements by securing the right kinds of fruits and vegetables, and we do not need meat in order to fill out a perfect bill of fare. The fact is that many of the ailments to which flesh is heir are caused by a meat diet. This is particularly true in the neuroses. I close this chapter by repeating what was said at the FOR NERVOUS PEOPLE 129 outset — I had some words to say in my own way. I have now said them, and I do not regret a word I have said. If they help anybody, I shall be glad, but in the meantime I beg to assure the reader that the writing of these chapters has greatly helped me. The sentiments I have expressed have been pent up in my system for nearly fifty years, and now that I am entirely relieved, I trust you will rejoice with me. And just think! To a most interesting autobiography I have added a medical college, a sanitarium, a diet kitchen, and a cooking school, all for the ridiculously low price of a copy of this chronicle ! XVI THE STORY OF A MOB THE SPRING of 1874 is to me a most memorable one, because it marked an era in which for the first time I became the owner of some much needed books. I already owned some and there were many in my father's library, but I wanted others and craved that these others should be my very own. These books which I bought were A United States Dispensatory, Combe's Phrenology, Buck's Theological Dictionary, a Latin grammar, and a compilation of prose and poetic gems called Golden Sheaves. I bought them from the Scoby boys with " quirts " that I made with my own hands. A " quirt " is a short, hand-made riding whip, with a wooden or an iron handle incased in rawhide, and is itself plaited from strands of rawhide which are of a piece with that which covers the handle. Its name is from the Spanish quarta. It is used extensively by the cowboys and rancheros, who were its inventors. The " quirt " has its uses and abuses. The " loaded," or iron handled "quirt," is a dangerous weapon, and is used by the cowboy to fell an unruly caballo, or to brain a foe. In 1874 I was a cowboy, and on rainy days would turn my hand to making "quirts," which were current in many a cowboy trade. The Scoby boys had a good reason for trading off their books. When they were almost too small to take cognizance of life and its stem realities, and while yet they lived upon a Massachusetts farm, their mother died and left them and their broken-hearted sire alone. Their father was a benig- 130 THE STORY OF A MOB 131 nant Christian gentleman, and when his sweet wife died. He answered what to him was the call of God and came South to spend the remnant of his days in helping an ignorant and needy race. He sold his farm, and casting one long, last loving look at the old New England hills, he came to this new and as yet unknown and undeveloped State of Tex as to teach a Negro school. To him his mission was as noble as was the mission of David Livingstone, who gave his long, eventful life to Africa, and died at Ilala on his knees. When old man Scoby came to Texas, he built a little two- room log cabin out in a remote corner of Bastrop County. I have passed his humble cottage many a time as I hunted cattle in those virgin woods. Gathered there each day, for free tuition, were a score or more of little Negro boys and girls, and no teacher ever worked more earnestly to impart knowledge to the young than this man did. The old teacher was exclusive and retired. He had no friends except the Negroes, and here and there a solitary Christian man, who sympathized with his efforts to do good, but who scarcely dared to claim him as a friend. Old man Scoby came to Texas in the spring of 1873. In May, 1874, he had been teaching the little Negro school about a year. That was election year. In the following November, State and County officers were to be chosen. Bas trop County in that day had many Negro voters. How the story started, I do not know ; nobody knows ; but the tidings spread abroad that old man Scoby was doing all he could to carry Bastrop County for the "Radicals" with the Negro vote. I did not believe the story then, and do not now. He was never off his little place, and there was no opportunity for political intrigue. That did not stop the evil tale. It took wings — the wings of demons — and went forth. So great was the prejudice engendered that the tiger was unchained — that ferocious tiger that has crimsoned our land with blood and caused the blush of shamfe to mantle every 132 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE good man's cheek. Victor Hugo says there is an untamed tiger in every man. The mob was formed. It started for the old man's cabin home. It started in the shrouding darkness of a moonless night, and gathered force and frenzy as it went. Before the final resolution to commit the murder had been formed, the company became wild with liquor at a wayside saloon. It was thus the twin devils went forth together in their march of death. And let it be known everywhere that the Southern mob and Southern bar-room are as much akin as were the twins of Siam. I have never known of a sober mob. First comes the hell-born thirst for human blood, and after that the insatiate thirst for rum. Spell the word " murder '^ backward and you have red-rum! Spell red-rum in any way, and you have murder! On that moonless night in May, the mob swept on. Past waving fields and flowery vales ; past home-like cottages that nestled in the glen ; past purling streams, where gentle mur murs spoke of God, and warned the murderers against their purposed crime ; past sleeping herds which, weary with long browsing in the luscious grass, had lain them down to rest. At last the mob, now hushed and silent, but still intent upon their deed of blood, drew near the little cottage gate. All was still. The old school teacher slept as sweetly as he did when as a little boy he lay upon the trundle bed. The mob " halloed," and the old man, thinking some belated cow boy had lost his way, sprang to the door and out into the yard, where, with a Christian welcome in his heart and on his lips, he was shot to death. There in a Christian land, hard by the country church, where preachers talked of Heaven and of God, the bloody deed was done. Old man Scoby was shot because he taught a Negro school. It was murder — bloody, ghastly, cruel murder ! THE STORY OF A MOB 133 Some there are who palliate such deeds, because they are committed in our native land. It makes me hate them morel Kind neighbors came next day and buried old man Scoby out in his little farm. His bones rest there today, unless some new settler has plowed them up and thus scattered them afar. Full many a day, when as a cowboy I was round ing up the herd, or searching for the stray cows and steers, I have seen his lonely grave, covered with long spring grass, with here and there a flower. His murderers were never known, and — I blush to tell this truth — no effort was ever made to find them out. The two boys sold off the books and furniture, almost gave away the little farm, and went their way, I know not where. XVII CLOSING SCENES IN BASTROP COUNTY 1DID go down to the party at Smithville on Christmas night of 1875. The party was at Aaron Burleson's and he played the fiddle. He was one of the hand somest men I have ever known. He was about 5 feet 11 inches tall, was well set up, weighed 200 pounds and did not seem to have a pound of surplus flesh. He wore a long brown beard and was a regular Adonis in looks. Whiskey was his ruin. On this particular night, he was sober. Although Christmas was near at hand, he was at his own house, and while he had imbibed a drink or two of liquor, he was not drunk. He was a magnificent fiddler, and the dance was one of the most entertaining that I ever attended. But Sallie wasn't there ! I was lonely and heartsick on account of her absence. I waited and waited and time passed and passed and passed. Artemus Ward says it's a way time has. Seven o'clock came, eight o'clock came, nine o'clock came, ten o'clock came and then I despaired. But 1 was at the dance, I knew some of the Smithville boys, and they had already begun to introduce me to the Smithville girls. I was never the man to stand around and mope on account of a disappointment. The test of manhood is that the man who is overborne by a great sorrow or disappointment stands erect upon his feet and faces his difficulty with optimistic courage. Sallie was not the only girl in Bastrop County, but I thought so at the time. There were many handsome lasses at this dance, and it was not long before I was absorbed in 134 CLOSING SCENES IN BASTROP COUNTY 135 the mazes of " Balance all," " Swing corners," and "All promenade." We danced all night. At sun-up I joined the Williams boys, and we went to the home of a neighbor of theirs and had our breakfast. Next day I felt very much the worse for wear. It was Christmas day and Saturday. We had ridden across the country about 20 miles the evening before, and after the all night dance we were practically " all in." But I had not yet seen Sallie. After breakfast I saddled " Old Ball," who had enjoyed a good night's rest and some splendid feed, and turned his head toward Alum Creek. The Colorado River was at that time at a low winter stage, and I had no trouble in fording it at the Smithville ford. Alum Creek was five miles on across the river, but the Yarbroughs lived between the Alum Creek postoffice and Smithville. It was ten o'clock in the morning when I reached the Yar brough home. It was a typical South Texas tenant house. Yarbrough was a renter. He was rich in optimism and dogs. The first thing that met me was the largest of his eight dogs. You could always measure the financial condition of the average South Texas tenant by the number of his dogs. He was poor in exact ratio to their number. Yarbrough was a kind hearted man. The tenant house was about such a house as George Galloway lived in. It had two rooms, the larger one being built of logs, and chinked in the regular way. It had a stick and clay chimney, and on the side a shed room, built of rawhide lumber. It had a real plank floor, while George Galloway's house had a puncheon floor. There was a large open fireplace in the big roomj which served for reception hall, parlor, dining room and bed room. The shed room was used for a bed room and kitchen. It was not long before I was on the best of terms with Mr. and Mrs. Yarbrough. Sallie had told them about me, and they expected me. They told me that Sallie had gone 136 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE the night before to visit her sister and brother-in-law some three miles beyond Alum Creek postoffice. She had been disappointed in the escort who was to take her to the Smith ville dance, and had left many regrets for me. I didn't tarry long at the Yarbrough home. I was on the hunt for Sallie, and after Sallie I went. I hastened to the Alum Creek postoffice, and by the time I had reached there, it was the middle of the afternoon. I had paused long enough at the Yarbrough home to get my dinner, which was served in the middle of the day, but I was not hungry. The only purpose in my heart was to find Sallie. Late in the afternoon, my quest was rewarded. She, wifR her little brother behind her on the pony, came down the road by the Alum Creek store, where I had posted myself, and it was there that I greeted her. She was a dream of radiant loveliness, and all my impressions of her grace and beauty were more than confirmed. I did not like that little boy. He was a good little boy, but at that particular time I wanted to talk to Sallie, and I did not want to talk to Sallie's little brother. The little brother equation has been in the way of many a lovesick swain. As we neared the Yarbrough home, Sallie remembered that the litttle brother had to round up the cows. She heard the cow bell ringing about a half mile off to our right. At her bidding, the little boy bounced off the pony and swiftly made his way to where the cows were browsing on the nutritious winter grass. Sallie and I were alone. I was much embarrassed. She was not. When a boy is really in love, the girl keeps her equilibrium, and this adds to his embarrassment. She began to talk about the dance at Aaron Burleson's, Hallmark's Prairie, and the weather, and about what kind of Christmas I had enjoyed before I came down, and everything on earth except our love affair. It is queer the way these girls act. They pretend they do not care a penny for a fellow, and yet all the time it may CLOSING SCENES IN BASTROP COUNTY 137 be they are holding him sacredly in their hearts. I told Sallie that I had come down to see her, and that I did not particu larly care what kind of weather we were having, or were to have ; that my mission was solely one in which she was the center and circumferencce, and that I hoped she would give me opportunity that night to go over all our matters together. We rode on home together, and as we went, I held her hand. I never shall forget the description that the author of Dorothy Vernon gives of Madge Stanley's hands. Madge Stanley was blind. She was, however, a most lovely girl and the author of Dorothy Vernon details the beauty of her hands in a most charming way. I will not pause to enlarge upon the beauty of Sallie Yarbrough's hands, or upon her other charms. I saw her with the eyes of the young lover. She was crowned with an aureole of light and love and beauty. She was the fulfillment of all my boyish dreams. She was the ideal for whom my soul had longed. She was my angel, my queen, my Apotheosis. The old folks were very kind. They had their supper early, retired to the little shed-room and closed the door. This left Sallie and me in the big room together. The fire burned brightly on the hearth. The full moon shed her silver rays upon the little porch. All nature seemed in unison with the love that pulsed within my heart. There in that humble home, I told this vision of beauty of my love. I urged my suit. I asked her to be my wife. This all had happened within less than two months. I do not regret that, even as a lad, I had the courage of my con victions. After the midnight hour had come, and after the great log fire had burned until the dying embers proclaimed that another day had dawned, she told me that she would be my wife. That was the consummation of all my youthful dreams. It was four o'clock in the morning before we separated. Our separation was not for long, for at five old man Yarbrough 138 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE and his wife were astir and preparing to get breakfast. I did not sleep more than thirty minutes, I am sure, and this was the second night in which I had had no sleep at all. But I was not sleepy that night. I was happy in the thought of the love that I had won, and I did not really, at that time, care what else happened. It did not seem that anything else mattered. Sunday morning dawned as brightly as dawned God's first sweet day of rest. I lingered in the Yarbrough home, went to church with the family, kept very near to my lady love, and more thoroughly ingratiated myself into the affec tions of the man and woman who were soon to be my father- in-law and mother-in-law. When Monday morning came, I turned my face back to the Colorado River, to Smithville and to our Hallmark's Prairie home. Never did a happier youth leave his bride- elect behind. I knew no care on that bright December morn ing when I bade my lady love good-bye. She was sweetness and graciousness itself, and when I left, I promised that I would be back in less than a month, and that in the mean time I would write her often. The mails went down Alum Creek way twice a week, and came back to Jeddo twice a week. After I reached home, I wrote her at once, and if I do say it myself, I was a good letter writer. Her letter came promptly, and so our correspondence went on happily until on the last Saturday in the following January, I went again to visit Alum Creek, the scene of my happy Christmas time experiences. But when I went back to Alum Creek, I did not go by way of Smithville. The January floods had come, and I had to go around by Bastrop to cross on the ferry. Alum Creek was fifteen miles below Bastrop on the north side of the Colorado, whereas Hallmark's Prairie was on the south side of the river. I reached the Yarbrough home on the last Saturday even- CLOSING SCENES IN BASTROP COUNTY 139 ing in January, 1876. I found all the folks at home. The old folks were quite cordial, but somehow my sweetheart was not as she had been when I had bidden her good-bye a month before. After I had cared for my horse in the Yarbrough bam, Sallie and I went huckleberrying together. The huckleberries were ripe, and this was our quickest way of having a tete-a-tete. It seemed that some great change had come over the girl who had promised to be my wife. I did not know then what it was, and I do not know today, but I suspect it was another beau. I read once and selected for my scrap-book a poem en titled. Absence Makes the Soul Grow Fonder, but it was not that old song that has been sung so many times by aching, absent hearts. It was a parody on that old song. The last verse of the first stanza read as follows : " Absence makes the soul grow fonder of beaux at home." I had been away. The Alum Creek boys had been on the ground. They had seen Sallie every day, perhaps, and certainly every Sunday. The January post-Christmas dances had been in progress, and they had been to dances with her. She shone more brilliantly in the ball room than in any other place, and it was there, I am sure, that her heart wan dered away from the homely, uncouth Hallmark's Prairie boy. She was kind and gentle, but that fine, ethereal down of love had been despoiled. There was left in its stead a patronizing formality. When our hands touched, there was not that same magnetic thrill that I had felt when I first learned the joy and the tragedy of love. My heart went into my boots. All my life I have, in many matters, judged more by my intuitions than by my reason. She did not tell me that she had ceased to love me. Her words were all that words should have been. But an indefinable barrier had arisen between us that I could not bridge, and she did not seem to wish it bridged. 140 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE Between the time of her promise to be my wife and my second visit to her, father's plans had changed. The range had almost failed in our end of Bastrop County. Our cattle and horses were increasing, and the grass was gone. Father decided that we would move into West Texas, leaving that country behind forever. This change in our plans, which was very far-reaching, was communicated to my sweetheart. I told her that if we were to marry at all, we would have to marry between that and the first of March, as it was my father's purpose for us to start with the cattle about the middle of March or first of April. We really began the drive the first of April. She told me very kindly that she still loved me and that she meant to be my wife, but that she could not go with me then. She reiterated that we were too young to marry, which really was true enough, and said that she could not think, at her age, of leaving her mother. I was a foolish boy. I had intuitively felt the change that had come over the spirit of her dreams. I told her very frankly that if she could not go with me then, she never would go with me ; that I was going with my father ; that I had engaged myself to him ; that he was paying me a good salary for my services, and that I was under every moral and filial obligation to stand by my word. She was gentle, kind and considerate, but firm, and so, while I stayed all that night at her home, and talked to her until late in the night, we parted about the midnight hour, with her plans unchanged, and with my mind made up to leave early the next morning for my home, and thus to bid her good-bye forever. The Colorado River was very high and very dangerous. As I had crossed at the Bastrop ferry the day before, the deadly drifts were swirling in the turbid waves. I knew the stream was treacherous, but I did not care whether I CLOSING SCENES IN BASTROP COUNTY 141 ever reached the other side or not. My heart was broken. All the hope and love and light had faded from my life. It was after breakfast when I left her. She seemed much affected by my decision. Perhaps I made a mistake. I do not know. I was very young. It may have been that I was entirely mistaken in my intuitions. It may have been that she really loved me, wanted me to come back for her when the cattle drive was done, and desired to carry out the troth which we had plighted in the glow of the dying embers, when our new-found love had thrilled our trusting hearts. As I left the Yarbrough home, she was standing, with her sweet face framed in the cabin door, with her auburn ringlets twined around her neck, and with tears streaming from her sweet violet eyes. I never saw her more. I hastened on " Old Ball " to the Colorado, where the old Smithville ford had been, and plunged into its raging waves. It was a terrible experience, but I did not care. I wanted to be drowned. All my life plans had been wrecked, and, as I viewed it then, there was nothing in life to which I could look forward. " Old Ball " was equal to the great emergency. He was a big, strong horse. He was a great swimmer. I had tried his mettle before, but it never had been subjected to such a severe test as this. He braved the drifts, and carried me safely to the Smithville side. I once looked back, but it was more than five miles to where I had left the idol of my heart. I dared not retrace my steps. If I had exhibited as much intelligence in my wooing as Henry Scoggins showed in courting Aunt Zillah Hale, I might have held her, but I had very little sense, I had no experience and I wandered out into the darkness of my heart's Plutonian night without compass or rudder. It was thus that I met my life's first tragedy of love and tears. 142 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE My mother knew at once that something tragical had happened, but she was kind and did not catechize me. When I reached home, I went to my little box (I had no trunk, kind reader,) and taking off the padlock that held its con tents sacred to me, I took out all the letters I had received from Sallie Yarbrough, and, going to the kitchen stove, I built up a fire and burned them one by one. It was pathetic to the last degree. My tears fell fast. It may not be manly to shed tears — perhaps it is not — but I was not yet a man. I was but a big, uncouth boy, with only the rudiments of the heart of a man, but I felt all the agony and suffered all the pangs that can come to one who has loved and lost. When this sad task was done, I turned my face like flint to the future. That evening, when all the rest were asleep, I told my mother all. She clasped her arms around my neck and kissed me. She told me that it would all be for the best — that I was not to grieve or worry or repine. What a comfort was my sweet, gentle mother in that time of heart ache and of tears ! And she was right. It did all turn out for the best. In God's good providence, I buried that first romance in the new-made grave that held sacred the dust and ashes of my first love. That grave has never been dis turbed, and I only open it now to the end that this may be a faithful chronicle, and one that will show to those who have known and loved me the tempests as well as the sun shine that have conspired to make up my life. XVIII THE END OF OUR RESIDENCE IN BASTROP COUNTY AFTER my tragedy had found its close, I began with father and his other hands actively to prepare for the cattle drive to the great fresh grass plains of Western Texas. Spring came in earnest the first of Feb ruary. By the middle of February, the flowers had begun to bloom, and if father had not been preparing to leave that country, we would surely have begun as usual planting corn on St. Valentine's day. In an intervening moment of weakness I yielded to the great love I bore the Alum Creek beauty, and on Valentine's Day I sent her the verses of a song, which began thus : " ' Tis said that absence conquers love. But, oh, believe it not. I've tried, alas ! its power to prove, And thou art not forgot." Other stanzas followed. I hoped against hope that this olive branch, in which I sought for a resurgence of that love which she had sworn she bore me, would bring her back, but no answer came, and this ended all the overtures I ever made or ever was to make to win back her love. But the cattle gathering and horse hunting went on. Our cattle were scattered in many directions and we found it necessary to literally scour the country to find them. In quest of our wandering herd I once neared Smithville. Down in the breaks of Colorado River, I found one of our fine beef steers. He had become almost as wild as a deer. We 143 144 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE had a terrible time heading him off from crossing the river, but finally I roped him and tied him to a nearby tree. The yellow Negro was with me. It was late at night before we got the great brute home, but we did our work well. You may know that as I neared the Smithville ford, I looked longingly across toward the Alum Creek hills, but I was proud, I feh slighted, I was jealous, and so for the last time I turned away, and left the lady love to such devices as were hers. I have not told you anything of the old South Texas way of celebrating Christmas. On our way down to Alum Creek on Christmas eve of 1875, we met several of our neighbor boys who were headed for Jeddo. When they reached Jeddo, they gathered at Asa Bellamy's blacksmith shop and began to fire off anvils. That was their way of making the Christmas noise. We have it now in our cities with the cannon fire-crackers, the blowing of whistles and the other diabolical inventions that have descended to us for the de struction of the peace, contentment and happiness of the populace. In those virgin country days, the anvil-firing went on until late at night, and sounded like distant cannonading. Another way of making night hideous was to bore auger holes in the giant oak trees, fill these auger holes with pow der, leave a fuse, and after igniting this fuse, to get out of the way and watch the powder blow the giant tree to atoms. Many of the beautiful oaks of which Bastrop County boasted were thus despoiled. In some places, it looked as though a tornado had passed through the land, or that lightning had shattered these lions of the forest. But " time and tide wait for no man." February passed and March came on. Meantime, my father sold his farm. We had a sale, at which our furniture and many of our choice books were sacrificed, and we continued active prepa rations for our move to a better range. The cattle industry was rapidly declining. The center of GOOD-BYE TO BASTROP COUNTY 145 cowboy activity had moved far to the westward. The grass was almost gone. The range was being fenced by settlers. We had been in Bastrop County almost eight years. During that time, vast transformations had occurred both in the land and people. The cowboy was still there, to be sure, but the great maverick-branding campaigns were no more known. It had become almost a crime to steal a cow — not quite a crime as yet, but was coming to be a crime. I remember well one of the old-time kindly habits of those early Texans. When father killed a beef, he would always send the choicest cuts to his neighbors free of any charge whatever. Many is the time that I was the boy he would put on the horse, and literally load the horse down with these choice steaks for his neighbors. Water-melons, peaches, fruit, roasting ears, and all vegetables, were abso lutely free to our neighbors. The man who would have sold a water-melon would have been run out of the country by the Ku-Klux. No man sold meat. We would, of course, sell entire hogs or entire beeves to one another, but when hog-killing time came, the same happy fashion was in vogue, and so the kindliness went round. My father's home was a hostelry for all the wayward trav elers who came through that part of Texas. Many is the man who stayed all night with us, and when morning came, and the traveler would ask to pay his bill, father would give him a hearty handgrasp and tell him that all he owed him was to come back again. The cattle roundup went on, and so it fell out that by the end of March we were about ready to begin our drive. Many were the kindnesses showered upon us by our old friends and neighbors. God bless them every one I God bless all who are living now, and may the ashes of those long dead rest quietly in peace ! Those were good men and true — those old-time Texans. 146 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE The chief tenet in their religion was fidelity to their friends. I regret that some otherwise good men have forgotten how to be true. These frontier men were true. They helped us, they cheered us, they loved us, they comforted us, they re gretted our departure, and at last, when the day came for us to drive our cattle up the old Chisholm trail, these good peo ple gathered round, many of them went a full day's journey with us, some went two or three, and so they made our de parture as happy as ever departure could be. I close this part of this recital with deep regrets. Tears come so fast that, as I write, I can hardly see the lines. We lived longer in Bastrop County than at any other place during all my youth-time years. We had relatives there, and multitudes of friends. Father was the leading citizen of his community, and the leading physician of four counties. His move was a tremendous blunder. He ought to have spent all of his remaining years right there. Of course, his cattle business would not have grown, and his other stock interests would have suffered much, but on the whole he would have done better, would have been happier and would have lived longer if he had lingered there among those friends and neighbors who knew him for what he was, who loved him, who trusted him, and who made requisition for his services when loved ones were prone upon their beds of sickness and of death. I have never seen the old home since that spring morning in the long ago, but there is a tugging at my heart-strings, grandfather as I am, as I think of the humble cottage where we were a united family, and where we grew in stature and and in filial love. Dear old home ! New forms and faces came to you more than two scores of years ago, and the voices we loved so well no more resound within your walls, but every atom of your fast crumbling dust is sacred to my heart, and of all the earthly homes I ever knew, you are the one that seemed most akin to Heaven ! XIX ON THE OLD CHISHOLM BEEF TRAIL AFTER we had left Bastrop County, traveling by way of Red Rock, we struck the old Chisholm beef trail, which went up through Austin, Round Rock, Georgetown, Belton, Comanche Springs, Crawford, Valley Mills, Clifton, Meridian, Cleburne, Fort Worth and out across Red River to the south of Gainesville. Our party was a happy one. Never shall I forget the cow boys who journeyed with us as we left our dear old Bastrop County home. There were Tom Camp, John Greenhaw, Jim Mayo (who was a younger brother of Ebbie Mayo), one or two Negroes, my brother, my father and myself. Our cattle herd was not large, but in all the essentials of cowboy life our drive was like unto the drives of the larger herds that had been meandering up this old beef trail for some ten years past. We had our "chuck wagon," which served also as a refuge in which our women were housed by day and slept by night. We who were actually on the drive slept out under the bending sky, and in times of storm we brooked the beating rain. It is essential that there shall always be some cowboys around the cattle. Cows have their habits just as human beings have. At night they will graze for several hours, after which, unless they are disturbed by some ex traneous influence or surprise, they are very quiet, although, of course, if they are not well herded, they scatter and may be lost. When a herd first starts out on the trail, it is most difficult of management, because the cattle have not become accus- 147 148 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE tomed to each other. They are not acquainted with the cowboys, they do not know the cow ponies that surround them, and, in short, everything to them is new and strange. Animal life is very much like human life. We become con fidential with those whom we learn to know, and animals do exactly the same. After a herd of cattle has been several days on the trail, it is very easy to manage, and it is only in some time of great stress or excitement that a stampede ensues. Many of the stampedes are caused by bad manage ment, some by storms and others by superstition. When a herd of cattle first sets out, every cowboy has to be up nights, and on the qui vive all day to see that no harm comes to his charge. It was thus in our case. During the first few nights of the drive, all of us lost much sleep. We had to be up and around the cattle, quietly singing to them, becoming acquainted with them, and allowing them to be come acquainted with us, and in this way familiarizing them with the road, with each other and with us. Later on, we had a much better time, though our force was not very great, and for that reason we had perhaps a little heavier work than would otherwise have fallen to us. We had at first no relief at all at night, but after we had been out two or three nights, we had one relief. For in stance, if I were on watch in the first part of the night, 1 would stay on watch till eleven or twelve o'clock, at which time I would come in, wake my successor and turn in. If I were on watch the latter part of the night, of course I had the pleasure of sleeping the first part of the night. And so we took our turns, and tried to make it as pleasant for each other as we could. Well do I remember when we reached the hills overlook ing Onion Creek valley and the boundless prairie that stretches out toward Austin. I had been too small when we left the Western prairies to take much notice of them, and this was the first time my eyes had ever feasted on such a ON THE OLD CHISHOLM BEEF TRAIL 149 celestial vision. It was a glorious view — as magnificent as any ever chronicled in song or story, or painted on canvas by a Corot or a Turner. My heart thrilled with rapture, as, sitting on my broncho on that high eminence, I saw Onion Creek as it meandered tortuously, but most beautifully, on its journey toward the sea, while before me on every side were the boundless prairies that told to me a story more transcendently beautiful than any I had ever read, or to which my ears had ever been attuned. We journeyed by easy stages. Cattle do not drive rapidly. It would be a crime to hurry them. We were not in any nervous haste. We were out and away, leaving the old home behind, never to see it more, and had as our chief charge a conservation of our resources. Each cowboy had his extra mount or mounts. I had two extra mounts, and that was the rule. Sometimes a cowboy would have only one extra mount, but if he had only one he was rather badly off. We passed through Austin on the fifth day. That was the first large town I had ever seen. I had been to Bastrop, to Jeddo and to Cockrell's Store. That had been the extent of my travels. The nearest to a railroad train I had ever seen was a railway track that was being laid out through Waelder in Gonzales County, when the Southern Pacific was under construction west from Columbus, stretching out toward the vast plains that touched El Paso and Mexico. It was in the fall of 1875 that my brother and I had been to Waelder with our cotton, had sold it there, had seen the construction camps, had met the construction gangs, and had actually seen railroad tracks, but there was nothing there in the way of a passenger train or coach. As we passed through Austin, we saw no railway trains, yet the H. & T. C. railroad had reached there Dec. 25, 1871. Austin was a gorgeous city. On Congress Avenue we passed Sisson's music store. I had never been in a " really and truly " music store in my life, and right there the cattle 150 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE herd lost me. I stopped and bought a brand new fiddle case and bow. I had never had a good fiddle bow. We had re made our fiddle bows out of horse hair, and in this kindly service Daniel Johnson had excelled. I never could make any kind of a mechanical contrivance, but Daniel Johnson was a boy of splendid ability in that direction, and he always " filled " our fiddle bows with new hair. Now I had the opportunity to buy a real fiddle bow. Soon I overtook the herd, and we bedded our cattle that night north of Austin on the high hills overlooking the city from the north. Our trip up the trail was without great incident. When we reached Georgetown, we had a little trouble concerning our cowboy confrere, Tom Camp. Tom was as reckless a lad as ever went up the old Chisholm trail. In spite of our protests, he would wear his revolver right through county towns. All of us wore our revolvers on the trail, and nothing was said of it. There were no officers to molest us. When we would come to a county town, where there might be constables or sheriffs, we would throw our revolvers into the " chuck wagon," and nobody would be any the wiser. This Tom Camp stubbornly refused to do. He said if any sheriff attempted to arrest him, he would show him the " Western turn." This " Western turn " consisted in twirl ing the revolver around one thumb and finger by the aid of the trigger-guard, and as the muzzle of the revolver would find its level again, to fire and kill one's antagonist. This is what Tom promised he would give any sheriff that molested him. It happened that I was looking at Tom when the sheriff got him. Pie was really off duty, having stopped in front of a barber shop to make a display of his wit and courage, and as he sat there on his broncho, the sheriff gently tapped him on the arm and told him to consider him self under arrest. This Tom promptly did. There was no " Western turn." The only turn I noticed was that Tom turned white as he yielded up his cherished weapon. We ON THE OLD CHISHOLM BEEF TRAIL 151 were all quite sorry for him, and made up money to pay his fine and redeem his revolver, so that he could go along with the herd. He was, after that, a wiser man. It proved a good lesson for him. He was truly a splendid fellow, and, in fact, a brave young man, but he mistook his recklessness for courage, and in making this display of himself, brought himself into ridicule and difficulty. The only other incident of note on the journey was at Belton. When we reached Belton, which was then quite a conspicuous county town, Tom Holcomb was playing a fiddle in a corner saloon. That caught me. He was playing " Fine Times at Our House." I stopped, dismounted and went into the saloon to hear the music. I knew the cattle would not suffer, because by the time we reached Belton, they had be come quite tractable and were not difficult to drive. I intro duced myself to Tom, told him I was from Bastrop County, and that I was somewhat of a fiddler myself. We at once became good chums. I did not see him again for several years. The next time I met him, I was living in Gatesville and was editor of The Gatesville Advance. Of this, more hereafter. We had a very exasperating experience in Belton. At that time and for some two or three years previous, there was in force in Texas what was called a cattle inspection law. This inspection law had been passed in the attempt to discourage cattle stealing. Perhaps it had some deterrent ef fect, but the old-time cow men hated the law, and were very averse to obeying it. Father, however, was a law abiding man in everything except the carrying of a six shooter, so when we reached the line separating Bastrop from Travis County, my father paid to an inspection officer the fee that was chargeable to him, which was about four cents a head. When we reached Belton, the sheriff dunned us for our in spection fees. My father exhibited his receipt for inspection fees paid in Bastrop County, but the sheriff of Bell County 152 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE advised him that this fee had to be paid again in Bell County. We knew this was not true, so all of us were up in arms at once, though very quietly. We gathered around my father and listened to what the sheriff said. My father was a man ot peace, though of sterling courage. He declined t6 pay more money, but told the sheriff that we would rope out a beef steer and leave with him with which to pay these fees. This was done. I roped the biggest steer in the herd. He was what we called, in cowboy parlance, a " stag." He was one of the strongest and most daring animals I ever saw. I roped him with a rope that was none too strong, and did this designedly. I tied him to a tree, and in tying him, dexterously cut two strands of the rope. This was not seen by the sheriff or any one else. I felt outraged at this man's interference with our affairs. I knew that we owed nothing, and felt then, as I feel now, that it was a pure case of graft, though the word " graft " had not yet come into our vocab ulary. We drove speedily across the Leon River bridge. Before we had made our way entirely across the bridge, here came our beef steer, with his head high in the air, and with a piece of the rope clinging around his horns. The bird had flown, and the sheriff was left without his inspection fee. We fully expected that he and some of his deputies would follow on, and if they had come, there would have been bloodshed. Happily, they did not follow us. After leaving Belton, we passed on up by way of Comanche Springs and Crawford. At the latter point, we left the trail and went almost directly west through one of the finest grazing section in Texas or any other state. We made our way up the middle Bosque, and after we had gone some ten or fifteen miles up the Bosque, we turned to the north and finally camped and settled at the head of Hog Creek, near what was then called Tilden's Schoolhouse, some five miles from the village of Turnersville, and some ON THE OLD CHISHOLM BEEF TRAIL 153 twenty miles from Gatesville. This was in Coryell County, and we reached our stopping place about the middle of May. The country around Turnersville, and throughout the Hog Creek section is beautiful, rich and productive. At that time, very little land had been put in cultivation. It was a grazing country, just such as father sought, and having rented a house, we arranged to make this rich new land our home. XX THE STORY OF A STAMPEDE IN 1876, the Wilson brothers, of Kansas City, having purchased over fifteen thousand head of cattle in Ham ilton, Comanche, Coryell and Bell Counties, and hav ing arranged to centralize the herd near Comanche Springs, in McLennan County, drove to the Bennett Hills, and went into camp to await the carrying out of their orders. These cattle were driven across the Leon at various suitable fords and converged on that beautiful prairie, in the center of which now stands the town of McGregor. On the Fourth of July of that year, the entire herd was under way, headed for Towash on the Brazos River. It was a magnificent army of steers, in superb condition, kept together by a corps of twenty-five cowboys, mounted on bronchos — men expe rienced in their business. The herd was not pressed, the object being to let them graze on the rich herbage, with a view to keeping them in good condition and reaching the market in time to catch the best prices in the fall of the year. At four o'clock one afternoon there were signs of an elec tric storm. A black cloud showed above the foothills, and the sun shining against it painted a rainbow which appeared to touch the earth at both ends. The entire herd became nervous and showed their fear by those low bellowings, ominous to the experienced cattle man as the muttering thun der. The cowboys were experienced men, and they kept the moving mass well in hand, so that when the sun set all was well, and the cattle were bedded on the plains near the South Bosque. The night settled in with the promise of a safe crossing at the Brazos the next day. A detail of four 154 THE STORY OF A STAMPEDE 155 cowboys was made for the first watch, and these mounted sentinels took their places and rode silently round the sleep ing squadron of long-horns. The first watch ended at nine o'clock, and the second watch went on duty. It was during the second watch that the memorable Wilson stampede oc curred. At ten o'clock the cattle appeared to be sleeping pro foundly. The cowboys say that cattle dream and see ghosts ; it is certain that this drove of fifteen thousand was nervous, made so, perhaps, by the thunder-storm of the previous aft ernoon and the rainbow which they had eyed with suspicion. It is likely that a great many cattle in that vast accumula tion had never seen such a rainbow. It was distinct through out the arch and very broad; the lightning, too, was very vivid, and the thunder-claps that followed were like sharp artillery. The cowboys insisted long afterward that it was the thunder-storm and the rainbow of the afternoon that caused the stampede that night. Be that as it may, it was a stampede that the cattlemen who witnessed it have never forgotten, and are still telling it to posterity. The stars were all shining and there was no cause at all for the arousing of the herd. They appeared to get up all at once, with a single purpose, and the roar that was heard seemed to come from a single throat. The Wilson brothers and their cowboys who were sleeping in their camp rushed to their ponies, who were grazing with the saddles and bridles on, and as fast as the bits could be replaced in their mouths, they mounted and galloped to the flanks of the now disappearing mass, headed in the direction of the Brazos River. The cowboys on guard took the usual course in such cases ; they kept out of the way of the charging mass, and galloped on the flanks, moving toward the head of the column, hoping to " point them off," as they call it, and start them moving in a circle. The boys who formed the 156 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE guard, in galloping along the front of the stampede, saw the eyes of the terrified beeves emitting fire, and their tongues protruding. They uttered those low notes of terror so familiar on the plains, and galloped madly along, suffering from the panic for which no real cause existed on earth. " What's the matter with the cattle? " asked a tenderfoot, as he galloped beside an old cowboy. " They've seen the devil, I expect," the cowboy replied, " and we will catch it before we get through with this thing." As the herd rushed on, their horns rattled together, and all the horns of fifteen thousand head of cattle rattling to gether sounded like an immense concert of castanets. Cattle are not able to sustain a long run, and this the cowboys know. For instance, a mad speed of five miles is enough to break down almost any steer ; and the cattle men knew how the country lay beyond them, and in this respect they had an advantage. The re-enforcement of the cowboys who were off duty, and who had hastily mounted and joined those on watch at the time, gave them a strong advantage in the efforts being made to stop the stampede. The plan was to get the cattle to " milling," or running in a circle. The elder of the Wilson brothers had been a cowboy from childhood. He was riding a cream colored stallion, and as he passed, he had his Colt's revolver in his hand. One of the cowboys on a gray horse was able to keep up with him. These two distanced all the others. They rode across the front of the stampede, which is a feat attended with terrific danger ; for when a rider is in front of the rushing drove of mad cattle, if his horse should stumble and fall, he may be put down as a thing of the past. The herd will " wipe him out." This Mr. Wilson knew and the cowboy riding close to his crupper also knew, but they were going to take all the dangers and get that herd running in a circle if it were possible to do so. Some cattle can outrun others, and in this case there was THE STORY OF A STAMPEDE 157 a bunch of about fifty fully twenty yards in advance, and toward this leading group the two rescuers rode. Of the leading group also, some were faster than others, and this group ran in a diamond shape, with two immense steers leading all. When Mr. Wilson and his companion reached the two leading steers, they began shooting their revolvers close to them, and in that way the bunch was made to oblique, and as the leading bunch of cattle obliqued, the main stam pede obliqued, and the first step in " milling " had been taken. By this time, the cattle were getting tired. Nearly five miles had been covered, and the breath of the leaders was coming short and painfully, but they were rushing on, because the front cattle at this time knew as a matter of fact their only safety was in keeping up the run. Those be hind were coming, and they were in the majority, and the leaders were compelled to run. There was real danger for the forward members of the stampede. In the invoice of articles contained in the regulation " out fit," there is always some kind of stimulants, and but for the stimulants contained in Mr. Wilson's outfit, it is possible that the stampede would have been halted without disaster. He had a Mexican along, one of the best cowboys in the Southwest. This Mexican and his horse always reminded those who saw him ride of the fabled centaur. He rode far forward and bent over, so that he and his horse appeared to be one animal. No horse, however rugged, " wild and woolly," had ever been able to unseat him. This Aztec had been to the little brandy runlet too often, and had filled and emptied his tin cup with surreptitious intoxicants, so that his usual excellent judgment went awry. When he suc ceeded in getting mounted, after having fumbled with his bridle a good deal, he was far in the rear, and the stampede had gone past him, so that when he overtook the rear end, he passed to the front on the other side, and rode on the wrong flank. When he reached the head of the herd, he was 158 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE just in time to defeat the maneuver then under execution, of bending the moving mass from a straight line to a semi circle. Revolver in hand, disregarding the other men, he began shooting in the faces of the wild steers ; and the effect of this was to straighten the run and bring the advance straight toward a precipice. This precipice was a wash in the prairie, forming a deep ravine fully thirty yards wide; and in a shorter time than it takes to tell of this contretemps, the head of the column was pouring over, a horrible cascade of beef, plunging madly into destruction while fleeing from an imaginary danger. When Mr. Wilson and his lieutenants saw that it was impossible to save their cattle, they saved themselves by dexterously turning at right angles at full speed and riding out of the way. They next returned to the flank and held a council of war. A few seconds decided them, and all hands commenced shooting into the herd, the object now being to build a breast work of carcasses, and save the rear end from the destruction that had overtaken the front. The gulley was nearly full of cattle by this time. They were snorting and bellowing, crashing and tearing, and still heaping up; and when the firing began, the wounded ones tumbled over on the others, and in a short time the gulley, like the sunken road at Water loo, was bridged by carcasses. The herd surged up in billows, like an ocean, and bent now, because it could not do otherwise. The semi-circle was formed, and Wilson and his men crossed the gulley below, and rode around the opposite side and crossed; and in a short time they had the cattle halted, forming an incomplete letter C, and there they stood, blowing, bellowing, shivering. All hands remained on watch all night, and in the morning when a count was made, it was ascertained that 2,700 were missing. There were afterward 2,700 pairs of horns taken from that gulley. It was called Stampede Gulley for many years afterward, and perhaps will always, with some people, be remembered by that name. XXI IN THE HOG CREEK COUNTRY WHEN we reached the Hog Creek country, it was almost a virgin range. There were some farms, but the country in the main was open, and the owners of cattle and horses enjoyed the privilege of free grass. The exact point on Hog Creek where we located was about one mile from Hurst Spring, which is the head of Hog Creek. We were up on the prairie north of this source of this small tributary of the Brazos River. The sage grass was rich and luscious. It grew to a height of three to five feet, and I have never seen such a gorgeous landscape as greeted our vision in that western land. Land was selling at from 50 cents to $2.50 an acre for the wild land, and higher prices for the cultivated land. Some farming was going on, but the country was in a large measure given over to stock raising. One of the first neighbors we found was Rev. E. M. Weeks, a Hardshell Baptist preacher. He had a large family. We soon made friends with them, and I testify that they were as kind and cordial in their greeting as any friends we had ever known. There were three of the Weeks boys — John, Dave and Morgan — John being the eldest and Morgan the youngest, and there was a beautiful girl. Miss Mattie Weeks. This was a lovely family, and E. M. Weeks was one of the most genuinely good men it has ever been my pleasure to know. In the same neighborhood was Newt Nolan and his family, and others whom I remember with a grateful heart. Some of the others were J. P. Kinchen and his family. 159 160 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE He afterwards became an ordained Baptist minister and is preaching today to some one of our Texas churches. His wife, long since in Heaven, was one of the noblest Christian women I ever knew. All these good friends made our life as bright and happy as might be in a strange land, and we soon adapted ourselves to our new surroundings. We lost our cowboy friends. Jim Mayo and Tom Camp took the trail back for the old Bastrop County home, and John Greenhaw branched off somewhere, going further West. Our cattle in the meantime had become thoroughly familiar with the trail and were easy to manage. It does not take many hands to herd cattle, so my brother and I took charge of the herd after we had reached Coryell County. We drove in and penned the cattle at night. One of the incidents of that early Coryell County time I remember very vividly. I was out herding by myself one day, my brother having ridden in to the little village of Turnersville to get the mail. It was very easy for me to keep the herd rounded up in the day time. Summer was approaching. June had come. At the noon-time hour, I always turned my pony loose for a few minutes, taking his bridle off so that he might graze while I ate my lunch, which I carried in my saddle pocket. I found myself out in the wide out-stretching prairie, and nearby was the debris of a house that some frontiersman had started to construct in the days long past. I sat down on one of the timbers of this house to eat my lunch, when I heard the familiar but startling whirr of the rattlesnake's song. I would scarcely dare to tell you how far I jumped. It might shake your confidence in my veracity. I jumped quickly enough to save my life. I had sat down immediately over the rattlesnake's den, and if it had not been for this timely, though unfriendly, warn ing, I would never have reached home again. I turned quickly and shot the reptile, taking from his tail twenty rattles. It is the theory of frontiersmen that every rattle IN THE HOG CREEK COUNTRY 161 on a rattlesnake's tail counts for a year of his age, though that, to my mind, has never been confirmed. This was a monster crotalus and one that I shall long remember. Father began to do some medical practice, but it was desultory and unremunerative. He never did re-establish himself firmly as a physician after he left Bastrop County. We had some relatives near the Hog Creek home. They lived across on the North Bosque in Bosque County, at Cranfill's Gap. George Cranfill, father's uncle, had settled at Cranfill's Gap about 1854. First he stopped in Dallas County, remaining here a year or two. I have talked about him to my good friend, John Witt, the old-time Dallas County surveyor, who knew Uncle George quite well. The Cranfills out there were typical frontiersmen. There were three of the sons, Zach, Ross and Sam, in the order named. They were prosperous frontier farmers. Cousin Ross Cran fill was a Hardshell Baptist, Cousin Zach was non-religious, and Cousin Sam, the only one now living, is a Methodist. There is a very interesting story concerning the apostasy of Cousin Sam, who, by all human environments and train ing, should have been a Baptist. There was once, as all well informed ecclesiastics know, an eccentric Methodist preacher named Lorenzo Dow. He traveled all over the North and perhaps some of the South. Uncle George, when he moved from North Carolina, settled in Illinois, and one night Lorenzo Dow stopped with him overnight. He was a very bright man, and left his impress upon his time. He induced Uncle George to subscribe for a paper of which he was editor, and that paper came into that Cranfill home for a whole year. Young Sam, the baby boy of the family, was at an impressionable age, and literally devoured Lorenzo Dow's paper. This paper made him a Methodist — the only Methodist Cranfill I have ever known. He is an excellent man, has reared a large and prosperous family, and is hon ored and highly esteemed by all who know him. He has 162 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE told me more than once of this influence that changed him from the faith of his fathers to the Methodist religion. This is a magnificent object lesson for us all. This and other like incidents have made me a persistent friend of Baptist and Christian literature. The man who writes the books and edits the papers of a people, is the influential man, say what you will. The Coryell County section was very remote from what we now call civilization. The nearest market was Waco, fifty miles to the east. The Santa Fe railway had not yet been projected up along the line of the old Chisholm beef trail, and the grading for that line was not finished until two or three years after. We were about twenty miles from Gatesville, and almost a like distance from Meridian, the county site of Bosque County. Our postoffice was Turners ville, and was kept over on the hill between Turnersville and Coryell City by a good white lady whose name was Black. The business of the postoffice was very small. Our coming increased it some, as we subscribed for a number of papers and had many letters coming to us. Over at Turnersville, just about the time we reached the Coryell County home, a murder was committed. A man by the name of Brantley was waylaid and shot in the little copse of timber that was some half a mile above the Buch anan Spring, which is the head of Middle Bosque. One of the most grewsome sights I ever witnessed was brought to my attention about the first of July, 1876. We had changed our cattle from the prairie between the Hog Creek breaks and the breaks of the North Bosque, and had brought them over between the Hog Creek breaks and the breaks of Middle Bosque. It was in about a mile and a half of the village of Turnersville. One of the boys who was helping us at that time, galloped over to where I was riding and told me a dead man had been found and was then lying about a half mile away in the breaks of Middle Bosque. I immediately IN THE HOG CREEK COUNTRY 163 went over and found that the night before a most atrocious murder had been committed. Two men had camped to gether. In the night one of them had murdered the other, and had taken all of the dead man's belongings, including the horses and the wagon, and decamped. Before decamp ing, however, he lassoed the dead man's feet, strung the rope around the horn of his saddle, dragged the man feet foremost about three hundred yards, concealing his body in a thick clump of underbrush. That very morning, Dr. J. D. Calaway, the Turnersville physician, and Uncle Joe Gaston, the Turnersville blacksmith, went out deer hunting. They found this man's dead body two or three hours after he had been killed. The trail was followed, but the man that did the murder was never apprehended. We put in our time as pastoral people will. We made many acquaintances. I soon knew all the young people in the community, and even beyond Turnersville. There is something to be said about the old time typical Texan. He is the biggest-hearted man that the world has ever known. We found these generous Texans all over that section of the state, and all of us who have survived re member the multitudinous kindnesses we received at their hands. They were like unto the Bastrop County folks, with the additional touch of a western life, of which the Bastrop County people were in ignorance. I repeat that the old- time frontiersman was the best man, the truest friend, the kindest neighbor, the most generous antagonist, and the sturdiest type of the real and genuine American it has ever been my pleasure to know. XXII THE STORY OF MY CONVERSION IN the new environment, all of the young people soon knew that I was a fiddler and could dance. Just as it was in Bastrop County, I found it up in Coryell County. The traditional amusement and pastime of those sturdy young Texans was the dance. The religious people opposed dancing there, just as they had in our old home, but I was soon in touch with the frolicsome set, and many were the country dances I attended. Over at Turnersville I was always welcome, and was at home in the Hog Creek country as well as down toward Norway Mills, a settlement of Norwegians in Bosque County. The children of the most religious families in Texas danced and gave dances, although it was not looked upon with favor by the members of the church. On a certain Sunday in July, 1876, along with some other disciples of Terpsichore, I made up a dance which was to be given the following Wednesday evening at Turnersville. One of the young ladies who helped to plan the dance was Miss Mamie Pickens. She was the daughter of Episco palian parents, who lived between Turnersville and Coryell City. They were fine folks. Before the war they had been wealthy, but, like Dr. Boone, who lived in the same neigh borhood, and was a typical old-time South Carolina gentle man, they had lost their all in the Civil War and had come out to that new country to take a fresh start in life. The Episcopalians did not think it wrong to dance, and Miss 164 THE STORY OF MY CONVERSION 165 Mamie was eager to assist us in every way in having a good time on the Wednesday night occasion. Meantime and perhaps a week previous, a Baptist min ister, M. Ray, had been holding a meeting at Tilden Church under a brush arbor. We had reached almost the heat of midsummer, and it was more convenient for the good people there to meet out under the arbor, and more pleasant than to meet in the church house. On this Sunday night, after we had made up the dance in the afternoon, I went with Miss Mamie to this revival service. Neither of us had any reli gious impressions whatsoever. We went to the public gath ering as young people will. We sat far back, almost on the very last seat. The arbor was crowded with people. My mother and father were there, and so were Brother Kinchen and his family, and while Rev. E. M. Weeks did not believe in revival services, being a very hard Hardshell Baptist, my father had never agreed with that view, and so he was working in the meeting with the other ministers. The preacher preached a most earnest discourse that night— one of the most impassioned sermons to which I have ever listened. The great throng hung upon his words with breathless interest. When he had finished his sermon, he called for mourners. Many came. He then called for all who were interested in religion to come forward. That did not appeal to me at all. I had a desultory interest in religion, and meant at some time to become a Christian. That had always been my purpose. I felt, however, that a young man could not have a good time as a member of the church, and I was deliberately withholding any active interest in religion until I should have married and settled down, my theory being that a married man who had gone through with all the dissipations and indulgences of youth, could consist ently be a Christian, while it would be very difficult for a single man to walk the narrow way. After these exercises had been concluded, the earnest preacher, still not satisfied. 166 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE looked in my direction, though he never had seen me. He said: " I am going to make another proposition. I want to know if there is in this great throng a man or woman, boy or girl, who, though not now interested at all in religion, expects at some future time to become a Christian." I knew that appeal was for me, because that had always been my purpose, and was my purpose then. I turned to Miss Pickens and asked her if she expected to go and give thjC preacher her hand on that last proposition. She shook her head. I said : " I will be bound to go, because I have to be honest with myself, and honest with the preacher. I mean sometime to be a Christian, but I do not mean to be a Christian now." She did not try to dissuade me, although she looked disap pointed that I should be moved by a sermon or by any appeal. I arose and started toward the minister to give him my hand. Between the time of arising to act upon my honest purpose, and the time of reaching the preacher, conviction seized upon my soul as strong as the powers of the world to come. When I reached the preacher, I not only gave him my hand, but I knelt with the other penitents. When the service was over, I went back to where the young lady sat and escorted her home. It was a six-mile ride across the country. It was a bright moonlight Sunday night. Between the time of leaving her hospitable country home and returning, a transformation as deep as my very soul had taken place in me. I talked to her about the matter as we journeyed back. I told her that I would not be at the dance Wednesday night, and never intended to attend an other. She was much surprised. She had never been thus near to a convicted sinner, the religion of some of our Epis copalian friends being quite formal, and many of them hold ing what we call experimental religion in contempt. She was THE STORY OF MY CONVERSION 167 kind and gentle, and bade me goodbye regretfully, as I left that night to ride my homeward way, with the moon and stars and the arching sky as my companions. My father and mother had seen what had happened. They had not yet retired when I reached home, although it was quite late. They were waiting for me. They were in tears. They were tears of joy and gladness, mingled with prayer and hope. Their prodigal boy had faced for once toward God and Heaven. I was not yet eighteen. That was July and I was to be eighteen in September. As a young man, I was always older than my years, and while my years were not many, I had reached a point in my physical and mental development far beyond boys of my age. I was as tall then as I am now, and really looked older. The reason for this was that then I was lean and cadaverous, whereas now I am full of face and counted a rather fleshy man. I did not sleep that night. I spent the night in prayer and penitence. All the sins of my life marshalled before me in one heart-rending panorama. I saw how forgetful I had been of God, I realized that I had trampled Plis mercies under unhallowed feet, that I had been a reckless, outbreak ing lad, and had gone far astray from the admonitions of my father and the counsels of my mother. The sermons I had heard in the years long gone trooped in upon me and smote me with their truths. I remembered the time when Uncle Charles Galloway was baptized, at which time I had a dis tinct religious irnpression. I remembered again the night on which my father had preached on the end of time, when I ran all the way home, fearing the end of the world would come before I could reach my mother. I remembered an other time not hitherto mentioned in this chronicle, when in a room of the home of Uncle Jack Bellamy there was the most remarkable demonstration of God's power that I had ever witnessed. There were but few present in that room. 168 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE perhaps not over thirty, but the minister of that night had preached a marvelous sermon, and things eternal took hold upon the assembled throng. Wicked men fell and begged for mercy, and Christians shouted aloud for joy. All of this came before me on that first night when I real ized that I was the chief of sinners. I had never been a criminal boy, but I had been wild, profane, reckless, out breaking and God- forgetting. It all came before me and I prayed. I do not know the words of my prayers that night. I could not recall them. Many of them found no voice. I was in an agony of supplication to God for mercy, and I felt that there was no mercy for such a sinner as I. Next day I did not go out with the cattle. I went to the arbor to the meeting. I went forward immediately for prayer when the opportunity was offered. The Christians gathered around me. God bless every one who is living now, and may the ashes of those who have gone to God rest tranquilly till Jesus comes ! There never is such a welcome anywhere as greets the prodigal child on his way back home. Those old- time country folks, as noble of heart as any who ever lived, and as near to God as any Christian people with whom it has ever been my pleasure to be acquainted, prayed with me, prayed for me, counseled me, helped me, encouraged me and assured me that all would be well. That night was Monday night. I went up again for prayer. I remember little else. I recall that after the service was over, having found no peace, I had a conference with my brother and Jim Bellamy, who had moved up into that end of the world, and told them that I did not know how the matter would eventuate. It seemed to me, as I said to them, that my day of grace had passed, but that whatever hap pened, I would never again be their companion in the way in which we hitherto had lived. There were tears in the eyes of these boys as I talked to them. It was amazing to them THE STORY OF MY CONVERSION 169 that I, the wildest one of the three, should have been the first to heed the gospel call. The second day I did go out with the cattle. I was much needed with them. I went out, but my soul longed for rest and forgiveness and peace. I doubt not that the live oak trees over between the breaks of Hog Creek and Middle Bosque where I found refuge on that July day of long past years, are still standing. I knelt me down out there alone with God. The cattle grazed quietly out under the umbra geous trees. I poured out my soul in prayer and begged for mercy. No human eye saw me. No human ear heard me. No human heart beat in unison with mine, but out there in those virgin wilds, far from the world and its wickedness and pain, I pleaded with God to have mercy upon me, a sin ner. That night I went back to the meeting again. I had found no rest. It had seemed an eternity since conviction had seized upon my spirit. I went up for prayer again. The people sang. The people prayed. Souls were saved. Chris tians rejoiced. There was happiness all around, but none for me. It was a terrible night — was that Tuesday night in that July in the long ago. Little sleep had come to me since Sun day night, and no rest of mind. When Wednesday morning came, I was almost hopeless, but I went out again with the cattle, as I had done the day before, and again I sought the same copse of trees and knelt there in that hallowed spot once more and asked God for help. I felt that I was ready to give up all, but the real hour of self-surrender had not yet come. I drove the cattle in when evening came. I ate little. When the time for service came around, I went to the meeting again. It was a bright Wednesday evening, but the shining stars had no charm for me. There was nothing on earth that I sought but the gra cious forgiveness of that God against whom I had so often sinned. I do not remember what the sermon was that night. 170 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE My spirit was too far submerged in the depths of its own despair to recall anything that happened until the time came for mourners to go forward for prayer. I made my way to the anxious seat, as I had done before, but instead of sitting, I knelt and bowed my face in my hands. I remember very little that happened, until, after the exhortation the minister asked that all engage in prayer. When all had knelt and the preacher's earnest, eager voice was cleaving the skies, as he begged for mercy for those who were in sore need of help, my burden was gently lifted from my heart. I had been in an agony of prayer, but when the time of tranquility and peace thrilled my soul, the first thing that my spirit said was : " What have you to pray for now ? " Soon the prayer was ended, and following the prayer, the old-time song began : " When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I'll bid farewell to every fear And wipe my weeping eyes." It was sung to the tune of which the following is the chorus : " Oh, come, angel band, Come and around me stand ! Oh, bear me away on your snowy wings To my immortal home ! " I did not kneel again, but I began clasping hands with God's cherished saints, who quickly surrounded me. They saw that the change had come. The first man whose hand grasped mine was Uncle Samuel McLendon, a Methodist steward. Tears rained down the dear old Christian's face. Then my mother found me and threw her arms around my neck as she shouted aloud for joy. My father came, and his frame was convulsed with emotion as he took me to his heart. That was the happiest hour my life had ever known. THE STORY OF MY CONVERSION 171 I had found surcease of sin and pain and agony and tears, and I realized in its fulness the pardoning grace of God. I did not think then that I would ever have a doubt or fear or sin as long as I should live. The song ended, the Christians were dismissed, but lin gered near, and many were the happy exclamations of joy and peace and Christian love that followed that service at which I gave my heart to God. I have had many storms and tempests as I have traversed life's fitful way. It has not all been peace. It has not all been sunshine. It has not all been joy. There have been times that in the depths of my despair and sin I have feared that I had never known the Lord. There have been many times, as I have journeyed on, that I have thought that I had no acceptance with the Saviour. I remember well what Sam Jones once said, and it is partly true. He said that a Chris tian's doubt is just as deep as his sin. There are other things, however, besides the Christian's sin, that make him doubt. John the Baptist was not a sinner in Castle Macherus when he sent his disciples to Jesus to ask Him if He were the Messiah or whether he should look for another. We went home a happy family. There was joy that night over one sinner that had repented. I went to bed the hap piest boy, I thought, that ever had been blessed in the for giveness of his sins. My heart was singing. All nature rejoiced. The stars, declaring the glory of God, and the firmament showing His handiwork, had never seemed so beautiful as then. The very trees sang together for joy. There never was as bright a moon as shone down upon us on that happy summer night of 1876. The world may cavil as it will. Skeptics may deride as they will. Infidels may scoff. It is their wont. Agnostics may say, " I do not know ; I doubt." It is their way. But I testify in this chronicle — and I wish this word to live after I am gone — that there is salvation through the blood of 172 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE Christ; that it may be had by every sinning soul on earth. If such a sinner as I could find peace in the Redeemer's love, that peace may be found by every man, woman and child that lives upon the earth. I testify also that there is reality in the religion of the Lord Jesus Christ. Since that hour, however far I have wandered, however deep has been my sin, however crucial have been my doubts of my acceptance with God, I have, when the stilly hours of the night have come, come back to the time when I first found Christian forgiveness and joy. This has been my Scripture. This has been my guiding star. This conversion, which was as real to me as the love of my mother or the gracious kindness of my father — which, in deed, to me is the most vital thing that ever came into my life — has lived to bring me back from my wanderings, what ever they have been. All of us have preached on the prodigal son, and have referred to him as a wandering sinner. But my heart's faith and belief is that the prodigal son was a wandering Chris tian, who went away from his God, leaving his father's house and going out afar into the enemy's land to feed upon the husks that the swine did eat. But the prodigal Christian always returns. You have had your time of wandering. You, it may be, have gone very far away, but that same great God to whom you bowed, and to whom you gave your heart in the long ago, sends His Spirit after you, and that same Redeemer whom you loved in that first hour of your accept ance with God, is exalted at the right hand of God as a Prince and a Saviour, where He ever maketh intercession for us who are left down here to struggle with the sins and temptations and beguilements of the world. XXIII BAPTISM AND CPIURCH MEMBERSHIP FOR three days I was celestially happy. I had passed through the crucible of penitence and tears, and had found perfect peace in Christ's forgiving love. For three days I sinned not, nor did I believe then that I would ever sin again. The nights were the happiest I had ever known, and the days the brightest. I worked in the meeting constantly, and on the following Sunday I offered myself for membership in the little Plardshell Baptist Church at Tilden. The church-house stood very near the arbor under which I had given my heart to my Redeemer. It was a bright and glorious July Sabbath. The attend ance at the little church was large. The house was full. While I was greatly embarrassed in many ways, I had en listed under the banner of the Lord, and I went forward with steady step, though with tearful eye, when the doors of the church were opened. The old-time Hardshell breth ren believed, as I believed then and still believe, that a saved man or woman who offers for membership in a Baptist church should give a reason for the hope that thrills the soul. I was asked to relate to the assembled multitude my Christian experience. That I did as best I could. It was with great imperfection and much halting of speech, but I knew whom I had believed, and I had that boldness of faith which gave me courage to tell the story of my journey from darkness into light, and from sin into newness of life. Many were the hearty handgrasps when, after a unani mous vote for my reception, opportunity was given for those 173 174 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE who were to extend me church and Christian fellowship to come forward. My dear father and mother were there, and I believe as I look back upon it, after the lapse of these almost two score of eventful years, that it was the happiest Sabbath they had known since I was born. We did not have the baptizing that day. It was left for the following Sabbath. In the meantime, the meeting at the bmsh arbor had closed. The Missionary Baptist church located there, received a large increase in its membership, and there were a number of others to join the Hardshell church. The leading Missionary Baptist of the neighbor hood was my beloved friend, J. P. Kinchen, who was then a deacon of the church and a man who stood high in the esteem of his fellow church members and of the people at large. He and his beloved wife were especially kind to me. They held no prejudice against the Hardshell Baptists, and theirs was an unmixed joy when I came into the fold. Among all the sympathizers and well-wishers that I knew in that first glow of my young Christian life, I had none who were kinder or more helpful than J. P. Kinchen and his dear, sweet wife. Between the two Sundays I was plunged into the depths of sorrow and despair. My walk with God seemed to have abruptly terminated. Unlike the recital told by the sweet little child, who was relating in her own language the story of Enoch, I did not take a long walk with God. She said that God and Enoch took very long, long walks together; that in these walks Enoch would go with God on nearer and yet nearer to Heaven, and that one day they got so close to Heaven in that long, long walk that God said to Enoch, " You just come on now and go with me to Heaven, because it is nearer to Heaven than it is back to where you live." My experience in this sad time of my first conscious sin after my conversion was so different from that of Enoch's that it almost broke my heart. I felt that my fault was irrep- BAPTISM AND CHURCH MEMBERSHIP 175 arable, but, as has been the case ten thousand times since then, my sin drove me to my knees and prostrated me in the dust and ashes of penitence and tears. I feared that I should not be baptized, but after praying out of my broken heart for God's forgiving love, I again found peace. The battle had begun — the battle between the spirit and the flesh — the battle that is as old as the old, old fashion death — the battle that shall endure until life's last conscious moment ends, and my eyes are closed in their last earthly sleep. The next Sunday was one of the brightest days I ever knew. As these words are penned, I can see the long, long procession of those dear country folk as they journeyed to Hurst Spring to witness the baptizing service. Hurst Spring bursts out of the virgin rock at the head of Hog Creek and sends forth its pellucid waters laughing toward the sea. Hard by the fountain-head of this gentle stream there is a lake some twenty or thirty feet wide and some seventy-five to one hundred feet long. It is the first lake of the little stream. On that bright July day it was as clear as crystal, as it mirrored the smiling heavens in its laughing waves. The pastor of the little Hardshell Baptist church was Rev. E. M. Weeks, but my father's dearest friend in the Hard shell Baptist ministry was Rev. Willis Russell, who lived in Bosque County, some twenty miles away. He came up at my father's request to baptize my father's son. A great crowd had gathered — one of the largest I have ever witnessed at a country baptismal service. I never can forget the sacredness of that solemn hour. The Mission ary Baptist brotherhood were there in force. Many Meth odists, who believed that burial in water was Christian bap tism, had also come to witness the impressive scene. At last my time for thus obeying my Redeemer came. The noble-hearted preacher took me by the hand and led me into the middle of the stream. His was an impressive figure. Although he was a man of little literary education, he was 176 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE wonderfully versed in the Word of God, and the able and impressive sermons that I heard him preach in those first years of my (Christian life, linger in my memory and are cherished in my heart this day. After he had raised his hand to Heaven and had invoked the blessings of God, I was buried with Christ in baptism " in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost." I was happier then, if it could have been, than I was when I first gave my heart to Christ. I, indeed, arose to walk in newness of life. "Heaven came down my soul to greet. And glory crowned the mercy seat." It was an epoch that no soul saved by Jesus' blood can ever forget. As I reached the banks of the stream, happy-hearted Christians gathered round me, and grasped my willing hand. Tears were coursing down many radiant faces, and in all my life I have never known a happier hour than the hour when I thus publicly put on Christ in baptism, and enrolled under the stainless banner of King Immanuel. As I have journeyed on in the dust and conflict of life's stern way, there have been enemies to question the validity of my baptism. For my own self, I have never for one moment questioned it. It would be impossible for me to go through the form of a re-baptism. While, as I have here related, I was immersed by a Hardshell Baptist minister, through the authority of a Hardshell Baptist church, I be lieve the baptism was entirely scriptural and in every way valid. I would not, under any circumstances, allow any of these adverse criticisms to influence me in the slightest de gree to repudiate that holy ceremony which inducted me into a local Baptist church in that happy youthtime hour. While on this subject, I take pleasure here in quoting a paragraph from the immortal address by Dr. B. H. Carroll, delivered at the Southern Baptist Convention at the session BAPTISM AND CHURCH MEMBERSHIP 177 which convened in Hot Springs in 1890. Concerning the different kinds of Baptists, he uses these very significant and impressive words : " Time fails me to tell the wondrous story of Baptist progress in Virginia — of their great revivals, their preach ers and their sufferings. A notable and far-reaching event in their history was the happy union of the Separate and Regular Baptists under the title of the United Baptist Churches of Christ in Virginia. Writing in 1809, Robert Semple, the historian of Virginia Baptists, gives a graphic account of this union which occurred twenty-two years be fore. Throughout the Southern States the same union was accomplished, culminating in Kentucky one year ago. I have myself seen old church letters of the three varieties — Separate, Regular and United, and counted all of them valid." Following my baptism, I began such active Christian work as was possible under Hardshell Baptist auspices. These dear people have no Sunday-schools, and nothing be yond the midweek prayer meeting and the usual Sunday services. Sad to say, as I have indicated in an early chap ter of this chronicle, their Sunday services are sometimes very long, but they are always impressive. I began at once to take up my cross as best I could and to follow my Saviour in every avenue of usefulness that opened to me. When I attended the first prayer meeting, there were a number of the new converts present, and Deacon John Bul lock, Elder E. M. Weeks, together with my father and oth ers of the members of the church, thought that the young Christians should be placed in harness promptly. To that end, Tom Miller, one of the new converts, and the son of another Hardshell Baptist preacher, was called upon to pray. I think I have never heard a more rambling petition. It was not quite so bad as the prayer of which W. W. Landram told in the 1889 session of the Southern Baptist 178 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE Convention. Dr. Landrum said that in his early years he knew a good old Baptist preacher who was very lengthy in his prayers. He prayed for everybody and everything, and repeated it over and over again. Upon one occasion, after having prayed for the work at home, the work abroad, home missions, foreign missions, education and every other con ceivable thing, together with the forgiveness of everybody's sins, he ended: " And now, O Lord, bless those foreign lands where the foot of man has never trod and the eye of God has never seen ! " Tom Miller's prayer was not so comprehensive, but it was halting and to the last degree lame and blundering. As I knelt there listening to his effort, I said in my heart that if I couldn't beat Tom Miller praying, I certainly never would try. To my amazement and consternation, after the next song was sung. Deacon John Bullock, who was leading the prayer-meeting, asked me to pray. All knelt. That was the good old-fashioned country. Hardshell Baptist, Christian, Christly way. When I knelt and tried to open my mouth, my lips were absolutely glued together. I could think of nothing but my mental criticism of Tom Miller's prayer. Finally, after some five minutes of awed and horrifying silence, I turned to Brother Bullock and asked him to lead in prayer, which he did. I have oftentimes criticised ser mons since that night, but insofar as I have been able, I have refrained from criticising any man's praying. That cured me. Coincident with my conversion and baptism, I received a distinct impression that I must be a minister. I had no audi ble call to preach, but the impression that I must preach was so strong upon me that I felt bound to communicate that burden to other Christian friends. First of all, I talked to others who had been converted in the same meeting in which I was saved. I thought it possible that all young Christians BAPTISM AND CHURCH MEMBERSHIP 179 had the same impression that had come to me. I found, however, upon inquiry that such was not the case. The dis tinct impression or call to the ministry had not come to any others of the young Christians who joined the church with me. I talked to the young men of the Missionary Baptist church there, as well as to the new members of the church of which I was a member, always with the same result. Very soon, acting upon my convictions, I laid the matter before the church of which I was a member. It was with great distrust and with much fear and trembling that I arose in conference in October following, and told the simple story of God's dealings with my soul. The conference was greatly impressed. Some were much surprised. My father and mother were not, because I had talked the matter over with them before presenting it to the church. In their good, old-time. Christian, quiet way the church liberated me to preach the gospel. There I was, just past eighteen, an uncouth, obscure coun try lad, unequipped with either literary or expert training of any kind, but, trae to my sense of duty to God, I had cast my all upon Him and signified my willingness to go out into the great world and bear testimony to His love. There was no income possible to a Hardshell Baptist preacher, because they do not support their ministry. The result was that I had to look elsewhere for a livelihood, so, very soon, finding it unnecessary longer to linger with my father's cattle, I journeyed to the North Bosque valley near Clifton, Texas, and offered my services to Uncle Billy Kemp as a cotton picker. His farm was the first one below Clif ton. It was a beautiful body of splendid rich land, and the cotton picking was excellent. The price was a dollar a hun dred, the cotton picker boarding himself. It was an exceed ingly pleasant as well as a profitable employment. We camped out, and there were a number of other cotton pick ers there, so that time did not hang heavy upon our hands. 180 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE I did not linger there very long, but made clear $io a week and felt very happy in the work. As opportunity offered, I did such Christian work as I could, and sought in all ways to magnify the profession of religion which I had made. Before going down to Mr. Kemp's farm to pick cotton, father had selected a sweetheart for me. It was most auspi cious in some ways, but the experiment did not eventuate with sufficient success to justify its repetition. At the same time I was converted, a magnificent young woman. Miss Josie Johnson, also came into the light, and immediately thereafter joined the Missionary Baptist church. She came of a fine family. They belonged to the old-time, quiet Southern country folk, and she was an unusually bright, cheerful, amiable and attractive young woman. She was about my age, a perfect blonde, with laughing blue eyes, and a heart as light and happy as one could find in a long day's journey. My father was very solicitous that I should fall in love with Miss Josie, and, anxious to please him, I made it a part of my weekly and semi-weekly business to visit her home. We went to the camp-meetings together, I was a frequent caller at regular and irregular intervals, and while we were never engaged to be married, I held her in the very highest esteem. When I went down to Uncle Billy Kemp's farm to pick cotton, I carried her picture in my pocket and it then seemed to me that one day I would ask her to become my wife. Digressing slightly here, I must finish this story of my second love affair. The following spring I went down to Crawford and took a country school, more of which here after. I was unhappy in some ways because I feared that I had made the distinct impression upon Miss Josie's mind that I was in love with her, and I felt sure that it was my duty to go back to Coryell County and marry her. Suiting the action to my conscience, I wrote Miss Josie the follow- BAPTISM AND CHURCH MEMBERSHIP 181 ing summer that I was coming up on a certain Sunday to visit her. It was more than twenty miles across the coun try. I rode faithful " Old Ball," the horse that had been one of my mounts as we drove the beef cattle up the old Chis holm beef trail. Arriving at the Johnson home at about i p. M., I found that they were just ready for dinner. After the meal was over, I felt sure that Miss Josie, broken hearted as she must be on my account, would give me an opportunity to make due amends for my neglect. I was ready to declare my love, to ask her to become my wife, and at the same time to beg her pardon for having gone away without first winning her promise to marry me. Two o'clock came, half past two o'clock came, but Miss Josie lingered in the big front sitting room with the old folks, en gaging in general conversation. It was all mysterious to me, because I was perfectly sure that she loved me deeply and must have suffered agonies of grief on account of my departure from the Hog Creek country. About three o'clock a visitor came, in the person of a little sawed-off, but altogether amiable and splendid young man, named John Williamson. His legs were barely long enough to reach the ground. I had known John in the Hog Creek country days and esteemed him highly. I never thought he was destined to set the world on fire, unless he should strike a match at the mouth of a gas well, but at the same time he was a splendid fellow, and one whom any girl might be glad to number among her admirers. Very soon after John came in, the whole situation dawned upon me. Absence had made dear Josie's soul grow fonder — of John, of which I was really and truly glad. I had lived up to my sense of duty, had found my old sweetheart with a heart not even phased, and with a lover entirely worthy of her and one that three weeks later was to make her a loyal and loving hus band. 182 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE I soon saddled " Old Ball," bade Brother and Sister John son, Miss Josie Johnson and my dear friend, John William son, a fond adieu, and rode back toward my Crawford school a somewhat wiser man. After that, I was not so egotistical. I never again thought that a girl was broken- heartedly in love with me simply because I had been allowed to escort her once or twice to a camp-meeting. XXIV ODDS AND ENDS OF EVENTS, CLOSING THE YEAR 1876 ONLY two or three events are of sufficient import ance to merit notice in this chronicle as having further to do with the memorable year of 1876. One of these was my visit to Gatesville in the autumn of that year, at which point I met Dr. McMullen, a blind phre nologist. I had never lost interest in the science of charac ter reading. As opportunity offered, I had kept up my studies, both of medicine and phrenology. As has been told, father began to practice medicine in the Hog Creek country, and while his practice was never so large nor so remuner ative there as it had been in the old Bastrop County home, he did some considerable work, and I maintained my study of medical science and practice. At the same time, I read with avidity every book that I could secure upon the science of phrenology, and everything touching upon that subject challenged my deepest interest and consideration. Going to Gatesville on other business, I found the town placarded with the announcement that Dr. McMullen, the blind phrenologist, was there, and was prepared to make phrenological examinations, and give written charts. I did not have a dollar in my pocket, but I was wearing a ring that belonged to a very near and dear relative. I knew that it would be all right for me to pledge this ring for enough money with which to secure a chart, so I went to the drug gist of the town, Y. S. Jenkins, who in later years proved to be one of my dearest friends, and pawned the ring to him 183 184 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE for the loan of $2.50. He was reluctant to take the ring, but I was a stranger to him, and if he hadn't taken the ring he would have been very reluctant to lend me the money. I told him very frankly who I was, and what I wanted with the money. He told me to bring the money next time I came to town, and secure my ring. I was exceedingly happy when I found that I could get this money, and I hastened to Dr. McMullen's room to have my head examined. He was a very brilliant man. He had been blind nearly all his life, but so expert was he in the knowledge of phrenological science that he made examina tions as aptly and accurately, so far as I could judge, as had Dr. Bellows, of an earlier time. He was planning to journey through the country, and after I had explained to him my keen interest in phrenology, he suggested an arrangement by which we could be mutually helpful. He said that if I would furnish the team and the vehicle and drive the team, thus journeying with him and helping him to advertise and exploit his lectures, he would give me the benefit of his superior knowledge of the science, and we would divide the proceeds equally. That looked to me like a splendid oppor tunity for enlarging my store of knowledge and experience, so I hastened back to the Hog Creek country, told my father of the status of affairs, and he at once interested himself in assisting me to secure the team and the hack with which to carry out the plan. I already had " Old Ball." He was not only a splendid saddle horse, but a good harness horse as well. I bought another horse from my father; he helped me to rig up a hack and harness, and I informed Dr. McMullen that I was ready to begin the work. At this juncture, an unforeseen event occurred. John Barleycorn intervened, and utterly destroyed our plans. Dr. McMullen was a periodic drunk ard, and as soon as he had secured sufficient funds from his Gatesville work, he plunged into a long and disappointing CLOSING THE YEAR 1876 185 spree. The result was that after having prepared myself to take up this work, the plan failed, and I was forced to turn my attention to other things. Meantime, I had made the journey to Uncle Billy Kemp's farm, and had spent a month or so in picking cotton, so that when the winter of 1876 was ushered in, I was still at home with my father, but without fixed occupation of any kind. A little prior to this time, I made the acquaintance of Joe A. Lee, who was a Missionary Baptist preacher and school teacher. He had married a distant cousin of mine — a very sweet, amiable young girl. He was much her senior, but he loved her tenderly, and they had begun their married life at Parks' school house near Turnersville. It was some eight miles from the Hog Creek country to the Parks school house, but inasmuch as we were thus related to each other, we became acquainted, and our acquaintance speedily rip ened into a warm and enduring friendship. Joe Lee was teaching the school at the Parks school house, so in Decem ber of 1876, when he found it necessary to take a short vacation, he induced me to come to Parks school house neighborhood and teach the little school while he was absent. This was my first introduction to pedagogy, of which I had considerable experience in the two years following. I taught the school but a few days, but the experience, even of that short period, was of great value to me. I found that I liked teaching, and I had always loved children of every age and condition of life. I found that the children were easy to control, and that they loved me. Having become acquainted with the citizens of the Parks school house community, and having talked with Mr. Buster and others concerning phrenology, I was solicited to deliver some lectures on that subject. Thus far I had never ap peared in public except in a prayer meeting talk or two, but I was reasonably conversant with the science of phrenology, and while I had not been privileged to sit at the feet for 186 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE any length of time of any great phrenologist, I had absorbed Samuel R. Wells' How to Read Character, and had famil iarized myself with Fowler's System of Phrenology. I had also read Combe's Constitution of Man and Moral Philoso phy, and had dipped somewhat into the works of Nelson Sizer, who, while not a voluminous writer, was one of the greatest of the old-time phrenologists. My lectures were duly announced in the school, Joe A. Lee, the teacher, having returned, and on the first evening on which I was billed to appear, I was surprised to find the little school house filled with people. It would hold per haps two hundred auditors, and they were there. There is something remarkable about phrenology. Whenever a man who is reputed to be at all versed in the science an nounces a lecture, he always finds hearers. We naturally love to have ourselves talked about in the right way, and while phrenologists owe it to themselves and to their sub jects to be true and faithful, they are never over veracious in giving the faults of the volunteer subjects who come for ward for examination. My first lecture was on the temperaments. In the old division of temperaments there were four — the Nervous, Sanguine, Bilious and Lymphatic. At a later time, the phrenologists renamed them, and reduced the number to three — the Motive, Mental and Vital. After the lecture, some four subjects came forward for free examinations, and I also had a number ask me where I would be the fol lowing day, so that they might pay for examinations. I charged 50c for each examination and $2 for a written chart. While the business there was not overwhelmingly or sen sationally great, it was a beginning — my very first start in independent public work. I lectured there five nights, and the denizens of that far away community seemed pleased at the result. CLOSING THE YEAR 1876 187 The remaining days of 1876 were uneventful. After my successful lecture experience at Parks school house, I went back to my father's home on Hog Creek, and renewed my service with him in caring for his cattle. It had been a prosperous season with the herd. There had been a sub stantial increase, and my father was getting on his feet most happily in the new-found home. Thus ended the most eventful year of my young man hood. I look back upon it now as a year fraught with more far-reaching consequences than any I had known. We had moved to the new country, I had known my first great shock and sorrow, I had become a Christian, I had been licensed to preach, I had become a public lecturer, and I had reached the ripe age of eighteen years. I was older for my years than most young men. I was lean and cadaverous at that period of my life, and I looked older, I believe, than I look now. Be that as it may, I had entered really upon life's serious things, and thus with the opening of 1877, I confronted a new and distinct line of endeavor. XXV AS A COUNTRY SCHOOL TEACHER DURING January of 1877, my brother. Dr. T. E. Cranfill, who had secured a license to practice medicine, moved from the Hog Creek country down to Crawford, McLennan County. Crawford is some twenty miles west of Waco. It was then a small country vil lage, consisting of two stores, a school house, a blacksmith shop, a little tavern kept by Mr. Robinson and his wife, a post office and a little drug store. I never knew why my brother moved down there, but because of his going, I went down about the middle of March to visit him. The school, taught by John H. Gouldy, was nearing its close. They were rehearsing for the exhibition. I decided soon after reaching Crawford to lecture on phrenology. My brother happily fell into the plan, and in talking to the teacher of the school, who soon became my warm friend, and is to this day, I found him enthusiastic on the subject, so we adver tised a series of lectures, announcing them through the medium of the school, and posting notices at the post office, the tavern, and one or two other public places. When I went to give my first lecture, I found, as I had found at the Parks school house, that I looked into the faces of a very intelligent audience, and that the school room was practically filled with people. I began as I had begun before, but being more certain of myself, and having had a taste of genuine success in that field of endeavor, I began the work more aggressively and more hopefully. Besides all that, I was some three months older, and during these three months 188 AS A COUNTRY SCHOOL TEACHER 189 I had spent my time in study, and in further preparation for this work, as well as for my future career as a practi tioner of medicine. I would not have you understand that I had abandoned the plan of being a minister. I still talked in public as a preacher as occasion offered, but inasmuch as that yielded me no income, and as inasmuch as I was wholly upon my own resources. I found it necessary to take up the work of lecturing on phrenology in order to win my bread. On the second evening of the lecture, I noticed in the audience a shy, but winsome maiden, who quietly walked down the aisle toward the front, and who in many ways im mediately challenged my attention. I do not remember the kind of dress she wore. I have never been an adept in the delineation of feminine costume. I am not a connoisseur in matters of this sort, nor am I a judge of the delicate shad ings and blendings of colors. What I do remember about this maiden is that she had on a sailor hat, and that in every way she was the type of girl that I could honor and admire. I did not get acquainted with her that night, but within the next day or two I had the pleasure of giving her and some other members of her family phrenological examinations. I was as full of mischief as I could be, and desiring to have a little fun, I exclaimed, when I came to examine her head, " What a pity ! What a pity ! " That has been thirty-six years ago, and even now she will stop betimes when I am immersed in life's stern conflicts, and ask me what I meant by that exclamation when I examined her head at the old Crawford school house. The gentle maiden was Miss Ollie Allen, the daughter of A. D. Allen, one of the pioneer citizens of McLennan County. He, with his family, had come to Texas when this girl was nine years old. She was then almost seventeen. Moving with his family from Georgia in 1869, Mr. Allen had settled first near Waco on the farm of Dunk McLen- 190 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE nan, for whose father, Neil McLennan, that county was named. Meanwhile, after hard struggles, and after having looked at many tracts of land in McLennan County, Mr. Allen had acquired a little farm on the Middle Bosque about a mile and a half below Crawford, and it was there that he reared his family. The same farm is owned by his widow as this chronicle is penned. I at once became very fond of the timid maiden. She was not so approachable as most girls were. I found it difficult to secure any kind of audience with her, and I found, more over, that her father was averse to having a young man pay her any attention whatsoever. For this reason, and for the reason that she was so young, I did not press my suit to any great extent at that time, but waited in patience for a better opportunity to tell this sweet girl exactly what I thought of her. My phrenological lecture experience at Crawford soon was at an end. It was in every way a marked success. Not only had I enjoyed a splendid financial return, but I had made many friends in the Crawford community, among them such men as Uriah Tadlock, W. E. Costley, J. T. Ful- len, A. T. Ford, Howard Meredith and others whose names I have not space to mention. Soon the school of Mr. Gouldy had its closing exercises, which I attended. Meantime, he had announced that he would not allow his name to go before the trastees for re election. All of the public school money had been exhausted, but there would be another appropriation by the early sum mer, and a private school could follow that would last into December. There were many of the patrons of the school who wished that their children might go on uninterruptedly, and for that reason, encouraged by the kind co-operation of the men I have named, and of other citizens, I prepared and circulated a subscription list for a private school. Enough pupils were pledged to justify me in announcing AS A COUNTRY SCHOOL TEACHER 191 that on a certain April Monday morning, I would open my school in the Crawford school house. Quite a number came, among them children of Mr. Costley and Mr. Ford and, to me, best of all, A. D. Allen subscribed two scholars and sent his daughter, Ollie, and his little son, Bob. Bob was the baby boy. Pearl, the baby girl, was at that time too young to enter school, being only three years old. As I have before intimated, Mr. Allen did not like for any young men to pay attention to his daughter, Ollie, who, as he believed, was too young to accept the company of young men. On that account, the old gentleman fudged a little when he stated her age in the subscription list. She was well on toward seventeen, but he put her age a year less than that, at which I was afterwards much amused, though at that time I was greatly fearful he had told it just as it was. I loved my school dearly. The children loved me, and I found myself happy in that new field. There was an in centive to study, coupled with the opportunity for study. I began by boarding at the home of Mr. Robinson, otherwise known as the Crawford Tavern. It was a storehouse-like residence, and once had been a store. It had four rooms. I occupied a room with Dr. John Monroe. He was a man of splendid gifts and accomplishments, but was killing him self with drink. He lived only a few months after I met him, dying in the year 1878, somewhere down in Louisiana, when the yellow fever scourge came on. I later made my home with Lee Allen, a brother of A. D. Allen. Lee Allen sent two of his sons to my school — Pope and Bob. Later on, during the public school term of 1878, Pope became my assistant teacher. Be it known to you that while my Crawford school had a small beginning, it grew to what was then immense proportions. The children came from far and near during the next year's school term, and I soon found myself with more than a hundred students. I 192 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE had to have an assistant, and very naturally I turned to Pope Allen, who was my room-mate in the Lee Allen home, and who was a dear good friend at that time, as he is today. There was a short period during the spring of 1877 be tween the closing of Mr. Gouldy's school and the opening of mine. I had no other employment, having exhausted the material for phrenological work in the Crawford commun ity, so I accepted employment as a cotton chopper on the farm of Uriah Tadlock, who was one of the pioneers of the village. I worked ten full hours a day, taking an hour at noon, and received 75c a day and my board. It was not a very long employment, but it was never mine to sit around and whittle sticks at the corner grocery when there was any kind of honest toil at hand. I am as proud of my record as a cotton picker in Uncle Billy Kemp's field, and as a cotton chopper in Uriah Tad- lock's cotton patch, as I am of any other material achieve ments of my entire career, and I found that while there might have been those to look down upon the young fledg ling of a pedagogue who " stooped," as some might say, to the dull and prosaic occupation of cotton chopping, my rec ord in this particular helped me with the more thoughtful citizens of the village and community. Soon the time for the opening of the school came on, and it was in every way satisfactory. Later, when the private school period found its close, the public school trustees unanimously elected me to teach the public school, and thus the school went on without interregnum until the summer vacation time. Just here I must recite a fact that points a moral and adorns a tale. In my own school days I had mastered Ray's University Arithmetic with one exception — allegation alter nate and allegation medial. When I reached these problems in my own school life, I was attending the school on Hall mark's Prairie taught by Reverend Mr. Johnson. When my AS A COUNTRY SCHOOL TEACHER 193 class reached them, the teacher told us they were of no use, and let us skip them. We were glad enough as children to be saved the trouble of mastering these abstruse prob lems, but I found to my sorrow when the class in my own school reached them that I was in a most embarrassing posi tion. Unlike Brother Johnson, I did not tell my pupils that these were useless acquirements, but frankly stated that I did not know them. They appreciated my candor, no mat ter if they were astonished at my ignorance, and so my classes passed them over just as I had done. Until this day I do not know alligation alternate and alligation medial. If I may be pardoned a soliloquy just here, it is that the poorest and most direful thing on earth to a pupil in any school is to slight any feature of his work. Many pupils in our schools and colleges stuff for examinations, heedless of the actual value of the attainment of knowledge. What they desire to do is to " pass," irrespective of their profi ciency. Every teacher knows what I mean in this statement. It would be the greatest philanthropy imaginable if deep impression could be made upon the minds of students every where that it is not what they pass over in school, but what they learn, that counts. I slighted nothing in algebra, but I never was able alto gether to find " X." It was a search that I industriously made when equations came for elucidation, but there were many " X's " that were so elusive that I never quite suc ceeded in corraling them, and it has been so through life. If I had space here, I would name a lot of them, but time for bids, so I hasten on with the thread of my narrative. I pause here to retrace my steps a little way. Before I took the school, and just after I had concluded my phreno logical lectures at Crawford, I fell very ill. I was living with my brother, and he gave me as prompt attention as he could. My future father-in-law, A. D. Allen, afterwards told that he was passing my brother's house as I was being 194 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE carried in. He said that he heard me remark to my brother that I knew I was going to die, because I never had any other than fatal diseases. In later years we talked this over, and he counted it a great joke. I never could remember whether I made use of the language or not, but it was all the same to him. My brother became frightened concerning my condition, and hastily summoning Wesley Tadlock, the son of Uriah Tadlock, he sent him up to the Hog Creek country for my father. He began the long horseback ride about eight o'clock at night and it must have taken him until midnight to reach my father's house. Immediately my father saddled his horse and came bounding down Crawford way, as rap idly as his magnificent bay steed could carry him. Wesley Tadlock came on back with him, but he was hard pressed to keep up with father's pace. I was unconscious when father reached me. The first thing I remember was that daylight had come and father was bending above my bed. I had a long illness — too long to remain at Crawford for con valescence. Within two or three days father sent back to the Hog Creek country for his wagon, and bringing down a bed from home, I was placed thereon and carried back to father's cottage, where I could have the ministrations of my sister and my dear mother. I have never forgotten the generous kindness shown me by Wesley Tadlock. I had occasion often to thank him in person, and now, after the lapse of these eventful years, wherever dear Wesley is, I send to him across the interven ing vales and hills my heart's best love. It may be that his vigilance and generosity saved my life. On the other hand, my brother, who was a capable young physician, might have been able, alone and unaided, to have brought me through. That matters not in my love for Wesley. He was a dear, good boy. He afterwards attended the Crawford school AS A COUNTRY SCHOOL TEACHER 195 that I taught, and in later years it was my pleasure now and then to grasp his friendly, generous hand. In order to complete this part of my story, I must go back yet some years, and in part restate what has been al ready told. In the old Bastrop County days, when I was about twelve years of age, I became possessed of a stray dog. One day when I was out rounding up the cattle in the glades that skirted Hallmark's Prairie, I found that I was being followed by a lean, lank, hungry, cadaverous, humble, pathetic-looking brindle dog. I do not remember ever to have seen a more pitiable canine specimen. He looked like he had been living for ages upon the atmos phere. From his eyes there beamed almost human intelli gence. All my life long, helplessness and poverty have pow erfully appealed to me. It was thus that when I looked upon the dog and met his pleading gaze, I spoke kindly to him. He kept on following me. It seemed that he would be too weak ever to reach our home. He was almost ex hausted, but he did manage to keep up with me, though in order to have him do so, I had to slacken my pace quite a little, and at last when we reached home, I was quick to give him food, and from that moment that dog and I were inseparable companions. I named him " Puppy." He was part bulldog. I never knew the other strains of doghood that coursed through his dogly veins, but I never had a truer friend in my boyhood, nor have I had a more faithful friend or admirer in any after years. During our farming opera tions in Bastrop County, his services were invaluable. At my bidding he would fasten his teeth in the nose of the largest and wildest steer. Once upon a time, when cattle had broken into our field and were destroying our crop, " Puppy " caught a large beef steer, and in doing so the animal tramped upon one of his hind legs and broke it at the middle joint. The average man would have killed the dog in that condition, but I was not the average man in my 196 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE relation to " Puppy," nor indeed to any other wounded ani mal. I gently bound up the broken joint, wrapped it with splints and managed to get "Puppy" home. Later, my father, who was a better surgeon at that time than I, reset the bone, and by carefully watching the dog, the limb healed, though ever after he had a stiff, if not a painful, joint. He went with us when we left Bastrop County, followed us up the old Chisholm beef trail, was near me when I looked after my father's herd, clung to me in all my wan derings, was my faithful companion in Uncle Billy Kemp's field down on North Bosque, followed me to Crawford, and had lingered with me and was near me when my time of sickness came. He was not to be kept behind when they loaded me in the wagon to take me back to the Hog Creek home. But " Puppy," being a stranger in the West, had never learned the deceptions of the jackrabbit. He would insist on chasing them. He felt that he could catch them. It was so on this trip. I was too sick to look after him, and my father's mind was on other things. The result was that on that journey " Puppy " actually ran himself to death chas ing jackrabbits. When we reached home, " Puppy " was missing, and when I found a friend who would go in search of him, he at last came upon the dead body of my faithful dog. The grief for his loss was genuine and enduring. I have always looked back upon my association with " Puppy " with a grateful heart. He was kinder and more faithful than many friends I knew in after years. He never would have forsaken me, no matter what my perils or my cares. He would have stood by me at the cost of his life, no matter how far I had wandered from the path of rectitude or wis dom. He was far more generous and forgiving than many church members I have known. Without deceit, innocent AS A COUNTRY SCHOOL TEACHER 197 of diplomacy, but rich in fidelity and good deeds, he lived his obscure, humble life, and died bravely at his post of duty. So much for this good dog, who, in your own life and in the lives of other men and boys, has had his faithful prototype. XXVI MORE ABOUT SCHOOL LIFE AT CRAWFORD IT was during the first month of my school work at Crawford that I wrote my first article for a newspaper. I had written a good deal in my scrapbook and in my diary. Upon a time up in the Hog Creek country I had begun the keeping of a journal. I did not keep it long, and I never knew a man that did. I tried it for just a little while and gave it up, but I had written several sketches in my scrapbooks, and had kept some of them. It was not, however, until I became a full-fledged country teacher that I accumulated nerve enough to send an article to a news paper. At that time down at Waco there was a paper called The Waco Telephone. It was under the editorial charge of A. R. McCollum, who at the present time is editor of The Waco Tribune and is State Senator. He was then in the prime of his young manhood, and when I sent my contribu tion to The Telephone, he quickly printed it. In writing for The Telephone I used the nom de plume of " Random." Simply as a matter of information, and to show from what small beginnings a man's life may be projected, I publish here in full this first contribution to The Waco Telephone: COUNTY NEWS. Crawford, McLennan County, Texas, October s, 1877. Eds. Telephone: I will endeavor to give your readers an idea of what is going on in this vicinity, but will ask that they expect little. The recent rains have retarded the progress of cotton picking to 198 J. B. Cranfill^ When He Taught the Crawford School. SCHOOL LIFE IN CRAWFORD 199 some extent, but if the fair weather of today continues, the farmers will soon make up for lost time. No grain has been sown yet, though some are preparing land. Our little village is very quiet, and the people in this section are in good spirits (not ardent spirits). There is considerable sickness here now, though but few deaths. We have received lasting calls from both measles and whooping-cough, and they have interfered considerably with crop-gathering, and also with our school, which is entirely closed for the present, but will be resumed in a few days. We have not been favored with any weddings yet, but some of our gallant swains will doubtless muster courage to "pop the ques tion" before long, and they say that's all they have to do. For fear of lengthening my first letter too much, I will close. More anon. Very respectfully, J. B. C. I became a regular correspondent of The Telephone — a work that I much enjoyed. I became also soliciting agent, and added many subscribers to the weekly edition of that bright and newsy journal. A friendship sprang up then be tween Mr. McCollum and myself which has endured through all the years. While it has not been mine to see much of him since I left Waco in January of 1898, I cherish his friend ship with a grateful heart, and always think of him with kindness and fraternal love. I have not always agreed with him, but have always held him in the very highest esteem. He is an editor to the manner born. He has as fine a nose for news, and as keen a scent for the drift of public opinion as any man I ever knew. He is withal an able writer, and his early counsels as I began my journalistic work were of inestimable value. He has written more kind things about more people than perhaps any man that ever lived in Texas. When I became a correspondent of The Telephone, I found an absolutely new and virgin world. In my school days I had read some splendid literature in the old McGuf fey readers, and some in other books, and they had their part in the formation of my own literary tastes and aptitudes. 200 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE as they have had in forming the web and woof of many a young and hopeful life. Who can ever forget the quaint stories they contained ? I remember reading about " How the Water Came Down at Lodore," and of fairly reveling in " Maud Muller on a summer's day Raked the meadow sweet with hay." And again, there were stories of Washington, there were selections from the brilliant and inspiring productions of Washington Irving, and in the earlier readers there were many of the little speeches that we learned to know and speak. I also kept up my medical studies. I had Flint's Practice, Dunglinson on New Remedies, Gray's Anatomy, Dalton's Physiology, Fowne's Chemistry and the United States Dis pensatory. 1 do not believe that I told you how near I came to being a lawyer. When I lived down in the Hallmark's Prairie country, I decided, at the age of fifteen, that I would like to be a great lawyer like Wash Jones of Bastrop. Suiting my action to the word, I went over to Squire Simms' and bor rowed his copy of The Revised Statutes of Texas. It was a ponderous volume then, as it is today, and I suppose that in dullness and dryness it is as distinguished now as it was when I brought that bulky copy home. I studied it one night, and gave up once and for all my ambition to become a law yer. I would rather sift sand in the Desert of Sahara than to pore over these unfathomable tomes, and allow the mois ture in my intellect to be absorbed by such dull authors as Blackstone, et al. I afterwards discovered that there is no such thing as " the law," anyway, " the law " being what the last judge thought about it. The Crawford school grew and prospered. The patrons liked the school and the scholars loved the teacher. We had SCHOOL LIFE IN CRAWFORD 201 our troubles, as all schools have. In that school I had three young men in my classes, all of whom were older than I. Among this number was Pope Allen, who afterwards be came my assistant teacher. There were two other young men in the school, both of whom were a year or so older than I, and with these two boys I scented trouble. I treated them as best I could, but I was then, as now, a strong be liever in discipline, and enforced my convictions with a gen tle, but aggressive hand. Although I had just passed eighteen years of age, I meant to rule the school, and I did. Upon one occasion these two boys violated a well estab lished rule, and as a punishment for their disobedience I told them that they would have to stay in for a whole week of recesses and playtimes. They were too large to whip, so I administered what I deemed a punishment commensurate with their offense. I thought I saw trouble in the eyes of both, and I never knew and do not know today whether they made up between them to break the rule to test my mettle, or whether it just happened so. In any event, when the noon recess came one of them arose and announced that they would not stay in, and that I could do what I pleased about it. I stated to him that there was just one alternative — that he must obey the rules of the school and accept his punishment or be expelled from the school. The other one joined him in rebellion. I did not know what they intended, so I deliberately opened my pocket knife, which had a large, long blade, and laid it on my desk. I then said to both of them : " You must decide right now whether you will obey the rules, and accept the punishment assigned, or you must pick up your books and walk out of this house." They saw that I meant what I said, and both of them quailed before it. Soon the first one spoke, and with a dis tinct tremor in his voice apologized for his insubordination. He told me he would take his punishment and be a man. 202 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE The other quickly followed, and the " tempest in a teapot " had found its end. That was the only real trouble I ever had in my school life, or that was ever threatened. I am sure that if I had shown the " white feather " those boys would have given me a sound thrashing that day, and would have run me out of the Crawford community. There is only one event in the entire history of my Craw ford school teaching life that I regret, and I do not regret that so very much. The little Allen girl kept on attending school, and I kept on becoming more and more interested in her welfare. She was always embarrassed when she stood up in the spelling matches. On that account, I found myself skipping the hard words when I would come to her, and giv ing her the easy ones. I did not think that this would be noticed by the other scholars, but one Friday afternoon, when we had our spelling match, I heard one of the boys exclaim to another as they left the room that I had skipped the hard ones and given the easy ones to Ollie Allen. I did not thrash that boy just then because the school was out, but on Monday morning I called him to my desk and asked him if he had neglected his other lessons and looked upon his spelling book when we were having our Friday after noon spelling match. He said he had. You see, it was this way: While I was giving out the spelling match exercises to the older pupils, the younger ones were supposed to be intent upon their own lessons. In this case, however, this boy had violated the rule of the school, and I felt bound to administer to him a just punishment. I have always had some qualms about it, however, and while my heart ached in all the after days every time I was forced to give the little Allen girl a hard word to spell, I never again dared to skip around and give her the easy ones. You may not think this was quite fair play, and if you say so, I will hasten to agree with you, but if you had been there in my place and SCHOOL LIFE IN CRAWFORD 203 known all the facts, you might not have been any better than I was. An incident occurred during the summer of 1877 that was of more than passing interest. The community had a weak Missionary Baptist church that met semi-occasionally, and a weak Methodist church that had meetings now and then, but it had a strong Christian-Campbellite church, and one of my most highly esteemed trustees was a member of that communion. Therefore, when the request came to me to dismiss school two weeks during the summer months in order for Dr. W. L. Harrison, of Troy, in Bell County, one of the leading Christian ministers, to hold a meeting, I gladly accepted. I had never met Dr. Harrison, but when he came I found him to be a most intelligent and charming gentleman. I had never come in contact with a man more thoroughly informed upon the doctrines of his church than Dr. Harrison. We took to each other at once, and from that day until his death we were warm friends. He was a great advocate of temperance and prohibition, and his life was one of singular purity and uprightness. I know that Dr. Harrison greatly wished that I would become a convert to his doctrine. He treated me with every courtesy and con sideration, and I reciprocated. I went to every service and heard his series of sermons, not only with a friendly cour tesy, but with an open mind. I had never heard such a series of discourses on the doctrines of the Disciples or Christians until that time, and in all the years since then, although I have read many of their books, and heard many of their ablest ministers, I have never been privileged to listen to an abler presentation of their principles than I heard from the lips of Dr. Harrison. When it was all over and done, and I was still a Baptist, and indeed more thoroughly a Baptist than I had been at the beginning. Dr. Harrison expressed great surprise. Meantime, one of the patrons of my school, a member of the 204 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE Christian or Disciples Communion, known in that neighbor hood and honored throughout all McLennan County, made a very generous proposal to me. The man was " Tonk " Baker, the father of former Mayor James B. Baker, of Waco, and John W. Baker, now County Clerk of McLen nan County. " Tonk " Baker's children went to school to me, and they were bright and cheery pupils. He ap proached me during those days and told me that if I would be willing when my school had closed to take a thorough literary course in a Philadelphia college, he would pay all of my expenses. The school was one conducted by the Disciples, and I have no doubt that Mr. Baker hoped that through my attendance on that school I would become a member of their flock. I felt bound to decline his very generous offer, but I hold his memory in sacred reverence until this good day. He has been in his grave these many years. It was mine to be of some small help to him while I lived in the Crawford community, and I rejoice to look back upon the little service that I rendered him. He was subject to spells of intense neuralgic headache, and through my knowledge of medicine and hygiene, I was often able to give him quick relief. He appreciated it, and it was a joy to me thus to help him. I have always thought highly of all the Baker family. Later on, in January of 1894, when the office of The Baptist Standard was consumed by fire, a son of " Tonk " Baker, afterwards Mayor James B. Baker, of Waco, who was at that time in the brick business, came to me and with a hearty and loving grasp of his great, generous hand, ten dered me all the brick that I would need for rebuilding my office. He told me that I could pay for it or not, just as I pleased. I have not seen this good man in many years. I learn that he is in ill health, but I wish him to know that his generous helpfulness, as well as that tendered me by his noble father, have never failed of genuine appreciation. SCHOOL LIFE IN CRAWFORD 205 When the winter vacation of 1877 came, I was quite a great deal more advanced in every way. I had reached my nineteenth year on September 12th, and was not only the Crawford correspondent of The Waco Telephone, but had sent some news letters from Texas to the Louisville Courier- Journal and other papers. I did not count these as great literary efforts, but it was a joy to find that my contribu tions were accepted. After my school had closed, my old-time desire to lecture on phrenology became regnant once again. To that end, I went down to Waco with the avowed purpose of delivering a course of phrenological lectures. It was a piece of monu mental gall, but at the same time I had method in my gall- ness. I had in mind to lecture in many other places in McLennan County, and my thought was that if I began at the capital city of McLennan County I would gain sufficient fame to have easy sailing in the country districts. The lec ture was advertised most liberally by The Waco Telephone, the paper for which I corresponded. Mr. McCollum re ferred to me as " Professor J. B. Cranfill, of Crawford." I had some posters printed with a phrenological head on them, had cards made and rented what was then known as Tem perance Hall, down on Bridge Street, in which to deliver the lectures. Temperance Hall was the most available place of meet ing at that time in Waco. It belonged to Peter McLelland. He was very kind to me, though he was reputed to be very fond of the " almighty dollar." He charged me $5 a night for the hall. I was somewhat short of funds, but I paid in advance for the first night, and told him I would pay in advance each morning for the next evening's privilege. I never shall forget how he rolled and re-rolled that five dol lar bill around his long, lean fingers. That night a terrible rainstorm came. I was not present during Noah's flood, and so I did not have that rainstorm 206 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE to compare it with, but if the beginnings of the flood were any more floody than this Waco rain was that night, it sure rained some. However, I made my way through storm, wind and rain to Temperance Hall. Strange to say, three or four men came, among them Ira Sadler, who had for merly represented Coryell County in the Texas Legislature. It was an honor in those days to be a member of the Legis lature, so I was awfully glad to meet Mr. Sadler and form his acquaintance. Later I learned to know his father up at Coryell City. But of course I did not lecture. I talked a while to Mr. Sadler and the two or three friends whom he had brought with him, and after the flood somewhat abated, we made our way back across Bridge Street around on Third and finally up to the old McLelland house, where I had a room. And now I must tell you of a generous thing old Peter McLelland did. Next day I told him the circumstances. I also stated that on account of the uncertain weather I had abandoned my design to deliver other lectures. He gave me back my five dollar bill ! It looked for all the world like the very one I had given him, and I believe it was. This kindness in a great measure changed my impression that he was the skinflint that many said he was. In any case, he was generous to a struggling, callow youth, to whom at that time a five dollar bill looked bigger than a frontier wagon sheet. Before I parted with Ira Sadler at Temperance Hall on the night of my contemplated lecture, he recited this stanza from Gray's Elegy, and I thought it most appropriate : " Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air." When Gray wrote that he must have had me in mind. I had wasted all my sweetness, and at the time of the de- SCHOOL LIFE IN CRAWFORD 207 livery of this immortal stanza I thought I had wasted my five dollar bill, as well as the price of all my cards, posters and circulars, not " on the desert air," but on the raging flood. If I had not reclaimed my five dollar bill, it would have been even so. The early days of 1878 found the Crawford school again in full swing. Meantime I had secured the services of Pope Allen as my assistant. He proved most helpful to me. His brother. Bob Allen, just about my age, was a pupil in my school, and at this time an incident occurred concerning Bob that I must relate. There was a beautiful young lassie in the neighborhood, of radiant face and auburn hair, whom Bob Allen deeply loved — but Bob was bashful. He was in trouble. He did not know how to make an impression upon this idol of his heart. Somehow he had gained con fidence in my prowess and ability in every way, so he brought his tale of love and woe to me. The lady's name was not Miss Mary Marsh, but we will call her that. Bob asked me if I would go and see this girl for him, and loving Bob most tenderly, I promised him I would. I did. I went the very next Sunday afternoon, and all the time that I was there, I sang Bob Allen's praises in her lis tening ears. She took it graciously, and I thought I was making a splendid impression for Bob. When I reported to him Monday morning, he was overjoyed. That day at school he knew all his lessons well. He spelled better than he had ever spelled before. He seemed to be right up near the stairway that leads to the third heaven. I pursued this object for my pupil, and next Sunday I went back again, and so on, and so on. Finally, I noticed that the young lady did not seem so greatly interested as I eulogized Bob Allen as she had been before. On a bright, moonlight night this proxy courtship found its sudden end. I had escorted her to the Patton school house, over on Hog Creek, which I frequently attended. I 208 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE walked back with her from the school house to her home. In the bright moonlight where we strolled, it was very moon- lighty and very strolly, and we " lightly turned to thoughts of love." I sang two or three hymns concerning Bob to various meters — common meter, short meter and long meter. At last this sweet girl turned her face full upon me and said : " Mr. Cranfill, it has been mysterious to me ever since you first came to pay me attention that you talked all the time about Bob Allen. Now you are keeping that up tonight. It does not interest me in the least. I do not care for Bob Allen, but I like you." I was paralyzed. I did not fall prostrate to the ground, but I felt myself suddenly becoming ensmalled. I did not know what to say. I dared not tell the girl I did not like her, for I did. I was not in love with her, but she was amiable and sweet, and I esteemed her highly. I then told her the whole story — that Bob had asked me to come to see her in his behalf. She was obdurate, and when I left her she was in tears. That was my first and last experi ment in making love by proxy. It did not work well. I think it never has worked well. I saw this gentle maiden many times after that moonlight night, but the subject was never renewed. During my second year as teacher, a new friend came into my life in the person of Dr. Thomas Duke Williams. He was a guest of one of my school patrons, having blown into that far-off community quite suddenly on a bright spring day of 1878. He was then forty-eight years of age, and his hair and beard were white as snow. His face was young, however, as was his heart — and very soon he became my friend. In the meantime, my brother had gone to Nashville to take a medical course in Vanderbilt University. That left me there alone. My heart was longing for a companion and a friend, and while Dr. Williams was nearly three times SCHOOL LIFE IN CRAWFORD 209 my age, we became at once almost inseparable companions. Often when my school day was over, he and I would meet down at Fullen's store or elsewhere, take long walks to gether, and converse about subjects that were very near my heart. He was one of the best trained medical men I ever knew. He knew every muscle, nerve and tissue in the hu man body by heart. He could tell them off one by one, and I am sure he could have located them immediately on any cadaver. Not only this, but he was well versed in litera ture and the sciences, so I took to him with all my heart, and until his dying day we were the best of friends. He became one of my greatest joys. I learned much from him, and was particularly interested in the instruction he gave me' in medical and scientific lore. He often visited my school, and while he was too modest ever to speak in public, he at the same time was so kind, so generous, so helpful and so true, that in all the after years I never found a friend I cherished more. In going through some old papers, I find the following : " McLennan Co., State of Texas, Dec. i, 1877. " This is to certify that J. B. Cranfill, having furnished evidence of good moral character, and having passed a satisfactory examina tion in the following named branches : Orthography, Reading in English, Penmanship, Arithmetic, Modern Geography, English Gram mar and English Composition, is therefore entitled to receive this teacher's certificate, and is hereby pronounced competent to teach a school in this State." The certificate was duly signed by the County Judge, and was declared " valid until revoked by him " for good cause. It was never revoked, and I cherish this faded and time- worn paper now because it marked an important era in my life. How well do I remember the old frame school house where the village school was taught I As I read this old certificate, there passed before me the faces of school chil- 210 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE dren whom I loved and who loved me, and the scenes of those long past days lived once again as if they had been yesterday. We had an old-fashioned school — the school with McGuffey's Readers and Webster's Spelling Book and Ray's Arithmetic. Man)' were the afternoons when " Spell ing Class No. I " would stand before the old-time black board and tell off in resounding chorus all the vowel sounds from long " a " to the meaning of two dots over the letter " u." How those boys and girls could spell ! Barefooted were the boys and many of the girls, but when it came to spelling and arithmetic and good, sound, articulate enuncia tion, they were far and away ahead of some of the mush- mouthed youngsters of today, who read as if they had swal lowed the Declaration of Independence and were sorry of it. In those good days the vacation was not in the summer. After the crops were " laid by," the real school began and ran at its flood until it was time to pull the corn and pick the cotton. " Vacation " came when all the lads and lasses were needed on the farm, but their real vacation was the time they spent in school. It was a good grammar appetizer — those eight months' work upon the farm. The boys who stood " head " in their classes were bronzed of face and strong of limb, for each one was a " hand " in the farm, and only came to school between times. I see the happy children now, and hear their merry shouts as the day is done, and we each go to our separate homes. Many a time I have gone hand-in-hand with this one or with that one to his home " to stay all night," and never have I received a warmer welcome than was mine when I, a boy- teacher of other boys and girls, lingered in their parents' homes. As I look back across those years, a feeling that I cannot put in words mounts to my heart. The more than four score boys and girls I knew — some even then as old as I — have gone their separate ways in life, and many of them SCHOOL LIFE IN CRAWFORD 211 sleep the last long sleep. One of them was a tiny boy in those glad days, and I taught him to say his a, b, c. A few years ago I saw his body as it lay cold in death. He had been shot, and a gaping wound told the story of the ending of his strong, young life. He threw himself away, and fol lowed after evil habits until they laid him low. Others of those boys and girls have drunk the cup of sorrow to its bitter dregs, and still others have fallen at their posts, where they were battling bravely in the conflicts and the storms of life. Along with the certificate that I have copied, there has been kept for all these years another document. After the boy-teacher and the little Allen girl were married, a testi monial, written by Dr. Williams, was signed by eleven of the leading citizens of the little place, and I prize it now above gold and gems. It testifies that they, the undersigned, hav ing known the teacher for a length of time, " do hereby cor dially commend him as a teacher and a gentleman to any community in which he may reside." The teacher was never to teach school again, but he has no feelings of remorse, even in his mature years, for any duty left undone in those glad days, for he did his very best. Almost all of those who signed the paper testifying to the teacher's worth are in their graves, and soon all the rest, together with the youthful teacher of their little ones of long ago, will sleep to wake at the trumpet call of God. XXVII CLOSING SCENES IN THE CRAWFORD COUNTRY THE quiet witchery of the little Allen girl, whose full name was Celia Olivia Allen, was rapidly winning the young Crawford teacher's heart. So serious did the love affair become that early in the spring of 1878 she thought it prudent to give up coming to the school. It was a sad day for me, but I was bound to agree with her good judgment in the matter. Meantime her father had be come more and more violently opposed to my attentions to his daughter, and had forbidden me to come around the place. The result was that I would ride almost home with the sweet lassie from church picnics and other gatherings, and when I had reached the top of the hill that overlooked the Allen home, which nestled down in a beautiful copse of trees near the banks of the Middle Bosque, I would turn " Old Ball's " head back toward Crawford, as she went on her quiet way to her father's house. She was not yet eighteen. She was to be eighteen on May 5, 1878. That day fell on Sunday. There was preaching that day at the Crawford school house, and after the service was over I rode on the homeward way with this sweet, timid girl. I had not yet asked her to become my wife. I had told her of my love, but she was so shy, so modest and so timid in every way that the mere recital of it almost fright ened her to death. On this bright, sweet day of May, when all the flowers were in bloom, and the birds were singing in the branches of the overhanging trees — on this Lord's Day, which was doubly sanctified by the echoes of the distant Sab- 212 A YOUTHFUL MARRIAGE 213 bath bells — I again told this maiden of my love and asked her to become my wife. Never shall I forget the spot on the old-time road from Crawford down to the Allen home at which this recital and this plea were made. It was down below the graveyard — the same graveyard which I had passed all alone full many a night as I had journeyed from the Allen home back to my room at Crawford, where most of the time I made my home with Uriah Tadlock and his noble family. She did not answer me then. She told me that she could not. She pleaded her youth. She referred with filial love and pathos to her father's opposition. She spoke of the tender lover of her mother. She told me that she was sure that her father would never yield in his opposition to our union. All of this I had already known full well, but the very fact of this opposition had spurred me on to the step I had just taken. It had been my plan, after the Crawford school had closed that year, to accept the overtures of Dr. Rufus C. Burleson, and take a course in Waco University. Later I communicated that resolve to her, but it was after she had promised to become my wife. Things had gone too far then for our plans to change, and I did not wish to change them. However, if Mr. Allen had been less obdurate, and had been willing for me to continue my attentions to his daughter by writing to her and by coming anon to visit her, the plan of attending college would have been carried out, and who knows but what the whole plan of my future life would have been radically changed ? But that was not to be, and what was to be, was. I did not press my sweetheart for an answer on that glad, tranquil Sabbath day. I only repeated as best I could the earnest story of my love. It was not a violent obsession such as I had known when I met the Alum Creek maiden at the coun try dance three years before. Indeed, the little Allen girl had never danced in all her life, and never has to this good 214 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE day. She was modest and unassuming, and while she was a woman grown, she was yet young for a girl of eighteen, and I sympathized with her as best I could in all of the pleas she made concerning the unwisdom of her giving me an answer that day. I went home with her again next Sunday and pressed her for an answer. I was always an aggressive advocate, and on that Sunday she promised she would be my wife. It was on the same old road as we were journeying back from the Crawford meeting house, which also served as a teaching place for my country school. We did not know how our love affair could be worked out. We only knew that two young hearts had plighted their love to each other forever and for aye, and that for better or for worse, if it should be God's will, we would journey down the road of life together. The news of our engagement did not reach Mr. Allen's ears for some days thereafter, but it is difficult to keep such things from the knowledge of those most intimately con- cemed. He did find it all out, and so did her mother. He was furious, and the mother was sorely grieved. They drew the reins more tightly around their daughter. I was not only forbidden to come to the house, but I was forbidden under pains and penalties to address her in any way whatsoever. It made me desperate. Mr. Allen was a hunter of large experience and brilliant success. I suppose that during the period covered by his residence in McLennan County he killed more game than any man that ever lived there. He was a dead shot with a shotgun, and I knew that he was a man who would carry out his purpose at any cost. He never was a bad man, but he was a man of stern resolve and deep convictions, and when he set his head he was like the bull dog in the Hoosier Schoolmaster — " all heaven and yairth couldn't make him turn loose." In order to be prepared to defend myself, I bought an army six-shooter of the Colt pattern and carried it everywhere, except to school. Every A YOUTHFUL MARRIAGE 215 time I went with the little Allen girl I had that immense revolver buckled around me, and concealed it as best I could. I fully meant to use it if Mr. Allen appeared upon the scene with his shotgun, and while I am sure I would not have stood a ghost of a chance for my life, I intended to stand my ground. It was during this period of desperation that my beloved friend. Dr. T. D. Williams, proved the sincerity of his love. I told him all my troubles. My father was not there; my brother was away attending medical college, and Dr. Wil liams was the only intimate friend I had in whom I could confidently confide. I told him of my engagement, of my love for Mr. Allen's daughter, of my purpose to marry her and of my fixed determination to shoot Mr. Allen if he ever appeared upon the scene and attempted to shoot me. Dr. Williams would surprise me as I would make these talks to him. He would say : " I am so delighted to hear you say that. Tell me all about how you are going to kill him." He would go on that way by the hour, laughing the while. This was his sweet, friendly way of pacifying me. After wards, when it was all over, when I had married Mr. Allen's daughter and been welcomed back to the Allen home as one of the family. Dr. Williams told me why he had always re joiced when I voiced my threats of vengeance to him. He was a philosopher. He said that whenever a man gave ex pression to his desire to wreak vengeance or defend himself, the purpose largely spent itself in the recital, and every time I told him of my outraged feelings, he felt sure that I had found a safety valve, and that Mr. Allen was in no danger. He added that if I ever had moped and drooped and said nothing, meanwhile preserving my air of injury and furios ity, he would really have been concerned for Mr. Allen and for me, but as the matter stood, he never thought of it seriously. My school closed at Crawford on Friday, August 30, 1878, 216 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE and on the day following I went alone to Waco to secure my marriage license. I knew that I would have to steal my girl, but I had a friend at court in the person of her older sister. Miss Addie Allen, now_Mrs. Dan Ford, of Waco. I also found a sympathizing friend in my assistant teacher. Pope Allen, who was a cousin of my intended wife. If it had not been for the help and connivance of these two dear young friends, I would never have been able to marry the girl who had won my heart, but they stood by me and sympa thized with both of us. We planned the elopement for Sunday morning. There was a Methodist camp-meeting in progress under an arbor at Patton school house, and the preacher at that meeting was Rev. John M. Barcus. Our plan was to have my in tended wife and her sister, together with their mother and the smaller children, start in their two-horse wagon over to the Methodist camp-meeting. They were Methodists, and this was a very natural thing to do. Pope Allen and I were to secure a hack and intercept them on the prairie at a point agreed upon, at which time the young women would leave the mother and the smaller children, and get in the hack with us. John W. Baker was County Clerk and Pink Pogue was Deputy. I was well acquainted with John W. Baker. He was the son of Uncle Tonk Baker, to whom I have already referred, and a brother of Hon. James B. Baker. He was not in the office when I appeared to ask for my license, so it was promptly issued to me by my friend. Pink Pogue. I paid him the $1.50 and wended my way to Sanger Bros, to buy some little trappings for the wedding day. My girl, on account of having to run away, could not procure any wedding doings whatsoever, so I had to buy some gloves and little extras for her, and some gloves and other simple articles for myself. This I did, and hastened on "Old Ball " back out to the Patton school house, where we young peo- A YOUTHFUL MARRIAGE 217 pie were to meet on Saturday night preceding Sunday, which was to be the wedding day. That was a long day's ride for "' Old Ball." It must have been fifty miles. When I had completed the round and had reached Patton school house, the services had well begun, but I had my license in my pocket, and all of us were overjoyed when I gave the good news to the young people who were to help us in the serious undertaking of tomorrow. I had some fear that I would not be able to procure a marriage license, and my friend Pink Pogue was so much concerned about the matter that after I had wended my way to Sanger Bros., far up on Austin Street, to make my pur chases, he overtook me to ask if the girl in the case was eighteen years of age. I told him very blandly and yet firmly that she had completed her eighteenth year on May 5th just past. That greatly relieved his mind. He seemed to be as much relieved as were the young people when later I exhibited to them the marriage license. I slept very little that Saturday night. I was staying at Uriah Tadlock's. I had not been extra provident in my economies, and so when the time of the mariage came, five dollars was every cent I had on earth. I made a trade with Mr. Tadlock for his hack the following day, but of course I did not dare to reveal to anyone that I was to steal A. D. Allen's daughter. He charged me $3 for the hack, and it was cheap enough, but it took sixty per cent of all my finan cial capital. On Sunday morning, as we had planned. Pope Allen was intercepted over on the road, and when he got in with me we hastened to the point agreed upon. It all worked well. Soon the A. D. Allen family, minus Mr. Allen himself, who seldom went to church, drove by, and true to our plans, we hailed the young ladies and they had their wagon stopped to get in with us. That was the first time that the dear, sweet mother realized the situation. She told me after- 218 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE wards that when she saw us make that play she felt greatly alarmed; however, she said nothing, and if she had, the result would not have changed. We hastened as rapidly as Mr. Tadlock's spick-and-span pair of horses could carry us, and reached the Patton school house arbor just as they had begun to sing the first hymn for the eleven o'clock service. I knew Brother Bar cus quite well, so after the hymn was over I slipped around and informed him that I wanted him to say my wedding ceremony. He was entirely agreeable, but the dear, good man had no suspicion that it was a runaway couple. Before another song was sung, we stood up there under that old- time brush arbor, and he pronounced the words that made us husband and wife. I gave him my $2. That was the last cent I had, but I felt that he was entitled to it. We lingered there for church, but felt it was possibly a dangerous experiment. Mr. Allen could have had no means of knowing what was going on. There were no telephones and no automobiles. W^e were driving one of the best team- mobiles in the Crawford country. If there had been any chance for Mr. Allen to have known, we would have wor shiped that day on the wing. Mrs. Allen soon came on, together with the smaller chil dren of the Allen family, and learned what had happened. The dear, good woman wept, and all of us felt sorry for her, but I did not feel sorry enough to give her back her girl. We hastened on to Tom Watson's, whose home was up on Hog Creek, some fifteen miles from Crawford. Tom Watson's wife was a cousin of my wife, so on that Sunday night they gave us welcome and good cheer, and extended to us the most kindly and fraternal greeting. On the next day, all four of us drove on to Coryell City, where my father lived. It was some thirty-five miles from Waco. Father's home was a very modest cottage of two rooms. A YOUTHFUL MARRIAGE 219 He and my mother and sister were very kind to the newly wedded pair, but were greatly surprised to see us. They had no thought that I was to be marired so soon, and no more had I. They surrendered one room to us, and there in that little humble Coryell City home of my dear father and mother, we began our married life. Many times, as the years have grown old, I have thought of the wisdom of Mr. Allen's position concerning my atten tions to his daughter. If any long, lean, lank, cadaverous pedagogue, who had never saved a penny in his life and whose earthly possessions consisted of a bald-faced horse, a cowboy saddle, a fiddle, an accordeon, two or three suits of clothes, a $5 bill and a few books, had come to court my girl, I would have set the dogs on him. None of us could see down the vista of the coming years. He judged of what was visible, and he was right, but I did not see it then, and I felt greatly outraged at his opposition. I left the old Crawford friends with deep regret. There I began my active life. It was there I found legions of warm friends. It was there that my eyes first began to open upon the realities of life. It was there I met and won my wife. It was there that I took my first deep lesson in self-culture and self-care. It is true that my father set me to work for him when I was fifteen years of age, but I was still at home and had the benefit of his wise and noble coun sel. At Crawford I was out at sea alone. I had no relative near. I had none but the new-made friends, and was thrown wholly upon my own mental and financial resources. The dear schoolboys and girls who foregathered in that old-time country school house are all grown up and many of them have passed on to be with God. It has been thirty- five years, as this chronicle is penned, since the last day of that old Crawford school, yet my heart goes back to Wes- 220 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE ley Tadlock, Alex Tadlock, Troy Lakey, Lum Wills, the lit tle Tadlock girls, now women grown and one of them a grandmother ; the little McClellan girl, who afterwards mar ried Ryall Ford ; Mollie Meredith, and others whom I have not space to name ; but I carried the main part of the Craw ford school away, and she is with me still. XXVIII THE VAUGHAN MURDER AND ITS CONSEQUENCES NEAR Rock school house, in the edge of Bosque County, some ten miles from Crawford, a country store was kept by a man named Vaughan. He was a bachelor. He was thrifty, and had accumulated quite a handsome competency. The rumor was that he kept money in his iron safe. There were no banks available. The near est bank was at Waco, over 30 miles away, and that was too far for convenient banking. On a night in May, 1878, Vaughan was murdered, and his store was robbed and looted. No one ever knew how much money the robbers and assassins secured, but they made their escape, and left the marred form of the merchant lying in the front door of his store. When he was found next day, his face, white and ghastly, was upturned to the morning sun. He had slept in the store, and the robbers had come in apparently at the rear door, had murdered him, and then had taken plenty of time to accomplish their purposes of pelf and plunder. At that time, such murders as this were very rare. It has never been unusual for men to be killed in Texas, but in those earlier years they were killed in combat with each other. Men met face to face, drew their revolvers, " shot it out," as it was called, and the trouble was over, whether one or two or half a dozen men were dead. Murder for purposes of robbery was almost wholly unknown in those early Texas days. Indeed, this is the only case of that 221 222 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE kind that I ever knew until the days of Sam Bass, and other professional murderers and robbers, who sprang up in the Southem and Southwestem part of the United States, fol lowing the exploits of Jesse James and other men of his type. But Vaughan was killed and robbed, and the murderers made good their escape. Up in Coryell County, which was the county adjoining McLennan on the west, there lived Bill Babb, one of the most picturesque characters that West Texas ever knew. He had a store and ranch at a little vil lage named for him, and kept around him a small army of operatives of various kinds. His store at the little town of Babbville was one of the largest general stores west of Waco. Not only that, but he had extensive cattle and land interests, and the men who companied with him were ac counted the most courageous and daring denizens of the western plains. Among them were Dave Ware, Jasper Whit ley and Babb's son. Bill Ike Babb, who was as daring as his father, and who possessed all of the impetuosity of youth, coupled with marvelous courage and intrepidity. Bill Babb was a man of very strong prejudices. Whom he liked he loved and whom he disliked he hated. He was feared by all of Hamilton and Coryell Counties, and even as far down as Waco. When he was sober, he was of amia ble temper, but when on one of his sprees, he was a dare devil, with Kit Carson, Louis Wetzel, Jesse James, Sam Bass and Bill Babb compounded into one. Quite often, on these sprees, when down in Waco, he would ride his horse straight into the front doors of the Waco saloons, and at the point of his revolver, order the drinks. This was not an uncom mon occurrence at all, and up in the Coryell County section he had everything his own way. It was as much as a man's life was worth to openly oppose him; and while Babb was thought to be above a misdemeanor, he was vitriol to his ene mies. He was part Cherokee Indian. His brother. Rev. THE VAUGHAN MURDER 223 David Babb, was a Missionary Baptist minister of some repute, and my father and Dave Babb had held revival meet ings together. It thus fell out that the Babbs and my father were good friends, and I inherited, when later I went to the Turnersville country, the friendliness that my father had enjoyed at the hands of all the Babbs. During the same period, there lived in the Turnersville section, John Stull, a Deputy United States Marshal. He was at loggerheads with Babb and all of Babb's contingent. When the Vaughan murder was committed, Stull at once imbibed the notion that Babb and his outfit were guilty of the crime. The result was that he arrested Bill Babb, Bill Ike Babb, Dave Ware, Jasper Whitley and some others of the Babb bunch, and took them to Meridian, the county site of Bosque County, and threw them into jail. All along the way, as they were being carried to prison, they breathed out threatenings among themselves against John Stull, and those who were of the inner circle of western life felt that if the Babbs were not convicted, the life of John Stull would pay the forfeit. In due time, Babb and his coadjutors had an examining trial, and with all his ingenuity and skill, John Stull was un able to convince the judge that they had any part in the murder and robbery of Vaughan. The result was that they were not even held to the grand jury. They were turned loose, went on their way back to Babbville and resumed their accustomed duties. In the meantime, another trail had been found which led into the mountain fastnesses of Lampasas County. Other detectives had discovered this clue, with the result that a gang of outlaws who infested the western part of Lampasas County were arrested, charged with the Vaughan murder. They were the Harrell brothers, and along with them was a man by the name of Bill Crabtree. They were all arrested, nine of them, and placed in the Meridian jail. The evidences 224 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE of their guilt multiplied, and so strong was the conviction in the public mind that they were guilty of the crime of hav ing murdered Vaughan and robbed his store, that upon a certain night in July of 1878, a mob gathered in Meridian and shot every one of them to death. Meantime Bill Crab- tree, one of the number, had turned state's evidence and had been released. It was through his minute delineation of the crime that everybody became convinced that the Harrell brothers and Crabtree had committed this atrocious crime. Crabtree was released in the afternoon of the night on which the mob did their bloody work. He made a heroic effort to escape, but the same mob that executed the Harrell broth ers overtook him before he had reached the corporate limits of Meridian, and shot him to death. This disposed of the real murderers of Vaughan, and while the execution was a most summary one, and while there were law-abiding citizens, even in that day, who dep recated mob violence of every kind, the consensus of opinion throughout Bosque and McLennan Counties was that sub stantial justice had been done without running the county to undue expense, and thus the matter of Vaughan's mur der, so far as McLennan and Bosque Counties were con cerned, passed into history, and was dismissed from the pub lic mind. But there was another branch of the case not yet adjudi cated. Babb and his following were still in Coryell County at Babbville, and John Stull was yet alive performing his duties as Deputy United States Marshal, and engaged in the improvement of a little home that was situated a mile and a half below Turnersville on the Waco road. No effort was made to disturb Stull. The threats of Babb and his fol lowing seemed to have been forgotten. Notwithstanding the Babbs had been incarcerated in the Meridian jail some time in June, Stull went on unmolested, and continued the im provement of his little home. Meantime, he went on his THE VAUGHAN MURDER 225 rounds out into the remote districts of Western Texas, hunt ing down outlaws, making arrests, looking after the inter ests of the government, and, so far as the mind of man could discern, he was absolutely secure in every way. In order to complete the connection of this part of the story, I must take up the thread of my former recital and tell of my own movements from September i, 1878, until the night of December 8, 1878. My father was living in Coryell City, but he still owned his farm and cattle, which were being cared for near his Hog Creek home, some ten miles away. This was the same home that I had helped him build before I went to teach the Crawford school. After a few days of sojourn at Coryell City, all of our belongings were packed, and we went back to the little Hog Creek home. It consisted of a box house of two rooms, and a chimney. As in the former instance, my father, mother and sister very kindly occupied the big room, and designated the shed- room for my young wife and me. That autumn I helped my father with his cattle and his other affairs. Meantime I kept up my medical studies, and now that I had rejoined him, he gave me more time and attention than he had ever done before. However, when the winter came on, it was very cold and severe. Early in the winter there were a number of " cold snaps," as we called them, and I put in practically all of my time looking after my father's cattle. December 8, 1878, fell on Sunday. While the day was clear, it was very cold and crisp. The weather was dry. Sunday night was distinctly chilly. Before sunup Monday morning a messenger came to our home and told us that a terrible murder had been committed. Father and I hastily saddled our horses and galloped to the home of John Stull. When we reached there, a ghastly sight confronted us. Lying out in the front yard was the body of John Stull, stark and cold in death, and near him lay the body of a man named 226 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE Smith, who had been StuU's guest overnight, and who had met with him a common fate. The mUrder of Stull and Smith was diabolical. In the improvement of his place, Stull had piled up in front of his gate a large stack of cedar posts. In the commission of the murder, a contingent of the assas sins had concealed themselves behind these posts, while another contingent, apparently two in number, had slipped around behind the Stull home, had saturated the rear walls with coal oil, and had set the house on fire. Stull had no idea whatsoever that he was to be assassinated. He thought that his house was on fire. A water bucket lay near his body. He had evidently jumped out of bed, run for a water bucket, and then to the front to see where the blaze was strongest. As he had emerged from his front door, he had been shot to death by the posse of men concealed behind the cedar posts. The assassins had not calculated upon an extra man and family there. The fact was this : Mr. Smith, his wife and two little children had begfun a new home near the Stull home, but they had not yet completed their chimney. Stull had com pleted his, so that he could have a fire in his grate. The Smiths, not having any way to warm their home, and shiver ing with cold, had, on Saturday night, asked the privilege of staying over Sunday with the Stulls — a favor which was readily and generously granted. When Smith emerged from the shed-room door (he and his family were occupying the shed-room), he had his two children in his arms. All of the two families thought the house was on fire. The Stull family consisted of Stull, his wife and a young step-daughter of StuU's, who afterwards married a dear friend of mine, David Morgan. One of the strangest features of this assassination was in the fact that, while Smith was shot to death, being almost riddled with bullets, neither of his little children was touched in any way whatsoever. Mrs. Smith, who followed her hus- THE VAUGHAN MURDER 227 band out from the shed-room, was shot in one of the lower limbs. She afterwards recovered. Mrs. Stull and her little girl were unharmed, but it was evident from all of the sur roundings that this band of assassins meant to kill Stull, his wife and daughter, and burn their dead bodies in the house. When they found they had a large contract on hand, they refrained from carrying out their original plan. As an evidence that they meant to kill all of the Stull family, one of the mob took dead aim at the little girl, as she crouched under the kitchen table, and sped a bullet through her hair. It cut off one of her raven ringlets, which was afterwards picked up on the shed-room floor. That Sunday night the moon was full. The assassins worked in a light almost as bright as day. They waited until all of the Stull family were sound asleep, and then this terrible crime was perpe trated. The house was never really on fire. The coal oil made a big, quick blaze, but the wall of the house was not ignited. Notwithstanding I had left the Crawford country, I was still the correspondent of The Waco Telephone. I had maintained my interest in Texas journalism, and every week while living in the Hog Creek country, had gone to Coryell City to secure the weekly mail. On the day following the murder, I went to Turnersville and wrote as graphic an account as I could frame of this horrible tragedy. I did not in the remotest manner intimate who was thought to be guilty of the 'murder of Stull and Smith, but there was but one thing in the minds of the citizens of that community. No names were mentioned. A reign of terror began with the murder of Stull such as I never witnessed either before or since. Every man in that vicinage who heard a noise around his home at night feared that the same fate was to be visited upon him and his that had befallen Stull and his family. No one burned lights after dark unless they had impenetrable window 228 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE shades. That entire section of Texas, including practically all of Coryell County, felt the terrible blight of this calamity. There was not a man in Coryell County that did not believe Stull had been murdered by Babb and his gang, but no one spoke a word. The reign of terror was as complete and abject as it ever could have been during the terrible, blood curdling days of the French Revolution. Do not misunderstand me here. Those West Texas men were as brave as brave could be, but they were unorganized. They were men of families. They had their business inter ests to take care of. They were terrorized, because Babb was almost omnipotent, and no man knew when he dared breathe out an opinion on any subject but what he might be talking to one of Babb's lieutenants. Babb had a very large number of friends, not only in the Turnersville and Babbville country, but throughout all that section of Texas, and if a man had voiced his suspicions, if he suspected Babb, he would have taken his life into his own hands. No immediate arrests were made in connection with the Stull murder. The populace were stunned. They did not know which way to turn. None of us knew whether Babb would be able to control the courts and officers. Every man kept his own counsel in order that he might preserve his life. Men went armed to the teeth. There was a premonition of terror and danger in the very atmosphere. Father felt it and so did I, but I was a newspaper re porter, and as such I did my duty. I sent the account in full to The Waco Telephone, and that publication gave to the world the first news of the great Stull tragedy. XXIX MORE ABOUT THE STULL MURDER AND ITS CONSEQUENCES THE report which I sent to The Waco Telephone was telegraphed by Waco reporters to all the great dai lies of the United States. In many of its features, the Stull murder was the most remarkable ever known in the Southwest.- In Waco there were enterprising news-gath erers and correspondents of the metropolitan dailies who were intimately familiar with the Vaughan murder, StuU's arrest of the Babbs, and with the sentiment in the Tur nersville country to the effect that the Babbs were connected with the Stull affair. These correspondents adapted my re port of the details of the crime, and when they sent their stories to the metropolitan dailies, the names of Babb and his lieutenants were published, along with the grim recital of the tragedy. That precipitated upon the western correspondent of The Waco Telephone and one of his good friends, P. R. (better known as Bob) Hobin, a very serious situation. The news quickly reached the ears of Babb that I had sent the report of the Stull killing to all of these papers, and that in this diabolism I had been aided and abetted by my good friend. Bob Hobin, who, until quite recently, had been the trusted manager of Babb's big store up at Babbville. A slight mis understanding had ensued, with the result that Hobin had resigned, and at the time of the Stull killing he was clerking and bookkeeping at Turnersville in the store of old Uncle 229 230 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE Johnnie Henderson, Babb's chief competitor. Hobin and I heard that this piece of malicious news had reached Babb. He and I held a council of war. In the meantime, I had completed my preparations for entering upon the practice of medicine. When our conference was held, I took the course that always has been mine when confronted with a crisis. I told Hobin that the only safe procedure was to go direct to see Bill Babb, and frankly tell him all the facts. Hobin was averse to making the visit. He was an Irishman, having re ceived his training in Ireland and England. He was an ac complished business man of high character, but although he had been in the west even then for several years, he had not become accustomed to wild western ways. However, upon my very earnest insistence, he agreed that on the following day he and I would visit the home of Babb and tell him our story. It was a beautiful spring day. It had been now some two months since the murder of Stull, and while spring had not yet burst upon us in full bloom, the day was one of those rare February visitations when the birds were singing and the trees and flowers were seeking to burgeon into bloom. I carried with me a copy of The Daily Telephone containing the only account of which I was the author. Hobin had sent out absolutely nothing to any paper whatsoever, so he car ried no journalistic literature in his baggage. We were both well armed with Colt revolvers. We knew that Babb was well surrounded by his confederates, and we would stand no show whatever if a battle were precipitated, but we held to the traditional habit, and were prepared for either peace or war. As we approached Babb's spacious grounds, he was out in the front yard wrestling with a large pet bear. He was a man of unusual appearance in every way, was then in the prime of life, and a most impressive figure. He was 5 feet 10 inches tall, a veritable athlete, and wore a long black THE STULL MURDER 231 beard. His eyes were keen and piercing, and as black as a raven's wing. And there was a devil-may-care atmosphere with which Babb was naturally surrounded. Babb knew us both quite well, and welcomed us most kindly. Very soon Dave Ware came up, and we all sat, cowboy fashion, out on the grass on the front lawn. We made no concealment of the purpose of our visit. I was the spokesman. I told Babb without circumlocution what we had heard, and then recited to him all the facts. I found that he had copies of all the great daily newspapers of the United States. So far from being offended at the accounts contained in these great journals, it seemed to me that he felt complimented. However, if he had known who were the authors of those stories, he would have felt vindictive. In a little while, we had satisfied him thoroughly. I never shall forget the kind expression on his face as he extended his hand to both of us and said : " Boys, do not be uneasy. I now know all the facts. I believe every word you have told me, and you need never fear any harm from me." We knew what that meant, coming from Bill Babb. It was his declaration of peace and friendship. There was no compulsion to bind him to his word, but whatever were his faults, no one ever charged Babb with betraying a friend. A little later, Babb, his son. Bill Ike, Dave Ware, Jasper Whitley, and some half a dozen others of the Babb clan, were arrested, charged with the Stull murder. An enemy of Babb had filed a complaint against them. Babb and his crowd, on being taken to Gatesville, the county seat, were bound over to await the action of the grand jury. The arrest of the Babbs created great excitement through out Coryell and Hamilton Counties, and there was a sup pressed feeling of uneasiness, even as far as the edge of McLennan County. Stull had a brother. Hi Stull, who lived some distance from the John Stull home down toward Waco. 232 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE Beyond a doubt, he had instigated the complaint against the Babbs for the murder of his brother. A little later Hi Stull was waylaid and killed, no one ever knew by whom. This completed the extermination of the Stull family. The Babbs appeared before the grand jury, of which N. G. Buchanan, for whom Buchanan's Spring was named, was foreman. Buchanan's Spring was the fountain head of Mid dle Bosque, where Turnersville was located. N. G. Buch anan had settled there some time in the ' 6o's. He was in the prime of life and was held in high esteem. He was a deacon in the Missionary Baptist church, and was not only a citizen of high standing, but was prosperous and enter prising in every way. He was a typical frontiersman and cowman. He was a man of very few words, but was as true as steel in every relation of life. The details of this story that I am now beginning to recite were given me by N. G. Buchanan thirty years after the sit ting of that Coryell County grand jury. Some years ago, while walking through the Dallas Fair Grounds, I ran into N. G. Buchanan, then an old man of seventy-five. If he had changed a particle, the change was not visible to the naked eye. He had about him the same nonchalant fron tier air, and there were no physical signs to indicate that he had almost reached his four score years. Soon we found a seat and began to talk about old times. It was during this conversation that he told me the inside grand jury facts I am now going to recite. As stated, the Babbs went before the Coryell County grand jury. All of them were present and ready to be sworn. Bill Babb himself was called before the grand jury first, and it was he who was the spokesman of his crowd. This is the speech he made : " Mr. Buchanan and Members of the Coryell County Grand Jury : I am before you to answer a complaint that has been filed against me and my friends for the killing of THE STULL MURDER 233 John Stull. I make no answer to that complaint whatso ever, but I have come to have a friendly talk as man to man about our situation. Whether I am guilty of the Stull kill ing or not is of no immediate consequence in the statement I am now to make. All of you are citizens of this county. We have had much trouble. Many men have been killed. The time has come when all of us should wish the period of bloodshed to terminate. I heartily agree to this just view. All of you know that if you indict me and my friends for the killing of John Stull, we can never get through with the trial of the case without the sacrifice of many other lives. I may be killed; my men may be killed, but while this is going on, other men will also die. You know us and we know you. You know that we are dead game, that we are good shots and that we are quick to avenge a wrong. All of this we all should greatly desire to avoid. " If you will listen to me and heed my plea, none of this bloodshed will occur. If you gentlemen of the grand jury will not indict me and my men, we will within ten days from this day gather up our cattle, close out our lands and belong ings, and leave Coryell County forever. I leave the subject with you, gentlemen, and await your decision." The members of the grand jury were amazed and stupe fied. Here was a man who had the nerve to ask every one of them to violate his official oath. It was an invitation to them to over-ride the law. At first Babb's proposal was treated with scorn and indignation, but the more the mem bers of the grand jury discussed the matter, the more sane and sensible Babb's suggestion seemed. At last, after de liberating upon the question two whole days, the grand jury sent for Babb and announced to him that they accepted his offer. They told him that they expected him to be absolutely bound by his agreement, and to immediately, certainly within the ten days named, leave Coryell County and take all of his lieutenants and belongings with him. 234 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE While this was a unique way for the law to be adminis tered, all hands believed it was wholly for the best. I was personally in Gatesville while this was going on, but at the time I did not know the inside facts. I was present while the grand jury was investigating the case against the Babbs. It happened that the horse I rode to Gatesville broke loose and ran back to the Hog Creek home. The result was that I borrowed a horse and saddle from one of Babb's men, and rode the animal back home, with the promise that I would see that he was returned to them next day. And now comes the remarkable sequel. When Babb and his men reached home, they held a council of war. They agreed among themselves that the conditions which Babb had proposed, and which had been accepted, were too hard, and they decided they would not leave Coryell County. Therein Babb and his cabinet made a colossal blunder. They did not know the temper of the people. If they had gone on, as they had promised, it would have been the end of the Stull affair, but they wavered, hesitated and continued to conduct their affairs in the same old way. A sensational incident occurred. The grand jury ad journed and went to their several homes. They were repre sentative men from the various sections of the county. In that period of West Texas development, the men of promi nence and power were all old-time frontiersmen. They car ried their side arms, they were alert and they were brave. After it was known among the members of the grand jury that Babb and his followers had made up their minds to violate the solemn compact into which all had entered, these grand jurors became suddenly quite busy. The facts of Babb's agreement to leave the country were communicated to a few tried leaders. The result was that some three weeks after the adjournment of the grand jury, one of the largest meetings ever held in West Texas convened at mid night at Four Mile Spring in Coryell County to discuss the THE STULL MURDER 235 situation. Four Mile Spring received its name from the fact that it is on the Jonesboro road exactly four miles from the Gatesville Court House. On a bright moonlight night in the early summer, 400 earnest, courageous, grizzled West Texas citizens, many of whom had seen service in the Confederate army, and many others who had performed scout and ranger duty on the great frontier, met at this Four Mile Spring to deliberate concerning the serious situation in which Coryell County found itself. They did not mince words. With ab solute unanimity they agreed that the Babbs had to go, and at once. After giving the matter due consideration, a com mittee of five was appointed to visit Babb and tell him the result of the meeting. I know some of the names of this committee, but inasmuch as a majority of them are still liv ing, I will not write them here. Next day the committee went to Babbville and interviewed Babb. It was the most serious interview in which the Baron of Coryell County had ever been engaged. They told him plainly that if he and his did not promptly gather their cattle, pick up their wares and leave Coryell County never to re turn, there would be 400 fearless citizens who would swoop down upon them and exterminate them root and branch. They told Babb that it was their purpose to kill every man of them, at whatever cost, and to wipe them absolutely off the face of the earth. Babb made another promise. The man who had terrorized an entire section of Texas for twenty years, was at last at bay. New blood had come into the county. New courage had been infused into the people's hearts, and once and for all, the best citizenship of the county meant for Babb to journey to other fields. This time Babb and all of his coterie of followers and hangers-on made their preparations to depart. In less than ten days he had sold his land, gathered his cattle, had selected such things as he desired to move, had sold the rest 236 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE and was on the high road to the unsettled section of West Texas. I never knew exactly where the Babb contingent landed, but was told that they went far out upon the plains and began life anew. This in short is the story of the Vaughan murder and its consequences. Before dismissing this recital, I feel it but just to add somewhat to my observations concerning Bill Babb. He was the most generous-hearted man in Coryell County. He helped more widows and succored more orphans than per haps any man that county ever knew. That he was brave, there can be no doubt. That he was a born leader of men, is equally true. An incident occurred a year or so before the killing of Stull that left its impress upon Waco and West Texas in all circles where the facts were known. Babb did his banking in Waco. The bank failed. Babb had on deposit in the bank $6,000. He took two of his men and journeyed to Waco to look after his financial interests. After reaching Waco and interviewing those who had charge of the bank's affairs, he was told that they could not pay even one cent on the dollar. He asked for a private and personal interview with the managers of the defunct finan cial institution. They went to his hotel and he invited them into his room. He then deliberately locked the door of the room and put the key in his pocket. After that, taking out a well loaded and primed revolver, he read the riot act to these bankers in the following words : " Gentlemen : I deposited $6,000 of my money in your bank. Your bank has failed. I have been advised by you that you cannot pay as much as one cent on the dollar. That is a mistake. You are going to pay me one hundred cents on the dollar. I will allow you to take your choice between paying me every cent of my deposit or dying right here and now in this room. Which will you choose ? " The two men looked into each other's eyes, and then they looked at Babb. It was one of the quickest trades ever made THE STULL MURDER 237 in Waco. They told Babb that he could get his money. He then unlocked the door, went down with them to a private vault, was handed the money in gold, where it was stored away in shot sacks, and went on his way. He journeyed to the store of Battle, Ficklin & Co., where my old-time friend. Captain John T. Battle, was in charge of affairs, and left the gold with him. There was another very picturesque thing about Bill Babb. When he was drinking, he always hugged the men that he loved, and after embracing them most tenderly, would bite his good friends' ears. That was his familiar and affection ate form of greeting. Recently in a conversation with Col. H. N. Atkinson, who was one of Babb's attorneys during the old Coryell County days, he told me that Babb often thus bit his ear when he was in his cups. One further incident concerning Babb will be of interest. Four years after the killing of John Stull, while I was edi tor of The Gatesville Advance, word came to Gatesville that Bill Babb was dead. The story was credited, because he was then somewhat over fifty, and while we did not know the manner of his taking off, the news of his death tormed the basis for a breezy newspaper article. I prepared a first page leader for The Gatesville Advance, which made some three columns of as good western biographical and obituary matter as I had ever written. I spoke of Babb's fine points, and while I did not seek to varnish my story overmuch, I did what every writer and orator should do when speaking of the dead — I referred chiefly to the noble traits of the de parted Baron's character. It was not long after this article appeared that one day I saw Dave Babb, another son of Bill Babb, making his way diagonally across Leon Street and approaching my office. He had a smile on his face from ear to ear. As he ap proached me, he extended his hand and said: " Pa told me to tell you that he read your notice of his 238 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE death and that he was awfully pleased with it. He said that he always knew you were his friend, and now that you have expressed it so kindly and so eloquently, he knows it better than he ever did. He said for me to tell you that he was perfectly well, was never in quite as good health in his life, and that he expects to live to be a hundred years old." I was somewhat embarrassed at this peculiar greeting, but there was nothing else to say but to send word back to Babb that I rejoiced in the fact that he was still alive, and wished him all good luck. That was the last time I ever saw any of the Babbs. I do not charge that Babb was guilty of the Stull murder. He may have been as innocent as you and I. My informa tion is that he is still alive and an octogenarian. Long ago his preacher brother went on to try the realities of the gos pel which he preached. I wish that I were in possession of yet other and salient facts concerning the subsequent history of the Babbs and their lieutenants, but I cannot tell what I do not know, and I have recorded these occurrences just as they transpired to preserve the chronology and consis tency of this life story, and at the same time inform the reader concerning a very important epoch in the develop ment of Coryell and other West Texas counties. XXX A BACKWARD LOOK AT THE CRAWFORD DAYS WHILE I had left Crawford and all its activities and joys, I think it well to glance once more at some incidents that may be of interest to the reader. While I was engaged in teaching my last school there, a friend of mine, Robert T. Dennis, fell ill of typhoid fever. His physician was a doctor of the old school. He refused to give my friend either lemons or ice. He in sisted, however, upon dosing him with calomel and chola- gogues, with the result that Dennis was rapidly approaching his end. I was not only his nurse, but had to save him from his doctor. I was then far advanced in my medical studies, and in addition to having read the books, I had some notions of my own. I made it a point to violate most of the instructions of the doctor, and that saved his life. I secured lemons and ice from Waco, dosed him with copious draughts of lemonade, kept him cool as well as I could do with ice packs, and in general so handled the case that after a long illness, he emerged from the valley of the shadow of death and is a strong, well man today. It was not known to his physician then, and is as yet un known to many who have graduated in medical colleges and whose diplomas are nicely framed and hung in their offices, that the juice of the lemon is one of the greatest of germi cides. At that time, it had not been revealed that typhoid fever was infectious, but that is well known now. A ten per cent solution of lemon juice will kill a cholera 239 240 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE germ. It is a very valuable beverage, and a great adjunct in the treatment of many cases of illness. I had not exercised my gift (if I had a gift) as a minis ter to any great extent since I landed in the Crawford coun try. My ministrations were limited almost exclusively to funerals. The first of these was a very peculiar one. My good friend and school patron, J. T. Fullen, wanted the body of his wife removed from one cemetery to another, and when the body was consigned to its final resting place, asked me to conduct some services over the remains. This was my first Crawford funeral, but it was not the last. There was no resident minister of any denomination, so that it fell to my lot to conduct all the funerals in that neighbor hood during the period of my residence there. This is a work from which I always shrank. I have an inherent sympathy for all who are bereaved, and throughout my entire life, as best I could, I have ministered to the sick, the sad and the suffering. While this is true, I have always wished to avoid conducting funerals. My sympathies are too strong, and my heart goes out with too much tenderness to those who suffer, for me to be able really to do a great amount of this class of Christian work. If I had to conduct as many funerals as fall to the lot of some of our busy city pastors, I believe it would kill me. While this is true, I found this to be my duty at Crawford, and I performed it as best I could. In the matter of preaching, I reached the conclusion that I never should have announced my purpose to become a minister. On careful self-examination, covering a period of many months, I was convinced that I was not the gen uine, blown-in-the-bottle preacher material. I never could carry around with me for any length of time a long and mournful face; I never could acquire the preacher tone; I never could feel at home in the preacher's garb; I never could assume a pietetic air, and in general the more I thought CRAWFORD DAYS 241 about it, the more I feared that I had made a colossal mis take. For that reason and for the further reason that my views had gradually undergone a radical change, I decided I would give up preaching. I was not now in sympathy with the views of the Hardshell Baptists, and, as a matter of fact, looking back upon it now from the vantage ground of ma turer years, I do not believe I ever was in sympathy with their views. This feeling, however, grew upon me while at Crawford, and I decided that I not only would give up preaching, but that I would sever my church relationship as soon as opportunity should offer. This, however, I did not act upon at once, because I wished to be absolutely sure of my ground and desired to be exceedingly careful lest I make a lifelong blunder. When I left Crawford, I knew that I would never live there again. I meant to cast my lot with my father and his interests up in the Hog Creek country, and this I did, but I cherish the memory of those Crawford friends with a grate ful heart, and ever shall. I visited the little village many times after my departure, and always found there a gracious, kindly welcome. XXXI AS A COUNTRY DOCTOR THE winter of 1878 passed uneventfully. One fact perhaps more noteworthy than any other, except the recital already given concerning the Babb regime, was the great snowstorm that came the first week of Janu ary. The snow covered the ground for six or seven days. Our cattle could get no grass at all. The necessity was upon me to feed every head of father's cattle every day. This subjected me to great exposure, but I never was health ier in my life. I prosecuted my medical studies with great diligence, and kept abreast also with the developments in the phrenological world. During that winter, the only other event worthy to relate was my phrenological lectures at Tur nersville. I sent my advertisements there during the early part of January, 1879, and the people gave me a very cordial hearing. Many kind faces beamed upon me from those old time seats in the Turnersville school house. I can see now the faces of J. P. Kendrick, Lum Hardy, W. A. Beatty, Jim Burkett, N. G. Buchanan, Dr. J. D. Calaway, Joe Gaston and others whose names I have not space to write. My lecture engagement at Turnersville was a glittering success in every way but one — I did not make much money. I did, however, secure some compensation for my work, and this money I used in the purchase of much needed clothing for my young wife and myself. On February i, 1879, ^J wife and I moved to Turners ville to make that village our future home. In the mean time, I had gone before the medical examining board, of 242 AS A COUNTRY DOCTOR 243 which Dr. R. J. Perry, of Gatesville, was a resident member, and had secured a license to practice medicine. I, however, had no funds, and so my precious mother loaned me out of her small savings $i6. With this sum I bought my medical saddlebags, and with the help of my' father I supplied my saddlebags with the necessary medicines. When my wife and I went over to Turnersville to take up housekeeping, we rented a little two-room weather-boarded house. While this house was weather-boarded on the out side, it had never been ceiled, and hence it was not a very comfortable winter home. The rent was $3 a month. We had some bedding that had been given us by my wife's mother and my mother, and managed to scrape together enough utensils of various kinds to begin housekeeping in a very humble, unpretentious way. We had no dining table. We took our meals off of the smooth side of a large dry- goods box. We had no barn, so we kept the feed for my pony under the bed. It preserved the corn and other prov ender, and at the same time this feed had its part in keep ing out the boreal blasts of the keen north wind. I had sold " Old Ball." He was growing old, and I felt it wise to let him go. I did not now need so large a horse, so I traded him off, receiving for him some corn and other belongings, and a splendid little sorrel pony. He was not half as big as " Old Ball,'' but was wiry, thrifty and very usable. I retained my saddle and other equipments, and it was thus that on February i, 1879, I hung out my shingle as a full-fledged doctor. Looking back upon it now, with my present larger knowl edge of the world, it seems to me that there never was a greater exhibition of heroic ignorance than was manifest in this procedure. Without means, without expert medical training, without friends, without reputation, without expe rience, and practically without acquaintance, I began my career as a doctor before I was twenty-one years old. 244 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE But we were happy. It was the happiness of ignorance, innocence and inexperience linked together. It was a con crete verification of the trath of that Scripture which says that a man's happiness does not consist in the abundance of the things which he possesses. Dr. J. D. Calaway, the old accredited physician of Tur nersville, was a most excellent man. He was then in the prime of life, and in the enjoyment of a splendid practice. He held the confidence and esteem of the people, and to all outward appearances was invulnerable. Personally, he seemed fond of me, but professionally he spoke of me in that nonchalant, off-hand, indulgent manner that old doctors assume when they discuss the fledglings of the profession. " Yes," he would say, " that young man Cranfill is a right bright boy. If he lives to reach the years of maturity, and meantime can take advantage of a medical college education, he 7nay make a good physician." If the good man had denounced me as a horse-thief, cut throat, pirate or highway robber, it would have been much better for my future as a physician than the faint praise with which he consigned me to professional damnation. Three months passed — long, wearisome, heart-breaking months. While we had sufficient food to keep the wolf of starvation from actually entering the door, it howled might ily around the front steps. I was not earning a penny and so I fell behind three months with my house rent. That amounted to $9. This debt harassed me. It hung over me like a pall. I had never before been so hopelessly in debt without means for earning money with which to liquidate. I was becoming desperate. I knew that some turn must be made. I had not been able to pay my mother back a cent of her $16. The dear, affectionate, loving, indulgent soul would have been more than willing to give me all this money, but I could not in conscience accept it in that way, so that AS A COUNTRY DOCTOR 245 $i6 and the $9 aggregated $25, which represented a verita ble millstone that hung around my neck. I was never given to idleness. During the time of this enforced quietude, I kept up my studies in many directions. I continued writing for The Waco Telephone, but that yield ed no revenue. That was before the days when Texas news papers, especially of the middle class, remunerated their cor respondents. All that this alignment did for me was to give me some little prestige in the community. I secured some subscribers for the paper, but this did not bring me any financial return whatsoever, because the paper was given to subscribers at introductory prices. But I had not forgotten my phrenology. Nine miles away, spanning the county line between Hamilton and Cory ell Counties, was a village called Jonesboro. It was some what more pretentious than Turnersville, though not an older town. It had more stores, and somewhat larger ones, and more professional men. I decided to announce a course of phrenological lectures at Jonesboro, and found in that city a friend of former years in the person of Rev. Dozier White, the Hardshell preacher who in the autumn of 1876 was present at the little Hog Creek church when I applied for membership. He remembered me, and was a friend of my father. He and his family gladly extended to me their hospitality on my visit to Jonesboro, and did all they could to spread the news of the approaching lectures. I billed the town with circulars that I had kept over from a former lec ture tour. My lecture experience at Jonesboro was successful in every way. I rode my little sorrel pony over there, and car ried my medical saddlebags. I never took that horse to water that I didn't string the saddlebags across the saddle, and ride out in the most consequential fashion. My wife ,.and I were the only residents of Turnersville that knew the facts. Every day at some hour of the day I would dash out 246 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE on my sorrel pony. I would circle around, as a rule, and go down to see my father and mother, or look after some of my father's cattle, but my medical saddlebags were glisten ing with freshness and newness, and you could hear the smell of the black leather a mile or so away. At Jonesboro I entered upon a career of phrenological success hitherto unprecedented. I had large audiences. Most of those who came wished phrenological examinations ; I en gaged to write a large number of charts. When I left Jones boro after the week's experience, I had more than enough money to pay my house rent, and having taken some barter in exchange for my scientific services, I carried in my hand on the little sorrel pony all the way from Jonesboro to Tur nersville a splendid, bright, glistening, new coal-oil student lamp that we greatly needed. When I reached home, my wife, who had lived alone during the days of my absence, rejoiced to see me, and she was especially pleased when she found that I had earned sufficient funds with which to dis charge our pressing indebtedness, and had brought to her the splendid new parlor lamp. Our parlor, as you may know, was a room about lo x 12, which also served as a bedroom, a living room, a piano room (minus the piano), a sitting room and a corn-crib. XXXII MY FIRST PATIENT AND THE CONSEQUENCES SOME two weeks after I had returned from my lecture engagement at Jonesboro, one evening at twilight a man galloped up to the door of our little two-room cabin and asked if Dr. Cranfill were at home. Yes, the doctor was at home. He was perhaps more addicted to the at-home habit than any professional gentleman resident at that time in the Lone Star State. He had been nowhere but at home. He had lingered at home day and night and Sunday. With the exception of the little trip to Jonesboro, which was not made in the interest of the sick and suffering, he had been steadily at home for almost four months. Yes, the doctor was at home, and so announced himself, whereupon the visitor said it was desired that he should go and see Mrs. Blank, who resided some six miles away, up on the divide between Babbville and Gatesville. I cannot begin to describe the sensations that thrilled me as I saddled, bridled and equipped the little sorrel pony for that first professional engagement. It was a historic hour. My wife was all athrill with the excitement of the moment, and hastening to give me a bite of supper (we had not yet " dined,") she bade me Godspeed on my initial professional pilgrimage. Darkness soon closed in upon us with great earnestness, but my soul was illuminated with visions of professional achievement and success that it had not held before. 247 248 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE On the way out, I learned from the gentleman who had come for me that he had been sent for Dr. Calaway. That was a revelation, but it did not in any sense dampen my de sire to fill this engagement. He stated that Dr. Calaway had declined to visit this patient because the husband of the sick woman was not good pay. I learned afterwards that there was another reason why Dr. Calaway did not answer this call, and it was a most important one. When he secured from the courier a description of the woman's illness, he knew that she was going to die, and this, coupled with the companion fact that there was no pay in the visit, made it a good time to break the fledgling in, and so he sent the man for me. I reached the sick room in less than an hour after the call had come. The family were very poor. All the surround ings were indicative of the hardest of hard times. They lived in a little two-room house, ill-kept and poorly fur nished. The good woman was desperately ill with what the doctors call puerperal peritonitis. Her little baby was about ten days old, and when I reached her, was nestling in its mother's arms. As soon as I saw the sick woman's face and made an examination of the case, I knew that her hours on earth were few. However, she was perfectly conscious. She greatly desired to get well. After prescribing for her, I sought a private interview with her husband, and told him that his wife would not live more than twenty-four hours, if she lived that long. The news was not unexpected, but he was shocked when the doctor told him so. I did all that any physician could have done. I relieved her pain, which was intense, and made her just as comfort able as possible, and while I knew that she was bound to die, I worked just as patiently and industriously for her restoration as if I had been more hopeful of the outcome. It was past midnight when I went home. I would not have gone home at all that night if it had not been for the MY FIRST PATIENT 249 fact that I wished to secure the attendance of my friend and confrere. Dr. Calaway, to counsel with me upon the case the following day. He was somewhat reluctant to go with me next morning, but I told him that he had to go ; that I was a young physician on my first professional pins and that I was unwilling for my first case to die upon my hands with out consultation. Finally he agreed to go, which was very kind and noble in him, and it was thus that, while he had, no doubt, originally hoped that I would have all of the respon sibility of the death of my first patient, it was in fact di vided between us. He had to take his share. After he had made a brief visit to the now dying woman, he went on his way. I lingered by her bedside until the end came, and then gently closed her eyes. I have had many moments of downright mental, physical and spiritual depression as I have gone along, but I think that the hour in which I rode from that death chamber to my little home was the darkest period of my youthful years. I felt that all was lost. Here I had secured one patient, but there was no money in the case, and besides, the woman was dead. I felt sure the news of my ill success would be cur rent throughout all that section of the county, and I was morally certain that I would never secure another call. I later learned that the death of a patient in no wise injures the doctor's standing. On that lonely midnight ride the night before, I had de voutly prayed for this young mother's recovery, but without faith. I knew that God could perform a miracle, but did not believe He would. I made it a rule in my practice to pray for help from a Higher Source, and have always be lieved in those physicians who are men of prayer. Infidel doctors have never appealed to me. XXXIII A GROWING MEDICAL PRACTICE MY mental depression was of short duration. While Mrs. Blank had died, I had made a distinct im pression upon the denizens of that side-pocket of Coryell County population. Very soon I was called to an other patient in that section, and then another, and so it was not very long until I was the medical adviser of nearly all the settlers in that neighborhood. Meantime, my competitor helped me very much. He was very fond of hunting. No matter what the cost, he would at intervals lay everything down and go hunting. Game was plentiful, he was a good shot, and he enjoyed the Nimrod life very greatly. Not that I had at that time ever heard of Nimrod. I am putting him in here to show that at the pres ent writing I am really a Bible student as well as a literary man. If anybody had talked to me about Nimrod at that period of my career, I would have asked him where old man Nim and his folks came from, and who was their doctor. On a certain night when Dr. Calaway was out on a hunt, I was sent for, post haste, to attend the wife of G. W. Alston, one of our leading merchants. I did not know him intimately, but in a village like Turnersville e\'ery one soon knows everyone else. Dr. Calaway had been engaged for this delicate occasion, but he was now absolutely inaccessi ble. Much against their will, and as the only resort, they sent for the beardless young doctor. I was on hand in three minutes after the call came, look ing as wise as an owl and as sober as a judge. The lady 250 Tom E. Cranfill, Thom.\s Mabry Cranfill and J. B. Cranfill. A GROWING MEDICAL PRACTICE 251 visitors must have been greatly awed by my assumption of superior acumen and expert medical knowledge. This, how ever, was the first case of this kind I had ever attended alone. Within an hour after my arrival, the population of Turnersville had been increased by the advent of a majestic looking gentleman, who forthwith was named G. W. Alston, Jr. He was a lusty boy, and weighed perhaps nine pounds, but the story went abroad that he tipped the beam at fifteen pounds. (I think I have seen this expression, "tipped the beam," in print before.) My success in this case spread like wildfire. (" Like wild fire " is entirely new, however. I guarantee it.) One of the ladies in attendance was the wife of Dr. Calaway. She was a most excellent woman, but jealous of her husband's stand ing, reputation and professional achievements. She was a daughter of old Uncle Johnnie Henderson, the leading mer chant of the town. I thought very highly of her then and always after, but those who are familiar with the doctor spirit must know that it was wormwood and gall (where have I seen those words ?) to Dr. Calaway and his wife for the young, uncolleged physician to infringe upon Dr. Cala- way's preserves. From that time forward, my practice be gan to grow by leaps and bounds (where on earth can I have seen those four words, "by leaps and bounds?") in the little town itself, and in other directions, and I saw the inspiring dawn of professional success. This was the only time in my life that I ever lived for long in a rented house. As soon as I began to collect some fees, I decided that we would have a home of our own. I therefore paid $50 for an acre lot, and very soon thereafter a little home of two rooms was planned and the house erected. I never had false pride, but always turned my hand promptly and without fear of criticism to the work that needed to be done. In a short interval between my medical 252 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE duties, I secured a team and hauled from Waco, fifty miles away, the lumber with which to build our cottage home. It was a box house, but to us it was a veritable mansion. We had it nicely stripped with three-inch strips, and a good roof put on it. Uncle Billy Summers, a lonely old Irishman with a massive frame, a tender heart and a wandering mind, built our chimney of native stone, which he sawed out with his own hands. The house was built between two majestic, overspreading liveoak trees. Nowhere have I seen such arborial wonders as were those grand old monarchs of the glade that skirted the prairies and led down to the headwaters of Middle Bosque. These old trees had a history. They had seen sorrow and had witnessed tragedy. Some fifteen years before, two Hardshell Baptist ministers. Elders White and Griffith, were conducting a series of meetings at Cranfill Gap in Bosque County. Uncle George was a Hardshell Baptist, and so were all his family except Cousin Sam, of whom mention has hitherto been made. Cousin Ross Cranfill was a captain of scouts, his company being engaged in frontier duty dur ing the Civil War. It was near the end of the struggle, but it was just as important for him to patrol the border at that time as it had ever been before, because the savages, embol dened by the absence of many frontiersmen who had joined the Confederate army, were committing hideous depreda tions whenever opportunity offered. When these Hardshell Baptist ministers started across the country to Lampasas, my cousin suggested an escort. They fell back upon the doctrine of predestination, which is a magnificent doctrine and abundantly taught in the Bible, but is intended for sensible men. Not that I would call these dear old brethren fools. They are both in their graves. They simply allowed a theological fetich to warp their lives. They declined the escort, and wending their way toward Mks. Tom E. (Mai SeayJ Cranfill .\nd Children. On Her Left, Isabel .\nd Martha Eleanor .\nij on Her Right, iioNA Mai .\ni) Thomas Macky Cranfill. A GROWING MEDICAL PRACTICE 253 Lampasas across the country, in which at that time there were no roads of any kind, they finally approached the glade to which I have referred. As they neared the headwaters of Middle Bosque, they were attacked by a band of Comanche Indians. They had no arms and, of course, made no resistance. They finally took a stand behind these two giant liveoak trees, in the hope that their lives might thus be saved. The Indians pressed them sorely, with the result that Elder Griffith died in the very spot where my front gate afterwards stood, and Elder White was left for dead. There were arrow scars in these lone witnesses of that frontier tragedy when I bought the lot, and if they are yet left stand ing, they are doubtless on those trees today. Elder White was picked up by some passing frontiersmen and nursed back into life again. I afterwards heard him preach in the Gatesville country, but he was never quite himself after this experience with the savages. XXXIV MORE ABOUT LIFE IN THE TURNERSVILLE COUNTRY THE summer of 1879 will be remembered by all the old settlers in that section of Texas as the year of the most stringent drouth known in twenty years. There is something strange in this recurrence of the figure " 9 " in these periods of drouth. The most terrible visita tion of that kind known within the memory of civilized men was in 1859. I heard my father speak of it often. That year almost all the water courses r;ompletely dried up. Texas was a cattle country, and the cattle died literally by the thou sands. My father told me he had seen as many as a thou sand head of cattle dead around one desolate water pool. There was such a dearth of water that many of the settlers suffered excruciating agony, and some even perished from thirst. The drouth of 1879 was of like kind, although in some sections possibly not quite so severe as the drouth of twenty years before. Not in the memory of man had Buchanan's Spring been dry, but that summer it went dry utterly, and so did all the wells within a radius of ten miles of Turners ville. There was but one possible chance for drinking and stock water left in the Turnersville country, and that was from Hughes Spring, a mile and a half below Turnersville. I wish I knew the fountain source of this spring. It was not great in size. The stream was perhaps half as large as a man's arm, but the dry weather of that season did not phase this perennial water supply. 254 THE LIFE AT TURNERSVILLE 255 We had just moved into our new two-room home when the drouth began. In a little while thereafter, Buchanan Spring went dry. Meantime the Hughes Spring had been bought by Uncle Billy Young. He was a very excellent man. He was a sheep grower, and with Presbyterian far sightedness (he was an elder in the Presbyterian church) he fenced the spring. A council, not of war, but of thirst, was held. I was in the meeting. I never had believed and did not then believe in any sort of mob violence. Suggestions of various kinds were made. Some thought we ought to go at once and tear down the fence nolens volens, but that was not my plan. Instead, a committee was appointed to inter view Uncle Billy and ask him kindly to take down his fence. Our counsel prevailed. He was a great-hearted man, though, of course, he wanted to save his property. He took down his fence, and at the risk of losing his sheep, let the people come and secure water from the spring. It did not take much water for us two, our cow and our little sorrel pony. I procured a two-gallon jug. I bought it innocently when it was empty, so do not get excited here. At 2 : 30 o'clock each morning, I would ride to the spring, being always careful to throw my medical saddlebags across the saddle, and would get my two-gallon jug full of water. I strung the jug to the horn of my saddle and rode home, afterwards finishing up the night's sleep. It was not always possible for me to be at the spring at this particular hour, because oftentimes I was out on medical calls, but when not thus engaged, I made it a point to be at Hughes Spring at the hour named each morning. There were fewer people there at that hour than any time of the night. There was never a moment at any time, day or night, that there was not a string of wagons, carriages, buggies and horses lined up waiting for their turn to secure water, but there were fewer at this particular hour than at any other time, and I went then in order to save my time. 256 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE If you have never tried to economize on water, you do not know how the trick is done. I do not now speak of economizing in a social or political way. I have known many friends and acquaintances who economized greatly on water for drinking purposes. I refer now particularly to the household economy of water. This two gallons of water sufficed for all our uses, and at the same time we saved enough water each week with which to do the week's washing. We let the cow and horse drink the rinsing water, and oftentimes had to give them water rather rich in ferri ferro cyanuretum. (Kind reader, that's noth ing but bluing.) We dosed our old red cow on this bluing water so much that she began to turn blue, and I do not know what the final result might have been if the autumn rains had not come just in the nick of time. It did not exactly save her face, but it saved her color. That autumn no corn was raised locally. Very little cot ton was raised. That was our first introduction to Kansas com. It was shipped in bags, and we paid a dollar a bushel in coin for the corn thus shipped to us. This was a very great hardship upon us all, and particularly upon the poor farmers, but we had to take our medicine and bide our time until the season should come again. In the meantime, my practice was growing rapidly. In times of adversity, sickness increases, and as the sickness increased, my work grew apace. I was still the young doc tor, but my competitor, while he looked askance upon me in a professional way, had found it necessary to recognize me in a practical manner. We had both joined the Coryell County Medical Society, and I was in just as good standing with the profession as he, with the exception that I was not so well equipped or so widely experienced. During the autumn of 1879, I went with Dr. U. M. Gilder from Gatesville to Stephenville to appear before the Medi cal Board for final examination. In the meantime, my be- THE LIFE AT TURNERSVILLE 257 loved friend. Dr. R. J. Perry, had resigned from member ship on the Board and Dr. Gilder had succeeded him. We went in a buggy across the country. Dr. Gilder was a splen did man, and at this writing is still an honored citizen of Gatesville. When I appeared before the State Board in its august session, they complimented me highly and extended my certificate. On the Board at that time was Dr. Geo. F. Perry, of Hamilton, a man of distinct medical and per sonal dignity. He lived usefully at Hamilton for many years, only passing on a year or so before this chronicle is penned. I hastened back to the scene of my struggles and my duties. While the season had been a hard one, I was en abled to collect the first year of my practice $1500 either in money or in convertible trade. I was not a stickler for de tails in the matter of collections. I would take anything on a medical bill from watermelons to cord wood, and from cabbages to calves. I soon had an assortment of property, and was able, by my natural trading instincts, to make good use of it. The patrons of Dr. Calaway who had declined to pay him, nearly all paid me. There was a patient of Dr. Calaway who died, who gave me almost as much reputation as the first case. He was a teamster, and when Dr. Calaway had given him out to die, they sent for me. When I reached the room, I saw there was no chance for his recovery, but I rolled up my sleeves and went to work with him, and was working with him when he drew his final breath. This man died with the most outrageous profanities and blasphemies on his lips to which I have ever listened. He was unconscious, but in his death agonies the last words were curses against God. I went away from that room with a feeling it took me weeks to shake off, and it mounts to my soul again as these words are penned. During the winter of 1879-80, that section of Texas was visited by an epidemic of pneumonia. Dr. Calaway and I 258 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE were both seriously taxed to keep track of our practice. There were ten whole days and nights in which I did not even attempt to undress, and in which I did not have, at any time, an hour's consecutive sleep. To add to the terrors of the situation, the winter rains had come, and, like Texas, the rain was a swinging of the pendulum back from the drouth of the summer previous. It rained almost inces santly, and it was very difficult for us to get to our patients. At that time I did not know the logic of the splendid work I did in these pneumonia cases. The old-time doctors thought the pneumonia patient should be kept out of draughts, and should have very little fresh air. I had been in homes where there was pneumonia where all the windows were down, and the patient had neither a chance for cleanli ness nor oxygen. The country homes within the radius of my practice were crudely built. Some of them were built of logs. Others of them had cracks in the walls through which you could throw an average sized cat. The result was that it was impossible to keep the wind from filtering through these cracks, thus furnishing the patient with absolutely pure oxygen which was right out of Nature's ozone laboratory. I lost but one patient from pnuemonia that season — a lit tle child. The call came about midnight and I was by the child's bedside within an hour. The family lived up in the little pocket of the county to which I have hitherto referred. When I reached the home, the baby was dying. On my way back home — I was at that time driving a team of horses — I found I was unable to " cluck " to my horses. I did not understand it. I tried to speak. I could not artic ulate. I was still under the terrific strain to which I have referred. I had had no rest at all, and scarcely time to eat. I found as I proceeded further that I was suffering from a burning sensation in the sublingual glands. It was a strange and new experience to me. Hitherto I could always talk. THE LIFE AT TURNERSVILLE 259 but there I was speechless, though entirely conscious. When I reached home, I went immediately to the home of my father. He had, in the meantime, moved to Turnersville. On examining my mouth he discovered that I had erysipelas of the sublingual glands. It was a most serious situation, and if he had not acted promptly, I would have lost my life. In a day or so the acute stages of the malady had passed, and I was about my work again. XXXV A NEW DEPARTURE AND A UNIQUE INCIDENT DURING the early spring of 1880, after I had been in the practice of medicine more than a year, my good friend, John B. Nichols, of Coryell City, sent for me to visit him on a business matter. He was conduct ing a general store — the largest enterprise of its kind in Coryell County. Nichols & Robertson was the firm name. On reaching Coryell City, Mr. Nichols made me a novel and somewhat startling proposal. He suggested that I estab lish a drug, drygoods and grocery store. He thought this would be a great adjunct to my practice, and that each would help the other. I did not have the capital with which to inaugurate this enterprise, but he set all my distrust at rest by suggesting that I need pay no cash whatever; that the store itself would be a magnificent investment, and one that would give me speedy and continuous returns. I accepted the overtures thus made, and J. B. CRAN FILL'S CASH STORE was opened at Turnersville, stocked with a well selected assortment of dry goods, groceries and drugs out of the stock of Nichols & Robertson. Mr. Nich ols gave me letters to wholesale men at Waco, and this en abled me to supplement not only the drygoods and grocery stock, but the drug stock, which was really of more imme diate importance than the grocery and dry goods part of it. In many ways this undertaking was a great mistake. One of the most distressing weaknesses to which I now confess has been my disposition through life to attempt more than 260 A NEW DEPARTURE 261 I could reasonably expect to accomplish. This was true of this store enterprise. It led to other enterprises and business ventures, of which more hereafter. Among my patrons at that time was a man by the name of Moore. He had moved into the Babbville community the first part of 1880 and engaged in farming. He had quite a large family, and I not only attended to their wants when they were ill, but Mr. Moore had a line of credit at my store, and supported himself and family out of the store for sev eral months. When his son fell sick with pneumonia, I gave him the best attention within my power, with the result that he soon was well and about his accustomed duties. Mr. Moore did not make a good crop that year, and in the late summer he asked for the privilege of going to Iredell to begin work on the railroad right-of-way. The Texas Central had been projected west from Waco, and the survey com pleted on to Albany, which for many years was its terminus. He had a splendid team of horses, and felt that if he could engage in work on the right-of-way, thus utilizing his team as well as the assistance of his son, he could soon pay the debt he owed and be well on his feet again. In order to secure me for the amount he owed me, which was somewhat in excess of $80, he gave me a mortgage on the team, and I allowed him to go on his way. His contract was that he would write me every week, and send remit tances as earnings were paid to him. The first two weeks he wrote the letters, but sent no remittances. He then dropped out of sight. On writing to Iredell, I received no reply. Late in August, I decided to go to Iredell and collect this money from Mr. Moore, or, on his failure to pay me, to take over his team. I went on horseback. It took a full day to make the journey. I took dinner with Uncle George Cranfill's widow at Cranfill's Gap, and hurried on to Iredell, reaching there about dark. I found that while Mr. Moore 262 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE and his family had been there and had worked on the rail road, they had suddenly vanished some two or three weeks before, and no one knew their destination. By sunrise next morning, I resumed my journey up the right-of-way in the direction of Albany. I had no difficulty in tracing Mr. Moore by his splendid team. Here and there along the way he had worked at this place or that, but when the grading had been finished, had pushed on further west. It was a laborious day. I stopped at noon and grazed my horse for an hour while I rested under the shade of an umbrageous old oak tree. I had not brought much money with me. When I reached Hico, I sold my bottle of quinine to the dmggist for $3.50. This was not much money, but it was all I thought I would need. That night I found a stopping place in a tent at one of the grading camps above Hico where the grading had not yet been completed. When I came to the time for retiring and began to undress, I unbuckled my big Colt's army six- shooter from around my waist and quietly put it under my pillow — a bundle of saddle blankets rolled up and laid across my saddle. I had as a companion in the tent a stranger who had been granted permission to sleep in the tent along with me. When I unbuckled my revolver, the man noticed it, and taking his off at the same time, we discussed the merits of the different makes of pistols. I told him I did not suppose any officer was near. He smiled at this and said : " I am myself the sheriff of Hamilton County." I felt very queer. I then went on to explain the occasion of my presence there, and the object of my journey. He told me to quiet all my fears ; that while it was technically against the laws of the State for a man to carry arms, at the A NEW DEPARTURE 263 same time there was a clause which permitted a man travel ing thus to be armed, and he would give me the advantage of that feature of the law. Towards evening of the following day, twelve miles west of Dublin in Erath County, I reached the remotest camp of the graders on the railroad right-of-way. This camp be longed to Mr. Moore. If a meteor had fallen at his feet, he would not have been more surprised than when he saw me. He thought he had successfully evaded all chance of detection and pursuit, and had made good his escape from the honest debt he owed me. I accepted an invitation from Mr. Moore to spend the night in his tent. I was not at ease, though I tried very hard to conceal the fact from him and his. However, when I came to the point of retiring for the night, I placed my revolver under my right hand, ready for use at a moment's notice. I did not sleep, but kept on watch all night, because I believed a man who would be guilty of the kind of conduct Mr. Moore had shown, might be tempted to commit a murder. If I had been made way with in that far-off place, the crime could have been so hidden that even my identity would per haps never have been known. We were up bright and early next morning, and after the breakfast had been served, I told Mr. Moore the object of my visit. He protested that he had not a dollar in money, which I really did not believe. I told him that if he did not have the money with which to discharge the obligation, I would take the horses (they were well worth $150), and would give him my note for the balance. He asked me if I could pay him cash on the spot, but of course I told him no, because I had brought no cash with me. Very reluctantly he agreed to the arrangement. I gave him my note for $70, saddled my horse, necked the other two together, and started on the long homeward trail. 264 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE It was 90 miles from the Moore camp to Turnersville, and before all negotiations had been finally concluded, it was fully ten o'clock. The summer sun was beaming hotly down upon us. I feared greatly that I would have trouble, but I meant to have trouble or have what was justly mine. I was prepared to have it out with Mr. Moore. A group of his friends among the graders gathered around, expecting trouble, and if trouble had arisen, they would have stood with Mr. Moore. I meant to do right first of all, and then, if righteous means did not prevail, it was my purpose to assert my rights in a practical and aggressive manner. Mr. Moore was very sullen and morose when I rode back toward Coryell County, but no demonstration was made, and I was allowed to go. in peace. This was the longest ride I ever made in a single day. I hurried on, stopping at the watering troughs at Dublin to water my stock, where for the first time I met Dr. J. G. O'Brien, who proved afterwards to be one of my very best friends. I hastened on as rapidly as my horses would stand the journey, making my way towards home. I would ride one horse perhaps ten miles at a time, then change horses, leading the other two, and thus changing, rested the ones not immediately in commission. At twilight I was under the shadow of Twin Mountains in Hamilton County, which were equidistant from the point of my departure and my home. It was forty-five miles from Twin Mountains to my Turnersville residence. In the meantime, I had neither feed for my horses nor money with which to buy my supper. I " helloed " at a country farmhouse, told the benevolent homekeeper of my plight, frankly confessed my poverty, and detailed my situation. He was a typical frontiersman. He told me to come in and eat supper with them, furnished feed for my horses, and was kindness itself. Supper being ended, I started on the last lap of that long day's ride. At 2 : 30 o'clock the following morning I reached A NEW DEPARTURE 265 my gate, so tired I could hardly alight from my saddle. My wife had been greatly distressed on account of my long absence. I had expected to go to Iredell one day and return the next, but here I had been gone three days and nights. She did not know what to make of it all, and was greatly rejoiced when she found that I had returned home unharmed and had brought back with me the fruits of my labors. XXXVI MORE ABOUT THE WORK AT TURNERSVILLE AMONG my early patrons won at Turnersville was old Uncle Charlie Brandon. He was quite a char acter. While he was as poor as a church mouse, he was one of the most amiable of men. He was not exactly a type of Mark Twain's Sellers, but had many of the eccen tricities of that historic character. He would wear a boot and a shoe, would go around the village with one suspender and without a coat, and in general had a dilapidated, run down appearance. One morning when I met him on the street, I said : " Good morning. Uncle Charlie ! How are you today ? " " I'm all right. Doc," he said ; " I'm about even with the world. I owe about as many as I don't owe." My work as a merchant increased by leaps and bounds. (If by any means you have ever before seen this expression, "by leaps and bounds," please notify me.) The business was necessarily done on credit. The store helped my prac tice in several ways. It gave me standing in the community, and increased my prestige as a business man. In addition to the store, other enterprises were greatly needed in the little town. It had no shoe shop. I therefore imported a shoe maker and started a shoe shop. A little later on, Mr. Keat ing, manager of the Turnersville flouring and corn mill and gin, having become deeply involved in debt, found it neces sary to close out his interest. After some negotiations, I acquired this property (wholly on credit), and entered at once upon a career as miller, ginner and hog-raiser. 266 THE WORK AT TURNERSVILLE 267 The best way to make money out of a mill is to raise hogs. There is always an immense amount of waste hog feed around a mill, and so, having seen this point at once, I stocked myself up with all sorts of hogs from Jersey to Chester White and from Leghorn to Poland China. I made large profits on my hogs, but I made nothing whatsoever on my mill and gin. I soon found myself certainly a " leading citizen." I was the young and growing country doctor, the keeper of a drug and general store, the proprietor of a shoe shop and of the " Tramontane Mills " — the poetic name con ferred by my predecessor upon the flouring mill which I had bought. In the meantime, there had been so much talk about my youth that I decided to checkmate the gossip by associating myself with an older physician. I naturally thought of my dear Crawford friend. Dr. T. D. Williams, whereupon I wrote him, tendering him a partnership in my medical prac tice. While I felt that his coming would be greatly helpful to me as a doctor, it would also relieve me somewhat, and allow me to give more time to the other interests that had fallen into my hands. He responded favorably. Dr. Williams was one of the noblest characters I have ever known. He was college bred, not only literarily, but pro fessionally, and was the best informed physician that I knew in my earlier years. He was educated in chemistry, botany, anatomy, physiology, therapy, histology, pathology and, in fact, was master of all branches of medical science. He was also a splendid pharmacist and proved himself to be of quite some value in my drug work. Dr. Williams did not remain my partner long. He saw very quickly that he was a misfit, and was just as frank to tell me so. It grieved me as much as it grieved him. I loved him tenderly, and I cherish his memory today as that of one of the dearest friends I ever knew. I received from him 268 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE some impressions that have lingered with me through all my after years. Once I was discussing with him the question of secret societies. He was a Royal Arch Mason, a member of the Odd Fellows and of some of the other lodges, and had been an honored officer in several of them. I asked whether or not I should make application to the Turnersville Masonic Lodge for membership. More than once it had entered my mind. He answered that every good man was already enough of a Mason without joining a Masonic Lodge, and that no bad man could ever be made into a good Mason, no matter how many times he took the obligation of the lodge. After his own fashion he held the same view that had been given me some years before by Mr. Davis, proprietor of the Waco Hotel, where I often stopped when I went from Craw ford down to Waco to collect my monthly salary as teacher of the public school. Mr. Davis said that if the common ties of humanity were not strong enough to bind men together in fraternal bonds, no oaths they could take would serve to create such bonds. Dr. Williams soon moved to another locatiton. I saw lit tle of him in after years. Some twenty years after his Tur nersville residence, I heard sadly of his death, and mourned his loss as the going of a great, good man and one whom I dearly loved. XXXVII BREAKING INTO THE NEWSPAPER BUSINESS ALL of my Turnersville interests grew apace until, when the year 1881 opened, I found myself not only successful as a doctor, but enjoying a splendid trade as a merchant, a miller and a shoe shop proprietor, I felt that Turnersville as a town ought to grow and enlarge, and so the thought entered into my mind that if I had a little monthly paper to advertise my different lines, and proclaim the advantages of Turnersville as a business point, it would help things all around. The result was that February i, 1881, there appeared the first issue of The Turnersville Effort, a two-column folio monthly, with a subscription price of twenty-five cents a year. The demand. for the little sheet was sensational. Sub scriptions poured in from all surrounding sections. They came from Jonesboro, Babbville, and even from Gatesville, fourteen miles away. I was greatly surprised at the recep tion accorded this journalistic venture. In the meantime, I had achieved some local reputation as the Turnersville cor respondent of The Gatesville Sun, a county weekly. Coinci dent with this literary effort, I was still writing weekly let ters to The Waco Telephone, and kept this up during all the time of my Turnersville residence. The demand for the paper grew, and it was soon evident that it would have to be enlarged. When we came to the time for publishing the April issue, it appeared as a five- column, eight-page paper at fifty cents a year. About this time, I found it necessary to enlarge my mer- 269 270 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE chandise stock and employ a bookkeeper and assistant. My friend, P. R. Hobin, who had been at work in the store of Uncle Johnnie Henderson, was secured as my assistant at a salary of $50 a month. This was a very large salary for that time and place. I found Mr. Hobin a very faithful coadjutor. He was a man of keen intellect and high honor. He was as witty as could be, and although a Roman Catholic in religion, was not a narrow man in his religious or politi cal views. He was one of my first and most faithful patrons when I began my medical practice at Turnersville, and as long as I continued in the practice of medicine there, I looked after him and his family. He died only a year or so before this chronicle was penned, leaving a modest fortune which he accumulated at Turnersville after I left there. It was thus that our affairs went on hopefully and pros perously until the spring of 1882. The engineer of my mill and gin was Watt Barrett, a man of large heart and massive frame. He was one of the truest men with whom it was ever my pleasure to labor. One early spring evening of 1882, I went down to visit Watt Barrett. He was living in the house which we had occupied when we first went to Turnersville — the little two-room home that cost me $3 a month. By this time the rent had been advanced, but Watt received $12 a week, and he was able to pay the rent, and at the same time make a substantial living for his family. We sat on the front steps and discussed matters pertinent to the mill and our other enterprises. He had been greatly impressed by the little monthly paper. Meantime the news had gone forth that the Cotton Belt railroad was slowly mak ing its way from Waco to Gatesville, the county seat. Up to that time, there had never been a line of railway in Coryell County, the nearest railroad station being Crawford in McLennan County. The Santa Fe railroad had been pro jected from Galveston north about 1878, and was completed up that far with passenger trains running even beyond, as BREAKING INTO JOURNALISM 271 early as the spring of 1882. As we sat there discussing all these matters. Watt Barrett said : " Why do you not give up your medical practice, close out your store, your mill and your other interests here, secure a printing outfit, and start a weekly paper at Gatesville ? " This had never before entered my mind. The suggestion was as distinctly epochal in my own life as another incident of like kind had been in the life of Mark Twain. When he was nineteen years of age, he was a cub printer on a Hanni bal, Mo., newspaper. As he was going to the office, a page had blown loose from The Life of Joan of Arc and blew into his face. He read the page, and it changed the course of his life. It is one of the most marvelous incidents ever chronicled. In this smaller sphere and humbler life. Watt Barrett's suggestion was just as revolutionary. It was the seed thought that eventuated in a new career. I had already thought about the project of securing type and a printing outfit, and starting a weekly paper at Turnersville, but was startled into the abandonment of that project by the visit of a remarkable Texas character. Late one evening in December, 1881, two almost frozen horseback travelers drew up at my Turners ville store and came in to thaw out. It was a time of snow, sleet and ice, with the mercury hovering around zero. Tur nersville boasted no hotel, so I invited them to my home. Soon we were all seated around our open fireplace and the men were returning to normality. It was a happy evening for us. Travelers of the brilliancy and intellectual acumen of M. B. Davis did not come our way often. He was en route to Fort Worth to work on The Democrat. After supper we launched out upon the waves of literary discussion, and there was scarcely anything left untouched in the range of familiar literature. Meantime I had told Mr. Davis that I was at that time conducting a monthly journal at Turnersville, and advised him of the plan on which this paper was published. I stated that I had thought I would 272 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE secure a printing outfit, press, type, etc., and enlarge the paper to a weekly. He turned upon me with a suddenness that was startling, and exclaimed : " Avoid it, sir, as you would the grip of the devil ! " This, in the language of the litterateur, gave me pause. (To the Printer: Spell this word p-a-u-s-e, not p-a-w-s.) I was deeply impressed by this stranger's injunction, and upon maturer reflection abandoned the plan entirely. Next morning our stranger friends went on, but I had not seen the last of M. B. Davis. In later years, he was for a long time my neighbor in Waco, at which point he did service on sev eral of the newspapers, and was for many years correspond ent for The Dallas News. He has left the walks of men to try the realities of another world. He was an exceedingly bright man, versatile as a reporter, virile and luminous as a writer, and in personal appearance very much resembled the late Mark Twain. Acting on Watt Barrett's suggestion, plans were inaugu rated for beginning the Gatesville weekly. In May, 1882, I journeyed to Houston to attend the annual meeting of the Texas Press Association. I had never met with the Texas editors, and this trip was a great event. On that visit, I met W. M. Bamberg, a dealer in presses, type and printers' sup plies. He had a second-hand outfit, consisting of a Wash ington hand press, body and job type, and other material. A little later in the month, I gave the order for this material, and had it shipped to Gatesville, via Crawford. In the mean time, I busied myself with the steps necessary to closing out my Turnersville affairs. I sold my flouring mill, closed up the shoe shop, and began to reduce my stock of drygoods and groceries. I did not stand upon the order of the proceeding after my mind had been fully made up. I have not told heretofore that my father had become in terested with me in the store. He always had a notion that he would succeed as a merchant, and when I began the Tur- BREAKING INTO JOURNALISM 273 nersville store, he very soon became so much interested that he proposed to buy a half interest in the business. I gladly sold him the half interest, but he was not financially inter ested in any of my other lines of business. He was mistaken in his mercantile ability, just as I was in mine. He was not born to be a merchant. No more was I. While as a merchant I succeeded in many ways, the traf fic was too small for me. To sell a yard of calico or a ten- cent piece of soap never did appeal to me. I never liked it, and so, while we were not able to entirely close out the stock of goods while still in Turnersville, it was soon closed out, after I reached Gatesville, which was in December fol lowing. My nearest neighbor at Turnersville was Rev. P. S. G. Watson, author of Watson's Prophetic Interpretations. He was then an old man, and a ripe and noble Christian. He and his dear old wife lived in the same yard with us, and it was a joy to have him for a neighbor. His book was then in manuscript. At his request, I read the manuscript, and while it was mystical and non-understandable to me in most of its discussions, I read it for the sake of my love for the dear old man. He had one peculiarity. He could not on any account endure the scent of tobacco or tobacco smoke. If he inhaled tobacco smoke, it almost threw him into con vulsions. For that reason he was counted as a visionary and a crank by the common herd, but it was a congenital affliction, which in its various and sundry manifestations is true of most of us who abominate this narcotic poison. His, however, was more than an aversion. It was a physical in firmity that was irresistible. Across the street from me in Turnersville there lived my boyhood friend, Jim Bellamy, he of the " I-think-a-horse — " speech of the old time Bastrop County debating society. Meantime he had married a second cousin of mine, a Mrs. Waller, and was succeeding well in the Turnersville country. 274 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE He had developed into a magnificent mechanic and machin ist, and was looked up to on all sides by the people of that section of the State. Another neighbor was John Mitchell and his estimable wife. They were among our best friends, and their son, Her bert Mitchell, now a man in the full flood tide of strong ma turity, is still a friend whom we delight to thus esteem. He was then a boy of twelve, and was more than happy when occasion offered to assist me at the store. He was kind- hearted, genial, loyal as a friend, bright and industrious. He has made an excellent man. His dear mother passed on to be with God many years ago, but she left her impress upon the life of this strong and manly son. It was at about this time that I rode on a railroad train for the first time. The incessant rains had rendered all the roads to Waco impassable. I therefore made my way on horseback to Crawford, took the Santa Fe train there, went around by way of Morgan, and down the Texas Central to Waco. I never shall forget the sensations I felt the first time I was really in a railroad passenger coach. XXXVIII ODDS AND ENDS OF THE LIFE AT TURNERSVILLE JULY 4, 1879, was a high day at Turnersville. I was the orator of the occasion. There were thousands of people present. They came from all over Coryell County. Many notables came from Gatesville. It was an event that challenged the interest and attention of the Tur nersville people to a high degree. One of the peculiarities of the Fourth of July celebration was that it rained that day. It was the last rain until after the great drouth. It was not a heavy rain. It would not have rained at all if it had not been for the celebration. It is one of the strangest perversi ties of nature that it rains on picnic and Fourth of July days. This great gala occasion was not an exception. I read the Declaration of Independence, and based my ad dress upon this patriotic American classic. The speech was not much, but the Declaration of Independence was fine. It always has been. It still is. It is like the preacher's text. It never grows old. Those who were kind enough to listen to my remarks complimented me highly upon them, but they were not at all satisfying to the speaker. Among the friends who came from Gatesville was Speight W. Oakes, familiarly known as " Chunk " Oakes. He was one of the editors of The Gatesville Sun. He and his brother owned the publi cation. Another of the friends who came was W. B. Fakes, who lived for years at Gatesville and was a lawyer of no mean note. An incident that occurred in 1880, lingers in my memory. 275 276 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE My friend and fellow laborer. Bob Hobin, journeyed with me on a certain summer day to Waco. We went down to lay in our fall stock of goods. I drove my own horse to my buggy, and we had planned to make the trip of fifty miles within a day. We started early, and reached Crawford at dinner time, where we dined with my old-time friend, Uriah Tadlock. It was the time of harvest. The Tadlocks had just cut their oats. One of the boys took out my horse and fed her on the new oats. The sequel was that after we had driven to within ten miles of Waco, she took violently sick and was dead in an hour. There we were with the buggy, our little baggage, including my medical saddlebags, and our other trappings. We had to get into Waco that night. It was then about six o'clock in the evening, so we started out to make the ten-mile walk to Waco. At the time this chronicle is penned, I am quite a pedes trian, but I was not in those days. Hobin was a good walker. He was much older than I, and had walked around America quite a good deal before he settled down at Turnersville. We fared bravely forth, leaving our belongings with the far mer, and had walked about six miles when the writer hereof began to be somewhat fagged. There was a briliant summer moon. There came along galloping and whistling a care-free young equestrian— a typical Texas boy. I hailed him. I recited our misfortune and told him we were bound to get into Waco that night. I added that I was exceedingly tired and asked if he, out of the kindness of his heart, would walk a while and let me ride his horse. The nerve of it was admir able. Hobin afterward said so. Much to our astonishment and to my gratification, the young man alighted, and I mounted his steed. He did not see the humor of it at first, but as we journeyed on, it dawned upon him. He laughed heartily, and said : " Here are you two men, entire strangers to me — ^burglars and robbers for aught I know — and one of you has talked ODDS AND ENDS 277 me into surrendering to him my horse and walking here beside the other. How do I know what you are going to do to me ?" It was thus that we walked and joked along, but in the meantime, I was achieving the object of my quest — I was riding and resting. After we had gone perhaps two miles, I suggested that it would perhaps be best for him to now take his horse and ride on into town. We were then scarcely a mile from Waco. You wonder why I did not let Hobin ride the horse for one of these miles. I know it has been on your mind ever since I began to tell this incident. The fact is that Hobin did not need to rid<; the horse. He was not in any sense tired, but being an Irishman and full of humor, he en joyed the unique occasion A'ery keenly. I did not move my family to Gatesville at once, but The Gatesville Advance was issued as a weekly publication the first week in June, 1882. Meantime, the printing outfit had been transported by wagon to Gatesville, and opened up in ^^ ^^S ¦ ^^^^bb^^ ^mi&.Jl . |.„ „„|»"^||,|| , J^BpS^^ 'r ^^^H ^^H^P"'' ¦S^[R'^9^9^'|p*®^j^^^H^P^' '* - ^^^^H ^^^^^^."-i IHH^^^^>^- .' -^ .^^^I^B^^L^'s^ ' * ^^^^H ^^^^^p;.- MMBBj^i-fg a- . ¦^^^^B?^' '; ^ ^ j ^^^^^:'i ^^^^^^^w^^^^^^H ^K ^ ¦ H ^^^''¦^k ©^ 1 B k \ .."* ^H ^^ ^ B^^^HHaS^^S^i^nft^'^^JS ^^ ^ L ¦ IB^^gt^^ ^^^^^^^^0Cn^^K<%' ""^ -?^9^BiHfP''S« ^^^^k hi ^^^^^^BI'>'^-/^^^ %.^ ^^^s ^^^^^^^^aHt^- - . {'>S^lk>^ ' '^^" '^5k -km i\>-jj«£^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^l^^^^^fc'^. -^^^HC^tti H^^"^ 1^^ '"^ BJyiftBp^^S'' J 1 Dr. j. T. Harri.\'i;tox, "The LIeeonei^ I'hvsktax." LXXIX SOME DOCTORS I HAVE KNOWN FREQUENTLY in this chronicle the name of Dr. R. H. Chilton has appeared as an oculist to whom I applied for eye treatment when I was almost blind. Later Dr. Chilton formed a partnership with Dr. John O. McRey nolds, and when Dr. Chilton died Dr. McReynolds inherited me as an eye patient. Soon he formed a partnership with Dr. Dero E. Seay, and these good men have been of infinite help to me through the years. I do not exaggerate when I say that more than once Dr. McReynolds has saved me from blindness, and it is no wonder that in thinking of my friends, and of men who have helped me, his name is among those at the head of the list. He is one of the leading oculists of America, and his partner. Dr. Seay, also ranks high. Among other oculists I have known I am thinking of Dr. Sleight of Battle Creek, Michigan, who, when my daughter, Miss Mabel Cranfill, who was visiting there, was threatened with blindness, from granulated lids, saved her eyes, and radically cured them. Among other physician friends I think of Dr. W. D. Jones and Dr. H. B. Decherd, who are also eye specialists, and who are among the most courteous professional gentlemen known to me. Another physician friend of mine, and one whom I most tenderly love, is Dr. J. T. Harrington of Waco. I met him first at Abilene in 1894. While in attendance upon the ses sion of the State Baptist Sunday-school Convention I needed the services of a physician. I went to Dr. Harring- 477 478 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE ton's office and made his acquaintance, and from that time until this good day he and I have been warm friends. He has a genius for friendship, is a man as true as steel, and is one of the most capable physicians I have ever known. He is under contract to come to me at any time I need him, and I am under similar contract to help him in any way that I can, but each would do this for the other without a contract. He is not only a great doctor, but a great Christian, and it is a joy to me to incorporate his name in this chronicle. Farther back in my career I recall the generous friendship of Dr. J. R. Raby of Gatesville, who long since gave up the practice of medicine and got rich. He is now the wealthiest man in Coryell County, and takes a delight in his stock farm. He was exceedingly kind to me when I lived in Gatesville, and I wish for him and his the best of life's blessings. The first days of August, 1903, I left Dallas to seek a vacation in Canada. Instead, however, of going into Can ada I changed my plan when I reached Detroit, and went down to Battle Creek Sanitarium. There for the first time I met Dr. J. H. Kellogg. I had read after him for years, but had never seen him until I went into his private office in Battle Creek. He carefully looked me over, and then said : " Dr. Cranfill, it is about time for you to begin the cultivation of health." I did. I stayed at the Sanitarium three weeks, and must testify that those three weeks revo lutionized my physical life. Since that time I have visited Battle Creek an average of once a year, not because I was sick, but because I desired to keep well. Dr. J. H. Kellogg is the greatest physician in the world, and the Battle Creek Sanitarium is the greatest health institution on the globe. No man of his generation has done so much for humanity in the matter of health, efficiency and longevity, as has Dr. Kellogg. There are doctors and doctors. Some doctors are homeo path, and that is true of my friend. Dr. F. S. Davis of Dal- B.VTTLE Creek .SwiTAkiuNr. B.mtle Creek, Mktiigan. Dr. John H. Kellogg. Surerixtenlvext Battle i/reek Sanitakium. SOME DOCTORS I HAVE KNOWN 479 las. I do not believe at all in the little pills my homeopathic doctor friends administer, but once, after having suffered a severe accident, I placed myself in the hands of Dr. Davis for surgical attention, and he was kindness, graciousness, and helpfulness combined. Speaking of surgeons, I could not close this chronicle without reference to Dr. W. W. Samuell, of Dallas. He is one of the greatest surgeons in the world, and certainly one of the kindest-hearted men. Upon many occasions when I have requested kindnesses for those in need of his assist ance he has cheerfully responded. I do not suppose he keeps an account of his charity practice, but no doubt his charity practice is quite as much, if not more, than his pay practice. Dr. W. F. Cole, of Waco, was very kind to my dear father, giving him new vision in his last days. And there are multitudes of other physicians to whom I am deeply indebted for kindnesses — Drs. R. W. Baird, A. I. Folsom, G. C Kindley, G. M. Hackler, C. M. Rosser, of Dallas ; Drs. C. E. Stewart and A. J. Read, of Battle Creek, Mich., and a host of others. I wish I could give all their names. LXXX THE DEATH OF MY FATHER MY father died in November, 1903, while the Baptist General Convention was in session at Dallas. He spent his last days in Waco with my sister, Mrs. A. J. Williams. When I was a child my father suffered from an acute attack of illness. He was desperately sick for many weeks, but being of a very strong constitution, he regained his health. However, he believed that he was never quite so strong thereafter. When his last sickness came the loved ones at Waco did not think it serious, and therefore I was not immediately called to his bedside. He knew that I was busy in the Baptist work here at Dallas, and being al ways very considerate and thoughtful, he urged my sister not to send for me. It was for this reason that I failed to reach my sister's home until after he had died. My brother. Dr. T. E. Cranfill, was with him when his last hours came, and ministered to him as best he could. He met death bravely, as I always knew he would. Rev. W. A. McKin ney, at that time pastor of the Clay Street Baptist Church in Waco, did my dear father many kindnesses, which all the family will always gratefully remember. He prayed with my dear father, read to him out of God's Word, and con soled him with Christ's promises as recorded in the Bible. After my father's death I wrote an article for The Bap tist Standard of which I was then editor, and it has been preserved in my book, Cranfill's Heart Talks, in which vol ume it appears on page 153. I refer the reader to that arti- 480 Mrs. Lillian (Cranfill) Lindsey. THE DEATH OF MY FATHER 481 cle, which contains my estimate of my father, and was the tenderest tribute to him I knew how to put in words. After the death of my mother, my father married the second time, to which union there were bom two daughters, Lillian and Josephine. When my father died these chil dren were quite young, and it was my duty and my joy to take his place in their young lives as best I could. I as sisted each of them to achieve a good education. They both graduated in the high school, and each had a year in college. Lillian became a teacher. She taught for one year at the school at the Buckner Orphans' Home, and after that at Greenville. While filling the latter position she married Martin Lindsey, and now lives at Safford, Arizona. Josephine married a Mr. Richardson at Gatesville, where they now live. My oldest sister, Amanda, married W. B. Williams, a true and noble man, and my next oldest married a Mr. Snead, but she is now a widow. My brother. Dr. T. E. Cranfill, married Miss Annie Cooper. LXXXI AS A CHURCH MEMBER WHATEVER of strength or ability my life has held has been given to the Baptist cause. I have never joined any lodge, nor have I affiliated with any or ganization, fraternal or otherwise, except the church. I have, of course, joined some civic bodies, such as The Authors' League of America, The American Sociological Society, The Chamber of Commerce, The Art League, and the like of that, simply to help these worthy organizations, but my time and heart and life have been interwoven with the life of that Baptist church in which I have held membership in each town where I have lived. I have not only given to the church all of my life and time, but I have given it as liberally as I could of my means. Even before I joined the Missionary Baptists I began mak ing gifts to Christian enterprises. The first gift I ever made was to Waco University. That was when I was not yet 19 years old. After I joined the Missionary Baptist Church at Gatesville I promptly attended the meeting of the Leon River Association. I had but $5 in the world. A collec tion was taken up to send Rev. Sumner Edwards to the Louisville Seminary. I gave my $5. My father, who was present, knew how penniless I was, and thought I should not have given this money, but I never regretted having done so. I recall that upon one occasion after I had moved to Waco I attended a fifth Sunday meeting of the Waco As sociation at Reagan. When a collection was taken I gave 482 Mrs. Josephixe (Cranfill) Richardson, and Child. AS A CHURCH MEMBER 483 literally every cent I had, leaving myself not a penny to get home on. I did not think of my penniless condition until after the collection had closed, but was not disturbed thereby. As I emerged from the crowd a man looked up into my face, and asked : " Is not this Dr. Cranfill ? " I said I was, whereupon he handed me a $io bill with the remark that he owed me five years' subscription to The Gatesville Advance, and had left Coryell County without paying it. I have never since doubted that God would make up to any Christian for any sacrifices that Christian made for Him. The Hayden litigation cost me no less than $25,000, which in a large measure I have always thought of as a contribu tion to Christ's cause, for the reason that our resistance and defeat of his suits helped to save the organized Baptist work of Texas, and to bring in the era of great things among our people. When the Baptist Sanitarium was projected — and Dr. Buckner and I were the two first men to suggest its projec tion — I gave $2,000 in cash to the building, and this contri bution is doing work there today for the glory of God. I have given into the thousands in one way or another to Baylor University, to the Southwestern Theological Sem inary, and to the Texas Baptist Education Commission. When Dr. B. H. Carroll was secretary of this Commission a great collection was taken up for the work when the Bap tist State Convention met at Fort Worth. I gave in that collection $1,200, and because this dear friend's name was personally signed to the receipt for this money I have kept it through all the years, and present it here : 484 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE AS A CHURCH MEMBER 485 I have never been too poor ; I have never been too much dispirited ; I have never been too far down in the ranks of our brotherhood, nor too high up (if there be a high-up place), to give as best I could to Christ's great cause. How I rejoice in the thought of what I have thus been enabled to do ! And how I regret that it has not been more ! It is not large, as men count greatness, but many times I have given down to blood, and ofttimes have rejoiced in my abil ity to borrow money to give to the Baptist cause. I have never taken much stock in the tithing plan. When I see a Christian looking for the little tin cup that contains his tithe money, I know there's not much help from him. No man will ever soar to great heights in Christian benefi cence who is apron-stringed to a fast and loose set of tith ing or other rules. I believe in whole-hearted, cheerful, self- sacrificing, spontaneous giving. If I had waited to get out of debt or have money ahead there would have been no Bap tist Standard, no Carroll's Sermons and no Carroll's Inter pretation of the English Bible. Christians should give out of their deficits as well as their surplus. And all they get are three meals a day, some clothing and a place to sleep, anyway. I have always joyfully followed our leaders in local and general religious work. I have no patience with the man who is always in the objective case. I have never originated or been a party to a disturbance of any kind in the local church where I have held member ship. Anything in religion is easier to bear than a church fuss. I have no unkind word for those beloved brethren who have aligned themselves with various and sundry lodges and organizations. Somehow I am not at ease when I see an Elk or Shrine pin on a Baptist preacher, or a cigar in his mouth. I wish that all of our brethren, laymen and preachers alike, would emerge from the thralldom of all the lodges, however 486 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE worthy, and give everything that is in them to Christ's cause as represented by Christ's church. Really, I wonder how our beloved brethren can find time for their lodge work. I am sure that many of them who put out their hundreds of dollars for lodge degrees and dues, make wry faces when they are called upon to give liberally of their means to Christ's church, which is the one organization in the world for lifting up humanity and bringing it to God. LXXXII GEO. W. TRUETT'S CALL TO DALLAS MY connection with the call of Rev. George W. Truett to the pastorate of the First Baptist Church of Dallas was on this wise : When Rev. C. L. Sea- sholes resigned the care of this great church in 1897, I was editor of The Baptist Standard, and was often in Dallas. One of my dearest Dallas friends was Col. W. L. Williams, senior deacon of the First Baptist Church. He asked me to suggest the name of a pastor for the great Dallas church, and I promptly gave him the name of Rev. George W. Truett, pastor of the East Waco Church. He had recently graduated with high honors at Baylor University ; had mar ried Miss Josephine Jenkins, daughter of Judge W. H. Jen kins of Waco, and had even then achieved more than state wide prominence. Among my esteemed Dallas friends were Waid Hill and his noble wife, Mrs. Margaret A. Hill, together with their daughter, Mrs. Dr. F. S. Davis. These were promi nent members of the First Baptist Church, and to them I communicated the suggestion I had made to Col. Williams. Later, this church called Rev. George W. Truett, and he came to Dallas in September, 1897, preceding me by four months. However, when he accepted the Dallas pastorate I had no sort of idea of coming to Dallas then or at any future time. My coming, which I regard as providential, followed the acquirement on the part of Col. C. C. Slaughter of a half interest in The Baptist Standard. 487 LXXXIII WORKING FOR PROHIBITION I ACTIVELY entered upon the work for temperance and prohibition in 1883 before I was 25 years old. I have been in it ever since. WTien I began to advocate prohi bition for the county and the state, Maine was the only pro hibition state in the union. The next year Kansas swung into line, and the great-hearted governor of Kansas, Hon. John P. St. John, was nominated by the National Prohibition party for president. He polled more than 150,000 votes, and on account of the defection of New York state Repub licans to the Prohibition party, Grover Cleveland was elected by the Democrats to the presidency. The Democrats are as much indebted to John P. St. John for Grover Cleveland as they are to Theodore Roosevelt for Woodrow Wilson. After the lapse of ^2 years, there are nineteen states now under statutory and constitutional prohibition, and vast areas of other states are under local prohibitory laws. Not only is this true of the L^nited States, but whole vast coun tries of the old world have adopted prohibition as a policy, as witness Russia. I aligned myself with the National Pro hibition party in 1886. Six years after I began to espouse the temperance and prohibition cause, I was greatly honored by the Prohibition party, as has been outlined in preceding pages, but on account of the selfishness and combativeness of some of its leaders, the party found itself a few years ago in dire straits in many ways. I have never lost confi dence in the ultimate success of the prohibition movement. I joined the Prohibition party because I thought at the time 488 WORKING FOR PROHIBITION 489 it held out the greatest hope and prospect for the ultimate success of the movement. For years I was a member of the National Committee, and until 1912 a member of the Execu tive Committee of the National Committee. The Prohibition party has produced many great men, and has had many wonderfully patriotic and capable leaders. I think I have never known a greater man than John B. Finch, who was chairman of the National Prohibition party the year that I became a member of it. Other strong leaders followed, notably Samuel W. Dickie, of Michigan. It is too long a story to incorporate in this recital, but the party came to be dominated by an element, that as I saw it, and still see it, did not have the best interests of the cause at heart. Efforts are being made to rejuvenate and rehabilitate the party, and this may occur this year at the Minneapolis con vention. One thing is to be said about the National Prohibition party, and that is that it has accomplished great good. To it we must give distinct credit for the remarkable advance shown in the prohibition movement. Very largely the Anti- Saloon League organization of the country has absorbed the activities of the National Prohibition party, but not wholly so. My attitude on the temperance and prohibition question has been that I was a friend to every movement, and every man that looked to the annihilation of the drink traffic. I have fought for prohibition in precinct, county, state and nation, and am still fighting for it. I have stood for every organization from the old United Friends of Temperance, The Independent Order of Good Templars, and The Na tional Prohibition party to the Anti-Saloon League. At the present time it seems as though the Democratic party of Texas would actively take up this issue, and it is altogether possible that when the next National Democratic Convention assembles four years hence, the prohibition issue will then 490 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE ha\ e become the leading issue in that political organization. However that may be, I think it safe to say that a large majority of the Democrats of the South are for the prohi bition of the liquor traffic. In fighting the liquor traffic I have learned what it means to combat the most gigantic and soul-less corrupting agency this land has ever known. A large percentage of the men who travel over Texas and other states opposing prohibi tion are in the pay of the saloonkeepers, distillers and brew ers. Many politicians and lawyers are retained by this in terest all the time, and in addition to the corruption money they receive as their regular retainers, they are paid extra amounts for extra service. This is also true of multitudes of editors throughout the country. In many instances the press has been subsidized by the liquor interest, and whenever any editor howls for personal liberty, and against the prohibition of the liquor traffic, the chances are very great that he is hciwling for so much a line. I have no apology to make for the ser\ace I have rendered as an advocate of temperance and prohibition. I only regret that I have not been able to do more in this great cause. That the prohibition of the liquor traffic is certain to be an accomplished fact in the United States is beyond the shadow of a doubt. We will have National prohibition within the next few years There will come a time when there will not be a saloon in any city, county or state of our great land. One of the joys of my life is that I have never at any time under any circumstances or conditions, failed to respond to a call to write for, speak for, work for, or contribute to any an 1 all efforts for the overthrow of this gigantic curse. R. W. Sears LXXXIV R. W. SEARS APRIL 30, 1907, when I was on an Iron Mountain train bound for Chicago, I went into the dining car at noon, and when seated found myself touching elbows with a very intelligent and amiable man. He had preceded me, and having finished his meal first, I was about to arise to give him egress, whereupon he said he would wait until I was through. It was thus that our desultory conversation continued with increasing interest, and when I had finished my luncheon he invited me to join him in the drawing room. The man was R. W. Sears, founder, and at that time president of the Sears-Roebuck Company, of Chicago. We talked all the way to St. Louis, and there our roads diverged, but we did not separate until I had accepted an invitation to visit him in his home sometime soon thereafter. I was on my way to Chicago to begin work as joint editor of The Associated Prohibition Press, and later I did go to the home of R. W. Sears, spent several days with him and his family, and the acquaintance which began on the dining car ripened into a friendship that strengthened with the passing years. I have never known of a more emphatic illustration of the value of courtesy and kindness than I found in the begin nings of this acquaintance with one of the noblest men I ever knew. The little courteous attentions I showed this stranger impressed him deeply, and led to a friendship and a business connection that was among the happiest of my life. 491 492 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE After having learned to know Mrs. Anna L. Sears, his charming wife, and all of his children — Sylva, a young girl in her teens; Warren, the older son; Serena, the younger daughter, and Wesley, the baby boy — and having lingered more than once in this hospitable home, I feel moved to testify that I have never known a happier home, and have never at any time met kinder or more considerate friends. R. W. Sears was an ideal business man. Beginning life out in Minnesota as a telegraph operator, his career ended September 28, 1914, at which time he died one of the wealthiest men in the Northwest, and left a heritage to his section and his country of one of the best organized and most thoroughly systematized enterprises I have ever known. His career as a business man was unique. His father was a poor man, and often moved from one place to anotner, the result being that young Richard found it necessary to assist in winning bread for the family. At 14 he began the study of telegraphy, and at 16 was a station agent and operator in a little Minnesota town. While filling this position a mail order catalogue fell into his hands which advertised silver watches at bargain prices. He bought one for $12. It was so satisfactory that he sent out a dozen letters to other agents along the line calling their attention to this watch, which he agreed to furnish them at $16 each. Ten of them bought the watches, and he thus cleaned up a profit of $40. He then sent out 500 circular letters to other railroad agents in Minnesota, and sold 200 watches, clearing a profit of $800. With the consent of his superiors he started a coal and wood business, and made money out of that. A little later he re signed his position with the railway company, went down to Minneapolis and established a modest mail order house, which finally grew into the mammoth concern now known as the Sears-Roebuck Company. He told me of the first five millions of dollars that came to him. It was from the incorporation of the Sears-Roe- R. W. SEARS 493 buck Company, and the sale of ten millions of dollars worth of first mortgage 7 per cent bonds. He went to New York and sold these bonds, giving five millions of dollars to his partner, and taking five millions for himself. In addition to this ten millions of bonds they issued twenty-five millions of dollars in common stock, which, while at that time was of little value, is now worth $1.54. I have given these simple incidents in the life of this won derfully great business man, as an illustration of what a poor American boy may do. R. W. Sears was a man of sterling honesty, and pos sessed of the biggest brain of any friend I ever had. Withal a noble heart beat in his bosom, and his ear was open to every worthy cause. When I returned from Chicago in October, 1907, I soon thereafter began making loans in Dallas for Mr. Sears, and still represent his estate in this city. I loaned several hun dred thousand dollars for him, to our mutual profit, and I have never had business relations with any man that were more pleasant than my connection with him. September 28, 1914, this beloved friend suddenly died. He left an estate running into many millions, and a record for sagacity, uprightness in business, big-heartedness and big-mindedness unexcelled in the commercial life of our nation. His widow, Mrs. Anna L. Sears, at once took up the man agement of this vast estate, and is handling it with remark able ability. LXXXV SOME CLOSING WORDS IN writing these last words of this chronicle, which I trust has held for the reader more than a passing in terest, I make a confession, and register a conviction. The foregoing pages have detailed my life as I have lived it, which has been fragmentary at its best, and which if I could re-cast it now and begin anew at the point where I emerged from the baptismal waters at Hurst Spring in 1876, it would be a very different life. If I could traverse life's way again I would have naught to do with mere tem poralities or materialities. Beginning in those youthtime years I would fashion everything I did so that it would contribute to the one great life work of preaching the gospel. Let no young minister take consolation to his heart for the secularities of his life, because in this faithful record of my own life I have told the truth about myself. A man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he pos- sesseth. Nor does it consist in the multitudes of the mate rial things which he accomplishes. In saying this I mean no reflection upon those business men whose lives have been immersed in commercial under takings. They are slaves to their business and their money, and revel in the accumulation of wealth and property, just as a hunter glories in the chase. None of that has ever appealed to me, and my connection with money-making has been an incident, and one in which I took and take no pride. Life's day is a short little day at best. I wish mine had been better lived. I wish I had done more good. My life's 494 SOME CLOSING WORDS 495 motto has been to " Be kinder to everybody than anybody can be to me, and do it first." I have sought to help the weak, to lift up the fallen, to minister to the sick and suffer ing, to comfort the bereaved, to lend a hand of help and cheer to the man out and down and helpless. Plow well I have succeeded I leave those who know me best to say, but I have tried, even with my life checkered as its days have been, to help every man I could, to do all the good I could, to cheer all the sad I could, and to smile my way along, re gardless of whether my own heart was heavy, or my own life's skies spanned by radiant bows of promise. Looking back upon my life as I have lived it, I feel that every hour of my time spent in any line of business, save that of religion, philanthropy and literature, has been a wasted hour, and one for which I shall at life's end give a strict account to God. I have made money, but I never cared for money. In business I did always in a business way want what was mine, reserving to myself the right to do with mine as I thought best, but the ability to make money is a low and groveling talent at its best. To me all mere business, whether successful or not, has been dull and prosaic. If these words shall come to any young man who looks out upon life's untrod paths with hungry eye, longing for a career that will most honor his country and his God, I be seech him to follow the light with which God's Spirit lights his life. Let him close his ears to every temptation to be di verted from the great main point of life — that of bringing men to righteous ways and into right relations with their Saviour. In the preceding pages I have been true to the facts of history, but naught has been set down in malice. I have no unforgiven enemy in all the world. Some have harmed me much, and others have wished me harm, but they who yet survive will, as I, soon meet the Judge of all the earth, 496 DR. J. B. CRANFILL'S CHRONICLE who doeth right. To Him I leave their case as well as mine, and as I pray for mercy for myself, I pray for them. And now my words are done. I am not yet old, but life's sun is dipping toward the westering hills. I have reached and passed life's noon, and face the swift-coming of the twi light hours. With deep contrition I sorrow now for every sin that has marred my own or any other life ; I grieve for every unkind word that I have ever said ; I deplore the loss of every wasted hour ; I am sad that my life has not been lived more nobly and with greater usefulness. When Helen Hunt Jackson was within a few short hours of life's end she wrote the lines that follow, and they so truly repre sent my own heart that I leave them with the reader as my closing word : Father, I scarcely dare to pray. So clear I see, now it is done, That I have wasted half my day. And left my work but just begun. So clear I see that things I thought Were right and harmless were a sin; So clear I see that I have sought Unconscious, selfish aims to win; So clear I see that I have hurt The souls I might have helped to save ; That I have slothful been, inert. Deaf to the calls thy leaders gave. In outskirts of thy kingdom vast, Father, the humblest spot give me; Set me the lowliest task thou hast; Let me repentant work for thee 1 YALE UNIVERSITY a39002 J,.' '-Mt. ,^, v--^ '-v^"-^ ^, • f3. -. . ' j^ =>-•*-. .".j|f<^ «4aig, I ,y , ^::.^-5 -,7..-, >^4~ X?- -.-.«-> ^ - " :i ' * '. -^»t f ' 3"^ ^i 'i%i' s4'S. ^ ' i:-i #,'^-'-j -, •; * « , 3* r^'*^"*