Families - Mecum
Charles Burt Mecum of the Jayhawkers
This
interesting personal and historical account was written in 1931 by the son
of one of the most notable of the "Jayhawkers" from Galesburg, Illinois,
Charles B. MECUM, who made the fateful trek across the Great American Desert
to reach California "gold country". The "Jayhawkers" began their journey
April 5, 1849 - two years after the fateful Donner Party expedition. This
account was found in the trunk of heirlooms passed on from Grace MECUM
Horton to her daughter June and inherited by her daughter Janis Carmichael
Davies. Jan Davies has graciously retyped this account and it is being
distributed to interested parties and family members for genealogical
purposes by cousin Gwen MECUM Hunt. Our lineage to Charles Bert MECUM has
yet to be established. This article is Copyright protected. October 1, 2000.
CHARLES BERT MECUM
By his son, Edwin W. Mecum
For several years I have desired to have a sketch of my father's life, but hesitated, as I do now, feeling I could not do justice to it. However, it is better to write something than nothing. Much can and should be said. To many my father was an ordinary man. To me he was an extraordinary man. To many he was a common farmer. To me he was much more.
Over twenty-five years have passed since in affectionate embrace we stood, with hearts too full for utterance, that one silent moment which both felt would be our last meeting on earth. It was. I felt called to the missionary fields of Northwestern Wyoming where in a district nearly one hundred miles long and thirty miles wide there was no missionary. In sacrificial love he had told me to go,- that God would take care of him, and I think he felt grateful that he had a son to give to that needy field. He was about eighty-two years of age and feeble. Years before he had expressed the hope that I would be with him when he walked thru the shadows, and that I would conduct the final service as, he said, "You know me best." This I had intended to do. God willed otherwise. Far better,- according to promise, the Lord was with him with peace and grace to comfort him.
A flood of memories fill my heart, and I will write regarding my father's long and useful life: My father, Charles Bert Mecum, was born at West Suffield, Conn., August 25, 1822,- over 109 years ago- (Now Sept. 2, 1931). He was one of nine children. His parents were poor, but were vigorous and worthy. It was needful that each child learn to work. The father, James Tear Mecum, was of Scotch-Irish descent, while the mother had French blood in her veins. My Grandfather was exceedingly strong and measured 44 inches around the chest. Grandmother was wonderfully well versed in the Bible. Father said if you mentioned almost any verse she would go on and complete it from memory.
It is not to be presumed that the children in the home were little angels. Judging from early memories echoed by my father, they needed watching! I am very sure they received some fine and lasting instruction which has been handed down to us and to our children. What I know about the early life of this home I heard from my fathers lips. He said their education was limited to the three Rs: "Readin', Ritin', & Rithmetic." At school the children went barefoot. On Sunday, if- or when they went to church- (which I judge was worship at the country school-house), the boys would go barefoot to the surrounding fence. There they would sit down, put on their shoes, and go to church. Then when service was over, and they got to the fence, the shoes would come off again! I judge they did not always go to church for father mentioned one occasion when he and several of his brothers grew hungry while at play. They felt sure no chickens had laid their heads on the block preparatory for the Sunday dinner. In order to assist their parents they caught several "good ripe ones" and fastened their necks between some rails of the stake-and-rider fence. These "accidental catches" were waiting for the parents on their return.
School days were strenuous days. Most teachers believed in the "No lickin' - no learnin'" rule, and seldom spared the rod. They had almost absolute authority. Father said that for some trivial little thing the teacher, who was a strong man, beat him so that he was in bed for two weeks. Another boy died from the effects of a beating,- and the teacher went free.
Evidently as soon as the Mecum boys got big enough to work they had to assist themselves and their parents. Father took care of a Doctor's office, or lawyer's office, while going to school. He would sweep and dust and put everything in order. Frequently he would find coins and change on a shelf, or on the floor, dropped there accidentally, or purposely. His home training made him scrupulous in saving and presenting to his employer everything he found. In doing this he had his employer's fullest confidence, as well as a clear conscience.
Father said his father was a fine singer. It was in the days, too, when people learned songs by heart. Now only a few can sing "Old Hundred" without their faces in a book. Grandfather accepted the challenge of a prominent singer. They were to alternate and sing songs from memory,- the songs they knew. Near the close of the day, the opponent's repertoire was exhausted, while grandfather went on and sang quite a number more.
Father was a country boy. He said it was proverbial that when a country boy went to town, the town boys would initiate him by giving him a good lickin'. A bunch of them took after father and he dodged into a store. Fortunately the store-keeper demanded fair play, or "one at a time." Father was able to "wipe the ground with the ring leader" and one or two others, and soon he became one of the "reg'lar fellers."
At a later period, probably while the boys were at home, Grandfather and family moved to Genesee, New York. Possibly other relatives were there, as I have heard that in later years there were Mecums in Nunda (?or Munda?), New York. I do not know why the family moved there, nor how long they remained. Evidently when the boys grew up they went West. Uncle Robert Mecum, father's oldest brother, went to Galesburg, Illinois, in the early 40's. I remember well of my father saying when he came thru Chicago it was only a small place. He went to Galesburg long before there was a railroad there. They were pioneers. Luther A. Richards and Henry Richards (my mother's brothers) were also early Galesburg settlers. They came from near where father was born. Father's brothers Jack and Henry visited him here in the 50's. Later Jack settled at Richland Center, Wisconsin, and Henry settled at Ashtabula, Ohio. Isaac (Ike) Mecum went to Bandon, Coos County, Oregon, where he taught school and reared his family. Henry seems to have worked for the railroad. The others were farmers.
I have not learned just how long father lived at Galesburg,- or just when he arrived,- or with whom he came. The country was new. Prairie and Timber-land constituted the surrounding country. Land was cheap. Evidently there was considerable wood for father and others chopped wood and split rails "down on the old hockin' quarter." Father was an expert with an axe, a scythe, or a cradle. He was six feet tall, he weighed 185 pounds, and was quick and active. Few could cut down a tree as quickly as he, and he could make it fall where he wished. The scythe and the sickle left an evenly cut swath. He could "cradle and bind" with the best of his day.
In those pioneer days, everyone knew everyone else in and around Galesburg. Strong friendships and fellowships were formed that lasted for lifetime. Father was between 27 and 28 years of age when news of the discovery of gold in California reached Galesburg and it thrilled the hearts of many ambitious young men in the vicinity. Thirty-six of the representative young men of Galesburg and the surrounding country decided they would go West. All thru the winter they had talked of and prepared for the trip. There was not a weakling among them. An improvised initiation was arranged, and those who "flinched" or could not meet the test, were left behind. Two thousand miles of uncharted territory leading across the trackless,- Great American Desert, challenged the heroic hearts and tested the stamina of these picked young men. They provided themselves with covered wagons and well selected and sufficient oxen, and took abundant supplies. The whole community was greatly interested for these were beloved sons about to cross the continent afoot.
On April 5, 1849, the wagons swung into line. Farewells were said. Captain Asa Haynes gave the signal, and one of the great historical undertakings of the West began. Soon they reached and crosses (crossed) the Mississippi River. Before them stretched over three hundred miles of prairie land in Iowa. Wild game was abundant. There were no roads. Residents were extremely few and very far apart. Ponds and sloughs in the Spring of the year added some difficulties. These, however, were overcome by mutual cooperation, and no very difficult experience was felt till they reached the Missouri River. A small Ferry was used for the wagons, but the oxen were supposed to swim across. They had not been consulted about it, and they objected strenuously. They didn't like the muddy water nor the distant short (shore). Iowa prairies were good enough for them. When they were supposed to swim North, their heads were invariably on the South end. What they thought, and what the drivers said, has never been recorded, and Missouri mud soon buried it. Finally one or two of the oxen were tied to the Ferry,- others followed, and eventually all reached the other side. Omaha was just beyond.
Omaha was a small Indian village. It and Kansas City and Independence, Mo. were recruiting places for the West, for other sections of the country had also gotten the Gold Fever. Each party had a name and a leader. The Galesburg Boys dubbed themselves by the name of "Jayhawkers" but had no connection with the residents of Kansas. This Party replenished their supplies, especially of bacon and ammunition, then headed for the Great West along the North Platte River. There was a fairly well defined road or course thru Nebraska,- the Northeastern part of Colorado and up thru Wyoming. The Oregon Trail had already been blazed. Other parties were also journeying Westward. From Omaha they traveled One Thousand Miles without seeing a house. Buffaloes in herds of many thousands were seen. Sometimes they "Stampeded". On several occasions the Wagon Train had to be separated to permit an on-coming herd to pass through.
One day father and another Jayhawker concluded they would have some Buffalo meat. In hunting they reached a hill. Just beyond in a Basin a quarter of a mile across were several hundred buffaloes. The men decided that one would skirt around the hill to the other side of the basin, then after picking out as a mark a young buffalo, a signal would be given, and both men from opposite directions would shoot. My father laid in waiting. He saw no signal, but he heard a shot. Then he beheld his first "Moving Picture." The Buffaloes sprang to their feet. The calves and yearlings seemed to take the center, surrounded by the cows, then the Bull Buffaloes led in the stampede. It was wonderfully interesting and exciting, especially as they ran in the opposite direction from where the shot was heard. Father was right in the path of the course they took. He did some quick thinking and some quicker running, when he decided the safest and shortest distance. Who wouldn't run from 400 wild buffaloes? They gained rapidly. He yelled, threw his gun and,- well, they swerved just enough to miss him. No buffalo meat that day, but each man accused the other of being over-excited!
Occasionally there was trouble with Indians. Some were friendly while others were hostile. One day Father took a short cut thru the woods and was a half mile or more away from the wagon train. Suddenly fourteen Indians rose from the surrounding brush and came slowly toward him. They were armed with bows and arrows. With a few words and signs they tried to engage in conversation. It was a life or death matter with father for he had heard that the Train ahead had lost one or two men,- killed by the Indians in the district. He backed against a tree as they came closer. He had a bowie-knife and a revolver which they wished to see. One made a grab for the knife in his belt, and father knocked him sprawling. Then taking his revolver in one hand and the bowie-knife in the other he made plain to them that if they came any nearer, or raised a bow, he would shoot to kill. If he had to die, he was determined he would get three or four of them first. Evidently they feared as much. Probably they thought there was more to lose then to gain. They talked among themselves, then gradually they scattered, slowly picking up nuts and getting farther away. Father acted, or tried to act, unconcerned. He left the tree and picket (picked) up nuts. But when the Indians got over the hill, out of sight, he turned his toes in the opposite direction and made the fastest run of his life. He wasn't hunting for Indians, and didn't try to bring any back with him!
When in Western Wyoming, the Jayhawkers branched off from the Oregon Trail and went down to Salt Lake City. They were met by several Mormons who questioned where they came from, and especially if any had come from Nauvoc (?), Illinois, where the Mormons had been ejected. When they learned that the Jayhawkers were from Galesburg, and some of them had letters of introduction to the Mormons, they were welcomed cordially.
Here the Jayhawkers remained about six weeks, letting their cattle rest, replenishing the supplies, and especially determining the next course to pursue. The "Donner Party" two years before had suffered such terrible hardships and losses in taking a Northern route, entering a "Box-canyon", and being overtaken by fearful storms and snow drifts, and many of them perished. Finally the Jayhawkers and six or seven other Companies,- altogether about 500 men, women and children, with 107 covered wagons, hired Captain Hunt, an ex-soldier, and a Mormon, to pilot them to Southern California for Ten Dollars per wagon. They started on their journey slowly wending their way over what is known as the Old Arrow-head and Santa Fe Trails. Several weeks passed. They were getting deeper and deeper into the Great American Desert. There was no road or trail. Occasionally they would see a broken down wagon, and near by they would find the bones of oxen and of men. A little discontent arose,- a little lack of faith, and a little questioning and complaining. Finally a Map was produced purporting to have come from Salt Lake City, and showing a much shorter route due West with Camp Sites and Springs or Wells only fifteen miles apart. This route toward a big Mountain and a Lake (possibly Mt. Whitney and Owens Lake), it was said, would cut off 300 or 400 miles. Most of the people decided to take this course, greatly against the advice of Captain Hunt. Each Group with its leader started West. Only one wagon remained with Capt. Hunt.
After going a day or two, the Jayhawkers came to a precipice. It was alarming. Some thought of turning back to join Capt. Hunt. Others were determined to press on. All held together. At this point a lone wagon appeared, containing Rev. & Mrs. J. W. Brier and their three little boys aged six, eight and ten years. They wished to join the Jayhawkers. The letter did not encourage them, for they knew that even strong men were taking great risks,- but they could not, and did not refuse them. From this point on, they were associated with the Jayhawkers. Soon, some of them found a place of incline where with ropes and chains the wagons and oxen could be lowered to the floor of the valley below. This afterward became known to them,- or rather they named it "Death Valley." They were fifty-two days from this point before they were rescued near Castaic Junction, California, on Feb. 4th, 1850. Evidently they were at some point in the Great American Desert, as early Geographics named it,- somewhere East of Beatty, Nevada. Death Valley, as we know it today, is little more than ten miles across. But to them this and Panamint and the Mojave were all a part of Death Valley. It is believed they came thru Emigrant Pass, down the Panamint and the Mojave.
Daily the oxen grew poorer and weaker with poor food and scarce water, having only greasewood and sagebrush to eat. In a few days they could no longer haul the heavy wagons over the boggy and trackless desert. The wagons were cut in two, and the front gears loaded with the more important things. Later even the "front gears" were too heavy for the weak oxen to haul. The wagons were left behind, or were burned to cook "jerked beef" for the rest of the journey. The oxen were then loaded with the most essential packs, and the journey continued. There were no springs, or camp sites, or wells, or trails. This was the first party ever to pass thru Death Valley. When an ox fell and could go no farther, they would kill it and take the emaciated flesh,- hide and hoofs, for food. The men had to walk. Frequently they would lie down, discouraged, weak, without hope, unable to go farther. Then in the cool of the evening they would straggle into camp. On one such occasion, John Colton fell. Father came along with a poor old steer. He spoke to John who said he had laid down to die,- that he could go no farther. Father got him up and astride of the steer, and soon they were in camp. Mr. Colton never forgot this, and he and my father were like brothers throughout their long lives.
Finally the last ox fell and was killed. I (A) counsel meeting was held. They threw away their guns and jack-knives, and almost everything of weight. One man had several hundred dollars in coin which he offered to anyone who would carry it through on the halves. None would take it. All were weak and discouraged. He lifted up a small boulder and placed the money beneath it,- expecting sometime to return and get it, but he never dit (did), and the sands of Death Valley have doubtless covered it. The members of the party limited themselves to "A biscuit a day",- took only what was necessary to save life, and again they trudged on their weary way.
About his time, my father fell by the wayside. Normally he was large, active and strong, but his strength had been consumed. He could go no farther. "Uncle Lute", the Little Deacon, as he was called- (Luther A. Richards,- my mother's brother) - saw father, who had laid down to die. He jollied father up, gave him his own biscuit, and succeeded in getting him into the camp. That is why I am here,- and it is, no doubt, why four years later he chose the Little Deacon's sister to be his wife, and my mother! There were other instances of this kind, Capt. Asa Haynes fell, and was later assisted to camp. Edwin Doty was chosen Captain of the party, as Capt. Haynes was too weak to serve. Mr. Doty had a light little rifle,- the only one carried clear through, and Capt. Asa Haynes had a little Diary he wrote and carried clear through.
Two whole days and nights passed without a drop of water. Mrs. Brier's little boys would cling to her and cry from thirst. Evidently she spent much of the night in prayer. In the morning she came with cheerful word to the Jayhawkers: "Cheer up, Boys, it is always darkest just before day!" It was hard to believe. Another half day they staggered on. At noon they stopped by a boulder for a little while. Two could go no farther. They begged their comrades to carry them. It was pitiful as it was impossible. The comrades promised if they found water, they would return and get them. Then they pressed on with tongues dry and swollen. Three of the Jayhawkers were sent in different directions to seek water as they trudged on. Later, two returned, finding none. About four o'clock of the third day, the third scout,- the Little Deacon, waved his hat in the distance. He had found water. This encouraged them to press on. They had schooled themselves to take water in the mouth without swallowing it for several minutes. One, however, was so crazed with thirst and overcome, that he drank, and drank,- and fell back dead. After the others had rested and refreshed themselves with water, they filled their canteens and returned to the spot where they were forced to leave their comrades. One had fallen beside the boulder and was dead. The other in an effort to overtake his comrades had crawled on his hands and knees for about a quarter of a mile,- and he was dead. Still another, a Frenchman, had wandered from the trail and was lost. He was rescued by Indians and later released.
Again and again they would see, or seem to see, trees and lakes. These deceptive mirages lured them on to increased effort only to show desert and sand as dry and barren as that from whence they started.
Hunger was almost as great a tragedy as thirst. They were starving by degrees. Nothing was wasted. The hides and the hoofs even were boiled or baked in hopes of deriving some nourishment from them. The bone of their oxen, and others when found, were broken in hopes of getting some marrow and some strength.
Members of different Groups crossed each other's trails. The Wm. L. Manley & Bennett Party traveled South in Death Valley. They found a Spring, now called Bennett's Wells, where some men, and all the women and children remained while Manley and a companion pressed on to San Fernando Valley and got supplies and returned to rescue their friends. Some had perished.
My father told of a bunch of eleven Georgians who took what "jerked beef" they could carry, and started in a different direction for the coast. Distances were so deceiving their food was soon exhausted. It became a case of all perishing, or of "casting lots" and surrendering life for food. This was done till only two were left. They pledged each other they would perish or live together. My father saw one of them later who burst into tears as he told of their misery. Others perished, but there is no record of them.
The Jayhawkers returned to the Spring they had left when they sought their comrades. They named this "Providence Springs." After resting and filling their canteens, they started the next morning on their journey. They had lost four of their number in one day. They feared all would perish. They never forgot the little Mother's encouraging words- "Cheer up, Boys; it is always darkest just before day." She was an inspiration to them, and they were noble sons and brothers to her, and assisted when possible in the care of the little ones.
The days dragged wearily on. Only a few miles a day could be traveled in their weakened condition. Finally they reached the foothills, then emerging from the Mojave Desert they wended their way by degrees down the San Francisco Canyon. Near its mouth they saw cattle. They killed a steer and prepared to devour it. Don Del Valle's herders saw them and rushed up supposing them to be enemies. When they saw their pitiful condition, they rode to the Del Valle Ranch a few miles away and reported to the Don. He ordered his men to rescue all the stragglers. They were brought to Don Del Valle's Home in Santa Clara Valley near the present site of Castaic Junction; were given a fine Camp Site near a beautiful Spring; given food and shelter and every kindness and care for several weeks until they were strong enough to continue their journey,- some to Los Angeles, and others, most of them, to San Francisco. These Catholic Christians with genuine and wonderful hospitality did not realize that the Jayhawkers and their descendants,- children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren,- would praise their noble deeds, and that year after year on that sacred spot they would meet on Feb.4th (Now 82 years), and celebrate the day of their deliverance. It was a memorable day last Spring when Senator R. F. Del Valle greeted and welcomed the descendants of the Jayhawkers as his parents had greeted and welcomed our fathers; and when Mr. A. G. Rivers, Ex-President of the Native Sons of California, brought greetings and started a subscription to erect a monument here, after the manner of the Donner Party Monument in the North, to commemorate here the coming of the Jayhawkers before California was a State, and also the noble deed of the Del Valles in rescuing them. This is one of the outstanding events in early California history.
Father remained in California four years. San Francisco, he said, had not over fifteen hundred inhabitants, mostly Mexicans, and new comers for the Gold Rush was on. Lots in the heart of San Francisco were only Twenty Dollars each. Wages were Ten Dollars a day. Bacon was a dollar a pound. Other things were in proportion. Miners did not want swampy and boggy town lots. They hurried on to the mines on Feather River, in Sacramento Valley, and in Placer County. Saloons and gambling were prevalent everywhere. Men and women both gambled. Gamblers played games with their revolvers on the table beside them. Frequently two or three bullet riddled bodies would be carried out and away the next morning. However, if one attended to his own business, he was more safe without firearms. Some Jayhawkers settled in California: L. Dow Stephens at San Jose; Tom Shannon at Las Vegas; Edwin Doty near San Luis Obispo; Judge John Groscup at Latonville. Others returned to Galesburg, Illinois, Via the Isthmus of Panama. Cholera was very prevalent at Panama. Father spoke of seeing a sunken city in the Gulf of Mexico on his return trip. At Galesburg, Illinois father was greeted by his former friends. Naturally he visited the Richards Family. There he met and fell in love with Frances Ellon Richards, youngest sister of the Jayhawker who saved his life in Death Valley. Soon they were married. She was eighteen and he was thirty-one. She was four feet and ten inches tall and weighed 100 pounds; he was six foot tall and weighed 185 pounds. She was beautiful and charming; he was handsome and gallant.
My mother was one of eleven children, and was left an orphan at the age of five years. She had lived from time to time with different relatives; for a while with her sister and husband, Mr. & Mrs. Fenelon (Fenelen?) Arnold at Bellows Falls, Vermont; then with another sister & husband, Mr. & Mrs. Hobart Pierpont, of North Haven, Conn; and with a sister, Mr. & Mrs. Jas. Russell, of Lexington, Mass. Then she started West when about sixteen years of age. She stopped for a while with relatives - Mr. & Mrs. Nelson A. Steele (of Price & Steele Baking Powder fame), at Waukegan, Illinois. Later she went to Galesburg, Ill., and stayed with her Brother Henry and her Brother Street Richards near Galesburg and Woodhull respectively.
Father and Mother settled on a Seventy Acre Farm three miles from Woodhull, about 1854. They remained there until about March 5, 1875 when they moved to Rippey, Iowa. All but one of their children were born near Woodhull, Ill. To this union eight children were born, three of whom passed away in infancy:
William Frances Mecum, the oldest, was born Jan. 10, 1856. He worked at home till he was 21, then studied law, and was admitted to the bar. He married Miss Kate Roush of Grand Island, Nebraska, and moved to Douglas, Wyoming, their present home. They have five lovely daughters, all of whom are married, and most of them have children.
Harry LeRoy Mecum, was born March 16, 1859. After finishing school he married Leticia Youngman. He later was Deputy Sheriff in Iowa. A baby was born to them, and mother and babe passed away. His second marriage was to Mrs. Jean Bott who had a young daughter Ivy now married. They are all active workers in the Presbyterian Church, as my Brother Will's family are active workers in the Methodist Church. Roy became a Collector for the International Harvesting Company and for many years traveled all over the United States. His home is at Hangum, Oklahoma.
Cora Ella Mecum was born April 5, 1863. She finished school, then taught several terms. She was married to Mr. John Blue, of Perry, Iowa. To them were born five lovely daughters and two fine sons, all of whom but one- Mark- are married, and there are nine grand children. The parents and children are members of the Christian Church. Cora and John Blue live at Payette, Idaho.
Edwin Welton Mecum was born Nov. 25, 1867. After finishing school he married Mary L. Turrill of Jefferson, Iowa. To them were born three daughters and two sons,- one son passed away at the age of ten and one-half months. The three daughters and son are all married and there are five grand children. This family are members of the Baptist Church.
Maude Frances Mecum was born Sept. 3, 1884. She finished school, taught several terms, and was married to Chas. L. Limes. To this union were born two lovely daughters, Alice and Dorothy. Their mother passed away shortly after the birth of the second child. These young daughters, now twelve and fourteen years of age, were adopted by Mr. & Mrs. I. Newton Wright of Sawtelle, California,- most lovely people, who are wonderful parents to these lovely girls. This family belongs to the Baptist Church.
I have carried these names forward as a sort of preview, and now I wish to return to my childhood home and speak of the lessons of the years, especially giving emphasis to my father's life.
My father was 45 years of age when I was born,- nearly 64 years ago. My mind is full of vivid memories of early days and of lessons received. Some of the, not all, I will record though I little realized their value then, or their influence over my life. I may not even give them chronologically. My father's long life, early training , active service, wide experience, keen observation and worthy endeavor gave him special opportunities. He was a true friend and had many friends. Travel, observation and experience helped to compensate some for lack of advantages in early education. The schools over 100 years ago were not equipped like these today. But father, like many others had a practical education. They were not entirely dependant on teachers and books. Business methods had taught father quick & accurate results. He was a fine penman. He worked for a while in a little store in San Francisco in the early Fifties. When I was in High School he could figure percentage and interest quicker than I could. He also taught me to measure cords of wood in a pile;- the number of bushels of grain in a wagon, or bin; how many tons of hay in a given stack; how many posts for a fence; how many bricks for a wall; how many acres in a certain field, etc. He could tell within a very few pounds the weight of a horse, a steer, or a hog. This last statement suggests another. I am sure father had a wonderful pair of lungs. He knew the hog language,- or they knew his. When he gave one of his long, loud calls, every hog within a quarter of a mile pricked up its ears and made a bee-line for the food-trough.
Father was a great reader and kept well informed on the general topics of the day. He was a life-long Republican in principle and in national affairs, but in local politics and positions he voted for the best man, as he thought, irrespective of party. He held strong convictions and could defend them. However, he was courteous and tolerant of the convictions of others. He knew Abraham Lincoln and heard the Lincoln and Douglas Debates.
When the Civil War began, father desired to enlist with the Union
Soldiers. He volunteered but was refused because he had only a short time
before had his right leg broken by the "Tumbling-rod" of a Threshing
Machine. However, he aided in every way possible. His heart was with the men
at the front.. The names of the leaders were household words. He followed
every movement and battle with eager anticipation. Such men played no small
part in the victories won. They were behind the men behind the guns. In the
Reconstruction Period he could, and did, play an equal part.
Father knew Robert Ingersol and was doubtless influenced by his lectures.
However, he never stood in the light of other,- or discussed his beliefs. My
mother was a devout Christian and sought to rear the children to an active
Christian life. He was not a professing Christian then, but never opposed
her activities in that line. When I returned occasionally from attending
school where I had become a Christian, I was asked to say grace at the table
and to lead in prayer before I left home. Both parents were pleased when I
wrote them I felt called to enter the ministry. My mother said- "I am not
surprised, for I dedicated you to God before you were born." They encouraged
me in making the best possible preparation for my life work.
When at the University of Chicago, I got to visit my parents in Iowa about once a year. On one occasion I found father recovering from an accident and fall in which he had received some broken ribs. We had some good talks and visits. I was sure that a change had come in his heart and life. We were walking arm in arm around the block. I was soon to return to school. Father was nearly seventy-five years of age. Finally I said- "Father, I hope we will be spared to have many more such meetings and visits together. We know, however, that life is uncertain, and that sooner or later we will all pass on. I have often prayed for you, and before I go I would be so glad to know what is your faith in God." The response was glad and quick. He said- "Ed, there has not been more than two or three nights in the last three years that I have not knelt at my bed and prayed to God. I have given my heart to Him, and I feel he had pardoned and received me. I love to read the Bible now, and to talk of God's love and grace." Well, my own heart was graciously cheered. Father lived seven or eight years after that and we had some fine talks together on Christian faith, hope and love.
My father was a farmer,- as were most of his brothers. He was enthusiastic about his work and was well informed. He enriched the soil faithfully. He changed the crops to get the best results. He chose the seed wisely, prepared the ground carefully, and cultivated the crops thoroughly. In the Fall he would choose out the largest and finest ears of corn and hang them up with a few of their husks to "Cure."
Throughout the neighborhood, father was conceded to be an authority on fine stock. He kept either thoroughbreds, or high grades of horses, cattle and hogs. With them he took many prizes at the County Faire. He taught his sons how to judge good stock. We were interested and he encouraged that interest for he was greatly in hopes we would choose the same line of work for ourselves, and he felt he could assist us in it. Brothers Will and Roy were respectively twelve and nine years older than I, and were doing active farm work when I was merely old enough to herd cattle.
When Roy and Will were fifteen and eighteen years of age, father called them to him and said:- "In the pasture, as you know, there are thirty head of fine horses. I wish to make you a proposition. If you will agree not to use liquor, or tobacco, or profanity until you are twenty-one years old, you may go out and each take your pick of all the horses in the pasture, for your own. On the other hand, if you fail to keep your pledge, you are to forfeit your horse. I know the evils resulting from these habits, and believe if you refrain till you are twenty-one, you will have no desire to begin the use of them." They agreed joyfully. Each went out and took his pick. Will chose a beautiful "Gold-dust" mare. Roy chose one equally good. They took great pride in their very own, and were faithful to their pledges. I believe it was a wise plan.
Later on, father made it possible for Sister Cora and me to have a horse of our own. Her's was a beautiful black, full of style and speed. She named him "Gyp". Mine was a fine Chestnut Texas pony with light colored, long mane and tail, and had a fine gait. We got great pleasure and profit from our ponies. I was the shepherd boy for five or six years and "Tex" was the finest cattle pony I ever saw.
Cora and I were further encouraged. Out of the one hundred, or more, pigs that were born in the Spring, it was natural that there would be several little "titmen," or weak, scrawny ones, which had to be fed with a spoon, or a bottle and nipple, and kept wrapt (wrapped) up in a warm blanket, or they would die. Father told us we could each have one if we wished to bother with it. I chose "frank", and I fed him bountifully. Soon he knew his name and would come clear across the lot to receive his favored portion. A year later I received Fifteen Dollars in cash for him. My Sister was five years older and Ten Years Wiser than I. She chose "Maggie" for her pet. Maggie grew as fast as "Frank", but there was a difference! Before Frank was sold, "Maggie" came marching in with eight little "Maggies and Miggies." All lived and all grew, and father furnished the feed. Before another year had passed, "Maggie" repeated her surprise and came through with Eight more fine little pigs. Father looked as surprised as a young parent with triplets. It was no laughing matter with him. Something had to be done, and done quickly. He couldn't drown them, like kittens, for they were Sister's pigs,- Eight little ones, Eight Big ones, and the prolific mother of them all. In two years, he figured, he couldn't raise enough corn on the 200 acre farm to feed Sister's pigs! It didn't take a college education to figure that out! He offered sister Fifty Dollars "Spot Cash" for her bunch of pigs. She didn't stop to "figger" but took it, and father closed one of the best bargains he ever made! A little later, father gave me a young cow that repeatedly kicked the hired man over, broke the milk stool, and almost ruined Pat Kelley's disposition. Pat threatened to leave if he had to milk that "tempestuous critter." Father needed Pat more than he did the cow, so he gave her to me. After I had petted her and fed her and gave her a new name, and told her she was right and that Pat was wrong,- "Lena" would come clear across the yard and never raise a hoof while I milked her. Pat and Lena just didn't understand each other. He was Irish and she was not! He insisted on her learning his language, and she insisted on his learning her language. Both were proud, indignant, and unreasonable. Each was firm, and one of them was stubborn. It was half human. Father declared an armistice, and both sides won!
Broom-corn was one of the main crops in Illinois,- at least where we lived. Father was a natural leader. "Raw Swedes" came in large numbers at harvest time to cut and prepare the crop. Neighbors would get father to take charge of them. Frequently he would have one hundred and fifty men in the field at once. A good, regular wage was paid. If one got dissatisfied, as was sometimes the case, and quit, or said he had been offered five or ten cents more a day but that if father would give fifteen cents more he would stay,- Father never argued, but paid the man off, and he couldn't get back. The others learned a good lesson from it. I well remember wiggling my toes in the big piles of warm, broom-corn seed. We had a little pony named "Bon" that I sometimes rode with a jug of water on each side of her for the men in the field. At other times as many as seven of us little Cousins were on her back and neck at once.
Butchering Time was a period of great interest there, especially the butchering of hogs. Neighbors would help each other. Generally it was late in the Fall, or early winter. Father would use a Bob-sled,- or else a wagon box upside down against which he leaned and fastened a good rain-water barrel. Eight or ten pails full of boiling hot water would be placed in the lean-to barrel. Hooks would be fastened in the feet of the hogs and they would be lowered, raised, turned, lowered and hauled out. The hair would thus be loosened, and they would be thoroughly scraped and cleaned, and hung up later and halved, quartered, and cut up in smaller pieces. Father had a fine smoke-house where he prepared "Sugar-cured" hams. We would also have sausage, mince-meat, head-cheese, souse, pickled pigs-feet, steaks, roasts, lard, etc. etc. Each Fall a beef or two would be killed and cut up. We had turkeys, chickens, ducks, besides wild game in abundance was shot. We had butter and eggs in abundance, and milk and cream. Also all kinds of fruit: sauce, jams, jellies, preserves, pickles, etc., and all kinds of vegetables. The basement cellar was full. Father was a good provider. The children were rugged and had fine appetites. Mother was a wonderful cook, and the table was filled with products of our own raising. Mother baked all the bread and biscuits and pies and cakes and cookies and doughnuts, etc. I never ate a loaf of Baker's bread till I was fourteen years of age.
In Illinois we children walked a mile and a quarter to school. We had a good school and father was always interested in our education. He upheld and sustained the teacher generally, but after one of the teachers, a woman, struck Roy 439 times with a lash, and Will over one hundred times and then stamped on his bare feet- (after which Will knocker (knocked) her down) - father stepped in and demanded the cruelty be stopped,- and it was.
In Illinois we had a good home and a well improved farm. Father also had a fine orchard. He was sociable and hospitable and was cordial toward all the surrounding neighbors. It had been a new and pioneer country. He had spent over twenty years there after returning from California.
Since Roy was past fifteen and Will was over eighteen, Father felt more land was needed in which, or with which, to give them a start. He went with Uncle Fenelon Arnold and brother to Green County, Iowa, and purchased two hundred acres of land at Sixteen Dollars an acre. He shipped machinery and stock to Rippey, Iowa. Roy, Will and Father went on ahead. Mother, Cora and I followed a week later and were met by them and taken to the farm three miles away where the house, two-story- 20 x 24 feet, stood on plowed ground. There were two neighbors,- Hagneys, a quarter of a mile away, and Schwartzendruvers, a mile and a quarter away. Soon we were settled, had a good, hot supper, and were warmly tucked in bed. We reached Iowa March 5, 1875.
This was truly a new and pioneer country. There were no fences. Thousands of acres of prairies were on every side. Spring was opening. Father hired Tiny Turpin and others to break the prairie land on our farm and on Uncle Fenelon's farm at Two Dollars an acre. Uncle had 320 (329?) acres, and father managed it. The school house was on the corner of father's farm, and was a quarter of a mile from our home. We children studied some, and toed the crack with our bare feet, and recited our lessons. We were encouraged in our school work. Of course, we had to work, too. Will and Roy had to drop out early in the Spring to assist in farm work. When I was ten years old I harrowed, and then dropped all the corn. Father would go over the land with a "Marker" which gave the width of the rows. Then as he crossed them with planter I sat on the machine and pulled, or pushed, the lever dropping the grains (about three) of corn in every row, or mark, made by the "marker." A week or ten days would show with sprouting blades of corn how nearly I had hit the mark,- and practice soon made almost perfect.
At school we skated in Winter, also made snowballs, snow men, had sham battles, etc. In Summer we played ball, drowned out squirrels, waded near-by ponds for cat-tails and water lilies, boxed, ran races, played anti-over, walked on the yard fence, played mumble-peg, pulled sticks, pulled fingers, twisted broom-sticks, threw stones at mark, wrestled, knocked chips off each other's shoulders, and had fights. In addition to this, we had school exhibitions, and spelling matches. It was before the days of sponges for slates. Coat sleeves served three important purposes: First they kept us warm; then they were fine for wiping our slates, and last- but not least- they were wonderfully handy for the majority of boys who had colds, but no handkerchiefs!
One Winter I got over to Compound Interest and Partial Payments in arithmetic. Then in the Spring and Summer and Fall I had to stay out and work. The next Winter the Lady Teacher (who was poor in arithmetic) had me review. At the end of the Winter Term I had to stop and assist in the farm work, and herd cattle. The interesting, but not encouraging thing, was the fact that I did not- in reviewing arithmetic- reach the point where I left off the year before. I could forget more in nine months, my teacher thought, than I could learn in three months. That was walking backwards- "A la Craw-fish!"
Father had an excellent orchard with about a hundred choice trees of many varieties. He understood pruning, budding, grafting, and took great pride in the fruit trees, grape vines, etc. I recall the Winesaps, Greenings, Baldwins, Pippins, Dutchess, Jonathans, Sweet Apples, Siberian Crabs, and others, early and late, whose names I do not remember. As soon as they began to show a blush of red in the Spring, I sampled them, and I also sampled the Peppermint bottle for my Tummy-ache a little later! We had many kinds of Berry Bushes,--raspberries, black-berries, goose-berries, straw-berries, currants, etc.
About 1877 we attended "Camp Meeting" on Coon River,- not far from Busey's Old Mill, about ten miles from our home. Mother filled a big pail with food. When this was eaten and we were ready for home, and all but Mother had forgotten the Preacher's text, we filled our big Dinner Pail with seeds of soft Maple (?) Trees, also Elder, and other trees. When we reached home, father plowed a long furrow beside the road and scattered the seed therein. Then he plowed another furrow covering them up. A year from then, fine sprouts two or three feet high were ready for transplanting. About fourteen rows of trees were planted over thirty rods long. It grew to be the most prominent Grove in the County with trees over a foot in diameter and nearly one hundred feet high. Mr. Mullen's Grove, somewhat older, but considerably smaller, could be seen in the distance on the other side of Rippey.
In the center of the Farm was a thirty Acre pond where I have speared and trapped Muskrats, and where Brothers had shot ducks. The Peet (peat) bed surrounding it was two or three feet thick, and I have known cattle to be mired in it. Finally a five foot ditch drained off most of the water. Tiling was put in, and soon every foot of this ground was plowed and became the richest and best land on the farm.
Frequently, in the Fall, we would have to take wet sacks and a pail of water and fight Prairie Fires by day or night. We had occasional Cyclones in the Summer, and frequent Blizzards in the Winter.
Father was artistic in many ways: With a knife he would make powder-horn watch charms out of rooster spurs; or real powder-horns out of ox-horns which he scraped and polished. He would make little baskets out of peach seeds; make fine whip handles,- long and short; mark a row across the field as straight as an arrow; set posts and make a fence or a hedge in perfect alignment; make wonderful and beautiful stacks,- cones and ricks of hay and grain; lay out a new road. He was also a fine penman and made excellent designs. He was practical in the choice, use and care of all kinds of farm machinery. Father was especially well versed and enthusiastic in his choice of and care of stock. We children were taught how to judge and appreciate the best grades of stock.
Father was six feet tall, weighed 185 pounds. He was quick, active, athletic, a fine wrestler and very strong. Perhaps the long journey to California trained him in walking. Often he would walk three miles to Rippey and back instead of hitching up a team and riding. Then, too, when on the farm, father wore rubber boots reaching almost to his knees. This he did in Winter and Summer. He ate plain food and a reasonable amount. He was not finicky, and he always ate what was set before him. He would not eat more than one or two pieces of cake in a year,- except "Johnnie-Cake" of which he was very fond. Mother would sift in the corn meal and father with a big wooden spoon would stir it. Then we had hot mush and milk for supper, and fried corn mush for breakfast. It was fine, too!
Father never drove his men. He treated them well, fed them well, worked a reasonable day, and kept the good will of his men. When Will and Roy were of age and working for themselves, it was my privilege to be closely associated with father in work. I well remember his method. He seldom used the imperative; he generally used the hortative, or subjunctive mood. He would say: "Let's do this?" Or "Suppose we do this", or "What shall we do next?", or "Do you think we can do this?". It was a partnership affair, and not a dictatorship. We carried on the farm work together, put in the grain together and harvested it; cut trees, made and drove fence posts and repaired fences, etc. I have always been very grateful for the over Sixteen years I spent on the farm. The best of my father's observation, experience and counsel given to me. He offered to give me a fine start and let me have half of all I could raise from the field and live stock,- or if I should prefer, he would assist me all he could in getting further education I chose the latter course. I did not dislike the work of the farm, but I remember more than one year when after a hard season's work, on account of a small crop, or low prices, father would be poorer at the end of the year than he was at the beginning. I felt there was at least for me a larger future in some other line of work, and he generously gave me the opportunity to undertake it. After the first year, when I boarded at home, he was not able to assist me financially, but he gave me my time and encouraged my efforts in working my way thru school, for which I have always been grateful.
I remember my father as courteous, hospitable, and charitable. He was slow to take offense, tried to see others in their best light, and to cultivate a cheerful and helpful fellowship. When he could not get along with a person, you could be assured something was the matter. True he had a strong will, but he was not stubborn. He had a real temper, but generally he was the master of it. Like many other, he sometimes said things and did things for which he was truly sorry. But he was genuine, plain, practical. He scorned a lie and would give his life for the truth. How often I have heard him say to his children: "Make you word as good as a Government Bond;"-- "Never give up;" &emdash; "Where there's a will, there's a way;" &emdash; "Climb to the top;" &emdash; "Be true, be fair, be just;" &emdash; "When you work for others, do as they say and not what you think. They are paying for it." He was conscientious. If he owed anyone anything, it hurt him more than it did the other party till he could pay the debt in full.
Father was a good planner, and a good worker, and expected others to work. He was tactful in word and deed, and was considerate of the feelings of others.
My parents largely did their own doctoring. They were well-read in Homeopathic symptoms and remedies. With these they raised us children. The neighbors would also call upon them for aid when sick. They kept on hand a good supply of fresh medicines. Their service was wholly of love,- never accepting a penny of pay.
We were taught to be accommodating and neighborly, and to be willing to inconvenience ourselves for the welfare of others. Father was generous in giving to others, or loaning to neighbors anything he had. He practiced the Golden Rule. Once or twice he asked to borrow something from neighbor Stickney who had often borrowed from him. (Mr. Stickney, as I remember, looked like John G. Whittier, but he was different, I am sure.) However, neighbor Stickney would say: "Well, now, let me consider whether I'm going to use it myself." And while he was "considering" father would be sorry he had ever asked him for anything. As a by-word, or motto, we children would often say- "Well, now, let me consider", and all knew its source!
In our home, Father was kind but firm with us children. He trusted us and loved us. We were taught to honor and respect our parents. Father was not naturally affectionate, like Mother, but I am sure he loved us as much. When he told us to do, or to refrain from doing, anything, there was no question about it,- we did it, or stopped doing it, as the request was made. When we got noisy, Mother could look from under her "Spectacles" and caution us frequently. We heard better than we heeded. But when Father stopped reading and looked at us over the top of his "Spectacles" you could hear a pin drop. He didn't have to say a word! Mother could call us several times in the morning, and we would roll over 'most every time. Father could come to the stairway door and just speak our names. If, a minute later, we heard him coming, we landed in the middle of the floor and pulled our "Duds" on as we walked down stairs. We loved him no less for knowing he meant what he said. When he would beat us to it and say, as occasionally was the case,- "Do you want me to come up there?" - I have an excellent memory on the subject, and I never knew Roy or Will to answer in the affirmative! When, occasionally, he would have to say- "Young man, do you want me to take you thru a course of sprouts?" -none of us wanted to take the course! We generally deserved all we got, and some we didn't get. The "We" included my brothers and sisters, of course.
My father had large, keen, but kindly eyes. I used to think he could see right thru me,- and I guess he did. He had a vivid memory in early and middle life, and could repeat poems and pages of prose which he had learned when a boy. He was largely self-taught, profiting from his own, and the experience of others. His judgements were charitable, considerate, and generally wise. He was at ease in conversation, and he sought the association of the best men in the community.
How well I remember our Winter evenings on the farm. After supper work was over, we would go into the front room, take our turn at the boot-jack, and get our boots off and placed where they would dry. My Mother was one of the finest readers I have ever known. She was especially fine in rendering the dialects,- Jewish, German, Irish, Darkey, etc. She would read some funny anecdotes in which we were all greatly interested, and would also read the news of the day, or rather of the week, as I never heard of a "Daily Paper" till I was ten or twelve years old. We had very few books, and novels were considered sinful. However, the newspaper was considered authority, and I can remember when we could hardly wait for the Weekly Paper to come which had a continued, thrilling, detective story in it. Sometimes we children would play checkers or dominoes. Cards were considered sinful. Then, Will would get out his "Fiddle" and Coe (?) or I would play chords, or accompaniment, on the little old organ. Then we would have a good sing of popular and sacred songs. About nine O'clock, if it was cold, Mother would slip up stairs with several hot flat-irons. She would run them over the sheets and get them nice and warm, then wrap up an iron to place it at the feet of each of us. When we were cuddled down, tucked in and kissed, we could dream of angels.
If a neighbor was sick, or badly behind in his work, other neighbors would help him out. If it was in the Spring, they would plow and sew his ground. If in the Fall, they would have a "Huskin' Bee and husk his corn,- and celebrate in the evening with an Oyster Supper, and "Trip the Fantastic (?) Toe." There was the Waltz, Schottish (schottische), Polka, and Quadrille. Roy was one of the best "Call-em-off" fellows in that part of the country.
Taffy-Pulls and Spelling Schools and Exhibitions were common. Bob-Sleds were numerous, and it was fine to hear the Sleigh-Bells gingle (jingle). When a foot of hay was put in the wagon box and a blanket over it, and other blankets to keep us warm, in addition to some long scarfs, we enjoyed some wonderful Bob-Sled-Rides.
One evening there was a Strawberry Festival in the Methodist Church of which Mother was a member. A beautiful and delicious Cake was to be "Given Away" to the "Most Popular Girl" in the village- (Rippey), and community. But who could decide such an important question? Every young man thought his Lady-Love should have the Cake. All could not win. It was agreed that a vote would be taken. One could cast as many votes as he wished at Five Cents a Vote. Money counted! The young men finally agreed to unite on a pretty and popular girl. The Banker of the town thought otherwise, and voted for his Niece. The money was to go for the Methodist Church, and was doubtless needed. The boys and their friends went to the limit. The Banker won, but it cost him over $350.00 and he said he would have given One Thousand Dollars before he would have lost. Anyway, the more than $700.00 was used in the needful work of the Church, and it was said Two Girls were made very happy!
A visit to the Old Homestead a score of years later showed many changes. No more prairies. Every field fenced. Ponds ditched, tiled, drained, and almost every foot of ground plowed and planted. Fine Highways and Fine Schools,- Union High Schools took the place of the little old white school house on the corner of our farm.
On the farm we earned our living, for we raised it,- but after all the hard work there was but little gain above living expenses. It was sometimes too wet, and sometimes too dry. Occasionally the crop was poor, and frequently the prices for produce were very low. When corn and oats were eighteen cents a bushel; potatoes twenty-five cents a bushel; eggs ten cents a dozen; butter ten cents a pound; beef-steak two cents a pound on foot, and hay three dollars a ton, and little market for them at that, it was hard to get ahead. Hogs were two and a half and three cents a pound generally.
Father wanted all of his children to have the best possible education. He did his best to make this possible, and to give each one a start.
We had a fine Sharp's Rifle which would shoot over a mile. That was exceptional at that time. It had several sets of sites on it. The open site and the globe were most commonly used. The best, in my opinion, was a twenty-eight inch telescope site which fastened on top of the rifle barrel. It had a fine hair site in it. One afternoon Father and I went to a straw-stack in Hagney's field where Cranes and Geese were accustomed to light and feed. Soon two big, blue Cranes alighted several roads apart. They were a quarter of a mile away from us, but thru the telescope, "looked to be only a few rods away." I got down "on all fours" (my hands and knees) and Father rested the rather heavy rifle on my back and took steady aim at the Cranes. He felt sure he could hit one of them. As they ate, the came closer together,- He waited till they were directly in line, then he pulled the trigger. They did not fly,- but I did! When I reached the spot, and it was in bare-foot record time, I found one had been killed instantly. The other had a broken wing, and I had to fight with that Crane. It was a proud moment when I got the two Cranes over my shoulders,- their heads nearly touching the ground,- and started for home. Surely that was "Getting Two Birds at one Shot!"
On January 10th, when Brother Will was Twenty-one years old, he said, "Father, if you were not so old, I would like to roll you in one of those big snow banks outside." Father said- "Come right along, my short chap, and don't worry about the age!" He took the lead, and Will could not back out. They went at it, and in about two minutes Father had him down and rolling in the snow! He proved his right to remain the Head of the House, and it was great fun for every one,- unless it was Brother Will!!
As children, we were brought up to work. Each one had something to do. It was reasonable, practical, and needful. It was a service which every child should be willing to render for the parents and the home. We were strong, happy, and fortunate, and grew up with the care of wise and worthy parents.
In 1884, my Sister, Maude Frances Mecum, was born when Father was Sixty-two and Mother Forty-nine years of age. She was truly the "Autumn Flower" of the family, and was a great inspiration to my parents in their later years. There were Twenty-eight years between the ages of Brother Will and Sister Frances. She had finished High School, taught a term or two of school, was twenty years of age, and in College, when Father passed away in February, 1905. She had finished College, was Principal of Camarillo, California, School a year, then took Post-graduate work in Berkeley,- University of California, and also became Assistant Librarian, having full charge of all the Faculty Books at the University in 1910, and was Twenty-six years of age when Mother passed away. Father and Mother were interred at Jefferson, Iowa, where a fitting Family Monument has been placed.
Memory, love and character can never be interred. After they had gone, we thought of so many noble things in their lives; thought of so many questions we wished we had asked them, and we realized many things might have been said and done to have made their lives brighter. Perhaps it is natural for children to think more seriously and gratefully at such a time even as it seems natural for parents to lavish their love and sacrificial service on their loved ones. No tribute or appreciation of mine can fully tell the story of their love and their life. My parents were quite unlike, yet both contributed worthy and supplementary influence in the home. Father was stern, just, square, and rather quiet. Mother was affectionate, talkative, lively, sympathetic and cheerful. They worked together and celebrated their Golden Wedding Anniversary- Fifty Years- over a year before Father passed away.
Father would give us children a "Stint", or program to carry out with certain work to do. When this was done,- and it was not unreasonable, then we would be free to go, or do as we wished. Duty first, then pleasure.
I well remember Uncle Robert Mecum, my Father's oldest Brother, who lived near Galesburg, Illinois. Once or twice a year, when we lived in Illinois, we would make the eighteen mile trip to his home for a good visit.
Father was a member of the Masonic Order, though I do not recall where, or when, he joined it. I had his Masonic Pin, but it perished, with many other keepsakes, when our house burned in Wyoming over 25 years ago.
The long, active life, with wide experience and observation, made my father's counsel wise and helpful. He was brave, strong, kind, true and square. He endured hardships unflinchingly. Injuries to others seemed to hurt him much more than his own. He was observing, and could do anything he had seen others do. As an orchardist, cutting. Budding, grafting, etc., he became an expert. He would also tie the smaller branches of a tree so they would grow together and thus strengthen the whole. Others recognized his tact, integrity and wise counsel, and sought his services in overseeing and directing forces of men. There was no work on the farm he could not do, and do well. When he dug a well, as he had to do frequently for water on the farm, it would be perfectly symmetrical, with walls plumb, and circumference perfect. Strange to say, he could not swim a rod.
I well remember the visits of H. A. Turrill and family to our home. He was my wife's father. When I was a small boy, he was County Supt. Of Schools for eight years, and two years more was Assistant Supt. While Mrs. H. A. Turrill was County Superintendent. He and my father would sit up and tell stories till late at night. Father would tell a Jayhawker story, and Mr. Turrill would tell a story from experience in the Civil War. It was very interesting and impressive. After both had passed to the Great Beyond, I had a wonderful experience,- the most sweet and precious of my whole life. I had been very sick, and had just had a major operation. The Surgeon said I could not live thru the night. I was ready to go. I felt the time was very short, and that I was going. I never in my life was more calm and peaceful. One by one in called the Loved Ones to my side and bade them Good-bye. But as I did, a sacred and beautiful vision came. I beheld the faces of my father, of Mr. Turrill, of our little son Lyman, and my little Sister Grace. I felt they had come to take me to the Heavenly Home. Their faces were glorified and beautiful. I pointed to the ceiling and asked wife and the others if they could not see them. They could not,- but they were beautifully and wonderfully real to me. I had felt myself gradually going when Wife, the last to say Good-bye, knelt and prayed as she clung to me that God would spare my life and permit me to remain for the family, the home, the College and the Church, and the Kingdom. As she prayed so earnestly, I felt myself being given back: That prayer was being answered, and I knew then I was going to get well. Then, after what seemed to be ten minutes of the most peaceful, vivid and wonderful vision, those blest faces gradually vanished. Were they real? I believe they were. I was dying, but death was beautiful. I was awake and calm, with a wonderful peace possessing me. I am sure in will sometime see my father's glorified face in the realms of the Great Beyond which for a few precious moments I was privileged thus to behold. We have vivid dreams with wonderful experiences, though we cannot explain them. And like many others, we may have a glorified vision as genuine and vivid to the soul as the ordinary sights are real to our physical eyes.
Thus memory weaves a golden fabric of love and appreciation, often using the ordinary things of life to teach a practical and Precious lesson. Father used to say- "Don't wait for something to turn up; go and turn it up!" He taught me how to make a straight furrow across a field by getting two or three corn-stalks, or other objects in line, then keeping them in line by walking straight toward them. In this way, he would go almost as straight as an arrow.
In Illinois, Father had a "Smoke-house." He was an expert at preparing "Sugar-cured" and "Smoked Meats." We were taught first hand everything that pertained to farm life. We could dig a well, make a fence, plant a field, butcher a hog or beef, sharpen and care for tools, care for and estimate the values of stock, and most emergencies when they came. I think my father came from a long line of farmers. We learned that a good farmer was as well informed and devoted to his work as a lawyer or doctor is to his profession. Father was a great reader, and was able to express his thoughts logically and clearly. One of his favorite poems which he remembered from boyhood days was "The White Pilgrim," and I have often heard him repeat it.
An inestimable heritage has been given to us, the children of these strong, clean, and noble parents. Their children were all born vigorous and without defect. For our health and strength we are grateful. We are grateful for every educational opportunity they were able to give us. We are even more grateful for their examples and teaching of the noble virtues which make character and life worth while. In them we found a reverence for the Bible, for Prayer and for God. The labored hard, kept cheerful, and gave the best the had. From them we got our first and abiding conceptions of home, of life, and of heaven. They pulled together and supplemented each other's life. We esteem them for what they did not do and say, as well as for the things they did do and say. They were hospitable and charitable. They loved their home and their children. They were both pioneers, and partook of the sturdy stock and courageous zeal that helped to overcome obstacles and conquer the West. They turned the wild prairies of Illinois and Iowa into fertile fields, orchards, gardens and flowers. I equally honored, loved and esteemed them, and I feel rich in the heritage of their sacrificial love and service. They did not, and could not, know the far reaching influence of their examples and their counsels on the lives of their children. The affectionate and wonderful Little Mother loved us into the temples of inspiration and loyalty to her own pure and true heart. She bound up our little wounds, cooled our fevered brows, and kissed away our tears. My Father was every inch a man,- true, just, generous, courteous, and kind. He despised sham, deceit, a lie, or insincerity. He hated a coward and a crook. He was not resentful, but he would let distinctly alone a fellow who purposely tramped on his toes,- unless the act was repeated. He could defend himself capably. My father taught us to work, and he worked with us. Thus we had his example and his counsel, enriched with good judgment and wide experience. Aside from being my father, he was one of the most dependable men I have ever known. If I were given the privilege of choosing a Dad, I'd choose the one I had, and I hope I may live worthy of his confidence, counsel and loyal, loving service.
Most sincerely,
Edwin W. Mecum,
October 5, 1931.
My Father's Favorite Song was:- "Waiting and Watching For Me," and he
would always join in singing it:
-1-
When my final farewell to the world I have said,
And gladly lie down to my rest;
When softly the watchers shall say- "He is dead."
And fold my pale hands o'er my breast.
And when with my glorified vision at last,
The walls of "That City" I see,
Will any one then at the beautiful gate
Be waiting and watching for me?
Will any one then at the beautiful gate
Be waiting and watching for me?
C h o r u s :
Be waiting and watching,
Be waiting and watching for me?
-2-
There are little ones glancing about in my path,
In want of a friend and a guide;
There are dear little eyes looking up into mine,
Whose tears might be easily dried.
But Jesus may beckon the children away,
In the midst of their grief and their glee--
Will any of them at the beautiful gate
Be waiting and watching for me?
Will any of them at the beautiful gate
Be waiting and watching for me?
-3-
There are old and forsaken who linger awhile
In homes which their dearest have left;
And a few gentle words, or an action of love,
May cheer their sad spirits bereft.
But the Reaper is near to the long standing corn,
The weary will soon be set free-
Will any of them at the beautiful gate
Be waiting and watching for me?
Will any of them at the beautiful gate
Be waiting and watching for me?
-4-
Oh, should I be brought there by the bountiful grace
Of Him who delights to forgive,
Though I bless not the weary about in my path,
Pray only for self while I live,-
Me-thinks I should mourn o'er my sinful neglect,
If sorrow in Heaven can be
Should no one I love at the Beautiful Gate
Be waiting and watching for me
Should no one I love at the Beautiful Gate
Be waiting and watching for me
Provided by: Gwen Mecum Hunt, P.O. Box 66, Templeton, CA 93465-0066
