Trotwood's Monthly, Vol. I, No. 3, December 1905

If the reader will refer to the account of the creation in the first chapter of Genesis, seventh verse, he will see that the Creator’s second day’s work was dividing the waters of the atmosphere and the waters of the earth.

This preceded the third day of creation, when vegetation began, which shows conclusively that the waters were equally as important as the air. It is obvious, then, that this covering of the earth’s surface with vegetation was for a wise purpose, that of conserving the moistures of the earth without which there can be no successful crops raised. It is evident that our climate is changing in this country. Ten years ago a writer of Chicago, now deceased, gave a theory for the cause of our changing climate, which I indorse. “The cutting down of our virgin forests, which has been going on at a fearful rate for the past sixty years, and also the breaking up and putting under cultivation so large an area of prairie land in so short a time, is the direct cause. The equilibrium between the moisture of the atmosphere and the moisture of the earth is maintained by the virgin forests of a country, and when the virgin forests are slaughtered, as they have been in this country by the lumber kings, that equilibrium is lost. Then comes drouth, fires, famines, pestilence and death.”

This theory is borne out in the fact that there always is so much humidity in the atmosphere during a protracted drouth. The histories of the ancient and modern civilizations also bear out this theory. There is no doubt but that the ancient civilizations had immense virgin forests to begin with, and that as soon as these virgin forests were consumed, then the equilibrium between the moisture of the atmosphere and the moisture of the earth were destroyed and one after the other of these great nations have perished by drouth, famines, fires and pestilences. I cannot recall to mind ever having seen a natural spring of water on a treeless prairie. It is in the timber we find them, showing conclusively that the forests of a country make the great reservoir of its water supply.

To come down to modern civilizations, a pertinent comment is that made by Mr. Charles F. Adams on one of the causes that have led to the downfall of Spain. It is a fact that this peninsula once supported a population of about 45,000,000, but now holds a meager 17,000,000. The main reason for this is stated by Mr. Adams. “During the last three years I have spent much time in Europe, visiting among other countries Spain, Italy, Germany, France and England, and whoever wishes to study the effects of deforesting on a country and on its people should by all means visit Spain. Not only has the country been ruined, but the character of the people has been changed by the wholesale destruction of trees, and the neglect of their renewal. The rivers have become mountain torrents and a large portion of the country is a rugged upland desert. The same process is to-day going on in Italy. The results in that country as noticed by me in visits ten years apart is lamentable. The ancient forests are being wholly stripped from the mountains, and while the rivers are converted into torrents, the water is not held in the soil. In Germany, on the other hand, the forestry laws are admirable. The result upon the country, climate and rainfall is apparent to the most careless observer.

“It is certainly timely to urge the United States that it shall not permit itself to copy the Spanish example of decay in this or any other respect.”

The facts stated by Mr. Adams have been corroborated again and again, to the effect that the denudation of the mountain slopes of Spain and the erosion of its soil have reduced it to a condition of semi-aridity and lessening its power to support population, one-third of which are to-day indulging in bread riots. Of all the civilized nations, we most nearly copy the Spanish stupidity in the waste of our forests. We should certainly set about showing ourselves to be wiser than the nation whose decay is now so evident.

[Illustration]

Historic Highways of the South

Part I. St. John’s Church, Ashwood, Tennessee.

BY JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE

In “The Banner of the Cross,” a Philadelphia paper, a writer, whose name is unknown, wrote, in 1842, the first description of the now famous chapel, St. John’s Church, on the pike leading from Columbia, Tenn., to Mt. Pleasant.

“It was my privilege,” says the writer, “in the month of January, 1834, to listen to the details of the progress of the Church in Tennessee from the lips of Bishop Otey, who had just been consecrated. I did not think then that in God’s providence I should ever witness in person the results of the Bishop’s labors in the then far-off country. But yesterday (September 4, 1842), which was a bright, beautiful Sabbath, I witnessed a scene gladdening to a church-man’s heart, and knowing your interest in all that concerns the Church in the Southwest, I have thought a sketch of it might be interesting.

“In this country, upon the road leading from Columbia to Mt. Pleasant, and about six miles from the former place, in a grove of majestic and towering oaks, may be seen a neat brick church of simple Gothic architecture; its interior plain and appropriate and capable of seating five hundred persons.

“It has been just completed and is the result of the joint liberality of Bishop Polk and three of his brothers, who, with a spirit worthy of commendation and imitation, have devoted a portion of the wealth with which God has blessed them to his service.

“Without aid from abroad, these gentlemen have erected and paid for this edifice and presented it, together with a plot of about six acres of land, to the diocese. The lot has been selected from an eligible portion of the bishop’s plantation, within a few hundred yards of whose mansion the church stands. It has been erected for the convenience of the few families in the neighborhood who, with a large number of negroes on their plantations, will make quite a congregation. For the latter class the bishop has been in the habit, for a long time, of holding regular services in his own house. They will now have an opportunity of worshiping in a temple which they may almost call their own.”

After referring to the services in the church on the day of its consecration, the writer continues:

“There is yet one thing which I must not forget to notice. I have said that on the adjoining plantations there are negroes for whose spiritual good this church was in part erected. By the time the white congregation was seated in the body of the church, the door, the vestibule, the gallery and staircase were crowded with blacks. Even the vestry room was filled with them, an old man sitting within the doorway, almost at the very feet of the clergy. A happier group I have seldom seen. Some of them had prayer books in their hands, but, for their general benefit in singing, the psalms were given out in the old-fashioned way—two lines at a time—and, I am sure, during the singing the loudest psalms of praise came from the sable groups.

“When the whites had commenced, a cordial invitation from the bishop was given to the blacks to come forward. At the same time he explained in a few words what was required of them in worthily partaking of that sacrament.

“Then quite a great number came, with much reverence and devotion, to that feast precious alike to bond and free. Ah! could some of our friends have witnessed that scene, how it would have silenced a suspicion that a slaveholder values not the soul of his slave. Thus does the enlarged benevolence of these men embrace a class hitherto too much neglected, a class which, in our good city of brotherly love, are suffered to grovel in ignorance, degradation and sin:

“Here will they learn to worship God in spirit and in truth; here be taught to pray with the heart and with the understanding also; and here, when death has arrested their course upon earth, will they find a resting place under the tall old oaks in their own churchyard; for the lot upon which the church is built has, for some time, been set apart for the purpose.”

As intimated above, the church was built by the then bishop, after Gen. Leonidas Polk and his brothers, upon their own estate, for the accommodation of the communicants around them and their slaves. The description above presents a feature of slavery which was common throughout the South, and shows how zealously the master looked after the spiritual welfare of his slaves.

[Illustration: View of St. John’s from the Pike.]

The Polk family—not the President, James K. Polk—who lived in Columbia, six miles away, and was a relative of the Ashwood Polks, but the Polks at Ashwood—lived in true baronial style. The most distinguished of that family was Bishop Leonidas Polk, who, while bishop, was the moving spirit in the erection of the chapel, copying after the rural chapels of England. Leonidas Polk was educated at West Point for a soldier, and graduated in 1827, but so strong was the other side of his character that he resigned his commission in the army and entered the ministry. This was a sore disappointment to his father, the old Revolutionary soldier, Col. Wm. Polk, causing him to write to his son that the step was the spoiling of a good soldier for a poor preacher.

But the old gentleman, who himself had joined Washington’s army at the age of eighteen years and had fought all through the Revolutionary War, being thrice wounded and gaining the title of Colonel and the reputation of being one of the ablest soldiers of his day, was greatly mistaken in this choice of his soldier-preacher son. Not only did Leonidas Polk become one of the great pioneer preachers of his day, but, as Dr. Wm. M. Polk says in his biography of him: “It might have touched the feelings of the veteran if he could have known that Leonidas would one day buckle on the sword—that he would lead more men in the field than his father had ever seen arrayed in battle, and that he would die at last a soldier’s death in the field of honor, fighting for what he deemed to be the cause of right and liberty.”

Speaking of Col. Wm. Polk, the same historian tells this amusing incident of the old soldier:

“When Lafayette returned to America in 1824 and made his memorable tour through the States, Colonel Polk was one of the commissioners appointed to do the honors of the State of North Carolina to his old comrades in arms.

“An eye-witness has left an amusing account of some incidents of the reception of Lafayette on his passage through North Carolina. Col. William Polk has been requested by Governor Burton to provide a cavalry escort for the illustrious visitor, and a troop of excellently drilled and handsomely uniformed volunteers was formed from the Militia of Mecklenburg and Cabarrus escort, under command of General Daniel, and met Lafayette near the Virginia line. There was much hand-shaking and speech-making.”

“But,” as the narrator writes, “Lafayette spoke but little English and understood less. He had retained a few phrases, which he would utter, generally in an effective manner, but sometimes ludicrously mal a propos.”

“Thanks, my dear friend! Great country! Happy man! Ah, I remember!” were nearly his whole vocabulary. He was received at the borders of each State by appointed commissioners, and when he had been escorted through it he was safely delivered to the commissioners of the next commonwealth. At Halifax the cortege was met by General Daniel, who had stationed a company of soldiers by the roadside, flanked by the ladies, who were assembled to do honor to the guest of the State. It had been arranged that the ladies were to wave their handkerchiefs as soon as Lafayette came into sight, and when General Daniel exclaimed “Welcome, Lafayette!” the whole company was to repeat the welcome after him. Unluckily, the ladies, misunderstanding the programme, waited too long, and were reminded of their duty by a stentorian command of, “Flirt, ladies, flirt! flirt, I say!” from the general, who walked down the line to meet the Marquis. Equally misunderstanding their part, the soldiers, instead of shouting, “Welcome, Lafayette,” in unison at the close of the general’s address, repeated the sentence, one by one, and in varying tones.

“Now a deep voice would exclaim: ‘Welcome, Lafayette!’ then perhaps the next man in a shrill tenor would squeak: ‘Welcome, Lafayette!’ and so on down the line. Daniel, frantic at the burlesque of his order, vainly attempted to correct it, but as he unfortunately stammered when he was excited, his ‘Say it all to-to-together!’ could not overtake the running fire of ‘Welcome, Lafayette!’ which continued all along the line. ‘Great country! Great country!’ replied Lafayette, turning to Colonel Polk, who was vainly trying not to smile. Observing and recognizing an old acquaintance, Lafayette greeted him with great effusion: ‘Ah, my friend; so glad to see you once more! Have you prospered and had good fortune these years?”

“‘Yes, General, yes; but I have had the great misfortune to lose my wife since I saw you.’

“Catching only the ‘Yes, General,’ and the word ‘wife,’ Lafayette supposed he was informing him of his marriage, and patting him affectionately upon the shoulder, he exclaimed: ‘Happy man! Happy man!’ nor could be made to understand that his observation was not a happy one.

“After replying to the address of welcome, which had been delivered by Colonel Polk from the steps of the Capitol, Lafayette, with all the dramatic action of a Frenchman, turned to Polk and before the old soldier knew what he was about, threw his arms about his neck and attempted to kiss him on the cheek. Colonel Polk straightened himself up to his full height of six feet four, and instinctively threw his head back to escape the caress; but Lafayette, who was a dapper little fellow, tiptoed and hung on to the grim giant, while a shout of laughter burst from the spectators and was with some difficulty turned into a cheer.

“Of Col. William Polk’s influence in the State of Tennessee, Governor Swain, of North Carolina, has said: ‘He was the contemporary and personal friend and associate of Andrew Jackson, not less heroic in war and quite as sagacious and more successful in private life.”

“It is known that Colonel Polk greatly advanced the interests and enhanced the wealth of the hero of New Orleans by information furnished him from his field notes as a surveyor, and in directing Jackson in his selections of valuable tracts of land in the State of Tennessee; that to Samuel Polk, the father of the President, he gave the agency of renting the most fertile section of that State; and selling his (William Polk’s) immense and valuable estate in lands in that, as first President of the Bank of North Carolina, he made Jacob Johnson, the father of President Andrew Johnson, its first porter, so that of the three native North Carolinians who entered the White House through the gates of Tennessee all are alike indebted for benefactions and for promotions to a more favorable position in life to the same individual, William Polk—a man whose insight into character rarely admitted of the selection and never of the retention of an unworthy agent.”

At the outbreak of the war, Leonidas Polk was appointed Major General by Jefferson Davis and became one of the great generals of the Confederacy. He was killed by a cannon ball, on Pine Mountain, near Marietta, Ga., June 14, 1864.

Continuing the subject of the slave-owners’ interest in the spiritual welfare of his slaves, Miss Beauchamp, who was governess in Bishop Polk’s family, tells this amusing story:

“The Bishop, who would at times be away for weeks on visitations through his diocese, always brought on his return joy and pleasure to the household. He would amuse us for days with a recital of his adventures in the border regions of Louisiana and with the people he would meet there. On one occasion, having been up Red River, where an Episcopal clergyman was seldom seen, he was called in to baptize a sturdy, four-year-old youngster, who defiantly resisted sacrament unless his black Fidus Achates, Jim, would receive it at the same time. ‘Well,’ said the Bishop, ‘bring in Jim and I will make a Christian of him, too.’ Accordingly, Jim, being instructed by his mistress, was brought into the parlor; the pair went through the ceremony with perfect propriety and were dismissed to their play. Meanwhile, the friends and neighbors who had called to assist at the baptism and pay their respects to the Bishop, sat in solemn state, awaiting the announcement of dinner. Smallpox had been lurking in the country. Every one was excited on the subject of vaccination, and discussions as to whether it had taken on this or that subject had been the order of the day for more than a week. Suddenly the circle was astounded by the reappearance of Jim, who exclaimed, almost breathless with excitement: ‘Mistes! mistes! you must have Marse Tom baptized over ag’in; it never tuck that ar time. He’s out yonder cussin’ the steers wusser’n ever, and says he ain’t gwinter stop for nobody.’ The ice melted at once, and the stiffness of the circle vanished as the Bishop turned to his hostess and said: ‘A commentary on the doctrine of baptismal regeneration, my dear madam.’

“Every Sunday afternoon all the negroes on the plantation came up to the house and were taught by Mrs. Polk, her daughters and myself in different classes. Singing entered largely into the exercises, many of the negroes having a taste for music, and some of them excellent voices. The ceremonies of marriage and baptism were always performed by the Bishop himself and the names chosen by the negroes were sometimes very amusing. Many of them could not read, and they showed their appreciation of Greek mythology and Shakespeare by the number of Minervas and Ophelias among them. One Sunday twenty-five little negro infants were taken into the Bishop’s arms and christened. Though the scene was a very impressive and interesting one, yet some of the names were so droll to my ears that I could scarcely preserve a becoming gravity. One was named ‘Crystal Palace,’ another, ‘Vanity Fair,’ etc. But when a little creature, black as Erebus and squalling with its mouth extending to enormous size, was taken into the Bishop’s arms to be named ‘Prince Albert’ it was impossible for me to resist longer, and a heavy fit of coughing, gotten up for the occasion, saved me from a reproving look from the Bishop.’”

[Illustration: The Cemetery at St. John’s, Where Generals Cleburne, Strahl and Granbury Were Buried.]

One of the most beautiful and touching scenes is quoted further from the same book, and related by the Bishop’s wife, on page 176.

After describing the visitation of cholera in the winter of 1849-50, and the Bishop’s almost fatal illness from it, together with almost all his family and the death of nearly a hundred of the servants of himself and friends, Mrs. Polk relates this touching incident:

“As soon as the Bishop was able—indeed, at the risk of a relapse—he was at the bedside of the sick and the dying. The last case of cholera occurred on the 7th of June, when a very fine servant, named Wright, by trade a blacksmith, was attacked. His master had been reading and praying with him. Wright raised his head and said: ‘Master, lift me up.’ ‘I am afraid to, Wright,’ the Bishop said—‘the doctors say it might be fatal.’ ‘I am dying now, master; lift me up.’ The Bishop raised him, when Wright suddenly threw his arms around his master’s neck and exclaimed: ‘Now, master, I can die in peace; I do love you so I have often wanted to hug you, and now let me die resting here on your heart and you praying for me!’ His wish was complied with and soon he was at rest.”

St. John’s Church received its most sacred and consecrated fame during the war. When Hood’s army invaded Tennessee after the fight around Atlanta, in November, 1864, the route of the army lay along this pike in the march to Nashville. The army had been marching over the poor lands of the barrens, the hills of Georgia and the barrens of the Highland Run, and when it entered Middle Tennessee, in the garden spot of which sat this little church, Gen. Patrick R. Cleburne, who had won great fame as a dashing fighter, raised his hat to the restful beauty and quietness of St. John’s and remarked: “If I am killed in the coming battle, I would like to be buried yonder.” In a few days occurred the bloody battle of Franklin, in which not only Cleburne, but Generals Gist, Strahl, Granbury and Adams—five of the greatest field officers of Hood’s army, were killed, and all except Generals Adams and Gist, were buried in the beautiful cemetery at St. John’s. Years afterward, one by one, their remains were exhumed and carried, with fitting honors, to their former homes, where monuments had been erected to their memories. General Adams was killed on the breastworks, his horse falling half over, and he himself over in the enemy’s lines supported and soothed by one of the officers who mourned the mortal wound, saying that he was too brave a man to die. Cleburne fell leading his men up to the breastworks.