"He ain't heavy, he's my brother".
From Bud Phillips Book "Buffalo Tales" comes this story.
Mellie Meek was a young, Civil War widow, living near Batesville in
Independence County, Arkansas. Those immediate post war years were
very hard, causing her to come to a place of such severe destitution
that authorities threatened to take her four children, ranging in age
from four to sixteen, from her and place them in foster homes. This
grieved and frightened the young mother so much that she devised a
desperate plan to hold her family together. She had a brother who
lived near Jasper on the Little Buffalo River, in far off Newton County.Her idea was to make a run for his place and there perhaps find lodging and safety.
During the darkness of a late summer night, she loaded meager belongings into a decrepit, two wheel cart and with this, pulled by an old and
weak horse, the family started up White River.
After a day or two had passed and many miles were between them and
Batesville, the depression of the young widow lifted somewhat so that
she would cheerfully sing to the children as they prodded wearily along.Remembering impressions from the yearly camp meetings of the brighter years, she would encourage the family with the singing of old hymns.
Her favorite was "We're bound For The Promised Land."
"Children, we are just a little band of pilgrims but the Promised Land is before us. When we get to Kell's (her brother at Jasper) things
will be a lot better. We won't be so hungry then and nobody will break us up." Then she would break forth with her favorite hymn.
Those "pilgrims" just about lived off the land for a long mile after
mile, weary day after day, as they wound slowly up the broad White
River Valley. The oldest boy, Milton Meek, age 16, kept a sharp eye
for small animals which he might kill with a skillful throw of a rock
and he often fished in the deep waters by the roadside after camp was
made for the night.
But tragedy struck near the mouth of Buffalo. It was about mid-afternoon when the twelve year old son complained of being so tired he could walk no further. A stop was made and the mother soon discovered that the
complaining lad was actually running a high fever. Under a low cliff
and near a clear, cool spring she tried to make her sick child comfortable,but he steadily grew worse. Still she was afraid to send to a nearby farm for help, lest their destitute plight be learned and the family face division again. All through that long night she rested the fevered head in her lap, often sending Milton to the nearby spring for more cooling water. And as she placed cool cloths on the head of the suffering child, she would lowly sing over and over,
About daybreak, young Milton was startled as he returned from the spring,and the other children were awakened by an anguished wail from the mother.The sick boy had died.
Using a piece of board found in a river bar drift pile for a shovel,
they dug a very shallow grave on a sandy knoll back of the spring.
There was no blanket to spare in which to wrap the body but the mother,unable to bear having sand cover her son's face, took off her only apron and wrapped his head in that. And in the hushed stillness of that late summer morning Mellie Meek sang over the lone grave,
The youngest child, Mercer Meek, had walked a great deal of the distance from Calico Rock, but frequent rocky crossings of the meandering Buffalo,had bruised the tender feet of the four year old boy. By the time the "little band of pilgrims" reached a point about due south of Yellville,the young fellow was being carried, alternately in the arms of his mother and on the back of young Milton. Milton was trailing a little behind with his burden when he heard his mother talking to strangers up ahead. The strangers turned out to be a man and his wife who were building a fence near the banks of the Buffalo. The kind couple, sensing the weariness and destitution of the family, invited them to their house for food and lodging for the night. The young widow felt unusally tired that afternoon, so agreed to the offer.
That unusual tiredness of Mellie Meek turned into a high fever before
morning. Apparently it was the same affliction which had taken the
twelve year old boy a few days before. By noon the next day her seven year old daughter became ill in the same manner. The mother died during the second night and the daughter followed the next morning. Their hosts and a few neighbors buried the two in the same grave in a little family plot on the farm and out near the Buffalo Road.
The same fear of family disolvement which had driven the Meeks from the Batesville area, seized upon young Milton before his mother and sister were hardly buried. He fancied that some low talking on the part of
several men during the burial time meant that plans were being made to separate the brothers and put them out in different homes. So it was that through that long afternoon he was planning to slip away and continue the journey toward Jasper and his uncle's home.
He and his four year old brother were put to bed in a side room early
that night as the tired family sought long rest from the ordeal of the past two days. Mercer Meek fell to sleep almost instantly but the older brother sat apprehensively on the side of the bed.
A bright, full moon arose over the Marion County hills, bathing the valley in silvery light. Milton Meek slowly and every so gently, lifted his sleeping brother from the bed. Stepping out into the still clear night,he quickly headed for the Buffalo Road. Passing the little plot where his mother and sister were buried that day, he found himself lowly humming "We're Bound For The Promised Land," to the child in his arms.
He traveled as fast as he could all that night then rested in thick woods near the river during the next day. Then as night hid the two, travel was resumed again. It was a slow journey for Mercer had to be carried every step of the way because of his painful and swollen feet. After the second day out, Milton felt that day travel was safe again so finding the road and crossing unknown river fords became a little easier. Even so, one today can hardly imagine the perils and burden of such a journey for those so young. There were thunderstorms, wild beasts, rapid and deep fords, hunger and exhaustion, and a haunting danger of the fever,yet by some miracle the two made it to that area just below the mouth of Calf Creek, Searcy County, Arkansas.
It had been a long hot day yet Milton decided to travel on in the early dusk, hoping to find a suitable place to rest for the night. The road was hardly more than a narrow trail, skirting along the rive at the
edge of a narrow cane brake. The weary lad spotted a long sand bar
down near the river and deciding to use that as a resting place, took
a route through dense brush toward it. Without warning a searing,
stabbing pain tore into his leg. He never knew whether it was a rattle-snake or cottonmouth moccasin as the viper was hidden by the dense brush and grass, and quickly slithered away.
The lad's first thought was that he must find a settlers cabin quickly and before he became past traveling.So clutching young Mercer to him, he hastily took up the valley road again and walked on as fast as his swelling leg and excruciating pain would allow. After perhaps a mile he could go no further. Clutching his younger brother closely to him he sank down in the shadows of a huge,spreading beechnut tree by the roadside.
The hours dragged on. The swelling crept upward and became so great that he felt that his leg would burst. Time and again he felt as if he were losing consciousness but strength born of concern for the child in his arms kept sustaining him.
The child, apparently knowing that something was wrong, slept fitfully.
Near midnight the ominous, low sound of thunder rolled from over the
the mountain which lay toward Richland Valley, Milton was hardly aware of it. The child awoke again, causing Milton to start his mother's
familiar lullaby once more.
Through that dark night and along that narrow trail came the faint sound of voices. Old Tom Johnson, two of his grown sons, and a neighbor man had been to Masonic Lodge, and were returning to the Johnson farm, which was barely a mile upstream. As they drew near the spreading beechnut
tree by the roadside, the quavering, pain-filled voice of the suffering lad, singing the ancient lullaby, drifted out toward them.
"Lordy, hit's a hant," the neighbor man cried out in terror," They usta have baptisins rat plum square by here in the river and thats the voice uv some ole saint a comin' back from the dead, Lordy!" With that he
turned and fled swiftly back down the road.
But old Tom Johnson and his sons, who had lived for years in danger of the capricious "Fightin" Fanny Felkins, were not to be frightened by a weak "hant". Investigating further, they found the suffering lad and
carried him to the Johnson home.
"That youngin has been hit by a snake and ah bound ye hit's been a baden,old "Fightin Fanny screeched out as she wiped sleep from her eyes with one hand and held on to her stick with the other. "Ah done seed too many whuts been bit by them ole rattlers and thangs in Texas--been hit ten 'er twelve times myself--and ah know jist how hit acts. And ah knows whut to git fer a healin too. Here Tilda, ye look aftern th little critter (Mercer) an ah'll run fotch sum slippery elm bark, and black
haw root and ah'll need a little bit uv snake weed."
With that she took out into the dark and stormy night, swinging her
long stick."Ifen, ah run into a bad ole snake myself, ah'll make him wush he'd stayed way up on the mountain," she called back as she closed the yard gate.
The recovery of Milton Meek was slow and tedious. It was far up into
the autumn before he was able to walk any distance. Cold weather came early that year, causing the Johnsons to strongly discourage his taking Mercer and journeying on toward Jasper. So it was that the two spent
the long winter with that kind Buffalo Valley family.
During the first warm days of the next spring, a nephew of Tilda Johnson came by for a short visit. He lived on a Richland farm not far from the mouth of Dry Creek and had need of a farm hand for the summer. In that the Johnsons had no need of extra help it was agreed that young Milton should go with this Mr. Jack Jacobs (the nephew)if he so desired.
By then Milton had decided that being he was not at all certain that his uncle still lived at Jasper, it might be best to seek the"promised land" in that area. He agreed to go with the farmer from Richland if little Mercer could be taken with him. This was agreed to so again taking the child upon his back, Milton Meek walked along with Mr. Jacobs toward their new home. And when the old Johnson place was lost to sight and the valley road lay before them, the lad again soothed his brother by softly humming
But life with the Jacobs on their Richland farm was far from a "promised land" existence. There was no "milk and honey" but there was constant and ever-increasing burdensome labor. And Jack Jacobs would hve made a taskmaster pleasing to the heart of any cruel Egyptian Pharoah. From daylight until dark, Milton was forced to labor in the hot Richland
bottom fields, with only a little time for lunch and no rest at any
other time during the day. After supper there always seemed to be wood to cut and stack, or harness to be mended, or something else which kept the boy busy until near midnight. Young Mercer Meek was always sent to bed early " to git him outen th way," as unkind Mrs. Jacobs would say.There the child would whimper and sleep fitfully until joined hours later by his bone-tired brother. Once, Milton started to sing their mother's lullaby to him, but the Jacobs quickly told him to hush "such racket" so they might sleep.
Jack Jacobs had developed a drinking habit while he was serving in the Confederate Army, and it had grown worse since the end of his service.Sometimes, for several days, he would be in a drunken stupor. At such times Milton had to do the work of two men under the bitter and caustic supervision of Mrs. Jacobs. There were occasions when both she and her drunken husband took turns at beating him for "doing too little work."and then would unmercifully whip little Mercer for standing by crying as his brother was beaten.
Of course Milton began to think of escaping and journeying on toward
Jasper to perchance find their uncle there. But Kell Mercer (little
Mercer had his mother's maiden name) was not to be their Moses nor was Jasper to be their "promised land".
The Jacobs had a neighbor, one Alfred Ethridge*, who had served in the Confederate Army with Jack Jacobs. Indeed, they had become enemies while serving together and had had several "run ins" since settling down near each other on Richland. Alfred Ethridge had become aware of the plight of the Meek boys since their arrival on the Jacobs farm and several times had threatened to "roll down a briar patch" with Jack for the way he was treating the orphans from Independence County. As it was, he was able to help in a far more effective manner.
Along in the late summer that year the Ethride farm was sold in view
of the move to Texas. A few days later, while the grass was still heavy with morning dew, the Ethridge wagons rolled onto that stretch of road which lead by the Jacobs farm. Milton Meek, his tired back bent to the early morning sun, was laboring hard in a field near the road. The wagons stopped near him and Alfred Ethridge called out in kind and compassionate voice:
Nearing the Jacobs' house, young Mercer was spotted as he struggled along up a steep incline from the spring, carrying a bucket of water which was much too heavy for him. Milton ran to him, and as he had done so many times on the long trip up the Buffalo, knelt down on the ground so that the little fellow might climb on his back. The child hadn't forgotten,for in moments the strong lad felt little arms tighten around his neck.As he arose he spoke words to his brother which were clearly remembered by an aged Mercer Meek, seventy five years later:
Jack Jacobs was dead drunk and stretched out on the back porch, but
Mrs. Jacobs came running from the garden, and shaking an angry fist
toward the boys when she realized that they were leaving. She was
stopped half-way across the yard by the steely voice of Alfred Ethridge:
"Jist stop where you air ole gal! I'm takin these boys to Texas and
ain't nobody short uv Gawd Almighty whut's gonna stop me. And tell Jack Jacobs iffen he tries to overtake us, that he'll never hear the owls
hoot on Richland again er anywhere else."
Having said he urged his team onward. Much later as the travelers
topped the mountain at the head of Richland and started down the long
slope toward Dover, Russellville, and the great Southwest, Milton Meek was heard softly singing,
Brown County, Texas did indeed become the promised land for the Meek
brothers. There the boys grew to manhood, married and raised families,and prospered greatly in farming and merchandising.
"He carried me many a mile on his back when I was a child and I finally got the chance to carry him awhile," Mercer Meek would say and with misty eyes look afar off as he rocked on the wide porch of his palatial home near Brownwood, Texas.
Today, the Central Texas winds blow strongly over a grassy knoll where stands two identical gravestones among many others which mark the last resting places of many a Meek and their progeny. On these two is the
* Afred Ethridge was great-great uncle of the author, Bud Phillips.
And still she was singing "We're Bound For the Promised Land."
"We're Bound For The Promised Land."
"We're Bound For The Promised Land."
Never looking back, she led the remaining family on toward the nearby mouth of Buffalo.
"We're Bound For The Promised Land."
"Milton, we're going to Texas," and here his voice changed into a firm and commanding, though gentle tone, "and I'm takin you and Mercer with me. We'll all find a promised land there." (Texas then was thought to be the ultimate destination for all who sought agricultural prosperity).
In moments, Milton had jumped the rail fence and had taken his place
among the older Ethridge children, who were walking behind the wagon.
He was no longer tired and his mind was not troubled. (It is amazing
how tiredness and depression vanish with new hopes for a better
existence.)
"Little buddy, ah carried you on my back all th way frum Marion County to here and ah'll carry you all th way to Texas ifen hit takes that to git us to the promised land."
"We're Bound For The Promised Land," to the child on his back. (Old Mercer Meek use to say that he rode part of the way to Texas in the Ethridge wagon but in that he felt "more at home"on Milton's back, he made most of the journey in that manner.)
Milton's family all died before him and financial reverses left him near destitution in his extreme old age. But the still prosperous younger brother took the aged Milton into his home and gave him the best of care until his death.
same epitaph:
"BOUND FOR THE PROMISED LAND."
Alfred was brother of Rebecca Ethridge Greenhaw, great-great-great
grandmother of the Flood children,
Evelyn Flood
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