Story of my life

Front matter

THE SEVENTH THOUSAND

REV G. C. RANKIN, D. D.

Or More than a Half Century as I Have Lived It and Seen It Lived

Contents

A Pen Sketch of My Ancestry and Childhood . . 3

IV The Death of My Father and Its Effect on Me . . 42

V Some Tragic Incidents in the Hill Country .... 55

Chapter I Pen Sketch of My Ancestry and

Childhood

My father's name was Creed W Rankin, and my mother's maiden name was Martha J. Clark. The former was born in Jefferson County and the latter in Cocke County, East Tennessee. The two counties were separated by the beautiful French Broad River. Dandridge was the county-seat of Jefferson and Newport the county-seat of Cocke. In that day they were far-in country towns, and both of them located on the river, but several miles apart.

My father was the son of Thomas W Rankin, and in his early life the latter was a hatter by trade, but afterwards a farmer. He lived two miles from Dandridge. He was of sturdy pioneer stock, with a mixture of Scotch and Irish blood in' his veins. In his young manhood he served in the army with old Hickory Jackson, and he was in the battle with the Indians at Horseshoe Bend, along with Sam Houston, another noted character.

In my boyhood I used to hear the old gentleman relate his experiences in that famous battle; how the Indians were fortified behind breastworks reaching across the bend of the river, with nothing on either side and in the rear of them except the wide stream, and how with ladders in one hand and guns in the other the soldiers charged them, and how the Indians fled and swam the river; but the most of them landed under a high cliff on the opposite side and were unable to scale the rocks and escape, and the soldier-marksmen picked them off one by one until not one was left to tell the tale.

He was sick at the time of the battle of New Orleans, and this was a cause of regret for the rest of his long life.

Squire Rankin was an old-time Whig, but he worshiped at the personal shrine of Andrew Jackson, and thought him the greatest warrior and statesman who had ever lived. When the grim old soldier ran for office, whether State or National, Squire Rankin waived his politics and supported him heartily. No man rejoiced more than he when the General was elected President of the United States and was installed at the White House. I have often heard him speak of that campaign and the excitement it provoked. Naturally he was on the opposite side, but when the political fortunes of old Hickory were at stake he stood by the General. He thought more of him personally than he did of Whiggery. He flung himself into it and was proud of the part he took in it locally. He never was able to figure out just how the General could have been elected without his aid and support.

In religion the old gentleman was a blue-stocking Presbyterian of the strictest type. He swallowed its doctrines in toto without a misgiving or a qualm of conscience. He doubted no feature of it; and while tolerant of the religious views of others, he was to the end of his life a stalwart Calvinist. He accepted it all and carried it out in spirit and in letter in his faith and life. He was one of the best men I ever knew. He was kind in his heart, affable in his manners, a Christian gentleman on all parts of the ground, but tenacious and uncompromising in his principles.

Pen Sketch of My Ancestry and Childhood 5

He was a well-informed man in history, general literature and current events. The Bible was his one book of unfailing interest, and he knew it and the Shorter Catechism memoriter. He was a close reader, and at odd times lived in his books and periodicals. He knew the great men of that day and past days. He could tell you all about them — and many of them he had seen, and knew them personally. Then, too, he was the soul of hospitality, and the leading preachers and prominent politicians used to stop at his comfortable country home. It was a treat to him to entertain them and talk with them. From them he learned much, and his face brightened whenever they called to spend the night with him. He had plenty of everything and gave them a royal welcome.

For years and years he was the Justice of the Peace of his precinct, and this is why he was called Squire Tommy Rankin. When the weather was good hte~ would hold his court in his front yard under the trees, but when it was inclement he would hold if in his commodious workshop. But usually, if it were possilf le, he would get the contending parties together, lecture them on their duty as neighbors and prevail upon them to make friends and go home and live together peaceably. Often in this way he would have his prospective litigants settle their troubles. He did not know much book-law, but he had a keen sense of justice and knew what was right ; and upon this principle he decided most of the cases that came before him. And he was rarely ever reversed, so he used to say. But it was often the case that there was no appeal from his settlement of those neighborhood troubles. He was known as a peacemaker, and no one ever questioned the old man's honesty and his inflexible purpose to do right.

His first wife was a devout Christian woman, with good mind and a lofty spirit, but she died when my father was still quite a boy. This was always a source of sorrow to him, as he spoke in terms of great reverence of her.

My mother's father was named Shelton Clark. He was a farmer by occupation and owned negroes and a fine plantation. His large framed house was on the "big road", and it was known far and wide as a place of great hospitality. His barn was always full, his crib replete with cereals, his smokehouse well supplied with meat, and his table groaned under the weight of the best that the farm could supply. He was a man of great common sense, well poised in character, strong and robust in body, and very industrious. And while strictly moral, he was not a professor of religion, neither was he a member of the Church ; but all the pioneer preachers of that day had a welcome in his home. He was Irish in his race and temperament. He was a quiet man in his disposition, but he was as courageous as a lion ; and when aroused he was not a safe man to encounter. He was not an educated man, but he was possessed of a strong native mind and had great strength of character.

His good wife was one of the best women I have ever known. She was also of Irish descent, rather low and stout, had a striking face, red hair intermingled with gray; when I first knew her she was a shouting Methodist, and the best old grandmother in the world. Her husband died and left her with a large family of children to raise, quite a number of negroes to manage, and an estate to look after. All this she did well and made a success of her undertaking. Her dear old face stands out before me now just as it did in the years long gone, and I esteem her affection for me as one of the dearest boons of my young life. To me it was heaven to spend days and weeks with her and enjoy her love and companionship.

Pen Sketch of My Ancestry and Childhood J

Were it necessary I could go much further back in my ancestral history; but the above will suffice. I have always rejoiced in the fact that on both my paternal and maternal side of the house I have inherited qualities of blood and brawn of which I am justly proud. If anything dishonorable ever occurred in the family record back through the history along which I have been able to trace my origin, I have not been able to discover it. Through the several generations where I have made the search I have found them to be industrious, law-abiding and upright people, and among them are found scores of men and women of more than ordinary intellectual endowments, high moral ideals and prominent leaders in Church and State. If I was not well born it was not the fault of my ancestors.

My father was far more than an ordinary man. For his day he was well educated. He had a well-selected library, and he was an ardent lover of good books. He patronized some of the best periodicals of that day. He was studious and a well-informed man. By vocation he was a farmer and managed the large plantation interests of his wealthy uncle, Major Lawson D. Franklin. On that plantation there were several hundred slaves, and he took a large part in directing their labors and controlling their conduct. At times some of them were vicious and had to be handled roughly. In person he was more than six feet tall, had a splendid head covered with coal-black hair, a striking face lit up with a bluish-gray eye of wondrous penetration, and his general bearing was that of a man born to command. He had great pride of character, dressed well, and he was a leader in the community where he lived. He was a man of impulsive spirit, did not take well to unreasonable opposition, and when angered his temper was of an explosive character. The man who wantonly insulted him had need to get ready for business on very short notice.

My father, in religion, was a Presbyterian, and a member of that denomination. However, he was not a devoutly religious man, but a very respectable communicant of the Church. He was devoted to the externals of religion, believed in its truth and patronized its enterprises; but he was lacking in the more deeply spiritual experiences of religion. The intellectual by far dominated the emotional in his moral and religious bent of mind and character. He was the friend of all ministers and delighted to entertain them in his home. There was no Church of his denomination in our immediate community, and he mostly attended services at the Methodist Church with my mother; and he was a very close listener to the sermon.

He was a popular man among the people who knew him, and often he was called into the counsel of his wide circle of friends. He was a devoted member of the Masonic fraternity and rarely ever missed his lodge meetings. He filled its highest offices. He was elected Colonel of the county militia and gave a great deal of thought to military matters. Hence he was known throughout his section as Colonel Rankin. He had a brilliant uniform in keeping with his rank, and when in full dress and mounted upon his splendid steed he looked every inch like a military chieftain. My mother was very proud of him, and as a boy I thought him the greatest living man. He was courtly in his manner and picturesque in his character.

My mother was a supremely modest woman. She was of medium size, had auburn hair, soft-gray eyes and a face of subdued sweetness and saintly expression. If she ever had a coarse thought there was no mark of it in her countenance. She had but very limited education, but she was a close ob-

Pen Sketch of My Ancestry and Childhood 9

server and a persistent student of the Scriptures. She was possessed of a large degree of innate refinement. From early life she had her share of sorrow, and its effect upon her life and character matured her into the ripeness of a very deep religious faith. She was a Methodist of the old-fashioned type, and there was a profound spirituality in her experience. She accepted the teachings of the Bible without any question or misgiving. If she ever had a doubt as to its inspiration and authenticity I never heard her give the slightest expression to it. In fact, I think she accepted the Scriptures just as though God had opened the door of heaven and handed a copy of them to her with his own hand. To her it was God's own word and its commands were yea and amen.

She never missed Church service whenever it was within her reach; and she went to listen, to learn, to be benefited. God's house was to her a veritable sanctuary, its pulpit was her oracle, its altars were heaven's shrine. Often she would become filled to overflowing with divine unction, and more than once I have heard her sweet, clear voice in outbursts of praise and glad hallelujahs. But hers was not simply a Church religion; it was a uniform, ever-flowing, perennial religion. In her home she had her special place for private prayer and there at special hours she would talk with God. Many a time have I heard her softly-whispered ejaculations as she communed with her. unseen though ever-present Father. Her life was an illustration of her faith and her neighbors took knowledge of her that she had been with Jesus.

She was a model of patience and never gave way to anger. She could bear more and resent less than any woman I have ever known. She was a paragon of industry. She could spin, weave, cut and make her clothing, and that of her husband and children, and when the product left her hand an expert io The Story of My Life

tailor could hardly have made any improvement on it. She was an admirable cook and knew how to supply her table with things good and palatable. And with the voice of song she went about her work as happy as the child of God. In much of her latter life she was in poor health, and at times her weak body would cast a spirit of gloom over her mellow face; but in the main she was buoyant and hopeful. I shall have much more to say about her in several chapters to follow; thus far I have only indicated her traits and qualities in order that the reader may know something of the heritage of my birth.

My father and mother were married at the home of her mother after a lengthy courtship, as I have heard her relate time and again. They at once went to housekeeping in a home he had prepared in Jefferson County two miles from the town of Dandridge. In front of their home ran the limpid French Broad River, whose banks were fringed with birch and willow, and whose rippling waters were as clear as crystal. Just beyond the stream there stretched a magnificent piece of rich bottom land to the foot of an irregular mountain range whose peaks seemed to kiss the overarching sky. Back of the home were undulating hills, covered with a luxuriant forest, in the branches of which the wild birds sang by day and the somber whip-poor-wills chanted their weird melodies by night. Amid these romantic surroundings, with every touch of rural beauty and attractiveness, nestled the comfortable home in which their wedded life had its peaceful beginning. Material wealth was not their possession, but they had plenty with which to begin, and they were rich in the wealth of their love and in the prospect of a life of happiness and inspiration. The whole surrounding made it the fit habitation for love's young dream, and no wedded couple ever entered upon their united career with brighter prospects and with more glowing

Pen Sketch of My Ancestry and Childhood II

anticipations. Hope regaled their experiences with creations of pleasure and held before them pictures of enchantment and fortune. Thus they settled down to the realities of domestic life and addressed themselves at once to the duties of their new relationship as husband and wife.

My birth and early life have some points of interest in this connection. I was neither the first nor the second-born in that quiet little home beside the swiftly-flowing river. The first to come was a baby girl, bright and promising. Around her my mother's affections clustered, and she was the light of her life. But before her conscious little eyes rested upon the strange world into which she had come, and just after she had made her presence indispensable to my mother's happiness, the angels came one dark, murky night and kissed her innocent spirit away. Her body was deposited on the hilltop not far off, the first spot to greet the sun in the morning and the last to bid him adieu at eventide. The little cradle sat silent and vacant in its accustomed place. This was the first sorrow that flung its dark shadow athwart the threshold of that home, and it left behind it a trail of maternal anguish. Thus, right in the beginning of her domestic experience, my mother was made to realize the bitter meaning of death. For months she was desolate. Often, toward the close of day, she would wend her saddened footsteps to that sunkissed mound and look up through her tears, wondering why the good Father had bereft her and left her sad and lonely. She was not rebellious, but the why of it was a pathetic puzzle to her faith.

In the course of time another dear little baby girl appeared in that home, and the look of sadness upon my mother's face gave place to that of joy and gladness. She did not forget the first-born, but the second was in some measure a recompense for the loss her heart had sustained. Life again took on hope and the future brightened in its expanse before her. But those glad smiles were soon destined to recede under another shadow, and the fitful light again faded into darkness; for when the cup of her delight was just about full the spirit of this smiling angel in human form took its flight to the land beyond. Then, instead of one, there were two little graves on the vernal hill, and my mother's heart was almost buried in ♦the tiny vaults that marked the sacred spot.

The heart is human, however strong its faith and however resigned to its mysterious fate. It cannot help bleeding when repeatedly bruised and torn. She was not in the least resentful. Her trust was unshaken, but the unknown purpose in the untoward visitations made her wonder why she was thus smitten. But day by day she went to the Father above for strength and guidance, and strove to cling the closer to the arm that seemed to ply the chastening rod. Often I used to hear her tell of her grief in those early days and, by and by, how she became reconciled to a merciful Providence in his strange dealings with her. She heard a voice whispering to her : "What I do now thou knowest not, but thou shalt know hereafter." She ceased to think of her loved and lost as sleeping on the hilltop, but as living a conscious life with God.

It was under these circumstances of striving to bring herself into perfect subjection to the will of the Father, and when her deeper consecration to him became the inspiration of her life, that I was born into the home. My first breath was, therefore, in the atmosphere of faith in God's providence and increased devotion to his service. Yea, my prenatal life was conceived and nurtured by her at a time when her faith was keenest and when her reliance upon divine strength was greatest. I came into the world through the heart-sobs of prayer; and she regarded my advent as God's own gift to her;

MRS. MARTHA J. RANKIN

MY MOTHER

Pen Sketch of My Ancestrv and Childhood 13

and she was happy and glad in the possession. Yes, I had a royal welcome into this hard old world. I was needed to fill up the measure of craving in a soul twice smitten and as the reward of a faith that no sort of sorrow could sweep from its anchorage.

How fortunate to be thus born! As a result, I cannot remember when I was not religiously inclined. My nature was bent that way, and my earliest thought dwelt upon God instinctively. My recollection does not reach back to the time I first prayed at my mother's knee. Her faith, in a certain sense, was my faith and her God was my God. Like her, in my early childhood I was a stranger to doubt. The Good Man, as my mother would present God to me, was a reality from the beginning; and heaven was as common to my early thinking as was the home in which I lived. I did not regard my little sisters as dead, and when my mother would lead me by the hand to their resting-place, she told me they only went that way to the better land. I believed it with all my innocent heart. What a delightful condition of soul when no doubt drags its ugly form across the pathway of faith ! Later on in life I had the spell of this absolute trustfulness rudely broken and it gave me the shock of my life. I passed through struggle and conflict during many disturbed nights and weary days before I recovered my bearing; and when the recovery was realized my soul was bruised and torn, some of the scars of which remain until this good day.

Consecrated motherhood is the best and most valuable boon in the life of a boy. It is the Angel of the Covenant whose influence goes with him from the beginning to the close of his earthly pilgrimage. However far he may drift in afterlife from the lessons of .his childhood, ever and anon he awakes to the consciousness of the fact that right there in the far-off background of his memory stands his mother looking wistfully and tenderly into his face. Her purity of life he can never cease to revere, and he can never free himself from the touch of her long-vanished hand. When all other comforts flee and other helpers cease, the fancied sound of her silent voice continues to sink like sacred music in his throbbing heart. He can never forget her prayer, her counsel, her godly admonition.

From my first recollection my mother treated me more like a companion than a child. Rather, she treated me more like her second self. Whether she bent over the garment with her needle in hand, or walked back and forth at her revolving spinning-wheel, or sent the shuttle singing through the warp of the resounding loom, or stooped over the washtub on the early Monday morning, or went quietly about the noonday meal, she was never too busy or tired to hold converse with me. She had a sweet voice of singular clearness and often she would sing the songs of Zion to me. They were the old songs that she sang, nearly all of which are obsolete now. They were songs of pathetic strain and tune, rich in minor melodies. Her early sorrows inclined her thought and feeling that way and the soft stop played a large part in her music, her devotion, her thinking and her manner of conversation.

I loved my father, of course, and had great respect for him, but not in the same way that I loved my mother. He was busy here and there with the affairs of life and my constant noise and prattle did not always appeal to him as it did to her. I held him in a sort of awe as he would come and go; but I felt as easy and restful in my mother's presence as a birdling1 in its sheltering nest. She opened her heart to me and 1 entered into it as my door of hope and confidence. My talk and questionings, though interminable, never seemed to weary or worry her in the least.

Chapter II Some Early Incidents I Well

Remember

When I was about five years old my grandmother came down to see us one day. This she often did, and it was always an event in our home. I noticed on this occasion that she and my mother were in very close whispered conversation just before she was ready to return home. Then she turned to me and said she wanted me to go home with her and spend a few days, that Jack wanted to see me, and that she had cake and sugar and other good things for me. Of course I was ready to accede to her proposition, for it was always a treat to visit her home. So she mounted old Rufe, her trusted old saddle-horse, my father threw me on behind her, and away we racked to grandma's house. When we arrived Jack was at the gate to receive us, which he did with many antics of delight.

She had an old trusted negro woman named Aunt Dinny, and no kinder heart ever beat in a human bosom. She was an old black mammy to me. In fact, she never showed any difference in her affection between Jack and me. Jack was her youngest child and he was three years older than I, and he was the inseparable chum of my early childhood. The boy who never had a country grandma, who never had an old black mammy, and who never had a little negro chum will never know what he has missed ; and whether living or dead, he still has a great deal coming to him. It was my good fortune to enjoy these three blessings. The memory of them is still precious to me, and I often revert to them and find joy in their recollection.

Jack was strongly attached to me. He really loved he like a little brother. He was a funny-looking little negro. He had a catfish mouth filled with white teeth, a flat nose, large lips, a small head covered with short kinky hair, tall and slender, and was as black as the ace of spades. In fact, as I afterwards learned, he was gawky and angular and a grotesque speciment of humanity. But at that time .1 saw no physical defect in his personal make-up. He was my beau-ideal. My freedom about the "big house" as the only white child gave me access to all the good things, and Jack was monstrously fond of goodies. Of course he loved me. And he was ready at a moment's notice to render me any sort of service.

As a result, he would do anything for me, and nothing really pleased him more than my visits to grandma's. As soon as I arrived he would run, jump, turn somersaults and cut all sorts of capers. There was nothing that he would not do for me. He would get down on his all-fours and let me ride him about the room, and he would improvise a harness and hitch himself to a little wagon and pull me all about the premises. He would sometimes mount the rungs of a ladder and skin cats by the half hour to my delight, and do divers other things for my amusement. So, on this particular visit, Jack was ready to receive me and he gave me a boisterous welcome. For a week I had the time of my life and was perfectly satisfied. Once or twice grandma slipped down to see mother without letting me know where she had gone.

But early one morning she had Uncle Martin to saddle old

Rufe and told me to tell Jack good-bye, for she was going to take me home to see mother. Off we paced, and in a couple of hours we were there and I rushed in to see mother. I was surprised to find her in bed, but I ran up to where she was and she drew me to her and kissed me. Then she threw back the cover and told me to see what Dr. Crawford had brought me. I looked, and there lay a tiny little baby brother! My astonishment staggered me, and my curiosity ran up to fever heat. I began to ask mother a hundred questions about that youngster, and it was many a day before my curiosity subsided. But I was overjoyed at the accession. But the coming of a new baby to the home to this good day makes about the same impression on the children. How fortunate that this is true! The little strangers are not responsible for their advent into this world and they are entitled to a welcome.

But my mother was a long time fully recovering and when she did it was only partial. She was almost an invalid for two years or more. As a result, I spent the most of that time at grandma's, with an occasional visit home. Her house became a sort of second home to me. She gave me every liberty, and no boy ever had a happier time. The preachers would often stop there, and once a month she would have public service in her house. They were a companionable class of men and always had a kind word for me. Grandma always told them that I was her little preacher, and it pleased me immensely. At these services the negroes were allowed to attend and to participate. She had one old man who was mighty in prayer and occasionally he was called on to lead, and he did it with fervor. They all joined in the singing, and I have never heard such Church music since that day.