Saturday, May 24, 2014

A Brief Stop on Our Journey



SUNSET IN NEBRASKA

A restful place to stretch our legs was welcome. This little pull-through lined with trees is lovely. It was the perfect stop to watch the sun go down on a busy day, a bit of peace before continuing on our way and a beautiful respite.


Friday, May 23, 2014

You Want My Weapons? Start With This One.

I'm bringing this one up to the front of the line. It's dated June 3, 2013.



"This is an account of a dream I had some time back; I’m only just now getting around to putting it down, but it’s one of those memorable ones, and kind of funny in a sad sort of way. 

Anyway, in the dream I’m basically my own self, a little old gramma lady. 

I’m just getting home from somewhere and ready to turn my key in the lock when a couple of official-looking men in suits step into my front porch behind me.

I look around, smile and say hello, ask if I can help them with anything.

They don’t smile back. 

They ask me who I am, so I tell them.  They ask me if I live here and of course, as I’m in the middle of unlocking my front door, I say yes, a little confused but what the heck, may as well be polite.

‘Ma’am, according to our records you own a weapon.  As you know, all weapons have been required to be seized by our agency.  We would like you to turn your weapon over to us.’

Now I get it.  I understand who and what they are and what they want.  I admit it gets on my nerves a little. 

‘I’ll hand it over as soon as I’m done using it, okay?’

Now they’re the ones who are a little confused. 

I finish turning my key in the lock, then turn quickly to the one closest to me and have that key snugged up just under one of his ears alongside of his neck before he can react. 

Putting a little pressure on, just because I want to, I say, ‘Okay, you can have this one, for starters.’

The poor guy is still too startled to resist when I smile and put the key into his hand. 

‘Come on in.  I hope you aren’t in a hurry, because I have a lot of weapons in my home.’

They follow me inside, not saying anything. 

‘Now, let’s see … where should I start?’ 

I head back to my antique kitchen and start gathering up all my cast iron skillets.  When I’ve got as much as I can carry I tote them on out and set them beside the curb at the street.

Then I go back for my collection of rolling pins. 

Opening the cupboard doors I start pulling out all the canned goods. 

‘Ma’am, what are you doing?’

‘I’m giving you guys all my weapons, what does it look like I’m doing?’

Handing each of them a bunch of cans, as they may as well be making themselves useful, I tell them to carry them out to the curb. 

I imagine they’re still too shocked to refuse.

When we pass each other, one manages to find his voice and protests, ‘Ma’am, these aren’t weapons.’

I give him a big grin and say, ‘Wanna bet?’

Then I throw one of the cans I’m carrying as hard as I can against the wall across the room, where it duly makes a big old dent and loosens the plaster so it falls on the floor and leaves a hole in the wall. 

I think that gets their attention. 

Because most everything in either of my kitchens can be used as a weapon, we cleaned them out. 

Then I made them help me get the appliances out, both the antique cookstove and the modern electric one (from the new kitchen) because, well, you know hot things can really cause some serious burns and all that, and freezers and refrigerators can give a person frostbite if they should happen to get locked in there. 

Then out go all the dressers in the house because, gee whiz, a person could slam someone’s fingers in them and disable that someone, right? 

Bedding and clothes, because how easy would it be to smother or strangle someone with them? 

Mattresses and box springs go out by the curb as well, because they have dangerous things in them like metal coils. 

Bed frames are a no-brainer because you could take those metal rails, and/or the headboards and footboards, to brain somebody. 

I notice one of them on his phone and tell him, ‘Yeah, backup is a good idea – better tell them to bring a couple of big trucks; that pile of weapons out there is getting pretty big and the neighbors might complain if we don’t get it all out of here right quick.’

They’re thoroughly bemused and completely confused by now but I’m relentless. 

When we get to my studio, everything in there goes out to the curb too, because everything is a potential weapon. 

When we get down to the bare walls, I go out to the curb and rummage around until I find a pry bar and a hammer, go back into the house and begin whopping at the walls, pulling off plaster and yanking out lath and 2x4, turning on them as though I’m going to whop them or poke them with those pieces of wood with all those nails poking out of them. 

They kind of fall back and let me alone. 

When I have a big enough opening, I start pulling out the wiring. 

‘You can’t do that, ma’am; it’s dangerous.  That wiring could kill you.’

‘Yep.  It’s a weapon, ain’t it?’

When I’ve pulled out a bunch of wiring, enough to make them really nervous, I start on the plumbing. 

When I break a piece of PVC pipe loose, it’s got sharp points and I aim it at one of them like I’m going to skewer him.  He kind of cringes back some and I laugh. 

I lug it all out to the curb, then sit and rest for a minute on my front steps. 

I’m eyeballing them like they’re snakes and tell them, ‘I’ve made a good beginning, but if you want me to surrender all of my weapons, you’re going to have to get some help.  You’ll need some heavy equipment to get this all done, so you’d best be making your phone calls and getting to it.  I’ll surrender all my weapons but, you know, I’m just a little old gramma lady and I’m old and fragile while you two are young and agile, so I’m gonna just sit here and supervise while you confiscate all the weapons on my property.

When you get the house and cellar and fence all carted away, you’re gonna have to cut down all these trees, because if you don’t take them away from here I’m liable to make myself some bows and arrows and spears and such out of them.  Those ash branches make awesome shilelaghs, you know.  Better take the roots too because those suckers are tough and if I took it into my head to bean you with one of them you might not wake up until next week some time.’

And then I woke up laughing.

Remembering the dream, I stopped laughing and started getting a little mad.

I’m INFJ, remember?

Obviously what had been on my mind was all the brouhaha about the second amendment and how in some places people were taking in weapons to voluntarily surrender them, because they’re convinced it’s the right thing to do, and how in other places people are outraged at the very idea of such a thing happening in this country. 

One section of my mind circles around and around that old saying ‘Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile’.

I picture that little old gramma lady in my dream, standing buck nekkid on the barren earth of her home, because even the holes had been filled in (someone might fall in them and hurt themselves).

I remember researching the history of the Ukraine.  I remember researching the history of the Germans from Russia.

My mind is an entertaining place to visit, absolutely true. 

Everything in there bops around seemingly at random, pops up in strange and unexpected places, and flits about until it finds a place to fit.

Then when it finds that place to light, it sends out tentacles or some such in search of other bits and pieces that might also fit and make the picture of this weird puzzle a little more interesting. 

All on its own, mind you – it’s not like I’m in there actively orchestrating the whole thing. 

Are you nuts?  I couldn’t do it if my life depended on it, not on purpose, that’s for sure!

It’s just the way the thoughts zing around in there even when I’m technically focusing on something totally different that demands my attention and concentration.

You just never know what’s going to pop to the surface at any given time.

See, this is how come INFJs get labeled weird/crazy/odd/out there somewhere/etc. etc. etc. ad infinitum ad nauseum.

That’s why you don’t want to be asking us what’s on our mind just randomly out of the blue; you never know what you’re going to get.

That thing on Facebook, where it DOES ask you what’s on your mind – pretty darned risky question should we ever decide to actually go with what might be on our mind at any given time. 

Well, that was a little detour off the point, wasn’t it?

At any rate, another section of my mind is circling around yet another bit of data – namely the Constitution and the Bill of Rights.

Because that’s what I do, that’s how my mind functions, the thoughts and ideas circle and circle and pick up other bits of thoughts and ideas along the way. 

And one of the thoughts it picks up along the way is that thing about giving them an inch. 

I have an abiding fear that we have given up that inch and are in dire danger of looking the other way while the mile is getting eaten up. 

Sigh.

Having such an imaginative mind can be daunting. 

Sometimes it’s really not a lot of fun.

Sometimes I have really weird dreams, too."

Monday, May 19, 2014

HOLY BUCKETS! Nathaniel and Anne, look what you did!

Here's part of a list of names I found at this site:

http://jvrx7.0catch.com/ui16.htm#a143

It's associated surnames for the branch of the family tree that follows one of the grandchildren of Eli and Keziah, sort of ... at any rate it splits off from our branch at AJ and Susannah Wilkinson Branson, AJ being the son of John son of Eli - sounds a bit like the 'begats' of the Bible, huh? 

Get ready, here's part of the list of surnames Bransons have either married or married into since John married Sarah Jones in 1786, the ones I found at the above site:

Stipp
Onstott
Harper
Cooper
Graves
Thomas
Cantral
Thomas
Cole
Hill
Davis
Dickey
Braugher
Leech
Uhl
Balch
Brixay
Page
Jennings
Farrell
Sprowls
Foote
Fleming
Gayler
Parker
Vaughn
Fowler
Jones
Smith
Gage
McFadden
Joiner
Taylor
Bolton
Johnson
Romero
Rhodes
Patti
Evans
Hammons
Warden

GOOD LORD.  

And that's not even following any of the Andrew, Eli, Keziah, or Becky lines  from John and Sarah even a couple of generations like some of the others are ... there are FORTY-ONE surnames just on that list alone, right up there. 

Major kudos to John Walter Vaughn, I kid you not. 

OMG This is only a partial list of a partial list of a partial list ... 

The master list would be exponentially longer ...

O_O

It's enough to boggle a person's mind.

Now I remember why I narrowed my search as much as I could to my own direct line - 

Say ten siblings have ten kids each - that's a hundred first cousins right there - then those hundred cousins have ten kids each - not counting the OTHER side of the family's first cousins ... who were probably generating an equal number ... 

OR the ones who came before, back to Nathaniel and Anne!

No, I don't even want to try to think about it. I can't even keep track of my own first cousins and there aren't THAT many of us!

X  X

ABCDEFGHIJ

AAAAAAAAAA BBBBBBBBBB CCCCCCCCCC DDDDDDDDDD EEEEEEEEEE FFFFFFFFFF GGGGGGGGGG HHHHHHHHHH IIIIIIIIII JJJJJJJJJJ

aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa bbbbbbbbbb bbbbbbbbbb bbbbbbbbbb bbbbbbbbbb bbbbbbbbbb bbbbbbbbbb bbbbbbbbbb bbbbbbbbbb bbbbbbbbbb bbbbbbbbbb cccccccccc cccccccccc cccccccccc cccccccccc cccccccccc cccccccccc cccccccccc cccccccccc cccccccccc cccccccccc dddddddddd dddddddddd dddddddddd dddddddddd dddddddddd dddddddddd dddddddddd dddddddddd dddddddddd dddddddddd eeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeee ffffffffff ffffffffff ffffffffff ffffffffff ffffffffff ffffffffff ffffffffff ffffffffff ffffffffff ffffffffff gggggggggg gggggggggg gggggggggg gggggggggg gggggggggg gggggggggg gggggggggg gggggggggg gggggggggg gggggggggg hhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhh iiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiii jjjjjjjjjj jjjjjjjjjj jjjjjjjjjj jjjjjjjjjj jjjjjjjjjj jjjjjjjjjj jjjjjjjjjj jjjjjjjjjj jjjjjjjjjj jjjjjjjjjj

Do that for a dozen generations ... not.

And that's just about enough of THAT.

You can double all of the above, for the kids being produced by the siblings of the spouses of all of the above ... or some such ... the numbers are impossible for me to fathom, even three generations worth. 

Thank God not EVERYONE followed this pattern, sez I. And after a couple of generations they slowed down to a more reasonable production of progeny, for the most part. 

I hope I don't have nightmares tonight - I've got a lot to get done tomorrow.  


Sunday, May 18, 2014

Rebel Dream

You've met Rogue and Riley - Here's Rebel. He has weird dreams sometimes, which we turn into stories. This is one of them.

Rebel is about to have a heart attack. He’s in a situation he wants no part of but has no idea how to get himself out of it.

The night is dark; with no moon showing, and only faint starlight filtering weakly through the thickly leaved branches of the forest, he’s having a heck of a time seeing what he’s supposed to be doing, not that he wants to be doing it in the first place. Still, if you HAVE to do something unpleasant it would be nice to be able to at least see.

The forest floor is fortunately pretty sandy; it makes it marginally easier to dig.

The impatience of the bad guy doesn’t help the situation any. He’s got a shovel of his own but is he using it efficiently and effectively?

No.

He’s picking up a bit at a time from where he’s supposed to be digging and tossing it into the hole Rebel’s already got two feet deep.

Which would be deep enough one would think; it’s not like anybody ever comes to this neck of the woods. It’s in the middle of nowhere in Russia for cryin’ out loud. Two days from the nearest reasonable facsimile of civilization. Why on earth would the bad guy choose HERE to bury bodies that he could easily have buried someplace more convenient?

Well he’s a bad guy – like they’re expected to think straight.

One more shovel full and in goes the body. Scooping the sandy soil back over it, Rebel eyes the bad guy whose hole is barely six inches deep and starts on the next hole.

This is going to take all night if he has to do it all by himself; it’s already two in the morning.

He thinks longingly of his hearth and home.

Sighs.

Digs deeper.

This is the 1940s and the whole world is gone crazy but this? THIS is CRAZY.

He hears a funny-sounding hoot coming from behind the bad guy and glances over to see if he can see what kind of owl hoots that way.

Can’t see a darned thing but hears another hoot from behind HIM and twists to look over his shoulder, not that it would do him any good even if it was broad daylight. He isn’t wearing his glasses again.

When a third hoot sounds from off to the side he realizes why those owls sound so strange.

They aren’t owls.

Renegade, Rogue, and Riley have found him.

WHEW!

Now maybe he can get out of this crazy situation and go home.

Thought and action being almost simultaneous, Rebel scoops up a shovel full of sand and instead of tossing it to the side of the hole he’s digging, he heaves the sand smack dab into the face of the bad guy and follows through with the shovel itself.

In the instant he lets it fly from his hands he realizes that he has just thrown away his only physical weapon.

Thinking fast he puts his feet into high gear to match the speed at which his mind is running and wheels around to duck out of the sandy clearing and into the deep woods before the bad guy has time to clear his vision.

While said bad guy is clawing at his eyes, Renegade shoots him with a dart through a little plastic pipe.

As the bad guy starts to topple into the hole that Rebel has prepared for the next body, Riley seems to float through the air and catches him just in time.

Rogue, right behind her, wrestles the heavy body, now limp with sedatives, away from the hole and Rebel saunters out of the trees like he only just got there.

They have a meeting about what to do.

Rebel votes to roll the unconscious bad guy on into the hole he almost fell into, cover him up, and leave him there with the dead bodies. He’s not feeling particularly compassionate at the moment, unlike his usual self.

His argument is that this guy snuck up on him right around the corner after he left his own hearth and home two days ago, flew him halfway around the world against his better judgment (and against his will), and dragged him into that old truck over there to make him come and dig holes in this forest in the middle of Russia for the dead bodies piled in the back of the truck – with no warning, no manners, and no good reason. If he wakes up before he suffocates it would serve him right to have to dig his way out and have to walk back to whatever hole he crawled out of. Or just go right on back into the hole he just crawled out of, better yet.

Being outvoted three to one Rebel wants to know who has a better idea.

Riley gives him a shot of that brilliant smile of hers, Rogue grins, and Renegade tries her best to look stern, failing miserably when she can’t stop the corners of her mouth from twitching.

Sighing and giving the three of them dirty looks, Rebel grabs his shovel back from where it landed and starts digging the two already buried bodies back out of the sandy dirt, thanking his lucky stars and his native intelligence that he buried them in such shallow graves. Now THAT was what’s called ‘thinking ahead’!

Riley takes pity, takes up the other shovel, and takes to digging up the other buried body.

They pile the bad guy in with the dead bodies in the back of the pickup truck after Renegade pokes him good with another sedative dart to keep him from waking up on the way back to civilization, and off they go.

Rebel and Renegade take the truck while Riley and Rogue head back to where they landed their silent helicopter in the next clearing over. They’ll meet back up in town and get the heck out of there, leaving the truck with a note under one of the wiper blades so somebody will (hopefully) give the dead 
bodies a decent burial.

They pin a note to the bad guy so whoever finds the truck when the sun comes up will know to tie him up instead of burying him. If he doesn’t wake up in time and the note falls off and somebody buries the whole kit and caboodle … oh WELL. Rebel isn’t really all that careful about how he pins the note on because, really, he’s had a bad time of it just recently and isn’t in all that good of a mood.

As they fly their helicopter on out of there, heading for home, Rogue at the controls with Riley navigating, Rebel hums a bit of a tune and then adds a few words to go with it:

All around the world, there is hope … and that bad guy’s gone … we hope … lalalalalalala … lalalalala … all around the world, there is hope … we hope … lalalalalalalalalalala …

Lord Have Mercy



gmail, email, facebook me SONG and CAST, twitter, personal blog, writing blog, website, paypal, square, google, author pages, writer forums, publishing and marketing sites, research sites, youtube, messaging centers, audio/video editing sites, backups to backups to backups, amazon pages, kindle pages, createspace pages, younglings, Iona, Dunnottar, HA!, photo editing, slide show editing, RRRR ... and I'm darned sure I'm forgetting a few.
Lord have Mercy.

Duke and I need a break!

Saturday, May 17, 2014

Renegade, Rebel, Rogue, & Riley: Assignment for Today



Oh this is going to be FUN!

Renegade assignment for today is to create a short story where Renegade, Rebel, and Rogue are prisoners of the bad guy. 

He's got them locked up with him in the men's room of a mall.

Renegade's weapons are taken and Rogue's strength is tied up in knots, leaving it to Rebel to think their way out of trouble.

Luckily for them, Riley had been temporarily delayed by the huge mirror and a wide open space in front of it in the empty ladies room; practicing her leaps and finessing them every chance she gets is a mixed blessing.

This time it's a true blessing as it leaves her free to come flying to the rescue of the others. 

They may be unarmed and all tied up but the bad guy isn't smart enough to gag them so they're hollering to beat the band. Since Riley is right next door she hears them and comes running.

There's a crowd gathering due to the hollering but the bad guy has locked the door so everyone's just standing around trying to figure out what to do.

The door's locked?

Oh well.

Here!

Take THAT!

The bad guy has a gun?

Hmmm ...

Here comes that most charming of all smiles.

While the bad guy is disarmed by the smile he is also disarmed by the swift kick to his gun hand.

Rogue throws herself on top of the guy to hold him down and Riley unties the rope that's been holding Rogue's strength in check to use it to tie up the bad guy while Renegade and Rebel cheer them on from the sidelines. 

Renegade retrieves her weapons from the bathroom stall where the bad guy has stashed them, and is good to go again. Rebel doesn't have to retrieve anything; he carries his weapon inside his head  - it's called a brain.

The crowd outside the door is cheering too and as they leave Renegade suggests that someone in that crowd call the cops and tell them where the bad guy is so they can come and get him.

They stop at the food court on their way out and make their choices. Rogue goes for a pasta salad; Rebel wants a burger, fries, and strawberry shake (he orders seven extra to go as he's got a wife and six kids waiting for supper at his house), Renegade feels like having crab cakes and green salad; Riley goes for a banana split and Rogue gets to take two bites of it. Only two as any more gives her a belly ache.

And so they turn the tables on the bad guy and turn him over to the authorities, not a bad day's work.

If there's a bit of a swagger in their walks who can blame them?

Of course the bad guy will be back - he's got more guises than you can shake a stick at and they've been turning him over to the cops for longer than anyone can guess - and he always comes back.

It keeps them busy so they're never bored at least.

There.

A general idea is not a bad thing to accomplish in a very few minutes, as a very few minutes is all I've got at the moment.

Yep.

This is gonna be fun I think.  

Friday, May 16, 2014

Go West, Go West!

public domain image

In the relatively short time that branches of my family have been in America, a mere four hundred years or so, this seems to have been their theme.

Well, I reckon they wouldn’t have been overly fond of the idea of going East right there at the beginning, since there was nothing to the East except the ocean, right? They had just crossed that ocean, taking their first giant step 
onto a whole new continent, going West.

To the North is Canada, and a few did make the trek up that way but none in my immediate lines stayed there.

To the South? More ocean and Mexico. Some DID go south of where they started out (which was New Jersey) but as far as I can tell the farthest south anyone settled was Texas.

So really, West was the way to go.

Now that I’m getting into research that goes back beyond my ‘immediate’ family I find that the lot of us, people in general, have been Going West for quite a spell. A very long spell.

And some chose to stay at every stop along the way.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Have They Made a Movie About Nancy Hart, The War Woman of Georgia, Yet?

If they haven't, I think somebody ought to 
get on it!

from:  Stories of Georgia, by Joel Chandler Harris

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/24728/24728-h/24728-h.htm#link2H_4_0008

There are plenty of resources about this woman; this is just the first I happened to run across and I like it - so here it is!
. . . 

AUNT NANCY HART

There lived in Georgia, during the Revolutionary struggle, the most remarkable woman in some respects that the country has produced. To find her match, we shall have to go to the fables that are told about the Amazons. The Liberty Boys called her Aunt Nancy Hart. The Indians, struck by her wonderful feats in behalf of her country, called her "The War Woman;" and there is a creek in Elbert County, where she lived, that was named by the Indians "War Woman's Creek."
There are other heroines to whom history has paid more attention, and whose deeds have been celebrated in song and story; but not one of them was more devoted to the high cause of freedom, or more courageous, or depended less on aid from others, than Aunt Nancy Hart. In this last respect, the War Woman of Georgia stands alone in history, just as she stood alone when the Tories were waging a war of extermination, sparing neither women nor children, in the region in which she lived. Invention and fable have kindly come to the aid of the most famous of the world's heroines, but neither fable nor invention has touched the character or the deeds of this heroine of the Revolution. She stands out on the pages of history rough, uncouth, hot-tempered, unmanageable, uneducated, impolite, ugly, and sharp-tongued; but, as her friends said of her, "What a honey of a patriot she was!" She loved the Liberty Boys as well as she loved her own children. It has been said that she was cruel; but this charge may as well be put out of sight. Before passing upon it, we should have to know what the War Woman's eyes had seen, and what terrible revelations her ears had heard. Standing for American independence in a region that swarmed with Tories, whose murderous deeds never have been and never will be fully set forth, Aunt Nancy Hart had to defend her own hearthstone and her own children.
The maiden name of this remarkable woman was Morgan, and she was born in North Carolina. She married Benjamin Hart, a brother of Colonel Thomas Hart of Kentucky. Thomas Hart was the father of the wife of Henry Clay, and the uncle of the celebrated Thomas Hart Benton. Aunt Nancy and her husband moved to Georgia with the North Carolina emigrants, and settled on Broad River, in what is now Elbert County. She was nearly six feet high, and very muscular,—the result of hard work. She had red hair, and it is said that she was cross-eyed, but this has been denied on good authority. It matters little. Her eyes were keen enough to pierce through all Tory disguises, and that was enough for her. It is certain that her courage and her confidence kept alive the spark of liberty in hearts that would otherwise have smothered it, and was largely responsible for kindling it into the flame that finally swept the British out of that section, and subdued the Tories. When the Whigs and patriots who had been her neighbors were compelled to flee before the murderous Tories, she refused to go with them, but stood her ground and never ceased to speak her sentiments boldly. Nothing but the wholesome dread with which she had inspired them prevented the Tories from murdering her and her children. When General Elijah Clarke moved the women and children of the Broad River region to an asylum in Kentucky, and the Liberty Boys had taken refuge in South Carolina, Aunt Nancy Hart remained at home, and for a long and dismal period she was unprotected save by her own remarkable courage.
At that period the houses were built of logs, and the chimneys were built of sticks plastered with clay. They were called "stack chimneys." One evening Aunt Nancy and her children were sitting around the fire, on which a pot of soap was boiling. Now, a pot of soap must be constantly stirred, and for this the strong, muscular arms of Aunt Nancy were peculiarly fitted. So she stirred the soap, and, as she stirred, told the youngsters the latest news of the war. Presently one of her children chanced to discover some one peeping through the crack of the chimney, eavesdropping. By a gesture or a nod of the head Aunt Nancy was informed of what was going on. She smiled, and grew more spirited in her talk, rattling away and laughing as she gave exaggerated accounts of the recent defeats of the Tories. As she talked, she stirred the bubbling soap, and kept her keen eyes on the crack where the eavesdropper had been seen. Suddenly she dashed a ladleful of boiling soap through the crack full into the face of the intruder. It was so quickly and deftly done, that the eavesdropper had no time to dodge the scalding stuff. He received the full benefit of it Blinded and half crazed by the pain, he howled and screamed at a tremendous rate. Aunt Nancy went out, and, after amusing herself at his expense, bound him fast and held him prisoner. The probability is that the next day she H tucked up her petticoats, shouldered her gun, and compelled the unlucky Tory to ford the river ahead of her; and that, once on the other side, she kept in constant communication with the Clarkes and with other partisans of the American cause.
Her husband, whom she sometimes jokingly described as "a poor
stick," assisted her in her communications. A conch shell was kept at the spring, some distance from the house. On this conch shell the children were taught to blow the blasts that gave Mr. Hart information. One signal was, "The enemy is at hand;" another was, "Keep close;" another, "Make tracks for the swamp;" and still another was that he and his friends were wanted at the cabin.
At the very darkest hour of the Revolution in Georgia, Aunt Nancy performed one of her most remarkable feats,—one that brought into play all the courage and devotion of her strong nature, and all the tact and audacity that belonged to her character.
Brigadier General Andrew Williamson, with three hundred men, was encamped near Augusta. When Charleston fell, this officer, who was already a traitor, though his treachery had not been avowed, called his officers together, and expressed the opinion that it would be foolish to further resist the King. He therefore advised them to return to their homes, and there accept the protection which would be offered them. He then abandoned his command, which was immediately disbanded. Shortly afterwards Colonels Brown and Garrison, two partisans of the King's army who had made themselves notorious by their cruelty to Americans, seized Augusta. Brown had been tarred and feathered in Augusta just before the breaking-out of the Revolution, and he made the patriots of that town and of the country roundabout pay dearly for the indignities that had been heaped upon him on account of his loyalty to the Crown. He confiscated the property of the patriots, and issued an order banishing all Whig families beyond the borders of Georgia.
Raiding parties were sent into the region in the neighborhood of Augusta to compel the inhabitants to take the oath of allegiance to the King. One of these parties entered the house of Colonel John Dooly, a gallant officer, and murdered him in cold blood in the presence of his wife and children. Colonel Dooly was the father of Judge Dooly, who became famous in Georgia after the war.
A detachment of this murdering party found its way to Aunt Nancy Hart's cabin. There were five Tories in the detachment, and Aunt Nancy received them coldly enough. They told her they had come to inquire into the truth of a report they had heard to the effect that she had aided a well-known rebel to escape from a company of King's men by whom he was pursued. With a twinkle of malice in her eyes, Aunt Nancy boldly declared that she had aided her Liberty Boy to escape, and then she described the affair.
She said that one day she heard the gallop of a horse. Looking out, she saw a horseman approaching, and at once knew him to be a Whig flying from pursuers. She let down the bars near her cabin, told him to ride his horse right through her house, in at the front door and out at the back, to take to the swamp, and hide himself the best he could. She then put up the bars, entered her house, closed the doors, and went about her business. In a little while a party of Tories rode up, and called to her with some rudeness. She muffled her head and face in a shawl, opened the door slowly, and asked in a feeble voice who it was that wanted to pester a sick, lone woman. The Tories said they had been pursuing a man, and had traced him near her house. They wanted to know if any one had passed that way. "I told 'em," said Aunt Nancy to the listening Tories, "that I had seen a man on a sorrel horse turn out of the road into the woods a little ways back. So they went back and took to the woods, and my Whig boy got off safe and sound."
Naturally this story, boldly told, did not please the five Tories who heard it; but something in the War Woman's eye prevented them from offering her any personal injury. Instead, they ordered her to give them something to eat.
"I never feed King's men if I can help it," she replied. "The scamps have fixed me so that I can't feed my own family in a decent manner. They have run off with all my pigs and poultry except that old gobbler you see in the yard there."
"Well, you shall cook the old gobbler for us," exclaimed one who seemed to be the leader of the party. Suiting the action to the word, he raised his musket and shot the gobbler. One of his men brought it into the house and gave it to Aunt Nancy, with orders to clean and cook it at once. This, of course, made that stanch patriot very angry, and she gave the Tories a violent tongue lashing.
It is probable that while she was dressing the turkey for the pot, the Tories let some hint drop about the outrageous murder of Colonel John Dooly, who was a warm friend of Aunt Nancy's. At any rate, she suddenly changed her tactics. She ceased to storm and quarrel, the scowl left her face, and she soon seemed to be in high good humor. She went about getting the meal ready with great good will. She sent her little girl to the spring after water, but told her to sound on the conch shell the signal to "keep close," so that her husband and his neighbors who were with him might know there were Tories in the cabin.
While the daughter was gone after water, one of the Tories volunteered to take her place in helping to get everything ready. Aunt Nancy accepted his services, and joked with him with great freedom and familiarity. Like all women of spirit and independence, Aunt Nancy possessed a considerable fund of humor, and it stood her in good stead now. She contrived to thoroughly interest the Tories, and it was not long before they were in the most jovial frame of mind imaginable. They had expected to find a bad-tempered, ill-conditioned woman; and they were agreeably surprised when they found, instead, a woman who could match their rude jests, and make herself thoroughly entertaining.
The Tories had brought a jug with them, and they were so pleased with Aunt Nancy's seeming friendliness that they invited her to drink with them. "I'll take one swig with you," said Aunt Nancy, "if it kills every cow on the Island," meaning a neck of land at the junction of river and creek where the Whig families of the neighborhood pastured their cattle and hid them. The Tories laughed and drank, and then they laughed and drank again. They kept this up until the old gobbler had been cooked to Aunt Nancy's satisfaction; and by the time they were ready to sit down to table they were in a very merry mood indeed.
They had stacked their arms within easy reach of where they had been sitting and drinking; but Aunt Nancy had moved her table to the middle of the floor, so as to be able to walk around it on all sides while waiting on the Tories. In helping the men to the turkey and other eatables that she had prepared, she frequently came between them and their muskets. The Tories had hardly begun to eat before they called for water. Aunt Nancy, expecting this, had used up in cooking all that had been brought: consequently her daughter had to take the piggin and go to the spring after a fresh supply. She went with instructions to signal her father, and the neighbors who were with him, to come immediately to the cabin. While her daughter was at the spring, Aunt Nancy managed to pull off one of the boards that filled the space between the logs of the house, and through this crack she slipped two of the muskets. She was slipping the third through when her movements caught the eye of one of the Tories. Instantly the men sprang to their feet, but Aunt Nancy was now in her element. Quick as a flash she clapped the musket to her shoulder, and threatened to shoot the first man that approached her. The men, knowing her reputation as a fighter, and awed by her appearance, hesitated. At last one bolder than the rest began to advance toward her. She fired promptly, and at the report of the gun the man fell dead on the floor.
Before the others could recover from their consternation, Aunt Nancy had seized another musket, and held it in readiness to fire again. Her daughter had now returned from the spring with the information that her father and his neighbors would soon arrive. Directed by her mother, the girl took the remaining musket and carried it out of the house. The Tories, seeing that no time was to be lost in recovering their arms, proposed to rush upon Aunt Nancy in a body and overpower her. But the War Woman was equal to the occasion. She fired again, and brought down another Tory. As she did so, the daughter, acting on her orders, handed her another musket. Then, taking position in the doorway, she called on the men to "surrender their ugly Tory carcasses to a Whig woman."

The Tories agreed to surrender, and wanted to shake hands to make the bargain binding; but Aunt Nancy kept her position in the doorway until her husband and his friends made their appearance. The Whigs wanted to shoot the Tories; but Aunt Nancy, whose blood was up, declared that shooting was too good for them. "They've murdered John Dooly," she exclaimed; "now let them hang for it!" Thereupon the Tories were taken out and hanged. The tree from which they swung was still standing as late as 1838, and was often pointed out by old people who had lived through the troubled times of the Revolution.
One day Aunt Nancy met a Tory going along the highway. She engaged him in conversation, diverted his attention, and suddenly seized his gun and wrenched it away from him. She then ordered him to take up the line of march for a fort not far distant. Not daring to disobey, the man marched before her, as many others had been compelled to do, and she turned him over to the commander of the fort.
When Augusta was in the hands of the British, and their raiding parties had been driven in by the Americans under Colonel Elijah Clarke, it became necessary for that commander to get some positive information in regard to the intentions of the British. At this juncture Aunt Nancy came to the rescue. She disguised herself as a man, and went boldly into the British camp. She remained there for several days, pretending to be crazy. In this way she secured a great deal of important information, and made haste to carry it to Colonel Clarke.
Aunt Nancy was once left in a fort with several other women and a number of small children, her own among the rest. The men had gone out in search of supplies. They had not expected an attack, and had left only one of their number, a young man, to protect the women and children. Suddenly a party of Tories and Indians made its appearance, and surrounded the fort, which was nothing more than a stockade. The yelling of the savages threw all the women and children into the utmost confusion,—all except Aunt Nancy. That wonderful woman, who never knew what fear was, only became more energetic in the face of danger. There was a small cannon in the fort, but it was not in position to reach the enemy with its fire. After trying her best to lift the cannon into position, Aunt Nancy remembered the young man who had been left in the fort, and looked about for him; but he was not to be seen. A close search discovered him hiding under a cowhide. Aunt Nancy pulled him out by the heels, and vowed she would make mince-meat of him unless he helped her to move the cannon. The fellow knew perfectly well that Aunt Nancy was not to be trifled with when her blood was up. He gave her the necessary assistance. She aimed the cannon and fired it, and the Tories and savages promptly took to their heels.
On another occasion when the river was high, it became necessary for the Americans on the Georgia side to know what was going on on the Carolina side; but no one could be induced to venture across. Hearing of the difficulty, Aunt Nancy promptly undertook to go.
The freshet had swept away all the boats, but to Aunt Nancy this was a trifling matter. She found a few logs, tied them together with grapevines, and on this raft made the voyage across the river. She gathered the necessary information, and made haste to communicate it to the Georgia troops.
Aunt Nancy was the mother of eight children,—six sons and two daughters. Her eldest daughter, Sally, married a man named Thompson, who was as quicktempered as his mother-in-law. After the war, Aunt Nancy moved to Brunswick. Sally and her husband followed a year or two later. In passing through Burke County, they camped for the night by the roadside. The next morning Thompson ordered a white man, who had been hired as a teamster, to perform some duty. Thompson's tone was so peremptory that the man returned an insolent answer, and refused. In a fit of rage, Thompson drew his sword, and severed the man's head from his body with one swinging stroke. He then drove the team himself until he came to the first house, where he gave information that he had cut off a fellow's head at the camp down the road, and that they "had best go and bury him." He then drove on, but was overtaken, arrested, and lodged in jail at Waynesboro. As soon as Aunt Nancy heard of the trouble, she made her appearance in the upcountry again. Within a few days after her return, the jail was found open one morning, and Thompson was gone. Speaking of this afterwards, Aunt Nancy was heard to exclaim,—
"Drat 'em! that's the way with 'em all. When they get into trouble, they always send for me!"
Not long after this episode, Mr. Benjamin Hart died. Aunt Nancy mourned his loss for a while, and then married a young man. Then, as the saying is, she "pulled up stakes," and moved to what is now the State of Alabama, on the Tombigbee. There she had the French and the Spaniards for neighbors, and she felt at home with neither race. She was bluntly, emphatically, and unaffectedly American. To add to her troubles, a big rain flooded the river, destroyed her crops, and surrounded her house. This, with the French and Spaniards, was too much for her. She returned to Georgia, but, finding her old home occupied by others, she settled in Edgefield, S.C.
A Methodist society was formed in her neighborhood, and its influence became so active that Aunt Nancy's conscience began to trouble her. She listened to the preaching of the Word from a distance until she became worried about her future state. She went to the meetinghouse, but found the door closed against intruders. The deacon and members were holding a class meeting. The closed door was no obstacle to Aunt Nancy. She cut the fastening and walked in without ceremony. Once in, she found what she wanted. She became an enthusiastic Methodist, and is said to have fought Satan and sin as manfully as she fought the Tories and the British.
When Governor George R. Gilmer of Georgia was in Congress, in 1828-29, the members were very anxious to attract the notice of General Jackson, who had been elected President. A proposal was made to fill the vacant niches in the rotunda with paintings descriptive of the battle of New Orleans and the general's other victories. Governor Gilmer offered as an amendment a resolution to fill one of the niches with a painting of Aunt Nancy Hart wading Broad River, her petticoats held up with one hand, a musket in the other, and driving three Tories before her, to deliver them up to Colonel Elijah Clarke.
Governor Gilmer's proposition was a more sensible one than he intended it to be. Georgia has perpetuated Aunt Nancy's name by calling a county after her; but the Republic owes something to her memory.
. . . 

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