On a torn piece of cheap old
scratch paper, this arresting bit of document, penciled in my late grandmother's
quaint hand, spoke to me as plainly one day as if it were her own well-modulated
voice. "Here," it seemed to say, "is the simple chronicle of a life whose
years were underscored in recollection because they were 'uphill' years
on the Texas frontier -- here is something symbolic of a host of sturdy
pioneer men and women whose significant lives, perhaps by their apparent
insignificance, have too long remained unrecorded!"
I accepted the challenge.
In 1861, a father, mother, and four
children left Hamilton County, Illinois, in a covered wagon bound for Texas.
Six weeks they were on the road. Mary Jane Harper, nine years old, was
the oldest child and assumed much of the responsibility of her younger
sister and the two brothers during the difficult move.
Seventy years after this trip over sparsely
settled country, my grandmother, Mary Jane Harper McFarland, quietly related
incidents of the journey as her own clear memory stretched back into those
days of conflict. The problem of Missouri secession was a critical one
in 1861, and the night the Harpers reached St. Louis, they found a skirmish
taking place there. This being Mary Jane's first experience with actually
seeing hand-to-hand combat, it made an everlasting impression, as did the
rise of the South Canadian River at Eufala, Oklahoma. At this juncture
of the trip, several wagons had congregated to wait until the water went
down. Ingenious Mr. Harper and others, anxious to get on to Texas, devised
a scheme whereby all could be transported to the other side. By floating
the wagon beds, a raft was made on which the children were placed, while
the horses, men and women swam across. Toward the end of the trip, the
family passed through Sherman and Dallas, then little more than names on
small wooden station placards.
The Harpers settled first in Ellis County
near Waxahachie for over a year. Then Mr. Harper moved to Fannin County,
where he established his family before putting on a gray uniform. It was
almost impossible for him to communicate with them during the war, and
many a cold day Mary Jane would ride horseback with her little brother
Jasper clinging tight behind her as they went into town for the letter
that never came.
The next few years were marked by an
undercurrent of sadness and disillusionment characteristic of so many homes
during that difficult war period when households, newly established, were
disrupted by the absence of the men. Soon after Grandmother's father's
return from the war, he died, leaving a wife and six children, two still
babies, to fend for themselves during the hectic Reconstruction period.
There was no money; during the war all the goods they had left in Illinois
had been confiscated, and Mary Jane, now fourteen years old, wore her mother's
cut-down dresses, and then carefully handed them down to the younger sister
for further wear.
I am repeatedly impressed with the simplicity
of her brief diary. For her sixteenth year -- "My mother and six children
worked our best." No disparagement, no complaint, but brave acceptance
and resourcefulness -- two of many remarkable qualities exhibited throughout
her life.
Her entire formal education was meager.
For a few months during her sixth and seventh years she attended school
in a log house. After coming to Texas, housework and care of the other
children left little time for anything but intermittent attendance. "17th
year -- went to school every day I could. 18th year -- I went to school
no more."
Grandmother and Grandfather attended
the same writing school, which was taught by Uncle Tom Burnett for a time
in Fannin County after the Civil War. Concentrated study of the Blueback
Speller made her easily rank the highest in that subject, and years later
she could still spell down everybody at a "bee." Later grandfather said
he was attracted to Mary Jane because she could excel him in spelling.
Less than a week before her twentieth
birthday, considered a late date for a girl to marry in those days, Mary
Jane Harper and James Franklin McFarland were married. His grandfather
had emigrated from Tennessee in 1836 and had acquired a title to land north
of Ladonia. "Jim" could remember clearly the barn built by his father back
of their home on this land, the only entrance or exit to which was through
the house, so that the Indians could not reach the valued farm animals.
If there was to be even a modest 'trousseau,"
Mary Jane would have to provide it for herself. The fall before she was
married, she carded, spun and wove sixty yards of heavy, strong jeans.
She had figured that the practical cotton and wool cloth would be the most
marketable product that she could make with her own hands. Taking the material
to Honey Grove, 15 miles away, she was able to sell it all and use the
money to buy herself a few wedding clothes.
Within six weeks after the snowy wedding
day, she had woven nine more yards of the jeans -- enough to make a suit
for her husband. The groom had never had a complete three-piece outfit
until then. With what pride he wore the homespun suit into Bonham the very
day the bride finished sewing securely the last seam with her capable fingers!
The sum total of the assets of this
young couple amounted to 176 acres of raw land given to the groom by his
father, a $20 gold piece, and a few horses. They lived for three months
with his people until the first crop was made. The $20 had been spent most
carefully to buy the seed and provide bare necessities. Not one dollar
of debt did the two incur, not only at this pressing period but ever in
their lives. Although their material possessions amounted only to the land
and the little box house built by my grandfather's hands on that land,
certainly they were immeasurably the possessors of love, trust, and supreme
confidence. There was very little furniture, and the kitchen utensil was
a prized skillet, which served not only its intended capacity, but also
as oven and roaster -- the luxury of a cookstove had to wait until a more
prosperous day. How significant then Mary Jane' s 23rd year, marked by
a dual importance: "Betsy (the first daughter) came. Got a new cooking
stove." (Dare I scorn a modern efficiency apartment kitchen stove, provided
immediately after my marriage, because it is not the latest model?)
The shiny new Buck Brilliant cook stove
demanded something more adequate than merely one corner of the one-room
house, so when they had the money for the additional room, in her 24th
year, she "took care of the children (Sam and Bettie) and helped Daddy
build a new kitchen." She considered herself a partner in McFarland and
Company, and carried uncomplainingly her part of the load.
Grandmother was blessed with splendid
health; the lot of a pioneer farmer's wife demanded it, because as he prospered,
her responsibilities became more numerous and difficult: chickens to raise,
cows to milk, harvest hands to fry meat or stir up corn bread for, besides
keeping all the children busy and out of mischief and preparing for the
next baby!
My mother, Mary McFarland Jennings,
the fourth child, says of her parents, "They made us all happy in our childhood
days because they regarded each of the ten as individual. We felt we were
very necessary to the happiness and success of that household. Mother never
wanted us to be domineering; neither did she want us to be doormats for
each other or anybody else."
Mother was always firm for a purpose,"
recalls Uncle Doc (John Allen McFarland). "She would have had little to
say in favor of the modern idea of complete self-expression for children.
One day, I followed an impulse to hit my brother Jim with a rock, whereupon
Mother demanded an explanation of such unbrotherly conduct. 'Just playing,'
I retorted. 'Maybe I couldn't help it.' Meanwhile she twitched off a convenient
peach limb -- she was an artist with one of those -- and I discovered how
she could 'help me to help it'."
Another time Grandmother felt the necessity
of following through a threat. The little boys had been told not to go
berry hunting. They disobeyed, hoping to disarm their mother by bringing
her a pail full of the fruit. Hers was not a compromising nature; that
evening the favorite peach tree lost another strong limb to the cause of
trustworthiness.
The oldest son, Samuel Jackson McFarland,
says, "Neither did mother nor father reprimand the other in corrective
measures. Nothing was settled impulsively. They discussed their problems
alone together, and in the case of a business deal, apart from the interested
party. Father knew more than the salient facts every farmer should know,
since he and Mother worked out such information for themselves. They were
great complements for each other. Without Mother, the children would never
have got an education. Father had the impulse for it, but he did not realize
what it took to get it. For instance, they discussed early the problem
of schooling for me. Father reasoned, "Now with Sam, here, we want to give
him a good education. We'll start him in when he is five years old; he
can go clear on 'til he's ten when he'll be big enough to work."
There were no child psychology books
on the shelves at this McFarland home place. Mary Jane Harper McFarland
would not have known what the word meant, yet she had unique methods of
imparting lasting lessons that worked. When Uncle Sam was a small boy,
grandmother took him with her to visit the Hulseys, who lived quite a distance
up the road. As they walked home, the youngster complained of being tired
and of his feet hurting something awful. His mother saw no reason for whining,
and could always substitute something better for self-pity. She walked
over to a nearby tree, broke off a limb, and gave it to her son, saying,
"Isn't this fine that we found a horse right here for you to ride home
on?" The little boy was surprised and delighted and immediately mounted
his "horse" and galloped merrily on home.
"Father assigned me the job of ploughing
up an old cane patch," further recalls Uncle Sam. "It was a rough job.
I had a mean pair of mules to plough with, and I couldn't leave them. The
day was scorching hot and Mother had promised to bring me some water in
the middle of the afternoon. She didn't show up and I became thirstier
and more disgruntled. I planned to 'get one on her' about forgetting to
come. When I got home, she let me say my speech, then calmly replied to
my queries that she had been there with the water at the appointed time,
but as she was approaching, she heard me swearing at the stubborn mules
and had decided to take the water back. Never since have I desired to indulge
in that manner of speech."'
Another incident that illustrates Grandmother's
intolerance of cursing, even in milder forms, is one which Uncle Sam can
barely remember. He was watching his father while the latter was making
a gate and mashed his finger. The accident elicited an oath, whereupon
his mother came out and said, "Jim, we'd better talk a bit. Our boy is
coming along. Don't you think it would be better if he didn't hear you
swearing?"
Abiding confidence in the honesty of
her children was second nature for Grandmother. Uncle Sam started to school
before he was five years old -- just big enough to hold on behind his Aunt
Rado, the teacher, on a horse. One day during the first school year he
asked to stay home on account of headache. His mother asked him no further
questions and let him stay. When the teacher called to ask whether the
child were really ill, or had just played off, Grandmother replied, "Professor
Slaughter, when my children say they are sick, they are sick."
Her intense desire for her children's
education did not stop with just making it possible for them, but she helped
them herself. When one had trouble with Latin, she paid some of her precious
money from the small leather trunk on top of the safe for a grammar [book]
that she studied at night after the work was done, in order to be prepared
to help with the Latin homework and keep that child encouraged. Her quick,
intelligent mind grasped new knowledge readily, and her remarkable concentrative
power made information, once perused, hers forever.
Mrs. W.M. Williams (Florence), a daughter
who lives in Denton, Texas, recalls, "She realized that we needed outside
influence to 'bring us out,' so she took Miss Ela Hockaday to board, also
Miss Kusel, Betsy's German friend, who was such a help in putting Germany
on our map, besides stimulating our interest in crocheting, music and other
things."
One time there was a convention being
held at a schoolhouse close by. Grandmother and Grandfather entertained
the 40 teacher delegates in their home because of a rain that kept them
from going back to Ladonia for the night. (They had recently moved into
a newer, larger home.) When the last pallet bed had been placed, at a very
late hour, Grandmother began slicing ham and breaking eggs for breakfast.
She was glad of this opportunity to have this group in her home and to
hear their "outside" viewpoints.
Her ability to stand physical pain was
superlatively stoic. She and Grandfather gave two of my aunts a tour of
the continent in 1910 as a part of their education that summer. They were
to leave for New York on Wednesday to spend a few days before sailing.
The Sunday before, Grandmother was in a buggy accident, and her arm was
broken. She said nothing about it, not wanting to spoil the girls' long-anticipated
leavetaking or cause them to postpone it. An X-ray the day following their
departure revealed that it was a break. At another and much earlier time,
she had several teeth extracted by a traveling dentist who did his work
in the parlor without benefit of anything to relieve the pain. After this
trying physical ordeal, Grandmother went about her work as usual and cooked
for the large family and many farmhands. The only way the children knew
anything was different was that their mother retired earlier that night
than was usual and that her face was unnaturally drawn.
So completely was she the confidante
of her husband that Grandfather was frequently heard to remark when he
had some bothersome business question to decide, "I'll consult Mary Jane
about that." As soon as possible, he had begun buying land. An early experience
with a lawyer's fee of $5 to draw up a deed made him determined to learn
simple legal procedure himself, and a law book was added to the bookshelf
along with the Bible, Shakespeare, and Enoch Arden. Mary Jane, however,
was the first one to learn how to write documents of land purchase; "Jim"
didn't bother with it any more, knowing she could be relied upon.
Miss Lillie Benson, of Arlington, Texas,
a long-time family friend, remembers well being at the McFarland house
helping take care of the children when Grandfather came in with some men
with whom he had made a deal. All he said was, "Mary Jane." Grandmother
shook from her hands the water from the pan on the wood stove, dried them
on her apron, opened the inevitable safe drawer that contained her writing
materials, and drew up a whole contract in longhand without consulting
a book.
Grandmother's discerning mind worked
out her own religious philosophy. She realized early in her married life
that she needed a Higher Power to help her carry on. She sought and found
her savior, and decided that her support would be in the Christian Church.
In her quiet way, mainly by living out in everyday life the profession
of her faith, Grandfather was brought to take the same step, and he was
formally accepted into the same church. Their faith was simplicity itself.
They believed in God and acted accordingly.
Grandmother was anxious for her husband's
parents to see his baptismal service. They hesitated to leave the family
gold at the house. (Banks were highly distrusted.) Grandmother offered
to stay with the money while they went to the church, and the arrangement
was made. After they left, she placed the gold in saddlebags, rode into
a wheat granary and buried the money, and galloped to the church in time
to see the service. Immediately after, she recovered the bags and returned
them safely. Even though her scheme was discovered, her resourcefulness
was rewarded by forgiveness.
To Grandfather, membership in a church
meant active participation in it and its institutions. The church, Christian
colleges, and missionary agencies received his hearty support. They were
worthy of the most he could give financially, because they were dedicated
to the promotion of the Kingdom of God on Earth. The first money he paid
for anything other than business was a check for $500 for Texas Christian
University when it was located in Waco. He took pride in the fact that
although he had only a primitive, incomplete early education, all nine
of his children (one, Eldorado, died when a small child) had received a
college degree from some Texas university or college. Several of them attended
T.C.U., which continued to received his financial support during his lifetime.
His oldest son, Samuel J., served as president of the Board of Trustees
of T.C.U. for many years.
As the boys and girls grew to manhood
and womanhood, received an education, married and established homes of
their own, Grandfather and Grandmother McFarland were able to take life
more leisurely than before. By wise savings and investments, J. F. McFarland
had accumulated a sizeable fortune for those days, and was wise enough
to use it for the best interests of his family, community and state. He
was greatly respected and it is interesting to note that he was a lifetime
Republican in the solidly Democratic community of Ladonia, and he knew
why. ("Which is more than I know about my political convictions," says
Uncle Sam. "I'm a Republican because he was, I suspect.")
Grandfather was a staunch admirer of
Abraham Lincoln and advocated strongly all his policies. He helped wage
a spirited war against the liquor traffic and gambling.
His death in 1917, on his and his beloved
Mary Jane's 45th wedding anniversary, and in his 70th year, was mourned
by all classes -- rich, poor, black and white. I am told that a large number
of friends from all over Texas attended his funeral.
Grandmother, pioneer-bred to bravery
and courage, wrote to my mother in March of that year, "How thankful I
am that I have the assurance of everyone's doing his best. This dear family
shall be united, when each after a life of service has finished here and
gone to that home where Daddy has gone. He left in full confidence that
he will meet us all without the loss of one. Let us pray our Heavenly Father
to so guide us through the remainder of our lives that when our time comes,
our friends can say of us at least some of the good things they have so
justly said of him."
She had received her engagement ring
on their 43rd anniversary. It is significant that they both let that wait
until other, more necessary needs had been met.
Grandfather had left security for his
family in bank stock and black land, thinking by these safe investments
they would be comfortably cared for. As it happened, of course, the war
and postwar years left nothing entirely safe, and the bank stock proved
as costly as the blackland proved unproductive. With much of this former
hard-earned security swept away for a time, never once did Grandmother
become bitter, faithless, critical. "I shall live to see these hard times
right about," she would say as she went on about her home tasks of putting
up beans, black-eyed peas, tart June apples, and preserves from the little
Indian peaches, being very careful all the while to conserve every drop
of food value. After the cooking was attended to, her busy fingers would
find much to do. Perhaps she would make a knit sleeper for one of the children
who were all grown and many of them married now, but who might be not so
warm on a cold winter night, or perhaps a gray rag rug, designed herself
from scraps carefully saved through the years from many a cotton shirt
or gingham dress.
After her husband's death, Grandmother
lived in her "little brown house." Two of her sons went overseas during
World War I and served on dangerous battlefields; another served in this
country by looking after the farms that were so essential to the country's
food supply. Through all this trying time and afterward she kept her mind
actively occupied and her hands busy doing neat handwork on sheets, pillowcases,
pillows, quilts. She must have made literally miles of "hair-pin trimming"
for the nine children and many grandchildren. Her garden was a beauty spot
in the town; always there were touch-me-nots, cornflowers, daisies and
honeysuckles climbing riotously all over the fence. Seed that wouldn't
respond to anyone else's care grew for her abundantly. The day before the
first weakening heart attack that sent her to Dallas for treatment, she
was seen working busily in her blue-checked bonnet, repairing the garden
fence and caring lovingly for the pinks, zinnias, flaming verbenas and
other blossoms she understood so well.
Her last years were spent partly in
visiting her family, at whose homes she insisted on spoiling the grandchildren,
much to the amazement of her own children who remembered her strict supervision
over their own conduct.
On the evening of October 31, 1935,
at the home of her youngest daughter Lola and Joe M. Hill in Dallas, Grandmother
McFarland died as peacefully and unobtrusively as she had lived. The little
brown house that she had left only a few days before was in perfect order.
Not a thing was out of place. It was as neat as the symmetrical little
piles of quilt pieces she had been working on in her bedroom.
Surely a heartfelt tribute is the one
made by the Negro woman, Annie Clark, who stayed with her the last few
years of her life. "She was sure a wonderful woman," she writes. "I used
to tell her she was so good to me; it was like going to school working
for her. She was my teacher. I sure do miss her. Mrs. McFarland was a good
Christian woman, a wonderful mother, and was always kind to me. She was
always helping the poor and needy. She like to keep busy. She and I have
spent many happy hours together. We would always find something to do.
Her children, all of them were awfully good and nice to her. Before retiring
at night, she would always read the Bible. You know she were a good Christian
woman for she would always let me off to go to my Sunday school and church
every Sunday. May God bless her children, grand, and great grandchildren."
Grandmother would be the last to be
conscious of her wide sphere of influence. She was not a woman of literary
attainments, or varied experience and acquaintance with the world. Had
she been, perhaps her philosophy would be more interesting to the sophisticated,
but the people who made Texas were not sophisticates. Her descendants and
countless others today enjoy the benefits made possible by her kind. Many
of the religious, political, and social influences that affected such pioneers
as she was leave us unmoved; yet we should understand them in the light
of their day, and appreciate their splendid contribution.
The span of Grandmother's life enclosed
the destructive backwash of two wars; she was intimately associated with
pain, hard work, birth and death. After not much less than a century of
wear and tear, Mary Jane McFarland lives on as a vivid person -- not only
the figure of strong maternity, the head of her family, but also the symbol
of the development of Texas.
(This was originally published
in FRONTIER TIMES, April 1937, a magazine "devoted to Frontier History,
Border Tragedy, and Pioneer Achievement.") Published by J. Martin Hunter.