CHAPTER 23

It is circa 1855 and as you will see, superstition was alive and well even in an area where most people were God-fearing with the Word of God hidden in their hearts and minds.

There were five boys and two girls in the William “Billy” (1797-1869) and Margaret “Peggy” (Pilson) (1795-1858) McCullough family. Of those, I only remember Hadassah, known as Dassie (born 1827). She was very old and the last of the immediate family when she died about 1908.

No doubt there is yet a particularly tasty and tender pole bean in existence among the descendants of her generation of The Ridge. These were known as “Dassie Beans.” Other people raised various varieties, but she raised this kind exclusively. Housewives were given to thinking it was just an old-maidish notion that they were superior – until they tasted them.

“Dassie’s Salve,” an aromatic and healing salve of her own concoction, I also remember as considered a household necessity.

Her brother, Sam McCullough, (1829-1893) the old bachelor of the family, was considered a local celebrity from about 1882, when Sam’s Station and post office became a reality. The only other girl, Polly, (1824-1895) was a spinster also. Then there were: John, Will, Francis Turner (moved to Missouri) and James. Descendants of some of these I remember as members of the Tranquility church around the closing years of the century.

The McCullough farm, partially of rich bottom land, produced a very good living for a large family of that day. Boys who desired to farm were usually given a start of livestock. To that they added by increase and by working at local jobs. Eventually they would accumulate the start they felt necessary. Then, by renting for a few years, they usually were able to buy a farm of their own. Rarely did a young man go to the city to make money if he wanted to farm, but one of the exceptions to this rule was James McCullough (1822-1891).

During the Civil War times, no one had been able to advance much financially and getting back to normal conditions took several years. Perhaps this was why young James went to Dayton to work. When he returned to The Ridge, he not only had saved enough for a small start in the world, but he brought with him a wife – black eyed Matilda, (Cumings) known as Tilda (1828-1891).

Tilda was an “outsider” as to church connections. However, she was cordially received by the church people, though marrying outside any Presbyterian group was not approved of. Very often outsiders became staunch Presbyterians of whatever branch they married into. This Presbyterian group of churches was almost entirely free from superstition but was not above having a little fun at the expense of folks who were superstitious.

The deep, dark hollow southwest of George’s Creek school, known as Ghost Hollow, was still shunned at night by some inhabitants of The Ridge. (George’s Creek is one of the principal streams of water in Scott’s Twp. It traverses from north-west to south-east was named for George Secrest, who settled upon it at an early day.) Young people had carried their sense of humor so far as to play ghost occasionally by draping themselves with sheets, then with unearthly shrieks the “ghosts” would disappear up the hollow on nights when spelling bees or literary were held in the schoolhouse. The subtle purpose had been to keep away an element that were given to making trouble at such gatherings.

Tilda listened with interest and amusement to folklore stories of the neighborhood and was quick to adopt the ways of these church people. Just when the suspicious of the superstitious began, no one seemed to know but it was being whispered around that black eyed Tilda from the city had strange powers.

At first it was just little things; a cut foot that would not heal after she had bandaged it, a wheel rolling from a buggy, or the breaking a basket of eggs while passing Tilda’s house. In the latter incident, the driver had seen her looking from a window. Her black eyes had a shine to them, he remembered later.

Tilda was rather frail but accomplished a marvelous amount of work. Her work always seemed to be done, yet there were many who declared that she was always sitting at a front window sewing her fine seams. Her handmade “fine” shirts were in demand for miles around by those who could afford them.

There were a few small houses along West Fork Creek, mostly built by those who followed the building of the railroad. One Negro family lived in a tenant house and worked for Billie McCreight and the Ralston’s. None of these were church people and were generally unlearned and superstitious. In addition to these, there was a landowner or two of the same status.

Even the church people were hearing a little here and there about Tilda. Then something serious happened. Cattle along the creeks began to go blind, stagger around and die quickly. Later, Loco weed was found to be the cause.

Tilda was a friendly and vivacious person given to helpfulness. When going to call on someone sick or in need, all would become quiet with in and no one would answer her knock. She began to wonder why. Perhaps because she was a city girl and these “hillbillies” did not want to associate with her, she decided.

Soon the mystery was solved when an extremely ignorant woman became bold enough to accuse her of being a witch. The woman’s horse had become unmanageable in front of Tilda’s house and Tilda had come out to help her. That it was the distant and not yet very familiar whistle of a train that agitated the horse had gone unnoticed by the same woman. Tilda herself possessed a keen sense of humor. She would have some fun now that she had been put wise!

From the time Tilda had been openly accused she would, when meeting any of this superstitious element, fix her black eyes on them in a steady, silent stare. Quietly she dropped the remarks, “I’ll give a look that will settle them!” Of course, this spread like wildfire.

The migration of the superstitious element was soon under way and for some thirty years after this, there was scarcely a family on The Ridge who were not church people, thanks to black eyed Tilda.

This condition was very noticeable within my memory during the latter part of the eighteen hundred and the early nineteen hundred when on Sabbath mornings the line of buggies and surries headed for Tranquility church looked like a funeral procession for a leading citizen. I cannot recall a single non-church-going family at this time. Only the Shelby Family who were Campellites went the other direction to Newport. Later, this little town was re-named Lawshe for the reason that freight and mail was so often miss sent to Newport, Kentucky. It was then that someone began contributing items for one or both of the county papers under the heading of Saint’s Ridge.