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.
