The news & observer. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1894-current, 1903-12-20
REV. R. H. WHITAKER ON THE
OLD DAYS AT FUQUAY SPRINGS
Battle of Wits Betwes n Boys Who Would Turn
Teacher Out and Teacher Who Wouldn't
be Turned

| i-SAhe, anu Iedliy Was 50 COla / cOuiu
have stood considerable scorchinG.
The school hour finally arrived, the |
girls and smaller children having come /
in, school was opened and everything |
went smoothly on. My breakfast was sent
to me which l ate, while l sympathized |
with the boys who had missed theirs;
but, l dared not leave my seat.
AT ten minutes past II O'Clock l made
the children a speech and announced the
close OF the school, giving them the even
ing as holiday. The boys said l hal
beaten them in the affair and they had
great mind to duck me any how but
IL ended up IN a game OF baseball. ana
L took leave OF the children, some Of
whom l have never since seen. Some CT .
them, perhaps most of them, are dead
and l shall not see them again in this
| life.
| l will imagine that l am out at FIJI.
quay and that 1 came by rail; have seen
all the people and am ready to return.
| As came by rail and saw only the fields
and houses, it will be more pleasant to
return through the country and stop by
| the way to see some of the old time peo-
pie. few miles brings ME up to Isaac
Rowlands, who lived on the top of the
hill south of Terrible Creek He is not
here, for he died many years ago. so also
die his wife, but can see them all the
same, and their voices are just as natural
as they used to be, as the strangers there
describe the changes that have occurred
in the neighborhood since I used to be
SO familiar with it. 1 ask about Bennett
Rowland. Benjamin Womack, Green Aus
tin, Almon Austin, Edmond Rowland,
Austin Jones, John Adams and others, his
| N :Oh T sod To E,,ny al he,
answer is. call gone; most of them dead
l cross the creek and come over to The
place where 1 was born, and l see no
one 1 know; but, of a stranger, l ask
where is the house in which 1 was reared,
and all the houses which I knew so well
in boyhood and young manhood, and the
| trees that once shaded the yard and the
AEe, and the fences l used to climb, a,:ti
the answer is, gone, all gone; the yam
KEGS burned the dwelling, and others COM
ing in possession of the land, have cut
| down the trees, removed the fences, ana
J torn down the barns, you used to see,
and there is nothing left but the well
you used to draw water from
go to the WE'LL look down upon lis
wall of stone, draw a bucket OF water
and drink to the memory of those days
when father, mother brothers and sisters
were all at home, and for a moment I
| forget tibet reality and dream of the past.
| But as l turn toward where the house
once stood and see nought but brickbats
| and few stones, the dream fades away
and sadness fills my soul as l remember
we shall never come back again to tie
home we loved so well. OF that family.
four of us are left, the others have crossed
the river. Soon we shall follow l I'm
l., L.
a child 1 used to play, and as young
man I used to build castles, and frorl
which l used to go out and see the world,
and to which 1 would come back again
| to fill my place at the table and my seat
at the morning and evening prayers. But,
| somehow, l want to see the nei ghbors,
and l am about to start to visit them.
| But the stranger at the well informs no
| that the people / once knew are all gone
The Crowders, who lived just beyond the
| branch are gone; the Joness little far
| Their on are gone; the Banks's over on
the road are gone, the Utley's who lived
over the hill almost in sight are gone,
the Avery's whose land joined ours are
gone; and all the older members of the
McCuller's family are gone; in short, he
| tells me were l to 60 to the places and
| the homes l once knew so we'll, l would
! be stranger, and so great have been
| the changes l would not recognize the
places once knew. 1 turn my eyes again
toward where the old dwelling stood, and
| beyond it to the mound In the garden
where sleep the ashes of brother who
died nearly fifty years ago; and, for the
| last time, sweeping the horizon all ,,
around while memory calls up every
home and family and face that in other
years made the neighborhood nearly |
like paradise, 1 bid them all adieu, and
turn my steps toward my Raleigh home
I cross the old spring branch, pass the
road leading down to Simeon Utley's |
Mill; cross Mill branch, and on the hill |
come to where "Old Trigger Smith" lived |
short distance leads me to the OLD |
school house, where Stinson Ivey, Simeon
Williams and others taught fifty odd years |
ago. 1 must halt here for awhile and |
have a game of marbles under those giant |
white oaks, meath which we played in |
the olden time-which oaks tradition |
said, old Col. McCullers, of Revolutionary |
days, topped with a pen knife. School |
is out and here come the boys and girls |
and what happy period will our play |
time be! We are children and don't know |
what care means, so, no one can blame |
us for having our fun The play tine |
hour ends, the teacher rings the bell foT |
'books'' and here the children go, as if |
racing, to their evening tasks.
little further on I pass the place !,
where the McCullers' Gved-where Miss |
Harriet taught when 1 was a little boy, |
and made my first little speech. But it 5 |
so changed! l don't see any of the faces |
knew, and no one seems to know me |
The next place come to is the residence
of David Stephenson. Other settlements |
have been made, but am in the oldnn
time. don't know who owns the Steph.
erson place; but it used to be home
CT wealth and hospitality, and two sons,
Matthew and Col. l.. D. Stephenson, We're
the only children. Matthew never mar
ried. "Lon," as he was called, married |
Miss Kitchener. He ana his wife are
dead, but some of their children are still.
living.
Between Swift and Steep Hill Greeks
1 pass Augustine Turner's residence, but,
hardly know the place, and as | see 90