--WebTV-Mail-5069-913 Content-Type: Text/Plain; Charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7Bit Jane , I will FW this to the list, maybe someone will see it that can help. Maybe there is a problem with the pages? I haven't visited there in a while. Or Are you talking about the archives search engine? Carolyn --WebTV-Mail-5069-913 Content-Disposition: Inline Content-Type: Message/RFC822 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7Bit Received: from smtpin-2204.public.lawson.webtv.net (172.16.213.134) by storefull-2138.public.lawson.webtv.net with WTV-SMTP; Fri, 22 Nov 2002 16:51:47 -0800 (PST) Received: from smtp.wt.net (sys31.hou.wt.net [205.230.159.31]) by smtpin-2204.public.lawson.webtv.net (WebTV_Postfix+sws) with ESMTP id 8DB4AFE9D for <carolynftucker@webtv.net>; Fri, 22 Nov 2002 16:51:45 -0800 (PST) Received: from janehou (216-119-175-145.ipset57.wt.net [216.119.175.145]) by smtp.wt.net (8.12.3/8.12.2) with SMTP id gAN0WjZx009456 for <carolynftucker@webtv.net>; Fri, 22 Nov 2002 18:32:46 -0600 Message-ID: <002201c29283$d579de20$4daf77d8@janehou> From: "Jane Bliss" <janehou@wt.net> To: "Carolyn Flowers Tucker" <carolynftucker@webtv.net> References: <4313-3DDE69E8-1534@storefull-2137.public.lawson.webtv.net> Subject: Re: [ARVANBUR] AR Hotel Rules 1856 Date: Fri, 22 Nov 2002 18:03:36 -0600 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-Mailer: Microsoft Outlook Express 5.00.2314.1300 X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.2314.1300 X-Virus-Scanner: Found to be clean I can not get into the Arvanbur pages, I guess it may not be call a web page, but I would like to see if anyone put anything on my Samuel Jordan. Thanks Jane ----- Original Message ----- From: Carolyn Flowers Tucker <carolynftucker@webtv.net> To: Jane Bliss <janehou@wt.net> Sent: Friday, November 22, 2002 11:31 AM Subject: Re: [ARVANBUR] AR Hotel Rules 1856 > Hi Jane, > What webpage? > Carolyn > > --WebTV-Mail-5069-913--

Is anyone on this list familiar with the area of Alread Arkansas? Teresa

Hotel Rules Published in Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Editor's Drawer January 1856 An Eastern gentleman, traveling in Arkansas meets with the following rules for the regulation of the hotel at which he puts up to that frontier State. Believing that they may furnish a hint or two to the hotel-men in this region, and some entertainment to the readers of the Drawer, he copies them in pencil from the placard on the door of his chamber, and sends them to us: RULES OF THIS HOUSE. 1. Gentlemen will black their boots before leaving their rooms, or they will not be admitted to the table without an extra charge of a bit a meal. 2. Gentlemen going to bed with their boots on will be fined a quarter for the first offense, four bits for the second, and turned out and sued for their board for the third, the landlord holding on to the plunder. 3. So person allowed to call twice for the same dish without paying an extra bit. 4. Gentlemen not on hand at meal-time can not come to the table without paving an extra bit. 6. Any gentleman found going to the ladies rooms will be fined ——- dollars, and perhaps turned out as the case is aggravating. 6. All travelers are expected to treat before leaving the house; the landlord holding on to the plunder till he comes out. 7. Loud snoring not allowed, and a fine of a bit for every offense. 8. Country soap for washing given here: a bit a week for town soap, 9. A half dime will be charged for the privilege of the back porch on shady afternoons. 10. Liquors with white sugar a bit a drink; with common brown sugar, five cents, 11. The landlord hopes that his boarders will observe the above rules and pay nothing, or means will be taken to see that they do.

Phyllis, did one of your kin marry one of Frank Lefler's girls? John B. Gordon On Wed, 20 Nov 2002 00:55:42 -0500 "Phyllis Campbell" <belann@ezla.net> writes: > Conway,Faulkner, AR-Photo History Book > Item # 1970186711 > > This book is for sale on eBay. No, it is not my book. > > Phyllis > > > ============================== > To join Ancestry.com and access our 1.2 billion online genealogy > records, go to: > http://www.ancestry.com/rd/redir.asp?targetid=571&sourceid=1237 > > >

((This trail of tears led directly to AR)) >From the Cherokee Messenger Website: John G. Burnett's Story of the Removal of the Cherokees Birthday Story of Private John G. Burnett, Captain Abraham McClellan's Company, 2nd Regiment, 2nd Brigade, Mounted Infantry, Cherokee Indian Removal, 1838-39. Children: This is my birthday, December 11, 1890, I am eighty years old today. I was born at Kings Iron Works in Sulllivan County, Tennessee, December the 11th, 1810. I grew into manhood fishing in Beaver Creek and roaming through the forest hunting the deer and the wild boar and the timber wolf. Often spending weeks at a time in the solitary wilderness with no companions but my rifle, hunting knife, and a small hatchet that I carried in my belt in all of my wilderness wanderings. On these long hunting trips I met and became acquainted with many of the Cherokee Indians, hunting with them by day and sleeping around their camp fires by night. I learned to speak their language, and they taught me the arts of trailing and building traps and snares. On one of my long hunts in the fall of 1829, I found a young Cherokee who had been shot by a roving band of hunters and who had eluded his pursuers and concealed himself under a shelving rock. Weak from loss of blood, the poor creature was unable to walk and almost famished for water. I carried him to a spring, bathed and bandaged the bullet wound, and built a shelter out of bark peeled from a dead chestnut tree. I nursed and protected him feeding him on chestnuts and toasted deer meat. When he was able to travel I accompanied him to the home of his people and remained so long that I was given up for lost. By this time I had become an expert rifleman and fairly good archer and a good trapper and spent most of my time in the forest in quest of game. The removal of Cherokee Indians from their life long homes in the year of 1838 found me a young man in the prime of life and a Private soldier in the American Army. Being acquainted with many of the Indians and able to fluently speak their language, I was sent as interpreter into the Smoky Mountain Country in May, 1838, and witnessed the execution of the most brutal order in the History of American Warfare. I saw the helpless Cherokees arrested and dragged from their homes, and driven at the bayonet point into the stockades. And in the chill of a drizzling rain on an October morning I saw them loaded like cattle or sheep into six hundred and forty-five wagons and started toward the west. One can never forget the sadness and solemnity of that morning. Chief John Ross led in prayer and when the bugle sounded and the wagons started rolling many of the children rose to their feet and waved their little hands good-by to their mountain homes, knowing they were leaving them forever. Many of these helpless people did not have blankets and many of them had been driven from home barefooted. On the morning of November the 17th we encountered a terrific sleet and snow storm with freezing temperatures and from that day until we reached the end of the fateful journey on March the 26th, 1839, the sufferings of the Cherokees were awful. The trail of the exiles was a trail of death. They had to sleep in the wagons and on the ground without fire. And I have known as many as twenty-two of them to die in one night of pneumonia due to ill treatment, cold, and exposure. Among this number was the beautiful Christian wife of Chief John Ross. This noble hearted woman died a martyr to childhood, giving her only blanket for the protection of a sick child. She rode thinly clad through a blinding sleet and snow storm, developed pneumonia and died in the still hours of a bleak winter night, with her head resting on Lieutenant Greggs saddle blanket. I made the long journey to the west with the Cherokees and did all that a Private soldier could do to alleviate their sufferings. When on guard duty at night I have many times walked my beat in my blouse in order that some sick child might have the warmth of my overcoat. I was on guard duty the night Mrs. Ross died. When relieved at midnight I did not retire, but remained around the wagon out of sympathy for Chief Ross, and at daylight was detailed by Captain McClellan to assist in the burial like the other unfortunates who died on the way. Her unconfined body was buried in a shallow grave by the roadside far from her native home, and the sorrowing Cavalcade moved on. Being a young man, I mingled freely with the young women and girls. I have spent many pleasant hours with them when I was supposed to be under my blanket, and they have many times sung their mountain songs for me, this being all that they could do to repay my kindness. And with all my association with Indian girls from October 1829 to March 26th 1839, I did not meet one who was a moral prostitute. They are kind and tender hearted and many of them are beautiful. The only trouble that I had with anybody on the entire journey to the west was a brutal teamster by the name of Ben McDonal, who was using his whip on an old feeble Cherokee to hasten him into the wagon. The sight of that old and nearly blind creature quivering under the lashes of a bull whip was too much for me. I attempted to stop McDonal and it ended in a personal encounter. He lashed me across the face, the wire tip on his whip cutting a bad gash in my cheek. The little hatchet that I had carried in my hunting days was in my belt and McDonal was carried unconscious from the scene. I was placed under guard but Ensign Henry Bullock and Private Elkanah Millard had both witnessed the encounter. They gave Captain McClellan the facts and I was never brought to trial. Years later I met 2nd Lieutenant Riley and Ensign Bullock at Bristol at John Roberson's show, and Bullock jokingly reminded me that there was a case still pending against me before a court martial and wanted to know how much longer I was going to have the trial put off? McDonal finally recovered, and in the year 1851, was running a boat out of Memphis, Tennessee. The long painful journey to the west ended March 26th, 1839, with four-thousand silent graves reaching from the foothills of the Smoky Mountains to what is known as Indian territory in the West. And covetousness on the part of the white race was the cause of all that the Cherokees had to suffer. Ever since Ferdinand DeSoto made his journey through the Indian country in the year 1540, there had been a tradition of a rich gold mine somewhere in the Smoky Mountain Country, and I think the tradition was true. At a festival at Echota on Christmas night 1829, I danced and played with Indian girls who were wearing ornaments around their neck that looked like gold. In the year 1828, a little Indian boy living on Ward creek had sold a gold nugget to a white trader, and that nugget sealed the doom of the Cherokees. In a short time the country was overrun with armed brigands claiming to be government agents, who paid no attention to the rights of the Indians who were the legal possessors of the country. Crimes were committed that were a disgrace to civilization. Men were shot in cold blood, lands were confiscated. Homes were burned and the inhabitants driven out by the gold-hungry brigands. Chief Junaluska was personally acquainted with President Andrew Jackson. Junaluska had taken 500 of the flower of his Cherokee scouts and helped Jackson to win the battle of the Horse Shoe, leaving 33 of them dead on the field. And in that battle Junaluska had drove his tomahawk through the skull of a Creek warrior, when the Creek had Jackson at his mercy. Chief John Ross sent Junaluska as an envoy to plead with President Jackson for protection for his people, but Jackson's manner was cold and indifferent toward the rugged son of the forest who had saved his life. He met Junaluska, heard his plea but curtly said, "Sir, your audience is ended. There is nothing I can do for you." The doom of the Cherokee was sealed. Washington, D.C., had decreed that they must be driven West and their lands given to the white man, and in May 1838, an army of 4000 regulars, and 3000 volunteer soldiers under command of General Winfield Scott, marched into the Indian country and wrote the blackest chapter on the pages of American history. Men working in the fields were arrested and driven to the stockades. Women were dragged from their homes by soldiers whose language they could not understand. Children were often separated from their parents and driven into the stockades with the sky for a blanket and the earth for a pillow. And often the old and infirm were prodded with bayonets to hasten them to the stockades. In one home death had come during the night. A little sad-faced child had died and was lying on a bear skin couch and some women were preparing the little body for burial. All were arrested and driven out leaving the child in the cabin. I don't know who buried the body. In another home was a frail mother, apparently a widow and three small children, one just a baby. When told that she must go, the mother gathered the children at her feet, prayed a humble prayer in her native tongue, patted the old family dog on the head, told the faithful creature good-by, with a baby strapped on her back and leading a child with each hand started on her exile. But the task was too great for that frail mother. A stroke of heart failure relieved her sufferings. She sunk and died with her baby on her back, and her other two children clinging to her hands. Chief Junaluska who had saved President Jackson's life at the battle of Horse Shoe witnessed this scene, the tears gushing down his cheeks and lifting his cap he turned his face toward the heavens and said, "Oh my God, if I had known at the battle of the Horse Shoe what I know now, American history would have been differently written." At this time, 1890, we are too near the removal of the Cherokees for our young people to fully understand the enormity of the crime that was committed against a helpless race. Truth is, the facts are being concealed from the young people of today. School children of today do not know that we are living on lands that were taken from a helpless race at the bayonet point to satisfy the white man's greed. Future generations will read and condemn the act and I do hope posterity will remember that private soldiers like myself, and like the four Cherokees who were forced by General Scott to shoot an Indian Chief and his children, had to execute the orders of our superiors. We had no choice in the matter. Twenty-five years after the removal it was my privilege to meet a large company of the Cherokees in uniform of the Confederate Army under command of Colonel Thomas. They were encamped at Zollicoffer and I went to see them. Most of them were just boys at the time of the removal but they instantly recognized me as "the soldier that was good to us". Being able to talk to them in their native language I had an enjoyable day with them. >From them I learned that Chief John Ross was still ruler in the nation in 1863. And I wonder if he is still living? He was a noble-hearted fellow and suffered a lot for his race. At one time, he was arrested and thrown into a dirty jail in an effort to break his spirit, but he remained true to his people and led them in prayer when they started on their exile. And his Christian wife sacrificed her life for a little girl who had pneumonia. The Anglo-Saxon race would build a towering monument to perpetuate her noble act in giving her only blanket for comfort of a sick child. Incidentally the child recovered, but Mrs. Ross is sleeping in a unmarked grave far from her native Smoky Mountain home. When Scott invaded the Indian country some of the Cherokees fled to caves and dens in the mountains and were never captured and they are there today. I have long intended going there and trying to find them but I have put off going from year to year and now I am too feeble to ride that far. The fleeing years have come and gone and old age has overtaken me. I can truthfully say that neither my rifle nor my knife were stained with Cherokee blood. I can truthfully say that I did my best for them when they certainly did need a friend. Twenty-five years after the removal I still lived in their memory as "the soldier that was good to us". However, murder is murder whether committed by the villain skulking in the dark or by uniformed men stepping to the strains of martial music. Murder is murder, and somebody must answer. Somebody must explain the streams of blood that flowed in the Indian country in the summer of 1838. Somebody must explain the 4000 silent graves that mark the trail of the Cherokees to their exile. I wish I could forget it all, but the picture of 645 wagons lumbering over the frozen ground with their cargo of suffering humanity still lingers in my memory. Let the historian of a future day tell the sad story with its sighs, its tears and dying groans. Let the great Judge of all the earth weigh our actions and reward us according to our work. Children - Thus ends my promised birthday story. This December the 11th 1890.

Conway,Faulkner, AR-Photo History Book Item # 1970186711 This book is for sale on eBay. No, it is not my book. Phyllis

On Ancestry.com there is a 3-7-1886 marriage in Conway County, Arkansas for a Robert Gracen and Bettie Kissire. The Kissires are my family and I can't figure how Bettie fits into the family tree. Robert and Bettie Gracen had children, Emma Jane, Lizzie, Cary and Tinnie. Emma Jane Gracen b.9-6-1888 married 10-29-1910 Charles Adams Howard, son of Edward H. Howard and Saphronia/Safronia A. Snow. Does anyone know who the parents of Bettie Kissire were? Thank you. Phyllis

Fran, thanks for the story, loved it. Linda

Can someone please see if there is a Robert and/or Bettie Gracen buried in Van Buren County? Thank you. Phyllis

Neat story. Thanks for sharing. Sheri LeQuia 1227 Panorama Pt. Merced, CA 95340 lequia@elite.net -----Original Message----- From: Carolyn Flowers Tucker [mailto:carolynftucker@webtv.net] Sent: Friday, November 08, 2002 8:46 AM To: ARVANBUR-L@rootsweb.com Subject: [ARVANBUR] 1876-Arkansas Pioneer Women- Newspaper article Arkansas Pioneer Women- Newspaper article 1876 >From Fran Alverson on the AR Rootsweb list.... "For those of you who have ancestors who settled in Western Arkansas on the Indian Territory border, I thought the following story might be interesting as it occurred before statehood and gives us some insight into the lives of the pioneer women who lived "on the border" I hope you enjoy it": May 18, 1876 Van Buren Argus (News paper) Crawford County, Arkansas THE BORDER HEROINE Some years ago, before the State of Arkansas was so densely populated as now, and when the mails from Little Rock to the Western Borders were carried on horseback, there lived some miles above Horsehead a stout pioneer named Jacob BURNAP. His wife Polly and one child nine years old made up his family. His chief business was hunting, and his unerring rifle never failed to supply his board and something over. His nearest neighbor lived fifteen miles off, so he was little troubled with prying visitors. It was in the early spring that Jacob started down the river with a boat load of furs and skins. He left Polly in charge of the premises; and he left with her, too, a light rifle and a brace of pistols. She knew how to use the rifle, for never was she happier than when her husband patted her on the shoulder and said "Nobly done, Polly, my dear; I could not have made a better shot myself." And he had occasion to say this with truth too. Jacob BURNAP had been gone four days, when in the evening a horseman rode up to the hunter's door. He was a small, muscular man, some forty years of age, and seem inured to all hardships. As he sprang from his saddle, Polly made her appearance. "Ah, Polly, once more here, " the new comer said, as he pulled a well-fitted pair of saddle-bags from the back of his fatigued beast. "Yes, and I am glad to see you. Jacob has been gone four days, and time is getting heavy." "Jacob gone? Where?" "Down the river with a load of furs." "Oh, yes. Well, you shall have the company of Lant MORTON for one night, at least; so for the next twelve hours you'll be safe." "Oh, I feel safe enough," returned the woman- "only a little lonesome." Thus speaking, MORTON threw his saddle bags into the cabin and lead his horse around to the shed, where he made the animal fast, and fed him. After this he returned to the house and entered and was soon discussing the events of the time over an ample supper. His hostess told him all that had transpired in the neighborhood since his last visit; and the visitor gave her all the news of the eastern valley. Lant MORTON had been the mail carrier on that route for several years, and not once had he passed to and fro without spending a night at Jacob BURNAP's. In fact, he was about the only regular visitor at the hunter's cabin; and although the intervals between his visits were long, yet he seemed almost a fixture to the place. Polly BURNAP, just in the bloom of womanhood, knew his gentle, generous, noble character, so she felt perfectly free and at home in his presence. "It is not known on the route that your load is valuable?" asked Polly. "I think not- though it may be. Still I am well armed, and I fancy it would be a very tough job for any one to tackle old MORTON.: "A man was robbed on the creek some days ago." "And the robbers have fled," added MORTON, carelessly. MORTON went to bed at 9 o'clock, as he was tired from his long ride. Polly had work to do, having neglected it while talking to her guest; so after she had seen him safe at rest, she brought her basket to the little table, and began work upon some clothing for her child, who was soundly sleeping in a corner. The old German clock upon the wall had struck ten ere Polly rose from the table. She had just pushed the basket beneath the table when the front door opened, and two men entered. They were in their stockings, their shoes having been left on the outside. "Hush!" uttered the foremost intruder. "Speak but one word above a whisper, and you die in a moment." Polly recovered from her quick terror, and looked up. She saw two stout, ugly looking men, one of whom held a cocked pistol at her. With a quickness of perception natural to her, she knew the pistol would not be fired if she held her peace, as that would make more noise than she could make, and further, she recognized in the foremost a notorious villian that bore the name of Dick GALLUS. She had never seen him before, but the description her husband had given of the man led her to know him- and positively too, for one big scar on the left cheek was mark enough. "What do you want?" asked Polly, betraying the least fear. "We have come to see the mail carrier," one replied in a hoarse voice; "where is he? Don't speak too loud." "He is long since asleep. Would it not do as well to see him in the morning? We can find you and room and lodging." The fair hostess had said this for the purpose of gaining time. She knew very well that these men had come to rob the carrier, and was equally sure that they would murder him if they could, and would in all probability put her out of the way as well. They had evidently learned of the valuable load he carried, and meant to carry it in his stead. "Never mind his being asleep. Show us where he is at once," roughly answered GALLUS in answer to Polly's last remark. "But I can call him, good sirs," reasoned the woman calmly, though there was alarm in her soul. "Call him! Call! Growled the villain with a fierce oath. "You call him and you will be called to another world. Quick! Show us the way." The mild eye that could aim an unerring bullet at the forest beast did not even betray the thoughts of a woman's soul, nor did a look tell her meaning. She was very pale but did not tremble. "This way, sirs," she whispered. And as she spoke she turned toward a side door. She did not open it till both the men were close behind her. "Don't you hear him breathe?" "Yes," returned the villains. And they did hear a breathing, but it was of a child close at hand. As they thus answered her she threw the door open- it opened inward. The men saw a dark void, but they pressed forward. In an instant Polly Burnap leaped back. Gallus was in front. With all her power the noble woman threw herself against the rear man, and the next moment the robbers lay sprawling on the cellar bottom. This has been the door opening to the deep excavation, and the only means of egress was by a perpendicular ladder. Could this have been moved, Polly would have pulled it immediately, but it was spiked to its place, and she must let it remain. To close the door would be useless, for she had not ready means to fasten it. She did what she had resolved upon from the first- she sprang to the fireplace, and caught the trusty rifle, and cocking it, she moved toward the open door. She heard the curses of the villains as they reached the ladder, and she soon knew that one of them had found it. "Back!" she cried, as she saw a head above the threshold. The candle upon the table threw but a dim light upon the spot, but was sufficient. She saw the robber raise a pistol. She had a husband, a child, and had set herself to save the carrier. With these thoughts dashing through her mind she pulled the trigger. A sharp report went ringing through the house, and its echo was a deep groan from the cellar bottom. Ere the second robber could show himself MORTON came rushing into the room with a pistol in each hand. "What is it?" he cried. "There! There!" gasped Polly, pointing to the doorway, where a savage looking face had just presented itself. Lant MORTON had been too much used to danger to waste time in conjecture, and immediately shot the villain dead, who fell with a heavy sound upon the cellar floor. In the morning just as the carrier was dressed, there was a rap at the door, accompanied by a voice he knew full well. He hastened to open the door, and gave entrance to Jacob BURNAP. The hunter had met a party of traders at Lewisburg and disposed of all his skins to them, thus finishing his journey six days earlier than he had anticipated. Polly was soon upon her husband's bosom, and when he had told them his own story, MORTON gave him the adventure. Jacob was at first incredulous, but when he had seen the bodies he was satisfied. "Polly, my jewel", he said, placing his arm around her neck, I am proud of you. I love you more and more, for every day I find more to love. And then, turning to Morton, he added, "What do you think of such a wife?" "Ah!" returned the guest, with deep feeling, "if poor Lant MORTON had such a wife he wouldn't be a mail carrier." When MORTONleft he was directed to stop at the first settlement and state to the officers what had happened, and he promised to do so. He once more blessed the brave woman who had saved his life, and then set out. Late in the afternoon two officers arrived at the cabin and when they were shown the dead bodies, at once proceeded to remove them. And ere a week had passed the whole settlement blessed the border heroine for the work she had done. ============================== To join Ancestry.com and access our 1.2 billion online genealogy records, go to: http://www.ancestry.com/rd/redir.asp?targetid=571&sourceid=1237

Arkansas Pioneer Women- Newspaper article 1876 >From Fran Alverson on the AR Rootsweb list.... "For those of you who have ancestors who settled in Western Arkansas on the Indian Territory border, I thought the following story might be interesting as it occurred before statehood and gives us some insight into the lives of the pioneer women who lived "on the border" I hope you enjoy it": May 18, 1876 Van Buren Argus (News paper) Crawford County, Arkansas THE BORDER HEROINE Some years ago, before the State of Arkansas was so densely populated as now, and when the mails from Little Rock to the Western Borders were carried on horseback, there lived some miles above Horsehead a stout pioneer named Jacob BURNAP. His wife Polly and one child nine years old made up his family. His chief business was hunting, and his unerring rifle never failed to supply his board and something over. His nearest neighbor lived fifteen miles off, so he was little troubled with prying visitors. It was in the early spring that Jacob started down the river with a boat load of furs and skins. He left Polly in charge of the premises; and he left with her, too, a light rifle and a brace of pistols. She knew how to use the rifle, for never was she happier than when her husband patted her on the shoulder and said "Nobly done, Polly, my dear; I could not have made a better shot myself." And he had occasion to say this with truth too. Jacob BURNAP had been gone four days, when in the evening a horseman rode up to the hunter's door. He was a small, muscular man, some forty years of age, and seem inured to all hardships. As he sprang from his saddle, Polly made her appearance. "Ah, Polly, once more here, " the new comer said, as he pulled a well-fitted pair of saddle-bags from the back of his fatigued beast. "Yes, and I am glad to see you. Jacob has been gone four days, and time is getting heavy." "Jacob gone? Where?" "Down the river with a load of furs." "Oh, yes. Well, you shall have the company of Lant MORTON for one night, at least; so for the next twelve hours you'll be safe." "Oh, I feel safe enough," returned the woman- "only a little lonesome." Thus speaking, MORTON threw his saddle bags into the cabin and lead his horse around to the shed, where he made the animal fast, and fed him. After this he returned to the house and entered and was soon discussing the events of the time over an ample supper. His hostess told him all that had transpired in the neighborhood since his last visit; and the visitor gave her all the news of the eastern valley. Lant MORTON had been the mail carrier on that route for several years, and not once had he passed to and fro without spending a night at Jacob BURNAP's. In fact, he was about the only regular visitor at the hunter's cabin; and although the intervals between his visits were long, yet he seemed almost a fixture to the place. Polly BURNAP, just in the bloom of womanhood, knew his gentle, generous, noble character, so she felt perfectly free and at home in his presence. "It is not known on the route that your load is valuable?" asked Polly. "I think not- though it may be. Still I am well armed, and I fancy it would be a very tough job for any one to tackle old MORTON.: "A man was robbed on the creek some days ago." "And the robbers have fled," added MORTON, carelessly. MORTON went to bed at 9 o'clock, as he was tired from his long ride. Polly had work to do, having neglected it while talking to her guest; so after she had seen him safe at rest, she brought her basket to the little table, and began work upon some clothing for her child, who was soundly sleeping in a corner. The old German clock upon the wall had struck ten ere Polly rose from the table. She had just pushed the basket beneath the table when the front door opened, and two men entered. They were in their stockings, their shoes having been left on the outside. "Hush!" uttered the foremost intruder. "Speak but one word above a whisper, and you die in a moment." Polly recovered from her quick terror, and looked up. She saw two stout, ugly looking men, one of whom held a cocked pistol at her. With a quickness of perception natural to her, she knew the pistol would not be fired if she held her peace, as that would make more noise than she could make, and further, she recognized in the foremost a notorious villian that bore the name of Dick GALLUS. She had never seen him before, but the description her husband had given of the man led her to know him- and positively too, for one big scar on the left cheek was mark enough. "What do you want?" asked Polly, betraying the least fear. "We have come to see the mail carrier," one replied in a hoarse voice; "where is he? Don't speak too loud." "He is long since asleep. Would it not do as well to see him in the morning? We can find you and room and lodging." The fair hostess had said this for the purpose of gaining time. She knew very well that these men had come to rob the carrier, and was equally sure that they would murder him if they could, and would in all probability put her out of the way as well. They had evidently learned of the valuable load he carried, and meant to carry it in his stead. "Never mind his being asleep. Show us where he is at once," roughly answered GALLUS in answer to Polly's last remark. "But I can call him, good sirs," reasoned the woman calmly, though there was alarm in her soul. "Call him! Call! Growled the villain with a fierce oath. "You call him and you will be called to another world. Quick! Show us the way." The mild eye that could aim an unerring bullet at the forest beast did not even betray the thoughts of a woman's soul, nor did a look tell her meaning. She was very pale but did not tremble. "This way, sirs," she whispered. And as she spoke she turned toward a side door. She did not open it till both the men were close behind her. "Don't you hear him breathe?" "Yes," returned the villains. And they did hear a breathing, but it was of a child close at hand. As they thus answered her she threw the door open- it opened inward. The men saw a dark void, but they pressed forward. In an instant Polly Burnap leaped back. Gallus was in front. With all her power the noble woman threw herself against the rear man, and the next moment the robbers lay sprawling on the cellar bottom. This has been the door opening to the deep excavation, and the only means of egress was by a perpendicular ladder. Could this have been moved, Polly would have pulled it immediately, but it was spiked to its place, and she must let it remain. To close the door would be useless, for she had not ready means to fasten it. She did what she had resolved upon from the first- she sprang to the fireplace, and caught the trusty rifle, and cocking it, she moved toward the open door. She heard the curses of the villains as they reached the ladder, and she soon knew that one of them had found it. "Back!" she cried, as she saw a head above the threshold. The candle upon the table threw but a dim light upon the spot, but was sufficient. She saw the robber raise a pistol. She had a husband, a child, and had set herself to save the carrier. With these thoughts dashing through her mind she pulled the trigger. A sharp report went ringing through the house, and its echo was a deep groan from the cellar bottom. Ere the second robber could show himself MORTON came rushing into the room with a pistol in each hand. "What is it?" he cried. "There! There!" gasped Polly, pointing to the doorway, where a savage looking face had just presented itself. Lant MORTON had been too much used to danger to waste time in conjecture, and immediately shot the villain dead, who fell with a heavy sound upon the cellar floor. In the morning just as the carrier was dressed, there was a rap at the door, accompanied by a voice he knew full well. He hastened to open the door, and gave entrance to Jacob BURNAP. The hunter had met a party of traders at Lewisburg and disposed of all his skins to them, thus finishing his journey six days earlier than he had anticipated. Polly was soon upon her husband's bosom, and when he had told them his own story, MORTON gave him the adventure. Jacob was at first incredulous, but when he had seen the bodies he was satisfied. "Polly, my jewel", he said, placing his arm around her neck, I am proud of you. I love you more and more, for every day I find more to love. And then, turning to Morton, he added, "What do you think of such a wife?" "Ah!" returned the guest, with deep feeling, "if poor Lant MORTON had such a wife he wouldn't be a mail carrier." When MORTONleft he was directed to stop at the first settlement and state to the officers what had happened, and he promised to do so. He once more blessed the brave woman who had saved his life, and then set out. Late in the afternoon two officers arrived at the cabin and when they were shown the dead bodies, at once proceeded to remove them. And ere a week had passed the whole settlement blessed the border heroine for the work she had done.

In a message dated 11/2/02 12:01:21 AM Central Standard Time, jp55@wt.net writes: > Is there anywhere on- line one could look for Van Buren > county marriages pre-1900? If not, is there anyone on the list that > could assist with these? > > Jackie > I have a bride's marriage book and a groom's marriage book. Both go back to 1865. Sorry, I don't have anything that goes back further. Reba Dimond

Looking for the grave of wife of Abraham Tanney( Tunney,Turney) who died between 1876-1880. They were living in Giles at the time of her death. Thanks Jackie

Is there anywhere on- line one could look for Van Buren county marriages pre-1900? If not, is there anyone on the list that could assist with these? Jackie

I heard from another list that the US 1880 Census is online. Go to http://www.familysearch.org/Eng/default.asp and in the 2nd box on the left click on US 1880 etc..... and this will take you to the search page. Or go to this link direct: http://www.familysearch.org/Eng/Search/frameset_search.asp?PAGE=census/search_census.asp Carolyn

Forwarded from another list. Please respond privately to sender. Phyllis ----- Original Message ----- From: "Dan Dudley" <edudley@htcomp.net> To: <AR-CEMETERIES-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Wednesday, October 23, 2002 7:56 PM Subject: RE: [AR-CEM] Conway County updates > I would like to find someone who has the Pence Funeral Home Index/Conway, > AR/ 1904-1926. There is a "Baby Henry" listed and I am searching for child > of William Thomas Henry and Florence Bierman Henry, my GF and GM had a child > who was deceased (on my uncle and aunt's (twins) birth certificates it > states 4 children born to this mother, 3 living. The other child would be my > mother (born I think in 1912 and the twins were born in 1917)I was hoping > the Pence Index, might reveal the parents of the "Baby Henry". My thanks to > any help. Edna Dudley, Pottsville, TX

Am looking for Thomas F Wright in Arkansas before 1880. He fought with the 3rd MO Cal Reg. Can anyone help Generation No. 1 1. THOMAS F WRIGHT (ARRON) was born May 1838 in Tennessee, and died January 20, 1906 in Arkansas, Ouachita Co. He married ANNIE A About 1868 in Arkanas. She was born June 1847 in Mississippi, and died About 1910 in Arkansas, Ouachita Co. Children of THOMAS WRIGHT and ANNIE are: i. MATTIE3 WRIGHT, b. October 1868. ii. MINNIE E WRIGHT, b. July 1872, Arkansas, Ouachita Co; d. September 18, 1911, Arkanas, Jefferson Co. Generation No. 2 MINNIE E WRIGHT (THOMAS F, ARRON) was born July 1872 in Arkansas, Ouachita Co, and died September 18, 1911 in Arkanas, Jefferson Co. She married WILLIAM THOMAS NICHOLS February 23, 1902 in Arkansas, Ouachita Co, son of WILLIAM NICHOLS and SARAH BLACK. He was born October 19, 1873 in Arkansas, Drew Co, and died June 07, 1912 in Arkanas, Jefferson Co. Children of MINNIE WRIGHT and WILLIAM NICHOLS are: i. MYRTLE4 NICHOLS, b. February 24, 1903, (?)Arkansas; d. Aft. 1950, (?)Arkansas; m. HARRY L TONEY, About 1916, (?)Arkansas. ii. OLIVE EDNA NICHOLS, b. July 03, 1907, Arkanas, Jefferson Co; d. July 14, 1974, Arkanas, Drew Co, Monticello; m. Bef. 1929; m. (2) ZEB C HAYNES, April 23, 1937. iii. JEREMIAH MICHAH NICHOLS, b. May 05, 1909, Arkanas, Jefferson Co; d. September 20, 1946, Arkanas, Jefferson Co; m. LYNVIA ELIZABETH FINLAYSON, November 23, 1929, Arkanas, Drew Co; b. November 03, 1910, Arkanas, Drew Co; d. December 10, 1998, Arkansas, Drew Co. iv. VERNA NICHOLS, b. September 17, 1910, Pine Bluff, Nevin Township, Jefferson Co, Arkansas; d. January 14, 1911, Pine Bluff, Nevin Township, Jefferson Co, Arkansas. Floridamom@mchsi.com *************************************** Visit www.segenealogy.com for FREE Arkansas Census and County Formation Maps

In a message dated 10/13/02 9:09:19 AM Central Daylight Time, Freorden@aol.com writes: > There is a Mary J. McDaniel who homesteaded land in Van Buren County that > was > issued in 1885 but I don't knwo if she is my Mary Jane? > I don't know whose homestead that was, but there IS another Mary Jane McDaniel in Van Buren Co. at that time--my gr gr grandmother. She was Mary Jane McCamey Kidd McDaniel Linn. She became a widow first of James Kidd in 1862 and then of William H. McDaniel between about 1875-1880. I'm not sure when she married her 3rd husband, Asa Linn, or when he died (just a few years after marriage). I do know that she and her McDaniel husband "laid a homestead at Choctaw", according to her obit dated August 1913, Van Buren County Democrat. Just thought I'd let you know this so that you'd know that for a time, there WAS another Mary Jane McDaniel in the county. Happy hunting, Tracey Barrett Baldwin researching in VBC: ALTSMAN, CARGILE, WILLIAMS

Unless she died under unusual circumstance, and even then, only if a doctor filed a death certificate, would there be one this early. I have found only 1 death certificate for any of my researched lines this early, and only then because he died in the State Hospital for Mental Deseases. Jettie Henley Parrish Researching: BAILEY, BROWN, GROSS, HENLEY, OSBURN, WEEKS, and other surnames in Van Buren and Surrounding Counties ----- Original Message ----- From: <Freorden@aol.com> To: <ARVANBUR-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Sunday, October 13, 2002 9:08 AM Subject: [ARVANBUR] Mary J. McDaniel: > Hi Listers, > > I have a favor to ask of someone out there in Van Buren County who may have > acess to death records in your county. > > Mary Jane (Russell) McDaniel > b. 1839 or 1841? > d. 1916 or 1917 > > There is a Mary J. McDaniel who homesteaded land in Van Buren County that was > issued in 1885 but I don't knwo if she is my Mary Jane? > > I'd really appreciate a look see PLEASE? > > Freddie B. Stewart in Massachusetts > > > ============================== > To join Ancestry.com and access our 1.2 billion online genealogy records, go to: > http://www.ancestry.com/rd/redir.asp?targetid=571&sourceid=1237 > >

Hi Listers, I have a favor to ask of someone out there in Van Buren County who may have acess to death records in your county. Mary Jane (Russell) McDaniel b. 1839 or 1841? d. 1916 or 1917 There is a Mary J. McDaniel who homesteaded land in Van Buren County that was issued in 1885 but I don't knwo if she is my Mary Jane? I'd really appreciate a look see PLEASE? Freddie B. Stewart in Massachusetts