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"Back in my early childhood there was an epidemic of diphtheria that killed so many children. By my mother's expert care, she pulled us through sickness. About his time, my dad and grand father set up a sorghum mill and evaporator near the ford. There was much life around this place and a continual picnic for all the children. A little distance above the ford was a great cave or gully with a shallow entrance. In the high clay wall birds built their nests. They were the bank martins. There was a big chinquepin thicket near the ford where the ground was black with chinquepins. My dad and grand father bought the first cook stoves and sewing machines which were a great convenience as well as curiosities.
I remember the great snow. They shoveled out paths through the snow. We played up and down the paths. I could just see over the snow bank. Sometime in the 1870's we had a drought. There was no corn in the country. Grandpa run a barrel of tar and Daddy got a load of apples and carried to the prairie and bartered for corn. Others burned coal kilns, carried charcoal, fruit, bacon, pine knots and bartered for corn. There was nothing in the prairie but cotton and corn. By their determination and patience and resourcefulness, they overcame the crisis.
For recreation, a wave of dancing took place. Uncle Abe Auborn was the musician. His descendents are here now by almost legions. Alf and Jerry Moore too, played for the parties in later years. They were almost equal to Bob and Alf Taylor, the famous fiddling politicians of Tennessee.
The next was a panic among the negroes of how voodooism took place. The negroes were afraid of each other, not knowing who had the gift of conjure as it was almost as bad as the Salem Witchcraft. They had conjure doctors and for the least illness would think they had been "spelled" as they called it. They told such unreasonable tales of their cures. The white people made light of all this. The negroes became more secretive about it, yet they still believe in the conjure.
Nove for the last part, I should have thought of sooner. This was the passing of Van Dorn's army of fifteen thousand men. My mother's little slave boy was holding her baby girl when an officer rode by and handed the boy a Bible to give to the baby. I still have that old Bible. This looks like I tried to write the history of my life but I am only trying to illustrate the difference in the life in my childhood and life of the children of the present day.
When I was 8 or 9 years old my daddy bought from his father and settled the Alvis Cowley place. Previous to this, grandpa had built the little school where the Pierce Chapel Church is now. There is where I went to school, sat on punchin benches and nearly froze to death by a tin heater. I had many teachers but they were somewhat like Mr Dock McKinney's teachers. In his school days he said when he got words of two syllables in the old blue back spelling book the teacher would whip you and turn you back as that was as far as they could teach you.
Mr McKinney was mayor of Smithville many years and in spite of his limited education he was a very capable official. He had one weakness. His daughters said he would always take the jitters when performing a marriage ceremoney.
Now back to the old log church which had fallen in disuse except for an occasional transient preacher that would preach there sometimes. When I was almost grown a man by the name of Lewis, a Freewill Baptist held a revival there. Nearly all the people joined. They few Methodists and Freewills organized a union church at the Pierce School House but the Methodist membership was small. In a few years it was thrown out of the conference. The Freewill membership built the handsome church that now stands, and it has prospered greatly. This is a true history of the Freewill Baptist Church at Pierce Chapel.
There could still be pages written of the romances and tragedies, and the fires at different times. The burning of the Methodist Church. At different time Smithville would have a fire. Once every business house was destroyed except the old Nabors store and it was empty. The good roads and fine vehicles have turned the world into roving gypsies.
There are many things too sad or funny to mention. Like Charles Dicken's old Widow Gummage, I have reached the stage where everything goes by contraries. My brain won't register and my notes are so scattered it will be like reading a book backward. This is all true--the traditonal history and not the least bit exaggerated. When you have passed the ninetieth milestone and feel that you are completely ostracized, there is no present or future-just memories and dreams is all."
August 7, 1958
--Finis--
by Miss Jessie Pierce
Smithville, Mississippi
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