So read the headlines of the Daily News Standard of Uniontown, Pennsylvania, on May 25, 1905. The unfortunate decedent was my great-grandfather John Kennedy Ewing, who had been born in Uniontown on December 15, 1823.

Judge Ewing had been looking after some work he was having done at a lot he owned between the railroad and the White school house. He started away from the lot and walked east on Fayette street, going leisurely along as on his usual morning walks. He was on the north side of the street and was noticed by a bystander, who reported that Judge Ewing had just reached the edge of the track when the shriek of the train was heard. It evidently bewildered the judge, and he made an attempt to jump ahead with the aid of his cane and was struck by the cowcatcher and killed instantly.

Judge Ewing's was the only child of Nathaniel Ewing (1794-1874), who was often referred to as "The Lawgiver of Western Pennsylvania", and who served 10 years on the bench in the 14th Judicial District (Fayette, Greene and Washington Counties). John Kennedy Ewing's mother was born Jane Kennedy, a daughter of John Kennedy (1774-1846), who lived in Cumberland County and was a Justice of the Pennsylvania Supreme Court from 1830 to 1846, "one of the great jurists" of that Court according to the Daily News Standard.

John Kennedy Ewing spent his early life in Uniontown and graduated from Washington and Jefferson College in 1842 (at the age of 18!). "Rising above the temptation to a life of ease which surrounded his boyhood, he early developed an inclination to work which brought into prominence all the sterling qualities that characterized his future life." He read law in his father's office and was admitted to the bar in 1846 (at the age of 22!). In November 1864 he was appointed to a vacancy on the bench of the 14th Judicial District and served "commendably" until January 1866, when he had to retire from the bench and the active practice of law "on account of impaired health". (My father always said that one of the impairments was in his hearing and that was in large part responsible for his unfortunate encounter with the 10:02 train.) Upon his retirement Judge Ewing continued with his wide interest in the coal and iron industries of Western Pennsylvania.

In 1847 Judge Ewing was married to Ellen Louisa Willson, a sister of Alpheus Evans Willson, who was also a judge of the 14th Judicial District. In May 1846 Judge Ewing united with the Presbyterian church of Uniontown and was ordained and installed as an elder in March 1860. He was a commissioner to the general assembly at Pittsburgh in 1864 and Omaha in 1887 and was frequently a delegate to synod and presbytery. He was a delegate to the Republican National Convention in 1884.

Judge Ewing had eight children, five of whom survived him: ex-Judge Nathaniel Ewing of Uniontown; ex-Judge Samuel Evans Ewing of Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania; J.K. Ewing, Jr. of Pittsburgh, who married Mary H. Mitchell, a daughter of a Justice of the Supreme Court of Minnesota; Mary Virginia Ewing, who married Jared M.B. Reis of western Pennsylvania; and Belle Kennedy Ewing, who married Benjamin Betterton Howell of Uniontown. Judge Ewing was pre-deceased by two children who died in infancy and by his daughter Eliza Willson Ewing, wife of Stephen Leslie Mestrezat, a Justice of the Pennsylvania Supreme Court.

Just the month before Judge Ewing's sudden death the Daily News Standard had published an extended and appreciative sketch of his life, in which it said, in part:

Hon. J.K. Ewing is the Nestor of the Fayette County Bar. Applied to him "Nestor" is no misnomer; he is the oldest and the wisest. Sometimes the name of Homer's hero is carelessly applied to one who has outlived his fellows. Judge Ewing is a great lawyer, and, what is rarer, a great jurist. I think his legal brethren will ungrudgingly acknowledge his supremacy in legal learning. He is a high authority on constitutional law...... Constantly battling with ill health, he has lived to the remarkable age of eighty-one. He is therefore truly the Nestor of the Bar. His philosophy and his personality are worth studying.

* * * * * * * *

The history of the Ewings and their forbears is a part of the legal history of the state. Their record of judicial service is unique in legal annals. Judge Ewing's father was a judge. His grandfather was a judge. He distinguished himself in his own short term of service. His two sons were on the bench. Four generations of judges! Is there a parallel to this?

Judge Ewing served for a time as President of the National Bank of Fayette County and "led it up to the bulwark of strength which it now holds" according to a memorial prepared by the County Bar Association. The memorial went on to say:

He saw with prophetic eye the coming riches of the valley lying along the foot-hills of Chestnut ridge and advised and urged the officers of the Pennsylvania to construct the Southwest branch from Greensburg to Fairchance. As the great coke industries developed all along this line, the results have shown the wisdom of counsel.. As director and vice-president of the Southwest Railway company he lived to see his road become one of the richest feeders of the great Pennsylvania system. He engaged extensively and most successfully in the coal and coking industries of his native county.

In his family he was favored as few have ever been. So careful was he in the training of his children that his honored sons are proud to recognize his as the guiding hand that directed them into the prominent positions that they have attained in life. He was truly great.

Always an ardent admirer of the beauties of nature, on a lovely May morning, with the flowers of spring time blooming all about him while on an accustomed walk he was suddenly, almost instantly, lifted from the activities of life into the beyond. We shall miss him.

Joseph Neff Ewing, Jr.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Go to Top of Page

Go to Page: 117, 120, 122, 125, 127, 138, 142, 145,

152, 159, 161, 162, 163, 168, 169

Page 120

LEMONS ENJOY LONG MARRIAGES

[Journal of Clan Ewing, Vol 3 No. 1 - February 1997, pages 28-29]

[Source: The following was edited from an article that appeared in The Mississippi Press, Sunday, June 23, 1996, by Regina Hines. Three members of this family, George Lemon, J.K. Lemon, and Bliss Pinkerton, are members of Clan Ewing in America.]

When the late James Kirkpatrick Lemon represented District 4 on the Jackson County board of Supervisors from 1915 to 1929, the other supervisors would often tease that he didn't feed his nine "little Lemons."

"We were all so skinny - just straight up and down," the oldest daughter, Sarah Lemon Anderson, said. "But I think we must have been healthy, because we have all lived so long. We were well fed."

Nine children were born to Lemon and his wife, Sarah "Georgia" McIntosh, after their marriage in 1906 and eight children are still living. They are proud that five couples in this well known Ocean Springs family have been married more than 50 years - a grand total of 278 years.

"We were told that marriage was a give and take proposition and we tried to heed that advice," second son J.K. Lemon of Ocean Springs said about his longevity.

The first marriage among the Lemon children was the oldest, George L. Lemon, a retired Mississippi Highway Department engineer, and his wife, Anne Mae Brewster. Anticipating their 60th wedding anniversary, they were married on July 24, 1936, in the bride's hometown of Baldwyn, Miss., north of Tupelo.

"I got a good cook and that's what I was hunting. We've had a good life together," George Lemon said.

Since their wedding was in the northern part of the state, where they worked, none of the family could attend.

But, the family was well represented at the second family wedding on Sept. 11, 1937, when J.K. Lemon married his childhood sweetheart, Eleanor Bradford, at Ocean Springs' St. Paul United Methodist Church.

"She was born on Bowen Avenue and I was born on Jackson. We knew each other all our lives and we had been in the same class since second grade," J.K. Lemon said.

Until Hurricane Camille devastated their home, Eleanor Lemon had treasured a Valentine her husband had given her in the third grade.

Bliss Lemon met her future husband, Raymond Pinkerton, at a USO dance in Jackson where she was working during World War II and he was in the service. They were married quickly on April 28, 1943 in a wartime ceremony in Elkton, Maryland, when Pinkerton learned while he was still attending a school in Maryland that he would be transferred overseas.

"There was not a Presbyterian church in the little town, so we went to the Methodist minister," Mrs. Pinkerton said. "No family members could come. The trains were all filled with soldiers."

Following the war in October 1945, the couple moved to Pinkerton's native California. They live in Redondo Beach, a suburb of Los Angeles, where he retired as chief of the Electrical Division for the City of Los Angeles.

On June 11, 1941, Margaret Lemon married E.W. Halstead in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. On April 8, 1946, Sarah Lemon married James McConnell"Mac" Anderson and younger sister, Elizabeth Lemon Roberts of Ocean Springs, was maid of honor. Two other siblings, William A. Lemon and Fred Lemon, also still live in Ocean Springs. Another brother, Kirk S. Lemon, was killed in a motorcycle accident many years ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Go to Top of Page

Go to Page: 117, 120, 122, 125, 127, 138, 142, 145,

152, 159, 161, 162, 163, 168, 169

Page 122

YOUNG EWING (c1765/69-1833)

[Journal of Clan Ewing, Vol 3 No. 1 - February 1997, pages 11-13]

[The following is an article from the History of Christian County by William Henry Perrin, F. A. Battey Publisher, 1884. The article and the additional information that follows this article about Young Ewing was sent to us by Alicia Towster. We appreciate Alicia's contributions.]

In gone-by years no man took a more active and conspicuous part in the political affairs of the county than the Hon. Young Ewing, one of the backwoods politicians who flourished in the early days of the Commonwealth. He was a true pioneer and hunter, as everybody else was then; a surveyor, politician and statesman, and in his Protean capacity he usually had his hands full. He came to Christian county just at a time when he was most needed. An unorganized community of people had, by an act of the Legislature, been placed unto themselves, and there was a demand for men competent to do the work of putting the infant municipality upon its feet. Col. Ewing was a man adapted to the emergency, and took as naturally to the official harness as a duck to the water. He was the first Circuit Clerk of the Court, and for a quarter of century or more he served the people in one position or another, and if he did not do much for the county it did a great deal for him. He had once commanded a regiment against the Indians, and though the campaign was a bloodless one, yet his military record wafted him into office over all opposition, just as such things sometimes happens at the present day. It is told of him, but the story may be taken with some allowance, that always when a candidate, particularly if the campaign waxed hot, and his election appeared at all doubtful, the Colonel would be seen at public gatherings hobbling about with a cane or with an arm in a sling, complaining loudly of the hardships of a soldier's life. But no sooner was he assured of his election than away went his cane, to be seen no more until again needed on a similar occasion.

The name of Col. Ewing appears in the records of Logan County in 1792 as one of the first three magistrates for that county, and in 1795 as a Representative in the State Legislature. When he came there or where he was from are questions the most diligent investigation has failed to solve. It is to be regretted that so little is known or can be learned of his early life, as anything pertaining to so prominent a character could not but be of interest to the reader. He is believed to have been a native of the Old Dominion, and the elements of statesmanship he developed naturally point to him as a son of the "Mother of Presidents." From the humble office of magistrate he essayed and accomplished dizzy flights to higher positions, which he filled time and again. He was above the majority of his associates in intellect, but somewhat careless and indifferent in the use of the King's English when pouring forth from the stump one of his hot political campaign speeches. He came among the simple pioneers of Christian County, and waked the echoes of the primeval forests with his rude wild eloquence, and rode in triumph into the affections of the voters to that extent that he is not known to have been defeated but once in a political contest.

The following entries appear in the early court records: "The line between Logan and Christian Counties was run by Young Ewing and his deputy, Nicholas Lockett, on the part of Christian, and William Reading, Surveyor for Logan County, August 22, 1797." "Young Ewing was allowed £14.12s. for running the dividing line between Logan and Christian Counties." In addition to having been a surveyor and the first Clerk of the county, he was cashier of the first bank established in Hopkinsville. He was a member of the Constitutional Convention held in Frankfort, August 17, 1799, and which framed the second Constitution of the State. In the year 1800 his name first appears as a member of the Legislature from Christian County. He was elected again in 1801 and re-elected in 1802, and again elected in 1806 and in 1807. In 1808 he was elected to the State Senate, and again in 1812, in 1820 and in 1824, but resigned about a year before his last term expired. In the Presidential campaign of 1824 he was Elector for the Fifth Congressional District. So great and so universal was his popularity that he was elected to many of these positions without opposition, and generally when he had an opponent his military record carried him through with flying colors. He was a genial gentleman--a "hail fellow well met," withal, courteous and social; could take his toddy "with the boys," and "set 'em up" himself occasionally (all of which goes a long way with the "intelligent voter") and which but added to his popularity. The last race he ever made for public office was about the year 1832, for the State Senate, and he was defeated. This was a wound to his self-complacency from which he never recovered. He had failed to keep pace with the age, new issues had sprung up beyond his ability to master, new and younger men opposed him, and though the "old guard" rallied around him, the new order of things accomplished his defeat.

Kentucky has produced many remarkable men, but none so strongly original, or so interesting as the early, simple and honest statesmen of whom Young Ewing was a true type. They borrowed nothing from the books, and if some of them were so illiterate that it amounted to a gift or talent, their honesty of purpose off-set any lack of education and culture. They legislated wholly for the good of the people and the country, and from them the modern statesman might learn lessons of wisdom.

Col Ewing long lived one and a half miles from town, on the place now owned by the children of Dr. Shackelford, but for many years was a citizen of Hopkinsville. He was three times married. Of his first wife little is known, except that she bore him one child, a daughter. This daughter married a man named Davison, who was at one time High Sheriff of Daviess County, and who, it is said, was killed by friends of a prisoner whom he had arrested. Col. Ewing's second wife was Winifred Warren, and one

of the best women, Judge Long says, that ever lived. His last wife was a Miss Jennings. This marriage to him was, to say the least, ill-assorted. She was an illiterate, uncouth backwoods damsel, scarcely more than eighteen, while he was verging onto his three score and ten years. Soon after his last marriage he moved South, perhaps to the western part of Tennessee, where he died many years ago. No lineal descendant of Col. Ewing is now, so far as known, living in Christian County, and only a few of the older citizens remember him. Those that do, describe him as a social, companionable and hospitable gentleman, one who loved his friends, and was never happier than when surrounded by them, and bestowing upon them the hospitality of his home, or when zealously engaged in a hot political contest. ~~~~~~~~~~

Young Ewing was a son of Robert Ewing (d. 1787, Bedford County, Virginia) and his wife Mary Baker. Young and most of his brothers and sisters migrated to Kentucky and settled in Logan and Christian Counties.

Colonel Young Ewing was born about 1765-69 in Bedford County, Virginia and died 5 October 1833 in Lagrange, Fayette County, Tennessee or he died in LaGrange, Kentucky.

Polly B. Ewing was born about 1787 and died in 1859. She was the daughter of Colonel Young Ewing and his first wife. Polly married 15 November 1811 Ephraim B. Davidson, born in 1779 and died in 1821. He was the son of General William Lee Davidson.

Young Ewing married, second, on 15 June 1790 in Lincoln County, Kentucky Winifred Warren (1769/70-1825). She is the daughter of William Warren.

Young Ewing married, third, in October 1826 in Christian County, Evaline Jennings. She was the daughter of Virginia Earle and Colonel John Jennings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Go to Top of Page

Go to Page: 117, 120, 122, 125, 127, 138, 142, 145,

152, 159, 161, 162, 163, 168, 169

Page 125

CLINTON AND DOLE COUSINS

[Journal of Clan Ewing, Vol 3 No. 1 - February 1997, page 14]

Editors Note: This article is edited from an article that appeared in the Houston Chronicle on Monday, 28 October 1996. Note how Richard Ewen is related.

LONDON (AP) - President Clinton and Bob Dole have more in common than wanting to be president. They are distant cousins.

But Clinton has a snootier pedigree, according to genealogist who say that gives him an election edge.

Clinton and Dole can trace their ancestry to King Henry III and Presidents William Henry Harrison and Benjamin Harrison, according to Burke's Peerage, a publishing house that traces the lineage of royal and noble families.

But Clinton has far more royal blood than Dole because he is directly descended from King Robert I of France and is also related to every Scottish monarch and to the current British royal family. Harold Brooks-Baker says Clinton's bluer blood gives him an edge in November's election.

"The presidential candidate with the greatest number of royal genes has always been the victor, without exception, since George Washington," said Brooks-Baker, an American from Baltimore, who has lived in Britain since 1968.

"Only the merest drop of royal blood flows in the veins of Senator Dole," he said.

Dole's sole royal link is to Henry III, who ruled England from 1227 to 1272. He is related to the king on his mother's side, through the Talbott and Harrison families of Maryland and Virginia, according to Burke's.

The Dole family's history of political service dates back to the mid-1600s when the candidate's ancestor, Richard Ewen, (emphasis added) served as a speaker of the House of Burgesses Assembly in Maryland.

Clinton's royal roots, Brooks-Baker said, include several medieval monarchs and Simon de Montford, a statesman and soldier under King Henry III who lived from 1208 to 1265 and married the king's sister Eleanor. Through de Montford, Clinton is related to every ancient aristocratic family in Britain today.

On his mother's side, Clinton is also related to President Andrew Jackson and Davy Crockett, the frontier folk hero who died in 1836 at the Alamo during the war for Texan independence.

Go to Top of Page

Go to Page: 117, 120, 122, 125, 127, 138, 142, 145,

152, 159, 161, 162, 163, 168, 169

Page 127

A SCALDING SURPRISE

[Journal of Clan Ewing, Vol 3 No. 1 - February 1997, pages 15-27]

[Source: This article was originally published in the April 1887 issue of Kane's Illustrated West Portland, OR, T. E. Kane, Editor. In the September/October 1986 issue of the Heritage Quest the article was reprinted and edited by S.A. Clark. We appreciate William R. "Bob" Ewing, Clarkston, Washington sending us a copy of the article. Mrs. LeeAndrea Hazelrigg typed and edited this article for the journal. Thanks LeeAndrea for your time and effort.]

A Tale of the Willamette--Ewing Young and the Calipooias by S. A. Clark

One hundred fifty years ago Oregon was a land unknown to the American people, and our statesmen differed concerning their interest in it--whether to believe it capable of settlement by civilized men, or to leave it, as it was then, to remain a breeding place for fur bearing animals and a home for the red men. The only white inhabitants were connected with the various fur companies, the most prominent being the Hudson's Bay Company, that had planted its posts for four thousand miles--from the shores of Hudson's Bay to the eastward to Vancouver, on the banks of the Columbia, Great River of the West. Dr. McLaughlin was in charge here, and he was a wonderful man to control man and propitiate the native tribes. His corps of officers and subordinates was but a handful, compared to the nations of red men they controlled, but by training and discipline, with the long experience they had acquired among the aborigines, they maintained a predominance that never weakened, however great the strain, and not only kept at peace with the natives themselves, but were often a means of preserving peace by their wonderful diplomacy, among tribes that had been traditional and immemorial enemies.

The American missionaries who came in 1834 were kindly greeted and looked upon as a means of civilizing and improving the natives. There was always harmony and good will between these missions and the fur company, but, as years rolled on, occasional waifs and strays of humanity were landed in Oregon or came overland from California, and an American settlement sprang up in the Willamette Valley, that knew no law and had no organization. Yet there was little trespassing on vested rights, and no cause for complaint. The country was beautiful in all respects, and the strangers that drifted hither either became associated with the Hudson's Bay Co., or the Mission, or had interests of their own. The first independent movement was in 1834, when Ewing Young, a veritable pioneer and daring explorer, drove stock from California and turned them loose to pasture the beautiful prairies and uplands west of the Willamette, south of Chehalem Mountain. Young was a rough specimen, but soon became a power in the land, around which loose humanity naturally gathered.

The Indians of the Willamette all belonged to the Calipooia nation, and tradition was handed down that early in the present century this tribe had come over the Santiam Mountains and had driven before them the sluggish Multnomahs; that they gathered for a last struggle at the Falls of the Willamette, where the final and decisive battle was fought and won by the invaders. From that date the distinctive title of Multnomah was lost or merged into the national name of Calipooia, and than, in turn, was swept away by a terrible pestilence that left scarce enough alive to bury the many who had died.

Our story relates to those idyllic days when this beautiful valley lay in all its primeval and Eden-like loveliness. Scarce a furrow had been turned on French Prairie, and the only innovation was the planting of the Methodist mission on the east side of the valley, and the commencing of farming to supply food was all the effort that civilization had made in all the valley. The west side of the Willamette was unmarred by hand of man; no stroke of woodman's axe had felled the trees; no rending plowshare had broke the sod, except in one charming little valley, among the oak clad hills, where Ewing Young had in 1834, turned loose the stock he had brought from California, battling with Indians as he came, and had built his primitive home.

Spring Valley was a natural paradise, but Young's improvements had not aided the charm nature has imported. A living stream wound through the valley, and was bordered by growths of willow or alder, with occasional groves of fir and clumps of giant cottonwoods. A spring of pure and cold flow came from a jutting hill-point, and as an alder grove bordered the larger stream with a clump of thrifty firs on the open plain, the spot had been chosen by Ewing Young for his home. The first grove afforded material for his double log house and for the posts that were split and set endwise twelve feet high, to make the stockade around it. Closer acquaintance with the natives had made his crew of whites careless, for the Indians seemed to be peaceable and kind, only a little thievish when any chance afforded. So the stockade became somewhat dilapidated, and the gates on the east and west were not in working order. This was some two years after Young had come there. The Indians of the whole wide north coast and interior were, as a rule, savage and warlike, and the Willamette Valley furnished the only exception. Elsewhere nature was rugged and wild, but here was a beautiful region that seemed set apart for peace and harmony. Eden, in all its blissful purity and quiet could not have been more potent for the rest of soul teachings of peace than was the beautiful valley of the Willamette, that afforded life upon the easiest possible terms to all its inhabitants. It is not easy to describe the great beauty of nature as it existed here in that primeval day. One and another of the earliest of all who came to Oregon, and now survive, describe to me the feelings with which they looked upon the world around them as they came to this valley of rest and loveliness after journeying for months through the wild regions and savage races of the interior. The natives elsewhere were fierce and untamed, but here they sympathized with nature and seemed to study peace and harmony in accord with their surroundings. Elsewhere the wild game had to be hunted on desolate plains or rugged mountains, while here the elk and deer ranged the hills and prairies and salmon wonted the river at the falls. The Calipooias hunted and fished, gathered roots and berries, and easily provided themselves with food for all the year. If left to themselves no danger need be feared, but they had visitors who came from the south and east, representing the fierce tribes of Southern Oregon or from Wasco land east of the Cascades, who were fierce and untamed so that even the balmy influences of this charming valley were not sufficient to overcome the savagery of their natures. They were wild and barbarous and intractable, and so was the land they came from, and they brought with them something of its barbary nature.

Ewing Young was of middle age, a man who had matured on the frontier and had drifted from the Missouri River to California when there was scarcely an American in all that country. He found there a few men of his own country, and a small company of them started north with stock Young had acquired among the Mexicans, intending to make a home for themselves in Oregon, a region they had heard of from trappers and persons who had made voyages from California to the Columbia River. They had to fight their way past the rough tribes of Southern Oregon, but reached the Willamette with little loss. It realized all he had heard or expected. He had all the country to choose from as, save the Methodist mission near Salem, it was unoccupied from the California boundary to the falls.

Young found the Spring Valley band of Calipooias in possession of the country reaching southward from Chehalem Mountain, west of the Willamette, and made satisfactory arrangements with them to occupy the land in common. There was then no stock in this valley and the Indians could only complain that the presence of horses and cattle drove away the elk and deer that browsed on the hills and plains. He employed them at times as herdsman or hunters, and maintained comfortable relations with their chief, whose name was Lascalla, an old man who made much of Young's friendship for awhile.

Matters had settled down a regular way at the Spring Valley ranch to both Indians and whites. It was a free and easy life and knew few restraints. Men came and went--the few who were then in the country--and Young himself was often away looking after his stock. The place had its corrals and a large shed that was roofed with split boards, as was the house, answered as barn and stable. Coming off the hill upon this primitive establishment, distance lent some enchantment, derived from the sheltering grove of alders and the few towering firs, but nearer approach gave less of romance to the place. Horses and cattle were generally in the corrals or grouped about the place and gave the appearance of a stock ranch, as it was. There was a small pasture and a garden that produced potatoes. Flour came from the Hudson Bay mill at Champoeg, not far away. Young was a magnate in his way, and his paper formed part of the currency of the country. The increase of his stock promised to occupy all the country for many miles around.

Young had two white men with him who were permanently employed. One of these was a young man of twenty or more years, and the other was a grizzled frontiersman who was more at home in a wilderness than with civilized surroundings. He quietly took on himself the care of the stock. Each night, after riding the range all day, "Old Man Smith" came home and briefly reported to Young any fact of interest that concerned him. He rode with his rifle at hand and with hunting knife in his belt, always careful as if he was in the midst of danger. Young had great confidence in both, though "Ned," as the younger was called had more zeal than experience, and more faith than prudence. The three lived in harmony, and while rough words were exchanged there was seldom ill-humor. It was late summer and "Old Man Smith" had been away on a long ride and a fatiguing one. He came back late in the long evening and turned his "cayuse" out to graze with unusual care, rubbing its limbs and seeming to think "Bob" had been hardly used. But Bob was a tough nag and Smith not a heavy rider--the two seemed to have mutual confidence in each other.

Smith was not talkative, but this evening he was unusually reticent. A few Indians had hung about, and he waited their going, watching them keenly. A traveling white man had come by and camped in the alder grove, spreading his blankets there, as the night was warm and pleasant. This man had left and Ned had gone to have a chat with him before "Old Man Smith" opened his mouth to say a word. Turning to Young, when the coast was clear, he said: "Ewing, I feel it in my bones that those strange Indians mean mischief. They are waiting about here and holding nightly councils with our people and I think we had as well find out what they mean by it." At first Young treated his fears with indifference , but as the old mountaineer detailed one fact after another that roused his suspicion, the other was interested and finally was aroused to study all the facts and their meaning. The Calipooia village was further down the creek; and the Wasco camp was close by it. The two men bent their steps that way, and being versed in all the craft of the wilderness, were able to approach without detection. Smith had seen signs that council had been held in a fir grove half a mile this side the village, and his keen vision took in the fact without giving the natives a shade of suspicion.

They separated as they drew near the grove and approached from different sides. Young was able to get near enough to the gathering to hear the debate, or at least to gather its meaning. There were not many but those present were men of influence. Evidently they did not trust the matter in hand to the multitude but were trying to come to some agreement and follow it up with a plan of action. The Wasco chief was arguing in his own tongue, that Ewing Young did not understand much of, but he gathered the substance of the talk. It was proposed to make away with Young and his company and drive off the stock. The Wasco chief was named Kuk-up, and he argued his case very adroitly. The whites were invaders and had no rights; the Indians would merely claim their own; they could easily attack and destroy the small garrison and run no danger. The Calipooias had their own side of it, and while they wanted the property, they had fears of consequences. They feared that the Hudson Bay Company would examine into the matter and they might expect trouble with the mission on the other side of the Willamette. It was urged that Young's party were not friends with either, and that no one would be entrusted in meeting out vengeance.

Young was less versed in Indian languages than old man Smith. The latter had not succeeded in getting near enough to take in the talk fully but heard and saw enough to satisfy him that the Wascos meant mischief. Nothing was determined that night and the listeners retired in time to avoid detection. They kept in the shadow of the forest until the Indians had all gone home, and then went their way without a word for a mile or more. Smith then began to sum up the case and its possibilities. To him it possessed the charm that danger brings to all brave men. The chief men of the nation had lain their case open, and he went into a calculation of numbers and means of defense. Young felt like talking plainly to his Calipooias and show them that the plot was discovered. Smith preferred to have the matter take its natural course. He could easily repair the stockade and the openings could be closed, yet the natives need not have their suspicions roused. This he proceeded to do, and by working when no Indians were near and making no chips to attract attention, they soon had the stockade in good order for defense and were in all respects well provided and equipped to insure safety.

Meanwhile, old man Smith had kept up an espionage on the night sessions of the enemy. Ned was taken into their confidence and the work of preparation was complete. The Calipooias were not easily converted to the war theory but the Wascos were in earnest, and gradually accomplished their purpose. The chief of the valley Indians was an old warrior called Lascalla, who had always professed the greatest regard for the whites. Lascalla had a daughter who was exceptionally good looking and agreeable, and Ned was her admirer. In those days, when women were scarce, it was no strange or uncommon thing for whites to make matrimonial alliances with the native women. Old Lascalla had his own views for Nonentee and frowned on Ned's attention. As matters drew to a conclusion, the councils in the forest closed and were held in a council lodge built in the midst of the village. Guards were stationed around this so as to prevent any listeners, and Young and the old man were shut off from the debates that interested them so much. They could only judge from appearances and had to be wary as to showing much interest.

Chief Lascalla was hereditary king of this band of Calipooias. He was generally respected because, in his youth, he performed acts of valor that give him permanent renown. At one time a marauding band of Klamaths came into the Willamette, and after procuring firewater from a roving family of Hudson Bay employees of half caste, who were in disgrace at Vancouver at the time, they were ready for any wickedness. Lascalla was then young and had a warm regard for a dusky belle, who afterwards became the mother of Nonentee. The Klamaths attempted to carry her off to their own country, and priming themselves with rum went in force to make her their captive. Lascalla roused a few of his own band and led them to the rescue. There was a sharp fight; bows and arrows, war-clubs and lances were used, and the battle ended with three scalps suspended to the pole that rose from young Lascalla's lodge.

After that he had many conflicts with bears and panthers, and when war was declared between his own and another band of the Calipooias he took the field--or rather the war-path--in such a fierce mood that the opposing band were glad to make terms as was demanded. Having rescued his lady-love, he took her to his own lodge, and became war chief of all Calipooias. He had a weakness in favor of bravery, and when Kuk-up, a great warrior and chief from Wasco, wished to unite his fortunes with the fate of Nonentee, Lascalla was willing. He liked Ned well enough, but Ned was not an Indian, and had his spurs to win as a knight. If, in the course of our story, Lascalla may prove recreant to his faith with the whites, some excuse can be made for him on the score that he was keeping a straight record with the red men, his own race, and was therefore loyal in the main to his proper allegiance. He was of the old sort whose memory was full of legends of the times when red men ruled the western world with might and main.

His lodge was built on the banks of the beautiful stream that watered the valley, and his emblem as chief hung from an ash tree that overhung his lodge. It was a richly colored wolf-skin, and for several decades had done duty on special occasions. Its heavy fur was well preserved, and, as it had been tanned, the totem of his tribe was blazoned on the tanned leather in such colors as the artists of the valley could command. This emblem of authority was carefully kept and only used on great occasions. The lodge was a framework of poles, covered with bark and skins of various sorts. This was the summer house, airy and pleasant; no fire was kindled within, but just outside the lodge fires burned and the cooking was done. Within, the lodge was neatly furnished. Mats of woven grass covered the unsightly poles and bark roofing, and occasionally the skin of some small animal was attached, as we hang pictures on our parlor walls. Nonentee had natural taste, as was shown by the graceful disposition of trifles--shells and agates--affixed here and there. The floor was of beaten earth, solid, smooth, and hard from constant use and careful leveling. Over this natural pavement was spread skins of various animals, spoils of the chase, some of which bore evidence of the fame Lascalla had won in the hunt, as well as on the war-path. This was the boudoir, as one might say, of Nonentee. The common room where the old chief received his warriors and transacted his executive duties was a plain but substantial structure that stood beyond the flag tree and the council ground.

They lived there with another son, who was growing up towards manhood, and a daughter younger than Nonentee. But she was mistress and ruled the roost. Her mother was feeble and took no active part; two slaves, captured in raids made long ago into the Umpqua, did all the work--gathering wood and cooking the food. This made a cluster of summer lodges where all these were provided for. When winter came, they lived in a lodge made more substantially, and divided by partitions into several rooms.

Nonentee was a forest belle, a native beauty who wore what nature offered her for adornment. She gathered rare stones and shells from the treasures of the creek. These she strung and made a necklace of no mean appearance. She wore flowers in her hair, at times, and made feathers serve her purpose in other ways. Rare skins were tanned and made into winter garments, and in summer time she wore gowns made of cloth purchased at Vancouver. The young men brought her rare skins and furs and beautiful feathers. She exercised all the talent native to her race to weave grasses into head-dresses, and gathered the milkweed that was rotted to make flax, which was spun and woven to make cloths. She was industrious and tasteful, and had a bewitching way with her that captured Ned and made him her slave. She was, in truth, a rare specimen of her kind, and an exception, too. Lascalla worshiped her. He determined in his soul that she should marry some great warrior and become a mother of warriors fit to claim him as their forerunner. The best laid plans of mice and men, etc.,

Kuk-up, the Wasco chief, was in love with fair Nonentee, and old Lascalla farrowed his suit. Ned was decidedly out of luck, for his dusky maid was watched by a jealous lover and by a bigoted father. As Young had not now the privilege of listening to the councils, it was necessary to find some other means of acquiring information. If Ned could meet his charmer, Nonentee, he might learn something of their intentions. He was fortunate enough to meet her one day, and made an appointment to see her again the same night at midnight, and she was true to her engagement. She met him in the wood near the village, and was astonished to learn that the Wascos were leading her people to murder the whites. Nonentee was thus on her mettle to hear and know what the late councils meant. How she managed it is not essential; that she did manage it, and played on the love, confidence and credulity of Kuk-up, the war chief of the Wascos, to succeed is very palpable. The little heathen pretended somewhat, and knew something, and thus penetrated the secret of the councils; as there was little time to spare, she revealed the facts to her faithful admirer, Ned, the same night.

The garrison of Spring Valley consisted of the three white men we have mentioned, an old Indian woman who acted the part of cook and scullion, and an Indian who had come through with Young from California two years before, but had never fraternized with the natives of the Willamette. The old woman had no attachments, and had been employed because she had lived at Vancouver and knew something of cooking. She was not to the manor born and would take up zealously for her white friends. Nonentee had explained that as soon as the nights would be dark, and the moon would fail to enlighten them, the massacre of Spring Valley would take place. The Wascos knew that the inmates slept soundly and seldom closed the gates of the stockade. Their only fear or hesitation was because Young had a big dog, a mastiff of immense size and strength, who was not supposed to sleep so soundly. Bravo was to be fed salmon, by some means, and thus got out of the way. How to do this was the question, and the attack could not safely be made until it was done.

It will be seen that matters were considerably complicated on both sides. Lascalla, the father, and Kuk-up, the lover of Nonentee, were on the keen watch, though they did not know her designs and affiliation with the Americans. The poor girl had stipulated that her people, and especially her father, should be spared and the Wascos be the only victims, as indeed they were to lead in the fray. She had agreed to expose a fox skin in a certain way when there was important news, and then Ned was to meet her and be posted. Ewing Young had a peculiar following and he employed the interval of uncertainty to gather these fellows in to make up the garrison. They appeared to come and go, as usual, but they remained and were stowed away and kept concealed. By this means the whites were increased to seven men, all good hunters and reliable in any emergency. The supply of arms and ammunition was abundant, and the garrison waited the onslaught with impatience. Old Bravo was exposed to their work and ate the poisonous salmon, but took an antidote that saved his valuable life. He was much annoyed because not allowed to roam the outside premises, but was kindly treated and kept from using his voice to betray his existence. At night he was turned loose, and could scent an Indian then a mile away.

The garrison was on the qui vive and stood guard regularly. Nonentee could not always give information, and the only way was to be fully prepared for any emergency. Tho gates were never shut, but had been repaired so they could be closed at the first signal and were under Ned's care. The stockade was in good condition, and in every respect the garrison was ready for a siege. Old Man Smith and Ned made their regular trips over the range, and while appearing to be careless of all particulars, they were keen observers of what transpired. One night Smith reported to his chief that scarce a soul was in sight at the village; that the warriors were all gathered in the great lodge, as if for some grave council. Even the children ran away as Smith rode through and the women looked askant, as if afraid. Ned reported that he saw Nonentee and she turned the cold shoulder on him, but made a sign they had agreed on that meant the night had come for the final attack. The brave girl had been on the lookout, and while she apparently treated him with coolness and indifference, she stopped to pick up a stick to throw at an Indian dog. If she had thrown two sticks, the attack would have been deferred two days. One throw meant that very night. So they were forearmed by being forewarned, and, taking their homeward way, they quietly prepared for the coming attack. Supper was had as usual; when the stock was cared for and everything in order, Young and Old Man Smith overhauled the armament, loaded the guns, and quietly ground their hunting knives. All seven of the garrison quickly made ready for the fray.

Patting old Bravo on the head, Young took him to the outer gate and bade him "Look out, old fellow!" a command that the gaunt mastiff took heed of and seemed to comprehend to the fullest.

After supper the talk naturally drifted into war channels, and nearly all gave their varied experience on the frontier or in the Indian country. Ewing Young had been a man of many experiences, and Old Man Smith had seen Indian character under every possible guise it could assume. He, however, was last to tell his conflict and fight his battles over. The evening grew old and one and another turned in. One or two of the newcomers made their beds under the alder grove. Old Man Smith and Ned stood guard, and all were ready to spring to arms at a word. Old Salal, the cook, was up and doing with the rest. An iron crane hung in the fireplace, and from it depended hooks that swung kettles used in cooking. The old woman kept her fire agoing and kettles full of water, but all were so full of thought that they did not ask what her intention was. Gradually, as the night wore on, supreme quiet and silence came over Spring Valley Ranch, and while Smith and Ned kept guard without and Ewing Young stood his restful watch within, all were so motionless that the night seemed perfect in its breathless, moveless silence.

If an Indian attacks by night it is usually when the night is nearly gone and the danger is close at hand. Midnight came and went, the wee sma'hours ayont the twal, passed by in the twinkle of many stars. It was almost at the breaking of dawn that a long growl came from the alder grove where the mastiff stood his ground. He did not move or repeat the growl in anger. It was soon evident what caused it for a light form rushed past the grove, through the gate, entered the house and sat down by the fireplace. Ned roused as it passed in, and following it recognized the presence of his mistress. Nonentee bowed her head and spoke but a word. "They come!" she said, and rising from her recumbent position and passed out as lightly as she came, by the opposite door. The mastiff followed her. She gave him a touch with her hand upon the head in recognition and went on. Ned knew better than to follow. She was true as steel and must be allowed her own way.

All were now on the qui vive to receive the hostiles. Bravo was called within the stockade; the men who slept among the alders rose and came in; a man was placed at each gate with urgent instructions, and the ranch lay there in slumbering starlight as still as if there was no life within and, no danger threatened. The eight occupants of the stockade were about to engage with at least fifty warriors, one-third of whom were Wascos. The Calipooias were the least warlike of all the tribes in the Northwest. Those from the east of the Cascades, and indeed from all other parts, were warriors used to strife; but the Willamette was peopled with many bands of the same race and they seemed to be protected by mountain walls from other and more warlike races. Young and the old man knew that the Wascos would be in the front, and they laid their plans accordingly. There was quite a battle piece performed at the Indian village before the attack on Spring Valley Ranch began. The first speaker was Kuk-up, chief of the Wascos. This warrior rose up in a council where all the braves were gathered, and made a speech of great force, and calculated to rouse the blood of every loyal Calipooia to a boiling point. He wore his warpaint, had a wolf skin thrown over his shoulders and eagle feathers hung from his heavy hair. At his belt there swung scalps of enemies he had slain in battle, and with bow and arrow at his back and tomahawk in hand, he looked every inch a warrior. He spoke of the inroads of the whites and urged that they should follow him that night to slay the invader. He laid out the whole plan of attack and having, in imagination, killed his enemies, he proceeded to divide the spoils. He proved beyond a doubt that stock raised on their pastures was theirs. Taking it all together it was a very patriotic address and a very seductive argument.

Lascalla followed in the same strain; others spoke, and their oratory was interrupted by beatings of the Indian drum and chanting the war songs of the Calipooias and Wascos, which were sung with all the force savage lungs could impart. They went to the fray well primed with fervor and full of fury. To be plain about it, the savage Kuk-up had not been able to recite a single wrong the Indians had endured from Young and his people, and all the motive they could bring to their work of murder was the hope of plunder. There was a patriotic tone, to be sure, to their speeches, but the miserable hope of dividing up the spoil was the real motive. All their patriotism was pretense--Sound and fury signifying nothing. They kept up their speech making until after midnight, and endeavored to put some spirit into the Calipooia band by their noise and hubbub. Lascalla himself was the most earnest of all, and he was not without doubt. His true motive was regard for Kuk-up and desire to consummate his allegiance. Only for this he could not have been induced to venture on the war-path. The young warriors of his band were not willing soldiers, and had little heart in the enterprise. War was not their vocation, and they had no sufficient motive. When the night was well advanced, Kuk-up, who was to be the war-chief for the time, singled his men and gave his directions. His own Wascos numbered only twelve and there were twice that number of Calipooias. They took the trail for the ranch, and when near there, formed in two companies. One was the small force of Wascos and few of the valley men, nearly twenty in all. These were to be the attacking force, and the rest were to form a reserve force, under a young chief of the Calipooias. Lascalla was a warrior of note and had the courage to demand a place of danger with the attacking force, and it could not be denied to him. The advance found the ranch as quiet and silent as night could make it. The stars looked down on their stealthy approach and the dusk of night mingled its shadows with the colorless buildings and the rude stockade. There was good opportunity for firing on the approaching foe through the crevices between the upright posts. Had they all been foreign to the place, Young would have closed the gates and made it dangerous to approach; but he was unwilling to kill the Calipooias, and knowing that the Wascos would lead the attack, he let them come inside the walls, so he could give Kuk-up and his men a lesson that would prevent their speedy return to the valley.

The Wascos came cautiously through the alder grove and part cottonwoods, and were stealing, shadow-like, among the firs that grew close to the east gate of the stockade, when a low whistle from their chief gave them caution to stand still. He was in the lead and stood close by the gate with old Lascalla by his side like a shadow. There is no denying that Nonentee's father was a brave man, for he showed no holding back. Waving a shadowy arm to tell his men to hold back, Kuk-up, followed by Lascalla, entered the gate and examined the premises. There was no sound or movement, and all indicated that the garrison slept the sleep of Oregon night-time. A wave of the arm brought his men around him and the rear guard, following their instructions crept stealthy into the alder grove. The dusky forms of the attacking force were creeping stealthily through the gate, and the last one had only passed through its portals, when it was shut with a loud clang and a bolt shot that made it fast. At this signal war broke forth and surrounded the hostiles for more than they had bargained for. They had imagined it was war of their own making, and their surprise and confusion can be imagined when every voice in the supposed slumbering garrison broke forth in a yell of defiance, and rifle after rifle sent sound and shot forth from the darkness. First of all came the huge mastiff, Bravo, who tore one and another in a furious way and made the darkness more hideous by his diabolical acts. Whether it was dog or demon they could not decide. They had few guns, and before those who had them could use them, or others could point an arrow, half the invading force was prostrate and the rest was inclined to retreat, only that no retreat was possible. They stood in the open and their assailants were in shadow. Having emptied their rifles, the moment required to reload was made use of by old Bravo, who kept up his part of the war. Suddenly a new actor came to the front. From the fireplace emerged old Salal, the cook; she had a dipper in one hand and a kettle of boiling water in the other, which she disposed of by throwing it on the Wasco braves. This was too much even for savage stoicism. The Wascos threw down their guns and the voice of old Lascalla was heard pleading for peace. Ned recognized the tone and also the virtue of protecting Nonentee's parent, so he called off Bravo, who was about to make the old man his meat, and was just in time to turn the chief over to Nonentee who had returned by the western gate to save her sire. Summoning the Wascos to throw down their arms, Young ordered Salal to bring torches and his garrison took care of the prisoners. While the majority were prostrate, dead or wounded, among the living were Kuk-up and Lascalla. The Wasco chief was the worse from a heavy blow over the head with the heavy barrel of Old Man Smith's rifle and some scalding water that the cook had dealt, but was not seriously injured.

Lascalla was repentant and Kuk-up was sullen over their overwhelming overthrow. They could not imagine how it came about. The Wascos, having no reason to expect leniency, were in sorrowful anticipation of torture and death. They expected the fate they themselves bestow on captive enemies and assume the stoical indifference the Indian warrior thinks becoming under such circumstances. They were eventually much surprised when their enemies bound up their wounds and turned them loose with only words of stern admonition; this broke down the stoicism and made them show more feeling than any fear of death could have extorted. They learned the difference between barbarism and civilization in a single night, and went back to Wasco land considerably wiser, though no purity of reasoning could impress their minds with any respect for the warriors who seemed not to fear the devil himself, but did not care to torture enemies captured in war at risk of their own lives.

The majority of the Indians who had been left outside were Calipooias, and all the killed and wounded had been Wascos. The outsiders withdrew to the nearest shelter of woods, and remained there until morning dawned on the battlefield. Daylight found Kuk-up with a broken head and scalded body, but the head was tied up and the body salved by good old Salal, whose methods of warfare were not so satisfactory as they were efficient. Old Lascalla was also a subject for repairs, but his scalds were not dangerous. Several of those who were down were only wounded, but a number had closed their accounts and were ready for burial. As soon as day had wakened the living and brightened the world, a messenger was sent

forth in the person of one of the Calipooias who escaped slaughter, and all on the outside were requested to listen to another speech from poor old Lascalla. This eminent chieftain was inclined for peace, and now remembered many benefits the presence of the white men had conferred upon them. Kuk-up, of Wasco, confessed that he had done wrong and had led his people into trouble. They all ate humble-pie, and when Ewing Young opened his gates the discomfitted red men bore their dead away and blamed themselves for all their trouble. They blamed Kuk-up, who stirred them to war and escaped better than many had. He was very docile, and as soon as his wounded were able to travel they took their way to the mountains again, sadder and wiser, by a great deal, then when they came.

Ewing Young did not let them go away without explaining to them his own great powers as a medicine man. He said: "You have medicine men, but what do they know more than any of you do, or can if you will study the common things of life. They cannot know what I knew, as it went on". Then he recited to them their various meetings and councils held in the fir grove and the great lodge. He was able to specify many things he did not actually know by estimating what would follow from what he did know. This showing up of their conduct and scheming astonished them greatly and made them put full faith in Young's assertion of supernatural powers. As a consequence they never dared again to cross his will or contest his purposes, and he never gave them occasion to do so.

Lascalla lost faith in the Wasco chief and cheerfully gave his daughter to Ned, who gave her all care and kindness for many years. She was unusually bright and competent, and when Ewing Young died, a few years later, she helped Ned to build up a future for himself.

When white people came in and occupied the land, she and Ned had a nice family. They felt that they were not of caste to be appreciated by society here, so they sold and moved east of the Cascades, where they found others, half caste also, and made a society of their own. Ned had a comfortable independence and brought up the family to be good stockmen and the best of citizens.

Go to Top of Page

Go to Page: 117, 120, 122, 125, 127, 138, 142, 145,

152, 159, 161, 162, 163, 168, 169

Page 138

WILLIAM LEE DAVIDSON EWING LETTER - 1836

[Journal of Clan Ewing, Vol 3 No. 2 - May 1997, pages 8-12]

[This letter was sent to us by Alicia Towster. The comments that have been added to the letter are typed as they appeared in the copy received.]

1836 WASHINGTON D.C. Letter (mailed FREE)

FROM SENATOR WILLIAM LEE DAVIDSON EWING

TO FINIS YOUNG EWING [Cousins]

[Original letter is in possession of Barbara Ewing Skimina, as of August, 1991. She descends from William Lee Davidson Ewing, oldest son of Rev. Finis Ewing. [Uncle who founded Presbyterian Church]

William Lee Davidson Ewing at this point in time (1836), was appointed to fill vacancy in U. S. Senate and served from Dec. 30, 1835 to March 3, 1837. In 1838, 1840 was an ILL House of Representative and chosen at both sessions the Speaker over Abraham Lincoln. In 1820 he was appointed by Pres. Monroe as receiver of the land office, served ILL house of Rep. and Senate; and served 15 days as Governor of ILL in 1834.

William L. D. Ewing, 41, the 2nd oldest, born 1795, is writing to his brother, 16 years younger, Finis Young Ewing, 25, the 9th child of Finis and Peggy D. Ewing born 1811. This younger brother named his 3rd son after this big brother. (We're from a younger brother, Bob, #12 of 13; b. 1816/19, 17/20 yrs.)

Just that Spring, in Feb-March, 1836, the Alamo was defended by 200 TX volunteers including Davy Crocket, Bowie, . . . They were massacred by 4,000 of Gen'l Santa Ana's troops. A cousin, James Ewing died at the Alamo (also a Harris, both from TN. Six weeks later a victory at San Jacinto under Sam Houston, secured Texas Independence. A lot of massacres took place between that time by Mexican troops. Rather messy.

William says he just received his brothers June 10th letter, and it took 49 days to receive it, since this is dated July 29th.]

Dear Brother

Verily, I was glad - absolutely rejoiced this morning when I received your letter dated June 10. I had almost despaired of your escaping from that land of ignorance treachery and assassination. [Texas?!] Your journey in (is), was a most adventurous and a anguish (???) one - aye both, in an eminent degree. Well, you know whom to thank for your safe return to the bosom of society and friends and relations. And no doubt your acknowledgements were rendered from the depths of a grateful heart. Your acquisitions have been important, if you had returned naked, hungry and without money - for, what's can, or ought to be weighted in the balance against health. But besides this most invaluable acquisition, you have acquired (crossed out), experience and a knowledge of a Country that is now attracting much interest in this Country, and which although, it has been known to a Christian people for the last 150 years - yet it has been buried in superstition and ignorance for the greater part of that period. Such severe service as a person must necessarily undergo in an adventure and as a journey of this kind, you have just returned from, if the Constitution can bear it, contributes infinitely more than anything also to the invigoration of the physical powers, general health and constitution. I congratulate you on your safe return, not only on your own account, but especially that of our venerable parents, not forgetting my own.

I am really glad to hear from the different branches of our family. And yet the intelligence imparts many melancholy feelings. I never can think of my poor sister Winifred without the deepest feelings of pain and sorrow. Her amiable and good qualities, her quiet (Meek-ness ?) and her sufferings have always endeared her to me. Poor Mary! Indeed I pity her from the bottom of my heart. A drunken husband is a heart of all others the most to be detested. He breaks the heart of his wife beggars his children - may more, makes them fit subjects for the poor house, jail and gallows. In a word he is every thing that a man and husband should not be.

[Mary's husband, Archibald Kavanaugh died the following year, Sept. 1837, and she remarried her 1st cousin, Chatham, son of Chatham Ewing. Somehow Archibald Kavanaugh must be related to William Kavanaugh - the eloquent minister who moved to every state and Robert C. Ewing admired.]

My good sister Margery is as kind and ugly as ever I suppose.

[She was married to Rev. Robert Sloan of Kansas City.}

Rea is a man

I've never seen - suppose however he is a pretty clever fellow or Pamela would not have had him.

[Pamela's 2nd husband: Horsely Rea; 1st was James Weir Read.]

By the by, I am a thorough convert from the use of any (then crossed out 'any) intoxicating drink, of any kind or sort, and not withstanding I am so situated at this time, that grants inducements every day array themselves before me to drink deep of the juice of the vine, at public dinners to which I am daily invited. Yet I taste not at ale, nor have I for the last four months and more I never will.

Your amiable and highly intellectual friend, Morrison, is dead. He left us all disconsolate for the severe affliction. His poor wife miserable -- truly miserable. My little family too, has not exacted the (discolating wand of the file distrogen.) Finis, my best beloved boy, has gone down to the grave, the common receptacle [receptacle] of all creative beings. What then is a heaven all nature proves, and that, heaven was created for such as he, I entertain the liveliest hope and the fullest belief.

This session is drawing to a close. We will operate on the 4th prox. much ( ) of deep interest to the nation, has received the action of Congress. The most important measure which has become a law at the present session is the ( ) and ( ) ( ) Bill. On that Bill your Senators were divided. Senator B [Benton] voting in a minority of 6 against the bill - one of whom, was an opertunist. The public prints will impart to you the principles of the Bill. In ( ) the policy which dictated it - of (crossed out "of") rather doubtful, I however voted for the bill. And willing to try the experiment.

What plan should be adopted to arrest poor Kavanaugh in his mad and wicked course. Can no rational plan be fallen upon ? This will ruin all that is dear, or ought to be dear to him, and inevitably destroy himself. Who knows what the drunkard will do? What act perpetrate? We know that all his acts turn directly to the distruction and blight of everything around him. Can he not be reclaimed? Has he gone too far?

Give my love to father, mother, brothers, sisters and friends. If I am alive and in health, I will pay you all a visit in the month of April or May, next.

It's not known whether I shall be reelected or not. I should be, if I could be present.

[He was not reelected.]

What business will you embark in? Have you yet determined? You ought to go down to St Louis and get of Governor Dumklin? a contract of surveying in your state. If your health is restored, this I vice in such a business would ( ? ) establish it invigorte your constitution, and besides, with prudent management and dispatch, the contract would result profitably.

You can get any recommendation, I presume, as our father is (obvious) the Centurion of the Faithful in that section of that broad Republic.

By the way, you know "desperate --seases re and my opinion is, in regard to our

[Copy too blurred & worn to translate completely]

that our

venerable father, the Rev. W. , Rea, Ruby with them families, as well as yourself our brother Bob together with th. . . friends the Rev. Kavanaugh, M. Ewing and myself had better again to at his Ky [Kentucky] house (turn ? time) this fall and make a upon his propensity for expensive drink by the (force?) of example -- by the of example. Our good mother should be the over th. . . and we should enter upon a - get drunk and ca (carouse?). . . for about a week - eat everything (he?) had that as edible -- drink ale that he had, that was drinkable -- turn the cattle into the corn fields -- which the children -- off the negroes -- mule driven the . . . . . . , burn the chairs, tables, . . . . . etc. etc. -- show him a portrait of the Drunkard - bloated, His wife broken hearted his children in rags, the house and (farm?) dilapidating - his substance wasted with the personification of the demon of disolation p . . . . over the . . . . . . . , not unlike the voracious vulture, when gloating over his prey. Would this be too disperate a . . . . . . . .? It is not right to trifle with such matters I know, but I hope the idea might not be without its effect.

Again I say give my love to all that love or respect me. Write me at Vandalia. (leave ?) here for home in 4 days.

Your brother,

W.L.D. Ewing

July 29. 1836

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Go to Top of Page

Go to Page: 117, 120, 122, 125, 127, 138, 142, 145,

152, 159, 161, 162, 163, 168, 169

Page 142

MAKING HISTORY COME ALIVE

[Journal of Clan Ewing, Vol 3 No. 2 - May 1997, pages 13-15]

Source: Through correspondence with Clan Ewing, we were able to learn a little about Gene Ewing and requested that he send us an article about his whittling activities. Gene's work is part of a State of Kentucky traveling Museum of History. His works represents the Green River area. The following article was published in The Gleaner newspaper, _______________, Kentucky. The article "Spottsville man can make history really come alive" was written by Judy Jenkins, a staff writer for The Gleaner. We appreciate Gene sending this article to us. Editor

For some people, history is nothing more than the dead past, relegated to the pages of a textbook.

But for Gene Ewing, those yesterdays are as vivid as the plaid in the shirts he favors and as solid as the cabins he restores and the wood he whittles into images from the long ago.

This 60-year-old Spottsville resident is more comfortable with the things his grandparents found familiar than with the high-tech instruments of his own era.

When the world is too much with him, he steps off the back porch of his home and, with his canine buddies at his heels, strides across his tree-dotted property and into an earlier day.

There, on a light rise in the land, are the two cabins he salvaged from other sites, hauled to his place on the Old Henderson-Spottsville Road, and put back together one log at a time.

He steps through the door and into a less-complicated period.

That period, he reckons, is perfect for the observation of Thanksgiving, and that's why he and some 24 family members on Thursday gathered around a long table covered with red and white checked tablecloths and had turkey cooked in his mama's stove in the lean-to-kitchen that connects the cabins.

The people he loves best were there, including Judith, his wife of 40 years, son Ricky and daughter-in-law Mavis, daughter Patricia Ewing Gish and son-in-law Kenneth, grandchildren and other kinfolk.

The place was a lot more crowded than it usually is. Often, Ewing is there alone, adding kindling to the fire and basking in its warmth.

Next thing he knows, he's picked up a piece of wood from his "whittlin' box," unfolded his pocket knife and put blade to chunk of pine, walnut or whatever is handy.

"I never know what it's going to wind up being'," he says, his grammar as rustic as the smell of the wood smoke and the bare beams of the cabins.

Sometimes the creations turn out to be miniature dwellings, complete with tiny furnishings and cut-away roofs that reveal the interiors. Sometimes they're paddle boats like the ones that once churned down the Green River, and sometimes they're more simple items, like replicas of the axes used more than a century ago to dress the logs for those cabins.

He also likes to capture part of his family history in wood.

In tribute to his grandmother, midwife America Key, who delivered some 3,000 babies in the Springfield, Ky., area, he carved a pipe and other items she would have recognized. Yep, she smoked a pipe. She also was a talented seamstress and bread baker.

Ewing's dad was colorful, too. That fellow left home on a mule at the age of 13, trying to track down the villain who'd shot his father to death. He didn't get the justice he sought, but he did become a self-made man who wound up floating mile-long rafts of logs from Jim Town, Ky., down the Green River to the steam mill in Evansville.

It was on one such expedition in 1939 that he fell in love with Spottsville, sitting high on the banks of that river, and bought a tract of land for his family.

Gene Ewing, a retired construction worker, has been there ever since.

His cabins comprise the closest thing Spottsville has to a museum. One of them, the smaller one restored by Ewing in 1983, was discovered inside a house being torn down. Ewing, who calls his mini-settlement a "Pioneer Trading Post," believes it was one of the first cabins in that community and is more than