It was late in the summer of 1814. A small girl stood on the banks of the Potomac River; her small hands were raised above her eyes to shade them from the bright sunlight as she watched the ships of the British fleet as they sailed up the river. Her name was Sophia McBaine. She was a small child, but her bright eyes and serious face, to a keen observer, could have belonged to a child much beyond her age of eight years.
Her mother whose maiden name was Herrick had related many thrilling stories of her early life in Maryland. She was a member of the Roman Catholic Church and had her daughter Sophia christened in that faith. But it was from her father that Sophia had inherited the spirit of the "Fightin' Irish".
As the British fleet came farther up the river she stamped her small, bare feet and clenched her fists in rage as she turned and ran to her mother demanding the use of the musket that she might fire upon the enemy.
Her mother folded her in her arms and explained to her the futility of one little girl taking a stand against the British fleet when the combined militia of Maryland and Virginia had failed to halt the British army under General Ross, and even the capitol buildings in Washington were in smoldering ruins.
The war of 1812 ended in 1815. At its close immigration to Missouri set in more rapidly than perhaps was ever known elsewhere in the United States up to that time. The rush was greatest from Virginia, Kentucky, North Carolina, and Tennessee.
But coming from Maryland the road was extremely rough and rugged.
The story is told of how the wagons drawn principally by oxen inched their way up the sides of the mountains and when on top they locked their wheels, unhitched the animals, and people, wagons, and animals all slid down the mountain sides. When the mountains were finally crossed the people were often confused and disagreed as to the direction they would take into the great unknown wilderness.
They all finally agreed to hold up sticks and drop them, and the direction the stick pointed when it fell would be the direction they would go.
Evidentally, little Sophia McBaine's stick pointed toward Missouri and Boone's Lick when it fell, as Boone County proved to be the destination of the McBaine family.
Many wagons joined together and formed long trains. There was the huge wagon filled with the family's plunder drawn by three or four yoke of oxen. Next came the herds of cattle and sheep, each with many bells making a beautiful chime, and as this mingled with the dull thud of the wagon, the coarse voice of the harder and the driver, a peculiar impression was made which you, my dear grandchildren, will never be able to appreciate.
Sophia McBaine married your great, great, great grandfather Benjamin Colvin II about the year 1820. She had been accustomed to slaves in her own home until the time of her marriage; therefore, she knew very little about housework and little did she dream of the duties she would have to fulfill. But in planning their marriage she and her equally inexperienced husband decided to go to a home of their own and live by themselves. All went well until all of his homespun and woven white linen suits became soiled, and he asked her to wash them. She said she took them down to the stream and splashed them in the water and scrubbed them on the stones; then she dried and folded them neatly on a chair and sat on them until they were pressed just as she had seen the slaves do in her home. But when she presented them to her new husband, he would not wear them.
Feeling none to happy, she took them back to the stream and scrubbed them again until her hands were blistered and her arms ached, but the more she tried, the worse they seemed to look.
Early the next morning she ordered her horse saddled to go home and get her "niggah".
Of their life together I know very little, only that they reared a family of nine children. Your great, great grandfather Ambrus Colvin being the oldest. My generation called him "Grandpap", and thus I will refer to him through the remainder of my story. Then there was a son Ignashus, who ran away from home at an early age and joined a party of emigrants and drifted to the state of Washington. There he lived among the Indians for a time and married an Indian girl who, it is said, came to his rescue at a time when his life was in danger. After the death of this wife and their son, he married a fine American girl, and they reared a most worthy family of sons and daughters.
He acquired a fortune in the heavy timberland in the state of Washington.
There was a third son, Uncle Jerry, who was mentally underprivileged. After his father's death, Grandpap brought Uncle Jerry to his home to live. He spent his time around the house and often helped your great, great grandmother with her household duties, but she never felt that she could trust him with the care of the small children. She always kept a watchful eye
There were six daughters, Nellie, Catherine, and Nancy. Of these I know only that they lived in Platte County in or near Weston, Missouri. Then there was Henryetta, Julia, and Manda.
Henryetta, Aunt Hettie we called her, married and lived in Columbia, Missouri. She was a dressmaker by trade, and as she had no children she kept herself so well groomed the rest of the family rather considered her an aristocrat. She was a handsome woman and a dynamic character. She spent twelve years from 1864 to 1876 on the west coast in the states of California and Washington. At that time that was considered a long way off.
After the death of her husband Dave Gordon, Aunt Hettie was still living in Columbia, Missouri. She had done so much sewing in her younger years that now her eyesight was failing, and to help earn her livelihood she kept roomers. At one time three young medical students occupied her rooms and were attending classes at the university. And as it was quite common in that day, there was an old shed on the back of her lot, which was equipped with a large iron kettle that had been used to heat water for butchering.
One Saturday the three young Medics were not in their rooms studying as was their custom. Aunt Hettie began looking around for them, and as she did so she noticed smoke coming from the old shed by the alley. She shaded her eyes with her hand as she peered out toward the shed. She hadn't given anyone permission to use that shed for butchering; her curiousity got the best of her. She walked shyly out to the shed and peeped in.
She let out a loud scream and went running to the house. Lawd Amassy! Them three young Medics was bilin' a niggah in that butcherin' kettle!
It is needless to say there were "For Rent" signs in their windows the next Monday morning.
Aunt Julia married Sam Owens, and her home was near Ainsworth, Nebraska.
Aunt Manda was a lovable character, tall, stately, regular features, dark hair and brown eyes. At the age of seventy her body was as lithe and willowy as a young girl. She spoke with a strong southern accent as did all of Great, Great, Great Grandmother Sophia's family.
Aunt Manda's married life was not an easy one. I will speak of her husband and Uncle John O. who was the easy going type, who spent much of his time hunting and fishing along the stream. At that time the early settlers helped one another and even shared provisions. In that way they got along.
At one time Uncle John O. and Aunt Manda lived with their family in a little house near the Nodaway River. It was late fall and they had laid in a barrel of sorghum molasses for winter use. As they were crowded for room, they had placed the barrel by the chimney. One morning the chimney began to issue clouds of smoke into the room, and Aunt Manda decided it was stopped up. So she persuaded Uncle John O. to clean it out. Quite obligingly he undertook the job by laying a loose board on top of the barrel of sorghum to stand on to reach the source of the trouble. As he stepped on the loose board it slipped and and he fell headlong into the barrel of sorghum. Aunt Manda came to his rescue and as she helped him out of the barrel, she said tearfully, "Oh, John, you sp'iled that whole barrel of sorghum". He inspected his clothes and good naturedly replied, "No, Manda, I didn't hurt it any. All that touched me stuck to me".
Aunt Manda once told me of the time Grandpap invited her to come to his home and dry apples. His trees were full, and they were dropping and going to waste.
She left her children at home and went and stayed almost a week. She worked diligently; she peeled, cored, and quartered the apples and spread them in the sun to dry. When they were dry she had a flour sack full.
The Wabash Railroad had just been put through, and as she had never ridden on a train, she thought it would be quite an adventure to get on at Dawson and ride some two or three miles to Burlington Junction where she lived.
When the train came to a stop, the conductor took the sack of dried apples from under her arm and placed them in the baggage car. Aunt Manda, thinking she was being robbed, started to climb into the baggage car with them. After some argument the conductor took the sack and put it on the passenger car with her.
She said she thought of them po' chillun' at home that never had a taste of fruit.
Okay, that is Chapter 1. I hope you all enjoy it.
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