The Use and Need of the Life of Carrie A. Nation [6]
MOORE.}
My father's name was George Moore, and his father's name was
Martin Moore. He was of Irish descent. He had two brothers who
died when the cholera raged in Kentucky, about 1842. One of them,
William Moore, married a Miss Blackburn of Versailles, Ky. He had
several sisters, some of them died young.
Mark Antony, in his memorial address over the body of Caesar, said
that Brutus was Caesar's angel. If I ever had an angel on earth, it was my
father. I have met many men who had lovable characters, but none
equaled him in my estimation. He was not a saint, but a man--one of
the noblest works of God. He was impetuous, quick, impatient, but never
nervous, could collect himself in a moment and was always master of
the situation. I have seen him in many trying places but never remember
to have seen him in a condition of being afraid. When he lived
in Cass County, Mo., during the war, we saw Quantrell's men coming
up to the house. These men were dressed in slouch hats, gray suits,
and had their guns and haversacks roped to their saddles. My father
was a union man, but a southern sympathizer. He cried like a child
when he heard the south had seceded and taken another flag. He did
not know to what extent he was disliked by this gang of bushwhackers,
and we were very much alarmed; fully expected some harm was meant.
Men on both sides were frequently taken out and shot down. When
the Bushwhackers would kill a union man then the Jayhawkers would
kill "a secesh."
My father said to us: "You stay in the house and keep quiet. I will
meet them." I watched him through a window. He was tall and straight
as an Indian. He walked up to them, taking off his hat and called "Good
morning" to them in a friendly tone. Asked them to get off their horses,
for he had a treat for them. In the corner of the yard was the carriage
house and under that was a rock spring house, through which a
living stream of water ran around the pans of milk. He took them to
the door, gave them seats, then went in this milkhouse and brought out
a jar of buttermilk. I have heard it said that buttermilk is one of the
greatest treats to a soldier. He talked with these men as if they had
been friends; brought out fruit; loaded them with bread, butter and milk;
and they left without even taking a horse from us. I fully believe it
was their intention to do some harm, but by the tact of my father they
were disarmed. "A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words
stir up strife." He was a thorough business man, but his social qualities
exceeded all others. He often had to pay security debts, one for
Mr. Key, his brother-in-law, of five thousand dollars. Just before the
election of Lincoln, he took a large drove of mules to Natchez, Miss.,
twenty-two of these mules were of his own raising. While there Lincoln
was elected, which threw the south into war. He sold the mules
on time and never got a dollar for them. To the honor of my father
be it said, he gave up all his property to pay his debts, never withholding,
where he could have done so. A short while before he died there was
one debt of a few hundred dollars he could not pay. He wept and told
me of this. A year ago I settled up with Mr. Wills' heirs and paid
this debt to his children, who live near Peculiar in Cass county, Mo.
It would be such d joy to my father to know that I did this to save his
honor. When I see him, in our heavenly home, he will bless me for this.
"Love knows no sacrifice."
I can not call to mind when the thought of self, governed any of my
father's actions. It was his delight to provide for the comfort of others.
Devoted to his family and friends, and such a friend to the poor; I have
heard my mother say that he made every one rich who worked for him.
When I first remember him he was a "Trader" and left his farm to an
overseer. My father drove hogs to Cincinnati before there were any
railways. I was always at his heels, when I could be. He was standing
on the stile one day giving directions to have a drove of hogs meet
him at
My father's name was George Moore, and his father's name was
Martin Moore. He was of Irish descent. He had two brothers who
died when the cholera raged in Kentucky, about 1842. One of them,
William Moore, married a Miss Blackburn of Versailles, Ky. He had
several sisters, some of them died young.
Mark Antony, in his memorial address over the body of Caesar, said
that Brutus was Caesar's angel. If I ever had an angel on earth, it was my
father. I have met many men who had lovable characters, but none
equaled him in my estimation. He was not a saint, but a man--one of
the noblest works of God. He was impetuous, quick, impatient, but never
nervous, could collect himself in a moment and was always master of
the situation. I have seen him in many trying places but never remember
to have seen him in a condition of being afraid. When he lived
in Cass County, Mo., during the war, we saw Quantrell's men coming
up to the house. These men were dressed in slouch hats, gray suits,
and had their guns and haversacks roped to their saddles. My father
was a union man, but a southern sympathizer. He cried like a child
when he heard the south had seceded and taken another flag. He did
not know to what extent he was disliked by this gang of bushwhackers,
and we were very much alarmed; fully expected some harm was meant.
Men on both sides were frequently taken out and shot down. When
the Bushwhackers would kill a union man then the Jayhawkers would
kill "a secesh."
My father said to us: "You stay in the house and keep quiet. I will
meet them." I watched him through a window. He was tall and straight
as an Indian. He walked up to them, taking off his hat and called "Good
morning" to them in a friendly tone. Asked them to get off their horses,
for he had a treat for them. In the corner of the yard was the carriage
house and under that was a rock spring house, through which a
living stream of water ran around the pans of milk. He took them to
the door, gave them seats, then went in this milkhouse and brought out
a jar of buttermilk. I have heard it said that buttermilk is one of the
greatest treats to a soldier. He talked with these men as if they had
been friends; brought out fruit; loaded them with bread, butter and milk;
and they left without even taking a horse from us. I fully believe it
was their intention to do some harm, but by the tact of my father they
were disarmed. "A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words
stir up strife." He was a thorough business man, but his social qualities
exceeded all others. He often had to pay security debts, one for
Mr. Key, his brother-in-law, of five thousand dollars. Just before the
election of Lincoln, he took a large drove of mules to Natchez, Miss.,
twenty-two of these mules were of his own raising. While there Lincoln
was elected, which threw the south into war. He sold the mules
on time and never got a dollar for them. To the honor of my father
be it said, he gave up all his property to pay his debts, never withholding,
where he could have done so. A short while before he died there was
one debt of a few hundred dollars he could not pay. He wept and told
me of this. A year ago I settled up with Mr. Wills' heirs and paid
this debt to his children, who live near Peculiar in Cass county, Mo.
It would be such d joy to my father to know that I did this to save his
honor. When I see him, in our heavenly home, he will bless me for this.
"Love knows no sacrifice."
I can not call to mind when the thought of self, governed any of my
father's actions. It was his delight to provide for the comfort of others.
Devoted to his family and friends, and such a friend to the poor; I have
heard my mother say that he made every one rich who worked for him.
When I first remember him he was a "Trader" and left his farm to an
overseer. My father drove hogs to Cincinnati before there were any
railways. I was always at his heels, when I could be. He was standing
on the stile one day giving directions to have a drove of hogs meet
him at