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From: "Julia A. Heaton Krutilla" <>
Subject: Mrs. Nehemiah JOHNSON, nee Mary BICKERSTAFF
Date: Mon, 10 Sep 2001 11:19:45 -0400


The following is a first installment of an article posted in the recent -
Volume 18, Issue 3, September 7, 2001, of the Jefferson County Historical
Association Newsletter.

Enjoy this morsel shared by JCHL Newsletter Editor, Charles F. Green

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INTERESTING RECOLLECTIONS OF NINETY YEARS AGO

(abstracted from the History of Belmont and Jefferson Counties, Ohio )

Hearing that Mrs. Johnson, nee Mary Bickerstaff, was on a visit to
Steubenville, we were fortunate enough to secure a series of interviews
with the venerable old lady, who has seen nearly ninety summers up to this
date. We found her seated very happily rocking on each occasion of our
visit, and were always welcomed to a seat beside her, as the old lady
remarked ­ "My sight and hearing are not what they were fifty years
ago." Acquainting her with our mission, she smiled a good-natured assent,
and taking us by the arm said: "That's right; I'd like well for the world
to know how we used to get along when I was a girl. Well, I was born in
Pennsylvania, Nov. 14th, 1790, and when eight years old, came here to
Steubenville with my parents, who secured a number of acres of land from
Bazaleel Wells, located a mile and a half west of Steubenville. It was on
the hill where the cemetery fence now crosses.
Our wagons were hauled up by oxen, and I will tell you . . . .

WHAT OUR LOG CABIN WAS LIKE.

Father lost no time in piling together the logs, and with an admixture of
mud and wood ashes we soon plastered the rude cot [cottage], which had a
roof and doors constructed of clapboards. We improvised wooden hinges, and
our door latches consisted of strings cut out of groundhog skins that we
tanned ourselves. The floors were laid of split logs, the flat side up,
and the same were used for joists; while at night, to keep out the wild
animals ­ for there were heaps around ­ we used to pile a big 'back-log'
against the door, which, together with a few kindlings formed our fuel for
the day, burnt in a large open fire-place, or vacant space left; where it
would burn safely. I tell you there was a heap of comfort in it as
compared with your damask curtained houses of today. Without questioning
the old lady's opinion, we suggested what was . . . .

THE LOT OF LADIES IN THOSE DAYS.

"Don't say 'ladies', my friend," said Mrs. J.; "we had no ladies in those
days ­ we sought only to be women, and were proud of being called
WOMEN. And, mind you, we never dreamed of disfiguring our bodies and
deforming ourselves with 'Grecian bends', 'Roman falls', 'pull-backs', and
long trains dragging in the mud. Finery was unknown to us ­ we carded,
spun, and wore our clothing. There was no running to the store for
everything you wanted. Our shawls consisted of good, home-made flannel,
sometimes colored to our fancy; and our heads knew nothing better than
hand-made sun bonnets for summer and warm wool hoods in winter. Our feet
were covered with our own make of moccasins or shoe-packs, for which we
tanned the leather ourselves. I tell you they were a heap better than your
high-heeled, tight fitting fancy boots of to-day. We had no corns in those
days, except such as were grown on the ear in the field. But I must tell
you about our . . . .

OLD TIME HUSKING MEETINGS.

Well, the men and women, old and young, would meet on each farm in the
season at sundown, and about fifty or sixty of them would go to work in
real earnest. Two sides were chosen, and a rail was laid across where the
middle of the pile of corn would fall, and each man would place a man at
the ends of the rail, when they were through husking, the side that had
husked the most would have their man picked up and carried around, amid
loud hurrahs, as the captain. Then, while the men were penning up the
husks in the field, the women would go to the house, cook turkeys, chicken,
pumpkin pies, &c., and we'd have a rousing good supper. In those times we
drank out of gourds and had only pewter plates and dishes ­ no crockery or
glass. After supper, though it was late, we returned to the field and
there enjoyed a good hearty game; we would all take hold hands, with a
young man set in the middle of the ring, and we ran round singing:

"Sister Phoebe, how merry were we The night we sat under the juniper-tree?
Take this hat on your head, 'twill keep you warm; Take a sweet kiss, 'twill
do you no
harm. "

And in this way would frisk about like kittens till all the young men had a
moonlight kiss, and we would finish up by singing:
"Mamma, who's been here since I've been gone?
A pretty young girl with a josey on."

A "josey" signifying a jacket. They were rare good times, I tell you; lots
of good, solid harmless fun. No rye drinking, no beer or hard cider,
though we did sometimes take a little "mafigelum," consisting of sugar,
water and hops, which I'll tell you how to mix directly."

We asked, by way of a change, "from the ridiculous to the sublime,"
if she would tell us HOW THEY INDULGED SPIRITUAL CONSOLATION.

"Oh! We were not short of that," said the old lady, "but it was good solid
religion in those days; not meetings gotten up to show off our clothes and
to gossip. We had what we called 'riding preachers' come round; a minister
on horseback, who held a service at one of our houses every other week, and
every second week we had prayer meetings. Ah!
And we put our whole souls into the worship. We did not quarrel and
wrangle over all sorts of notions and isms, but united heart and voice in
the common plain worship of God. And that reminds me of my dear old
father. But, remember, he was no particular exception to the general rule
in those days. He never took food, even to the extent of a piece without
asking Divine blessing, that he might feel thankful for it.

Ah! I think I see his dear white head, and his long, white beard, as he
joined regularly in family prayer, and never in my life did I ever know him
to retire without committing us all to God's tender care and mercy.

My friend, those were days when the heart was lifted to God in earnestness,
and we all felt prayer was our common duty to our Maker, but nowadays
people seem to fancy they are condescending to approach God, and worse
luck, there are not over many young folks that favor Him that much. I tell
you, in religion things have mightily changed." We asked her for
information on

THE FIRST PUBLIC PREACHING IN STEUBENVILLE.

When the old lady said that she never remembered preaching here "until
1799 or 1800, when one Lorenzo Dow visited this (then) scattered little
hamlet, on foot, for he would not ride from place to place, on his mission
for the Lord. A report had gained circulation that a great divine was
coming, whom some were not slow to claim a second Christ, which led to 200
or 300 persons gathering here under a large tree that then stood at the end
of the market square. Beneath this tree was a bench upon which butchers
cut up their meat, and there was also an 'upping block.' When Dow arrived
he looked exceedingly seedy and worn out by travel, so much so that he
somewhat staggered which led our informant's mother to inquire of her good
husband if he did not think the man drunk. The venerable old man simply
replied, "Thee'll see directly." The Zealous ambassador of Christ mounted
the "upping block"
and, Mrs. Johnson states, addressed the people from the following words,
which have never since ceased to ring in her ears:

"Sent by my Lord, on you I call ­ The invitation is to all; Come all the
world ­ come sinner, thou; All things in Christ are ready now."

The sermon was one of unsurpassed eloquence and impressiveness, and the
delighted audience voluntarily took up a hat collection, handing the
receipts to the preacher, who though in dilapidated habiliments himself,
sought out the most humbly attired man in the audience, and handing it to
him bade him God speed in its use. Mr. and Mrs. Bickerstaff, parents of
our informant, entreated Mr. Dow to visit their house and eat and rest
with them, but he declined in the words, "I have not the time, my Lord's
work must be done and I must go." We next asked for . . . .

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(wait for the NEXT INSTALLMENT which will include recipes for tanning
hides, and making 'Mafigelum'. Warning, you'll need a large pot to fit
about 40 to 50 gallons of sugar water! See if Santa will get you one.)

Now don't forget to stop by the Jefferson County Historical Association
Museum at: http://www.rootsweb.com/~ohjcha/

It's one of those little known gems which contain local history found no
where else. Membership, tours of the museum/mansion, and research in their
Vivian Snyder Library is encouraged. Consider calling ahead an making
arrangements for family research. All info detailed on their web page above.

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