CHAPTER X
My father's regiment moved from Vicksburg to New Orleans, where they were stationed for several months. From New Orleans they crossed the Gulf of Mexico in a cattle boat and were stationed in Brownsville. Their presence in Brownsville was occasioned by rumors that an ally of the Confederacy was planning an attack on the Union forces by approaching through Mexico and Texas. The war ended while Dad's regiment was in Brownsville, from which place he was discharged.
He remained in Texas for awhile working as a cowhand. He helped drive cattle to market over the Chrisom Trail. The government made land in Kansas available to veterans. Dad staked out
a claim, but let it go back to the government by his failure to meet all the conditions required by the government to validate a claim.
My memory is vague on Dad's whereabouts after his Texas experience, but I presume he returned home to Indiana. He worked in the forest clearing land for farms and I know he was employed for a while hewing railroad cross ties.
Later he was employed as a farm hand by my Grandfather Bradford, where he met, courted and married my mother who was sixteen years his junior. They purchased the fifty-two acre Joel Jackson farm and started housekeeping.
In due time the little Dooley's began to arrive, first my brother Dennison, then Paul, Ruth, Mary and lastly me, on my mothers birthday. By the time I arrived the house was pretty well filled.
My family was a congenial family. I never heard my mother and father engage in an argument, although I am sure they must have had some because of the difference in their temperaments. My father was excitable and quick to anger and my mother was complacent, calm, and self disciplined. My brothers and sisters could easily be classified into one of two categories. One brother and one sister were temperamentally similar to my father, and the other
brother and sister favored our mother.
I have been told many times that my temperament matches my fathers. My mother was quite religious as I have stated before. Nothing was allowed to interfere with family morning worship
which consisted of Bible reading and prayer. We never ate a meal without Grace being said by either my father or mother. We attended Church most of the day every Sunday.
We were strictly trained to abide by the golden rule, respect and revere our God, and have boundless faith in our constitution and country. My father was a solid Republican and was wary of most Democrats. His advice to his sons was that there are two creatures on this earth you can't trust, one is a rattlesnake, and the other is a Democrat. I believe in the early history of political parties the rattlesnake was the emblem of the Democratic Party.
We were the first farmers in our community to own a binder or reaping machine used in harvesting wheat and oats. The binder was a very sophisticated implement for that day and of course its sophistication made it temperamental and subject to frequent episodes of malfunction. It broke down about noontime, and Dad hurried through his meal to return to the field to repair the binder.
Dil Cox, a wartime crony of Dad's and a neighbor, was hired to help with the wheat harvest, told the following story.
Dil returned to the field where Dad was working and Dad did not notice his approach because he was working under the binder, and was talking to himself repeatedly saying ''Keep cool Caleb, Keep cool Caleb". Dad heeded his good advice which resulted in the successful repair of the disabled machine.
I could fill many pages relating memories of my boyhood days, but the following stands out the freshest in my memory because it has always mystified me.
I was going fishing in the gravel pit five hundred yards north of our barn. To reach the pond I had to walk through a field of deep clover. A so had escaped from her pen and had elected to farrow her litter of pigs in the clover field. I was unaware of the sows presence, and unfortunately stepped on one of her little pigs which responded with a loud and distressed squeal. The sow reacted as any good mother would to protect her pig by charging me with her
mouth open and her eyes flashing anger. I froze with fear, and did not move, and the angry sow came within three feet of me, stopped and turned away.
I still recall the resignation I felt, and the thought my time had come to depart this life. I have never understood why. I met the situation as I did because I did not have time to reason out a course of action or choose alternatives. I could not have run in the deep clover, and I had nothing with which to defend myself against the angry beast, and by running I would have invited the animal to attack. I have been told that a sow with young pigs is vicious, and dangerous if her pigs are molested.
Since reading Billy Graham's book on Angels, I wonder if a Guardian Angel might not have come to my rescue. I proceeded to the fishing pond without further close calls, but you can bet your life I avoided the clover field on my return home.
I was always fascinated by the blacksmith and his shop in the little village of Hanfield. I longed to take my place in front of the forge and anvil to hammer the glowing hot steel into some chosen shape. The chance to fulfill my desires came when the oil boom came to our area. A tool yard along with a blacksmith shop was established a short distance from our home. The tool yard was not used on Sunday which gave me the chance to realize my dreams, and get my fill of pumping the bellows, watching the glowing fire, and hammering the red hot steel. I selected a
Sunday morning, and slipped away after breakfast before it was time to get ready for Church, started a fire in the forge, and at last was realizing my ambition of being a blacksmith.
I was having great fun making tongs, chains, and chisels, until I unfortunately grasped a piece of hot metal and seared the skin in the palm of my right hand, which abruptly terminated my blacksmithing activities for that day.
I started across the field on my way home when I observed a bull eyeing my presence. I can never be sure of the bull's intentions, but when he started to move in my direction I ran to a nearby apple tree and scampered up the tree to remove myself from the possible threat the bull posed. He lingered under the tree for a while and then moved on giving me the opportunity to drop to the ground and hurry to a nearby fence and safety I have never beer sure whether or not the bull meant to harm me or only wanted me to rub his nose, but being in doubt, the course I pursued seemed the prudent one.
So far, my day had fallen short of my expectations, a burnt hand, a bad scare by a bull, and the worst of all a confrontation with my Dad, who would be judge, prosecutor and executioner in my trial of disobedience.
I did not have long to wait, my Dad met me as I entered the yard, and there was no mistaking that he was definitely displeased. I explained my actions and exhibited my burnt hand, now covered with a large blister, hoping the sight of my injury might stir a wave of compassion to soften the severity of the penalty. I didn't have to wait long for his decision. He reached in to his pocket and brought out his old Barlow knife, the one he used for whittling, cutting off chunks of plug tobacco and castrating pigs, and dramatically pointed to the nearby orchard.
Previous experience had educated me in its meaning. I was to proceed to the orchard and cut a branch from an apple tree no less than one half inch in diameter. If I returned with a branch less than the minimum requirements, it would only prolong the agony of waiting, and mean another trip to the orchard.
With the whip in hand, Dad applied it to my backside like he was in a '"hurry. I reacted by giving out with loud, agonizing outbursts, because experience had taught me that the earlier and louder I yelled, the sooner Dad would quit.
A whipping was not only painful, but disgraceful in our family, and the punished one felt ostracized for the balance of the day. I was a thoroughly chastened boy, and had indeed learned a hard lesson that day.
To be continued
