My Life Is an Open Book

Front matter

My Life Is An Open Book

Original content from Golman Buford Hancock: New content from Edith Imogene Hancock May:

Preface

"Where could I get a copy of Grandfather Hancock's book?" This question has been asked many times through the years among the descendants of G. B. Hancock. In reality, a book as such, did not exist. What had commonly become known as his "book" was a collection of writings that were published in a religious journal referred to as the "O. R." I have been unable to determine what the abbreviation denotes.

As each installment appeared, it was clipped and lovingly pasted in a scrapbook by his daughter, Sally Pearl. Aunt Pearl, as she was known, died Nov. 13, 1905, and the scrapbook became the precious possession of her only child, Pearl, who so graciously loaned it to this writer for copying, that it might be finally published and shared with all the descendants of this remarkable man.

The articles have been copied exactly as they appeared in the scrapbook. Each installment is treated as a chapter. The work has been carefully proofread and all punctuation, capitalization, spelling and abbreviation is the author's. Due to the great age of the scrapbook a few words were not discernible, and they have been left to the reader's imagination, indicated by broken lines.

This little book has been published with an eye to economy and for this reason the type was not set by the printer, but was photographed exactly as it came from my typewriter. It is hoped this small irregularity will be completely overshadowed by the interesting and sometimes fascinating contents of the script as it flowed from the pen of the author.

It has been a privilege to have had a part in bringing this work to publication that it might be enjoyed by all who so desire. We deeply appreciate the generosity of Pearl Williams Wilson in making it possible by sharing her scrapbook and also the Hancock family picture.

Imogene Hancock May

Chapter 1

Under the above caption, though borrowed, we purpose for the benefit of others giving something of our own life. We do not design in the common acceptation an autobiography.

Biographies of noted and worthy men, men that have been properly considered benefactors, when properly written, are among the most interesting and profitable of uninspired books. We do not propose that our sketches shall ever appear in book form, and the conclusion that we write with the idea that we deserve to rank among the class mentioned above does us great injustice. Yet, as we ever write with the motto before our mind, "He who writes for the public eye should write for the public good," we certainly conclude that in some respects these sketches will be beneficial, otherwise they would not appear.

My father, Benjamin Hancock, was born in North Carolina, near the Virginia line, in the year 1778. (As the old family record was lost during the late war we cannot give many dates.) He was the son of Benjamin Hancock, a brother, as we learned from an old uncle on my mother's side, of John Hancock, whose name stands at the head of the list of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. My grandfather was a soldier through the entire war of the revolution. At an early date he moved to what was known as the New Purchase of Kentucky. As land was not valuable convenience was the main item in selecting a location, they settled on Gap Creek, Wayne county. He was the second settler in that part, a family by the name of Stockton having preceded him. Here game, timber, water, and Indians were plentiful, but they had to go one hundred miles to get their grinding. At the age of forty-two years my father was married to Elizabeth Vickrey. To them ten children were born, six sons and four daughters. Three of the daughters died in early childhood. June 7th, 1839, the writer of these lines was born.

In some respects our father was an eccentric man. In naming his sons this appeared. The first son was christened, Jessee Emsly John Vickrey Hancock, the second, William Luther Martin Daniel, the third, Benjamin Francis Henry Tuggle, the fourth James Calvin Delay, the fifth George Berry Dandridge Cruz, and the writer, Leland Golmon Buford Kimbrel. Our oldest brother died when we were but a child. Except the third the others, for the sake of convenience, just kept two of their initials.

At an early date my father erected a water mill on his farm, which did the grinding or most of it for the neighborhood. He was a farmer, a miller, a justice of the peace, and a Baptist preacher. He never attained to notoriety as a preacher, but was a man of considerable influence and after ceased to be a J.P. when a difference would arise in the neighborhood all appeared to be willing to leave it to Uncle Ben, as he was familiarly known. He had no concern so far as the goods of this world were concerned beyond a reasonable supply of food and raiment. He was a friend to the poor, the widow and orphan. He raised four orphans and looked to the extent of his ability after objects of charity. I heard in my childhood how many such objects have died in his house, but do not now remember. We will know after awhile when the books are opened.

My father inherited the old homestead. The house was a hewed log house, covered with chestnut shingles, covered when nails were not to be had. The shingles were pinned to the laths. When not quite four years old my mother died, leaving a girl baby, something over a year old, the only girl in the family. Our father had to tend his mill, superintend the farm, and attend his meetings; neighbor women were kind, but we were a family of neglected ones. My oldest brother had gone into the tanning business, and was looking after a wife. It was a good farmer in those days that could afford biscuit for breakfast Sunday mornings. Uncle John Hicks came nearer doing so than most men in that part. Uncle John had a grown daughter, and brother often went to the Hicks' residence. And we were always rejoiced when we could think brother had gone to see Miss Hicks; for she would fill his coat pockets with biscuits for us children. And now if I should at any place where I stop to hold a meeting find a family that could make biscuit that would taste half as well as those did I certainly would make that my home while in those parts. Brother married a Miss Huffaker, but in a little over a year they were both laid in the Arter Creek cemetery.

Before I reached my thirteenth birthday father was called to go. He called me his boy baby. He was old and feeble, and was only sick about nine days. In the evening before he died at night he was helped from his lips to the stream of cold water and seated, and wet his mouth. He then fixed his eyes upon me, and with an effort that called for all his strength he prayed for the blessing of God to rest upon his boy. These were his last words. We were then a broken family. The third brother took charge of the little girl, the boys each had to care for himself. If children who have a home and kind parents that they fail to appreciate could only spend a few months as we spent the next few years, it would perhaps be a good schooling.

After the death of my father I went first to live with an aunt on my mother's side. This was a mistake, not that I could have gone into a nicer family than Doctor Fleming's. Kinder old folks, or nicer children I could not have been with. Aunt was one of the nicest hands in that country to make cloth. Father kept sheep and raised flax, and had cloth made twice a year. He would have jeans enough made in the fall to make the boys each two pair of pants and a hunting shirt. In the spring he would have tow and flax cloth made. Each of the boys would get two pair of tow pants. The larger boys that were wanting to get out into society would get a flax pair for Sunday use. Some times there would be sufficient flax scraps to make the "boy baby" a pair of pants. When such was the case there would be one cheerful heart in that family. When the cloth would be ready the women of the neighborhood would come, en mass, cut and make the garments. Upon one occasion, a woman that did not understand her business as she might have done was given the task of cutting and making my flax pants. She missed it so far in cutting that when they were done I could not get into them. I was always of a forgiving disposition, but I am not conscious at the present time that I ever did forgive that woman. Father had to economise, so the jeans cloth would be bark colored. Aunt Fleming would make blue mixed jeans. She not only made blue mixed of a fine quality, but for her boys a Sunday suit she would mix in Turkey red enough to give an extra appearance. It was winter time when I went to live with that family. Aunt gave me a nice fitting suit of her extra jeans. Well, Joseph may have thought as much of his coat of divers colors, but I am sure he did not think any more of his coat than I did of my suit. And now, if I could have a suit of as nice jeans as that was you preachers could have your Prince Albert, and welcome.

My father was a very indulgent parent. Except when I had to stay with little sister I was my father's constant companion. After Creek Baptist meeting house was built on Father's land, Gap Creek was between our residence and the meeting house. Father was old and tottery. In crossing the creek and in climbing the hill upon which the meeting house stood he would brace himself on his right side with his cane and on the other by resting his left hand on my shoulder. Whenever I was with him I was a happy boy, whether on the road, the farm or about the little water mill. After his death I missed his kind counsel, his words of encouragement, and above all his caressing love. I longed to be the object of some one's affection and tender care. Uncle and Aunt Fleming were kind, but they had a large family of children, and boys near my size, that made me feel that I was the one too many, there was no room. Spring opened, I longed for home. My oldest living brother had married and lived at the old home. I went back with the idea of living there, but it was no longer home. I went to live with a cousin by marriage, I was taken sick and they sent me back to my brother's to be cared for.

When I had sufficiently recovered I went into an adjoining county to live with a second cousin by marriage. They were inclined to be tyrannical. While there I determined to become a Christian, but was prevented. Although but fourteen years of age I was decidedly of a religious turn of mind. I worked there about three months for which they gave me two shirts made of common domestic. A few miles from there, in what was known as Caney Gap, lived an aged widow by the name of Beck. She and a daughter, about 35 years old lived alone, except what time F. E. Beck, a grandson, and a Baptist preacher, stayed with them. They wanted a boy to stay with them. Hearing of me, and being well acquainted with Father, as he was one of their kind of preachers, they concluded I was the boy they wanted. While we were at work one evening a finely dressed, fine looking man, with a very pleasant expression, and riding one of the finest horses I had ever seen rode to where we were and asked if that was Mr. _____. He introduced himself and inquired if I was the Hancook boy that was living there. He then made his errand known. He could see that he was not thanked for that visit. He took in the situation and said, "My grandmother and aunt need some boy to stay with them, and if we can get such a boy we are able and willing to do a good part by him." Turning to me he said, "Please let me know your decision soon." My decision was then made, but I dare not let it be known. In a day or two I said to Mr. _____, "I had better go to Mr. Beck's and let him know my decision, as I promised." This was not met with approval but as he was in some respects --------- he could not object to me filling my promise. He asked if I wished to ride. I told him I would walk to Beck's that evening and back next morning. I was back next morning but not afoot.

I dreaded that trip, but thought I could behave myself nice enough to escape a castigation. I went into the house and told the lady I wanted my clothes. She handed them to me. Mr. _____ was present, but did not speak to me. I saw that he wanted a chance to give us a piece of his mind. That chance he did not get. A few days at the widow Beck's convinced me that my fondest hopes were to be realized. I had found the place I had been looking for ever since my father's death. I was where I could be somebody's boy. Grandma and Aunt Sallie were kind as heart could wish, and F. E. was a gentleman. He was, of course preaching under the commission as recorded in the tenth chapter of Matthew. A man that lived twenty-five miles from there was owing Mr. Beck some money. He happened to be in a neighborhood where Mr. Beck was holding a meeting. He called and offered to pay it, but Mr. Beck refused, saying that when preaching the Savior forbade him taking purse or script. The man had to wait till he could see Mr. Beck when he was not engaged in a meeting to pay that money.

Chapter 2

From the time I left Uncle Fleming's till the time I went to Beck's to live I knew but little of kind treatment. I was abused, insomuch that I was inspired with a degree of diffidence I will never overcome. Mr. Beck would speak kindly and endeavored to inspire me with lofty motives, and holy ambition. For the first year they were to clothe me, send me to school three months, and give me twenty dollars.

Mr. Beck bought a fine young mare and told me she was mine to care for and ride so long as I should live with them. Aunt Sallie bought cloth and made me a nice suit of clothes. I could now go to meeting and hold my head up. By mid-summer I was a member of the Baptist church and had no thought but that Becks would be my home through my youth. I was, in this, however, doomed to disappointment. William Beck, a brother to the preacher, but more demon than man, bought an interest in the farm and moved into the house. Not only did the boy have to get out, but also grandma and aunt had to hunt a home elsewhere. He compromised with me by giving me $17.

I had never been to school, but now determined to spend my money in school. I went to Wayne county and attended a subscription school three months. There I learned something of spelling, reading and writing. I then went to Russell county to live with a Mr. Leverage. I stayed there but a few weeks, and then went to Creelsboro, where I stayed nearly a year, working in a saddle shop and clerking in a dry goods store. Creelsboro was a hard place and my home was with a hard family. The fall that I was there the typhoid fever raged, and I was one of the victims. When I had to take the bed I was placed in a small room, without ventilation or screens, but an abundance of flies. I had no nurse, but had to care for myself. There were none, except the doctor, that seemed to care whether I lived or died— all predicted that I would die. The doctor had sixty-two cases on his hands, and could only get around about once in every forty-eight hours. I had to wait on myself. All the assistance I would get, a cup of water and my medicine would be placed on a table where I could reach it.

Sometimes I could recollect to take medicine as directed, sometimes I could not. Upon one occasion the doctor having left I undertook to take the first dose as directed. I reached for the cup of water, I was too feeble to raise up, my hand gave way and the water was tilled into the vessel where my medicine was, and all was spoiled. I did without till the doctor's return. I was then in a critical condition and the doctor now realized how sadly I was neglected. He went into an adjoining room where the woman of the house was and gave her a sound cursing. I would doze, the flies would get into my mouth, I would wake up and take them out. Say what you please, you fatalist, but I shall ever hold that in answer to my father's dying prayer I was providentially kept through such periods in my childhood.

I remained in Creelsboro until the following spring; I then went across the river to Clinton county and worked as a hand for Frank Irwin at $8 per month. When crops were made I had money enough to meet the expenses of my sickness in Creelsboro.

I then determined to learn the saddle and harness trade. With this in view I went to Monticello and made an agreement with James Warden, the saddle and harness man of that town. I was to work the first year for my victuals and clothes. I had not been there long till thoughts of the future passed through my mind. I soliloquized as follows: "I am now seventeen years old; the responsibilities of manhood will soon be upon me. For such I am not prepared; this will never do. I must go to school." I had no money, and but few clothes. A ten months school had just opened in Stockton Valley. I sent a note to the principal and gave him my condition, and told him I wanted to go to school. He wrote to me immediately, urging me to enter his school and agreeing to be surety for my board and tuition. I determined to go. Mr. and Mrs. Warden tried to dissuade me from that conclusion. I was, however, determined and was soon in school.

I missed three weeks of the first five months of school, which ended the last of December. By request of the patrons a vacation of six weeks was given, that the severest of winter might pass before the last session opened. I went to Creelsboro and proposed to the saddler there that I would make saddles on the halves if he would furnish the material. To this he agreed. I had to miss one week of school to complete the saddles that I had commenced. I was in school promptly the second week; and had saddles enough to pay board and tuition for the entire school.

When the last term ended I had gotten through with spelling, reading, arithmetic, English grammar, geography, composition, philosophy and astronomy. I then engaged to teach a four months' school twelve miles from Albany, on the breaks of the Cumberland. They had never seen a blackboard in that part. In agreeing to teach their school I had stipulated with the directors that a blackboard should be furnished, and the school should be conducted according to the most improved methods. Of this they soon repented. They objected to the blackboard, to the silent method in school, to classing the students, and to drilling in the art of spelling and reading. They said their children knew nothing about these things. They had been used to the students saying their lessons one at a time, and had been used to the children all spelling and reading out, so that they could be heard at least a quarter of a mile. One director could see the improvement and stood by me. The other two tried to stop the school. We taught the school. We then entered school at Albany. We had not, however, been there but one month when we determined to go to California with some young men that were going from that place.

Having determined to go to California I sold my interest in the old homestead, by giving security for a deed, when I should become of age, and arranged to start. We were to go to New York and ship from there to San Francisco. That trip could be made one month quicker than the trip that way we had to start by a certain date. We were to start on Monday, but on Sunday the two young men that I was to go with came to town and informed me that their parents were not willing for them to start that month, and consequently the time for starting would be postponed one month. I determined to spend that month visiting, so next morning I started for Tennessee. I had not been gone long till those young men came after me. Their parents had consented for them to start. They could not wait and make the necessary connection, so I was left. I had said, however, that I was going to California, and when I said a thing, even in my youthful days, I generally meant it.

I had longed to see some of the great West, hence I determined to go to Independence, Mo., and go across into California with a freight or emigrant train. A young man, my senior by some years, wanted to go with me. He had no money, but had been to Missouri. I doubted the propriety of accepting him as a traveling companion. Surrendering, however, to the judgment of an older brother, I consented to take him with me, bear his expenses and wait till he could refund the money. On January 18, 1858, we left Albany. We went to Nashville, Tenn., designing to go from there to Cairo, Ill., by water. There we had to wait three or four days for a boat.

We went to Grishan and Huffaker's wholesale grocery store. Mr. Huffaker was a brother to our oldest brother's wife. He went with us to a boarding house, told the proprietor to take good care of us till we could get passage down the river. I was now eighteen years old.

I was determined to live a virtuous life. We took, while in Nashville, extensive walks, that we might see the different parts of the city. Having taken an extensive walk one evening after supper we were returning, my companion halted in front of what appeared to me a doubtful house, and said to me, "Let's go in here and see some fun." There was considerable merriment within. I assured him that I would not. He then said, "You go to our room and I will come after awhile." I then turned to him and firmly said "Jim, you can do as you please. You are older than I am, but I want it distinctly understood that if you go into that house you have traveled your last mile at my expense." He knew that I meant just what I said, and so went with me to our room.

The time came for our boat to start; Mr. Huffaker came, settled our board bill, accompanied us to the boat, and bade us farewell. The trip to Cairo was a lonesome one. From Cairo we traveled to St. Louis by railroad. From St. Louis we went to Jefferson City. There we expected to get boat passage to Independence. A boat was expected to start on that trip soon, but not being able to get any satisfaction as to when, we determined to go to Boonville by stage. Before reaching Cairo we had formed the acquaintance of a gentleman bound for the vicinity of Independence. As we judged upon first acquaintance he proved to be a pleasant and safe companion.

It was after sunset when the stage left Jefferson City. The nights were dark, and it was cold winter weather. I did not like appearances. So I told my companions that I would not get inside of that stage, but would sit with the driver. The stage was heavily loaded with mail and I watched him closely. Soon he drove onto a place where the vehicle tilted. At the proper time I made a spring and landed safely on my feet. I heard a faint cry from within for help. The baggage was smothering my Kentucky companion. By the time the driver had adjusted his team I, by an extra effort, had extricated my two companions. They were somewhat frightened, but nobody was hurt. We took our valises and told the driver he could go on. We had a dark, muddy walk for some miles before we got to where we could find a place to rest.

When we reached Boonville we telegraphed to Jefferson City to know if any boat was between there and Boonville destined for St. Joseph. The answer came, No. We then started for Glassgow, reaching that place in the evening we stopped for the night. Early next morning the boat we had been expecting landed at Glassgow. We went aboard and asked the price of a ticket to our destined point. "Twenty dollars," was the answer. I told the --------- that was the price from Jefferson City. He said it was the same from there. I told my companions that I could walk it for less than that. We had between two and three months to spend somewhere before time for starting across the planes, and my Kentucky friend having spent some time, on a previous trip, in Putnam Co., Mo., he proposed that we go there to spend the time till spring opened. To this we consented. We went to Unionville, via Bloomington and Kirksville. In Putnam county we found several with whom we had been acquainted in Kentucky. We had been there but a few days when Jim informed me that he had determined not to go any further toward California that year. His excuse was that the Mormon war being on hand the trip would be a hazardous one. We regretted to be again baffled, but he having spent about fifty dollars of our money we determined to postpone our trip one year and get our money back.

Jim engaged to teach a school in the country. We applied for the school in Unionville. Being a mere boy and a stranger the directors paid but little attention to us. We had about concluded that our application was in vain. Having called one day to see a Mr. Bradshaw, one of the directors, and getting but little encouragement we concluded to go into the country and try to get a school. We stepped into the store of Davis & Simpson, leading dry goods merchants. Some one called our name, an elderly gentleman arose and called for the man of that name. Learning that I was a son of Uncle Ben, of Wayne County, Kentucky, he spoke of my parents to those present, and gave the family such a recommendation that Mr. Davis went immediately to see the directors. Mr. Bradshaw came immediately and told me that I could have the school.

Chapter 3

Our school in Unionville opened with one hundred and twenty-five pupils. It was taught in the court house, which was a log building, one and one-half stories high. It had two rooms, a lower and upper room. The lower was the court room, the upper room was the clerk's office. William Shelton, a young Kentuckian and three years my senior, had charge of the upper room. During the school term, except when court would be in session, we had full control of the lower room. As Mr. Shelton was from the same part of Kentucky that I was, and our parents had been associates, we were soon intimates and confidants. He was the only one that I counseled during that school term. He willingly assisted me all that he could. One thing he seemed to conclude that I did not need assistance in, and that was the use of the rod.

I soon found that I had a herculean task on my hands. I was told that a public school had never been taught in the town, that one or two had been commenced but the boys proved to be master of the situation. One thing I saw had to be settled first of all; namely, would I or those boys prove to be master? There were two or three ring leaders. One of these was in his seventeenth year. I was aware that they were secretly armed. I kept my eyes on them, and determined to give them no advantage. I talked to them till it was evident that words were of no avail. After school one evening I visited a brush patch, secured a good switch and placed it convenient to my place in the court room. At an early hour the next morning the sixteen year old began, as usual, a disturbance. I spake to him, he replied, "Sir, I'll let you know I will do just as I please." I replied, "We will see." Taking my switch I walked to him, he rose and placed his right hand in his bosom. I halted at a proper distance and taking hold of my switch with both hands I let him have it with all the power I could summon. Soon his hand dropped from his bosom and he yelled pitifully. He was quiet till noon, when he gathered his books and left school. The ring leader was now gone, but the spirit of insubordination remained, and for some days that court room was a lively place; for if I could get along without whipping less than twenty-five a day it was a remarkably quiet day. Many concluded that that schoolroom was not a healthy place and left us; so, with the remainder we went through the session very pleasantly. One thing was now demonstrated; namely, a public school could be taught in that town. That, of course, made it an easier task for subsequent teachers.