My autobiography

Preface

On coming into this world and becoming acquainted with it I found things too numerous to mention prepared for my comfort by those who had gone before. It is my single aim to do something, if possible, for the good of those who may come after me. Hence I write this book, which I have finished June 1 6, 191 7, at the age of ninety-three years and seven months.

In grateful remembrance I dedicate it to James Gouedy and his wife, born Halliburton, for their kindness to the lone girl and myself after she became my wife.

I also tender my heartfelt thanks to Charles O. Jones, D.D., for whose generous assistance in preparing this volume of personal reminiscences I am greatly indebted.

William Jasper Cotter. 5

Introduction

Those who do not live in historic times are recompensed by knowing, hearing, or reading those who were actors in pioneer days. When we read of the Cherokees in North Georgia and of their removal by the Federal government to the distant West, we are in a sort of historical haze, where it is easy to confuse that tragic event with other incidents of a remoter past. Indeed, memory must take an aeroplane flight to visualize occurrences that stirred Georgia and other parts of the Union as far back as 1835, more than fourscore years ago.

Yet when the Cherokees migrated, the author of this autobiography was a boy in his teens. He was alert and open-eyed to the quick-moving scenes of the human drama whose actors were hardy pioneers, soldiers of State and nation, and the red men unwilling to leave the fertile and beautiful territory where their forefathers had hunted the deer in primeval forests and speared the trout in limpid mountain streams.

The removal of these Indians, the most intelligent of all our aboriginal inhabitants, has caused a tremendous amount of historical and critical writing. By many authors Georgia has been harshly censured for the treatment of the Cherokees and the violence that in some cases was inflicted upon the defenseless Indians. The author of this book was a witness, and he writes out of his own experience and observation. He gives us first-hand information. He defends and acquits Georgia of violence and cruelty to the Indians, The chapters concerning this are the longest in the book, but will repay close reading, and with their documentary evidence should convince all except those blinded by prejudice.

Since the author was born all great modern improvements, frnm the railroad to the flying machine, have been developed; the State has grown into a populous and prosperous commonwealth; the States of the Union have been welded into a mighty nation ; and the Church of which the author has been an honored and loved minister for over seventy-two years has become immeasurably strong in numbers, resources, and spiritual power.

These experiences of almost a century have been clearly and faithfully depicted in the following pages. They have been written primarily for the descendants of the men and women mentioned in these pages, and the author has been discursive and not crisp and cold, as in a scientific or philosophical treatise. They are interesting reading and, because of the method, have needed only the slightest touch of an editorial hand. They will be a mine of information to future writers of formal history.

As we read these reminiscences of the Nestor of Georgia Methodism let us murmur a song of gratitude that our forefathers, by the divine blessing, developed for us this goodly heritage, resolve to embrace the glorious opportunities opened to us because of their labors, and breathe a gentle prayer that the author may complete his full century of years and then go to rejoin his Rachel, whose loveliness and love he has embalmed in this interesting book. Charles O. Jones.

Trinity Church, Atlanta, Georgia, July 4, 1917.

PART ONE Boyhood Days and the Georgia Cherokees

Chapter Page

I. My Ancestors and Moving from Home 13

II. My Boyhood Days with the Indians, 1832-38 17

III. Years of Labor and Trial 23

IV. Some Indian Traits and Customs 29

V. Early Politics and Preaching 35

VI. Preparations for the Removal of the Cherokees 41

VII. The Treaty with the Cherokees in 1802 51

VIII. Boudinot, Ross, Vann, Howard Payne, and the Old Federal Road. 65

PART TWO Conversion, Marriage, and Beginnings of Ministry

I. Conversion and Call to Preach 81

II. Admission on Trial, 1844, and Dahlonega, 1845 87

III. My Precious Wife 91

IV. Going to Our New Charge, Blairsville Mission, 1846 — 97

V. Summerville, Marietta, and Indian Generosity, 1847-48 104

VI. Clarksville Circuit, 1849 — Conversion of My Father in

VII. Canton and Gainesville Circuits, 1850-51 116

PART THREE Pastoral Service (Continued) and War Times

I. Watkinsville and Carnesville Circuits, 1852-54 125

II. Warrenton and a Visit Home, 1855-56 130

III. Waynesboro and Sandersville, 1857-60 136

IV. Culloden, Greensboro, and Forsyth, 1861-65 145

V. The Battle of Chickamauga 152

VI. Fort Valley, Whitesville, and Grantville, 1866-69 155

VII. Troup Circuit and LaGrange College, 1870-73 161

PART FOUR Last Appointments, Superannuation, and Peaceful Waiting Chapter Page

I. Grantville, Elberton, and Other Circuits, 1874-82 167

II. Summerville, Senoia, Troup, Hampton, and Turin, 1883-94 175

III. Atlanta and Superannuation, 1895-97 178

IV. The Wife and Mother in the Home 180

V. Newnan and Coweta County 183

VI. Ordinations and Appointments 188

CHAPTER I My Ancestors and Moving from Home

lV/fY grandfather, William Cotter, was born in County Down, Ireland. When a young man he came to Virginia and there married Miss Catherine Vance. They settled in Union District, South Carolina, where, on November 28, 1789, my father, John Vance Cotter, was born. He was brought up on a farm, with the school advantages of that day His family was Presbyterian, and its members gathered around the family altar in daily prayer. Father was a soldier in the War of 1 812 and was stationed at Charleston. When peace was declared, he came to Georgia and traded on the borders with the Cherokee Indians.

My mother was Miss Mary Ann Nail, born in Chatham County, North Carolina, June 12, 1796, and was reared in old Pendleton, South Carolina. My father and mother were married December 19, 18 19. To them were born six children, three boys and three girls, My sister Emeline E. was the oldest and in all respects a noble woman. She was an intimate friend of Miss Joanna Troutman, who designed the Lone Star flag of Texas. My sister never married, and after our parents grew old she became the head of the household. She died in 1872 in Arkansas while on a visit with our other sisters,

I was the second child and was born in Hall County, at Cotter's Store, November 16, 1823. I was named William Jasper, evidently after Sergeant Jasper, the Revolutionary hero who replaced the American flag on Fort Moultrie after it had been shot down June 28, 1776, and was mortally wounded in trying to place the colors on Spring Hill redoubt at Savan-

.1/1' AUTOBIOGRAPHY nah October 7, 1779. My brother Robert, next to me in age, died a member of the Georgia Conference, leaving a wife, born Caroline McRae, and three children. My youngest brother, J. C. K., married Miss Malinda Green, one of the best of women. Much of his time he has taught country schools and still survives at the age of eighty-nine. My sister Louisa was a most amiable character. She married Thomas Smith, son of a local preacher, and bore him four children, surviving him many years. She died in 1888 at the age of fifty-seven. Martha, the youngest, was born in 1834, married a Mr. Canterbury, and still lives at Mountain Home, Arkansas. We were a harmonious family to the end of the days.

My parents settled in Hall County, Georgia, at a place known for years as Cotter's Store, now Gillsville. Pioneers had located thirty years before in this eastern part of the county, on a section of fine farming land between the Oconee and Grove Rivers. I may mention some of our early neighbors: The Garrisons, Caseys, Terrells, Buffingtons, Rileys, Bowens, Cowans, Peepleses, and others equally worthy. The community had good schools and a high standard of morals. The Baptist church was at Timber Ridge, where they had large Associations. The Methodist meetings were held at Wesley Chapel, Miller's Meetinghouse, and old Dry Pond Camp Ground.

The larger portion of the county was west of the Oconee. The county had been organized in 181 8. The first members of the County Court were: Jacob Eberhart, John Bates, John V Cotter (my father), Nehemiah Garrison, and William Cobb. The first thing for the court to do was to select a site for the county seat. The Big Spring and the Lime Kiln were nominated. My father suggested the place where the city of

Gainesville now stands, then an unbroken forest. He also suggested the name for the new city that was to be in honor of Gen. Edmond Pendleton Gaines, under whom he had served during the war. The surveyor who laid off the site was a great-uncle of the late Governor Terrell. The deed to the lot bore the names of the five judges already mentioned.

Our old home originally called for eight hundred and eight acres of land, but had been divided into three parts, called the Garrison, Cotter, and Peeples places. It was a lovely country, shaded with great trees and brightened with pinks and roses. We had a cold and living well of water and a garden fertile with the vegetables of that time. In the spring the sunshine was made more beautiful by the glittering wings of butterflies, and bird choristers made the trees vocal with their songs of praise. On Sunday mornings mother would say: "Go down to the washing place and gather some flowers." Swiftly we gathered honeysuckle and sweet shrub. As we returned mother would say: "You didn't stay long, and you kept your clothes so nice. Now I will read to you." We gathered about her knees, and she read the Bible and told us that God made all things and that Jesus Christ was our only Saviour. I have never heard any one else speak that precious name exactly with the sweetness and unction that she did. When about eight years old, I went with her to church on a beautiful Sabbath morning. As we came home she said: "I don't want to hear that man again, for he said that our Saviour is not God." She was a constant Bible reader and was well informed as to its doctrines.

The time came for us to leave our beautiful home. We disposed of most of our live stock, prepared provisions for the journey, loaded the wagons, and started on April 3, 1832.

Ever}- place and object we passed was new. On the eleventh day we stopped at the James Monroe place, on the old Federal Road, about two miles north of what was then known as the Harlen place, now the Carter place. We were in the midst of the Cherokee Nation.

The third Sunday after we had been in our new home the Rev. Mr. McDowell preached for us. He was then surveying that district. He was a good man, and all the people I have known of that name honored it. I cannot tell how long it was before we heard another sermon. The country was a wilderness, and the Indians were about us,

CHAPTER II My Boyhood Days with the Indians, 1832-38

TT/HY did we go there? Many answers might be given to the question. It would be hard to make the people of the present time understand the situation then. People had the spirit of adventure, the new country had the charms of attraction, and it was confidently believed that the Indians would all be gone in a year, at least ; but they did not go till six years. After the War of 18 12 my father drifted to Georgia and embarked in trading with the Indians with some success, He and his partner were neighbor boys, different in almost every respect, except David and Jonathan were not better friends. My father had great powers of endurance and complete control of his appetites. I never saw him the least intoxicated. He could sleep anywhere and eat almost anything. Smith was the opposite, dainty in his eating and particular about his sleeping. At one time the fare was too bad for him. There was a place where the prospect was better. He

said: "Cotter, things look better at . Let us call for

a nice piece of meat and cabbage and a chicken. I intend to watch how it is prepared." The meat and cabbage were nicely washed and put into the dinner pot; and so was the chicken dressed, and all started off cooking nicely. He took his partner out to tell him how well everything was going on and said he could hardly wait for it to get done. Back he went ; and the two women with a stick made hair and dust fly from the dog's back, saying, "Skeener!" (their word for "Get out!") and then stirred the cabbage with the stick. It nearly killed Smith. Again he said to his friend: "Did you see that 2 17

M V IUT0B10GR A PHY dirty tiling hit the dog and stir the cabbage? I couldn't eat a mouthful." lie declined meat and cabbage, but did his duty t< ) the chicken. Though he was doing well, there was one back at home in his mind and heart. She afterwards became his life partner The time came when Smith and my father separated. They shed tears then and remained dear friends as long as they lived, and a hundred miles was a short distance to go to visit each other. Smith settled in Middle Tennessee, was a captain in the war of Texas in 1836 and, I think, was a prisoner in a dungeon in the City of Mexico when the war ended. The authorities at Washington sent Gen, Waddie Thompson, of South Carolina, with papers of authority to have the prisoners liberated. I heard him say that before going to a hotel or looking after baggage he went at once and saw the iron bolts drawn and the doors opened and grasped the hands of his dear countrymen, saying to them: "I have passports for you to go home with me." He said it was the gladdest hour of his life, and it made every one glad to hear him tell it. I may allude to Captain Smith again.

Cotter continued and extended the business. At that time there was a great trade center at Grayson Bend, on the Chattahoochee River, fifteen miles above LaGrange. From the mouth of Peachtree Creek, near where the city of Atlanta is, he shipped in large canoes a cargo of goods. The canoes were worked by strong negroes and Indians. The river was at flood tide, out of banks, which were bordered with canebrakes, a home for wild beasts. Great gangs of wild turkeys flew over their heads, filling the air with the whir of their wings. The dangerous voyage was safely made, but a great calamity came at the last moment. In turning the canoes in the bend of the river to land, the whole cargo capsized, and everything was lost. The crew escaped safely and, in the best way they could, made their way back home, going pretty much over what is now the line of the West Point Railroad.

Grayson's Bend had its name from Sam Grayson, the most widely known man in all that part of the country up and down the Chattahoochee and then to the white settlements in the eastern part of the State. Grayson's trails led out in every direction and are still spoken of by the old people of Troup and other counties. I don't know that Sam Grayson had Indian blood in him. I think not. But he had great influence over them and over the whites also. He was a man of honor, most hospitable, and kept an open and orderly house. My father had great respect for Sam Grayson. After the country was settled, the place was known as the Colonel Townes place, named for the father of George W B. Townes, Georgia's Chesterneldian Governor.

I saw that interesting part of the State when all was new — waters in the creeks and rivers as clear as crystal; rich valleys, hills, and mountains covered with a thick forest; a land of beautiful flowers — white, pink, yellow, and red honeysuckles, redwood and dogwood blossoms, wild roses, and others. The ground was covered with violets, sweet williams, and other beauties. There was plenty of wild game — deer, turkey, and other varieties. When first seen, all was in lovely, beautiful spring, and I was nine years old.

Many and varied were the troubles encountered with the wild animals, bears, panthers, and wolves, and the smaller ones, wildcats, coons, and foxes. I never saw a bear in the woods ; but they were numerous, and many were killed. I saw a panther three hundred yards from the house. The cattle in the lane scented it and were excited. Panthers killed colts, springing from the limb of a tree. I have often seen the prints of their claws on a colt's back and sometimes on grown horses. Wolves howled in hearing on the mountain, but never did much mischief. The smaller animals gave the trouble. Standing in the yard, we could hear the foxes barking; and coons were nearly as bad as hogs in destroying corn. They began on it before it was in roasting ear. The Indians had no dogs, but small curs, which were of little account. There were no hounds. Colonel Carter's overseer brought two from Milledgeville, and Mr. Black got some from Buncombe, North Carolina. We soon trained them to hunt together ; and in the winter and spring we caught twenty-seven foxes, four wildcats, and quite a number of coons. It was the gray fox, and usually the chase was fun. If started by eight o'clock, it was caught by twelve; if at four o'clock in the morning, it was caught a little after sunup. We never saw a red fox there. Once in a while the dogs were out all night, and we did not know what they were after. When they caught a fox they would lie down around it for several hours, then one after another would leave. Old Buncombe was the last to go in the afternoon. Walking around the fox, he would howl as loud as he could and start for home with a look of disappointment. He was a large, leopard-colored dog and was the leader of the pack. While the others stayed, he was always nearest the dead fox. Only hunters know the meaning of "as cunning as a fox," when, far ahead of the dogs, he runs back on logs, runs a little way up trees and from log to log, then jumps as far as he can and often eludes his pursuers. The chase was hard on horses. Wildcats can run up a tree and are usually shot. Coon-hunting involves hard work as well as lots of fun. Late one fall, while gathering corn about dark, a company of boys came for a coon hunt ; and, grabbing a handful of bread and meat, I went with them. Early in the night we treed a coon up one of the largest poplars on the creek. It would never do to give up. The tree had to come down. We sent home for help. White boys and negroes came with axes and supper. It was about daylight when the tree fell. We held the dogs, that they might not be killed by the tree. The coon escaped, crossed the creek, and ran up a small tree. We cut it down in twenty minutes and got the coon. It was sunup then. An old coon can easily whip a young dog and is a full match for an old dog.

On that spot I had a most fearful encounter with a large rattlesnake, alone with a good dog that killed nearly every snake that he found. He seized them with his teeth and shook them to death in a little time. It was a sand bar barren of weeds. The rattler was coiled ready to strike. I saw his eyes and realized the expression, "as mad as a rattlesnake." Had he not been in his coil, the dog would have seized him, but he knew the snake could strike first and so> held off. It would never do for a boy to let such a snake live, and with a ten- foot fence rail the blow was struck that turned the tide of battle.

That year's hunting thinned out the wildcats, coons, foxes, minks, skunks, opossums, and other varmints that troubled us. A traveler told us how to catch wild turkeys. Next day we followed instructions. With an ax and a hoe we cut down some little pines, dug a trench, and made a pen so* that a turkey would come up in the middle of the pen and have to look down in order to get out. This the frightened bird would not do, but would hold his head high. I baited the trench with corn and soon caught two large turkeys and proudly carried them home. Squirrels and opossums were in great abundance. Great fat opossums were dressed, put on the roof of the smokehouse during a frosty night, and the next day cooked with potatoes, making a dish fit for a king or an American sovereign.

CHAPTER III Years of Labor and Trial

l\yf R. WILLIAM MAY was living at the Monroe place. He was a nice old gentleman of seventy years, and his wife was about the same age. He owned negroes and was well off. He had brought up a large family, equally divided in sons and daughters, all well educated. One daughter married George Harlan, a rich half Indian. I heard Harlan say that if Mr. May had said "No" when he asked for Ann he would have knocked him into the Chattahoochee. They were on the bank of the river near Winn's Ferry. That knock was a joke, for her father and brothers were strong men. Mrs. Harlan was an estimable woman. They lived in a two-story frame house painted white. She painted the stair steps. At the end of our journey I spent my first night in that house. He owned a large plantation on the Coosawattee. What crops of corn, three or more stalks to the hill, yielding sixty or more bushels to the acre! Woe to the hands that gathered it, for their clothes were as thickly covered with cockleburs and Spanish needles as the hairs on a dog's back ! He had a large orchard of apples, peaches, and other fruits. Better fruit it would be hard to find. They were the best of neighbors, but they left for the West in 1834.

James Monroe was a skilled mechanic, millwright, etc., and held a permit from the government and the Indians to live there and be protected. He went in 18 16 and built the only grist and saw mills. Monroe was a nephew of the late Rev. W M. Crumley. Monroe's death was tragic. Riding in a gallop, his horse threw him against a tree and killed him.

MV AUTOBIOGRAPHY

This was before we went, but the tree was pointed out, and I saw it many a time. The tree died ; and some years after, on a still day, it fell and killed a yoke of oxen, the driver narrowly escaping. His grave was inclosed, and when we children went to it on Sunday mornings we talked low and walked lightly We did not see as many graves then as we do now.

The surveyors were there. I saw them running the lines, marking the station trees and corner posts, shaving off the outside bark of the trees, and making the figures telling the number of the lot of land. Where one of those trees is now alive, the figures are to be plainly seen to this day. Mr. Mc- Dowell, a Baptist preacher, surveyed that district. He preached for us on a beautiful Sunday morning in May. These men had a hard time getting on in the wildwoods. On the side of a mountain a rattlesnake in his coil ready to strike looked them in the face. They reported that three days after the full moon in May and August was the best time to1 kill trees. A lick with a hatchet sometimes killed a chestnut tree.

A month had gone, and there was no home to buy nor one to rent. The State owned all the land. Father was disappointed in his plans. Three miles away there was a nice new cabin which had never been occupied. He bought it and moved it on the road between the Monroe and Harlan places, a lovely locality, with one of the best springs of good water, all in the woods. We cleared a place and planted a little garden. How we crowded so many things in the little cabin it would be hard to explain.

The cabin was made of small k>gs nicely notched down at the corners and squared at the ends, with joists and a loft. First the trees had to be cut down and cleared away. Hence rails and boards were in demand. Some tall oaks leaning the other way had to come town too. Mother said we did not know which way the wind might blow. A forest is a dark and lonely place, and we were cheered by the light the little opening gave us. Nature's surroundings were grand. On the east near by was a ledge of mountains, in all other directions a rich and beautiful country. As time offered we fenced lots, built stables, and opened land. We bought chickens and a cow from an Indian who lived on Chicken Creek. He was well-to-do and had a large house with a hall, piazza, and dining room. He took in travelers. At a supper there we had bear meat, clabber, and honey. He had about a hundred bee stands. The gums were of hollow trees set on rocks or pieces of boards, two or three by a tree. The old people understood but could not speak a word of English. The younger ones could talk. His name was Calarxee and his wife's Takee, and we named the cow Takee. When they left, mother bought her large washpot, a good article of English castings. I don't know how long it had been used by old Takee; but it rendered good service in our family for many years, not only for washing and scrubbing, but in general cleaning up. The old-time housekeepers knew the worth of a big pot of hot water. Then, at the right time of the moon, stirring the right way with a sassafras stick, it was used for soap-making, also for making lye hominy and the cooking of a big gobbler that was too large for any oven on the place. Fifty years ago I fell heir to that useful relic, and I prize it highly for its age and associations with the long, long ago. It is well taken care of now.

It was not long until we had a log house, which was followed by a good frame house. We built good stables and cribs, planted fruit trees and a garden, and in time cleared a large body of good land. So I know by experience what it means

M V AUTOBIOG RAP H V to make a string of fence half a mile long with heavy new rails. We had fine geese, ducks, turkeys, hogs, and cows. At one time we milked nine cows. I had good experience in slaughtering and putting away meat. We all fell in love with our new home. In the spring we had boxes and gourds hung up for the martins. One came early and selected his gourd or hole in the box. The next time he brought his bride. Then ever so many came, and how they did sing and fight the hawks! Before long we had bee gums and plenty of honey.

The place where we built is known now, I think, as the Joe Mclntvre place. We left no* relatives there. When we first went, the wealthy mixed bloods received us cordially ; but they were all gone by 1835, and we felt our loss,

The vear 1835 was the most trying year with the newcomers there. We suffered more from the bad Indians and white outlaws; for instance, the killing of the Bowman family, which consisted of Bowman, his wife and little girl, and an old blind aunt. Having a grudge against him, George Tooke, a bad Indian, and five or six more went to the house. Bowman fought them bravely, wounding one of them. Overpowering him, they split his head open with an ax, then did the same to his wife. They left the old aunt in the house to be burned. The Indians set the house on fire and stood around to see it burn. The little girl ran out. They saw the little girl, and Tooke snatched her up in his arms. She clinched his shirt sleeves in her hands. He then threw her into the flames, she with part of his shirt still in her hands. The whole family suffered death in the burning house. Tooke and his men remained in the neighborhood for some days, Creek Ben, the one whom Bowman had wounded, was thrown in a deep creek and drowned. Tooke fled to Cherokee County. Upon being arrested, he was severely wounded by a gunshot. He lay in jail at Canton until he was able to be carried to Cassville, where he was hanged. I had a thrilling account of Tooke's arrest and talked with the sheriff who was in charge of the execution. The locality is in Gordon County and is, I suppose, kept fresh in the traditions of the county.