| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
Contributed
by Michele S. Frederick [Editor’s
note:
With my transcription of this text, which—when my uncle, Walter Cook
Lindley, gave it to me in late October of 2002-- consisted of six single-spaced
photocopied typewritten pages, with some vernacular &/or archaic language
surely Lot Lindley’s own, I have done my best to remain as true as possible to
the author’s own words. However,
in various places, an “educated guess” seemed, unfortunately, the only
recourse available to me in my “translation”—i.e. when what was written
was vague, incomplete—with likely only part of the facts of the given scenario
explicitly stated, and so forth. I
have therefore inserted my own occasional brief parenthetical remarks, so that
the reader will be made aware that this was the case.
–Michele S. Frederick] Lot
Lindley’s Autobiographical Writing
It having pleased Divine Wisdom to take a portion of my own family from
me, and from this world… therefore, for the assistance of my own memory, for
the information of my surviving children, and some other relatives and close
friends, I think that I would be best satisfied to endeavor to make some
memorandums concerning them, incapable as I am in doing it in a manner which
will likely to be interesting. I
believe that there is frequently a disposition in man, when his dear relatives
and friends are removed from him by death, to applaud them more than is best,
and I hope that I shall think of this as an endeavoring to write.
Nevertheless, I do not think as there is a liability to err in this way,
that we should be entirely silent as respects their virtues.
--Lot Lindley
She was born on the 31st day of the 1st month,
1837. She was a smart little child,
I think, possessing fully as much mind as was common for children of her age.
She learned the most-- if not all--of the alphabet. She was taken with the scrofula when quite young, perhaps not
more than two years old, with which she was considerably afflicted about her
neck and jaws, sometimes getting considerably better, and then again she would
be worse. It finally settled on her
bowels which was cause of considerable suffering the most of the remaining part
of her life.
She died on the 16th day
of the 6th month of
1840- aged 3 years, 4 months, and 16 days.
She was the daughter of Stephen and
Jemima Kersey and was born in Guilford County, state of North Carolina, on the
23rd day of the 9th month, 1812, in the limits of
Springfield Monthly, and Kennet particular meetings.
She lived with her parents in that place until she was about six years
old. In the year of 1818, they
moved to Orange County, state of Indiana, in the vorge [??--or gorge, or forge,
perhaps? – MSF] of Lick Creek Monthly Meeting and brought their little
children with them. They stayed there until 3rd month 1830.
They then moved to Parke County [Indiana
--MSF] and settled near Bloomfield Mo. Mg., she being in the 18th
year of her age. It was not until
the year of 1832 that I became acquainted with her to much extent. On the 13th day of the 3rd month 1833,
we were joined in marriage with each other.
After our marriage, we settled within the limits of Rush Creek particular
meeting, where we continued to reside the remainder of her life. When
we commenced living together, her health was pretty good, but it was not long
before she became subject to spells of the cholic with which she was afflicted
at times for several years, but not so much so the latter part of her life.
About the year 1837, she was overtaken with bodily weakness peculiar to
her sex, but she kept up and about attending to the services that devolved on a
mother and housekeeper for about 2 years. She
then became more weakly, being confined to her bed mostly for about 3 months,
after which she began to gain strength and continued to do so until she again
attended to her business nearly as usual, without much assistance.
She never regained her former strength but enjoyed a pretty good
appetite. And when not engaged in
bodily exertion too much, she was tolerably clear of pain.
In a few months after her youngest child (Stephen) was born, she began to
show symptoms of weak lungs. II
think that it was in the spring of 1845 that she was first attacked with
hemorrhage of the lungs. Her breast
never felt entirely well afterwards though there was a short time (perhaps the
following summer) that it was nearly so. I
think that the 2nd attack
was something like one year from the first.
She had several subsequent returns of it.
About the 8th month 1846, her disease became more alarming,
and I almost fully believed (though I had been doubtful for some length of time)
that a fatal disease (the consumption) was approaching.
She became considerably debilitated about this time in consequence of
those spells of bleeding from the lungs. But
through medical aid with the blessing of Divine Providence, she gradually, but
slowly, recovered so as to be up the most of the time for awhile and attend to
some business that did not require much bodily strength to perform.
She visited most of our connexion [sic] who lived near us, and once her
mother, who lived about 8 miles from us and was at our Particular Meeting
several times. The latter part of
the 12th month, she was taken worse again—the immediate cause of
which (I think) was attending to some of the children at that time who were
considerably afflicted. She, being
quite weak, was not able to go through but little exposure.
I think that she was never out of the house after this time whilst in
mutability. About this time, she
began to have some fever and night sweats.
Her cough also increased, and she was mostly confined to her bed again.
But after awhile she began to mend again.
She continued to strengthen (with the assistance of medicine) slowly,
until 3rd month 1847. She
then became more poorly. In a few
weeks, she experienced sensation of chills and night sweats.
Her cough again became more troublesome.
Thus, she began again to decline and continued to do so until the 8th
day of the 6th month. On
that morning, she obsowed [?—or allowed, perhaps?
–MSF] to me that she considered that it was a great favor to have a
good night’s rest, having rested better, she said, last night than she had for
some time previous, and I thought that she appeared fully as well that morning
as she had done for several of the last days.
A
little before 10 o’clock in the morning, she called for some medicine, which
we gave her. She commenced coughing
almost immediately. She requested
us to blow the trumpet (knowing what was about to take place). After they blew awhile and then stopped,
she said blow more. By this
time, the disease had caused her to become very poor, and also so weak that her
enfeebled body was not able to withstand such a severe spell of coughing as the
one above alluded to. She began to
sink, her hands and feet growing cold. She
expired a few minutes before 6 o’clock in the evening. Dear
children, I have given you some account of your mother—her birth, places of
residence, bodily afflictions. I
will now undertake to tell you a little about her mind. I considered her to be a woman of good intellect
but not embellished with school education.
She was industrious. Being
weakly, and having the care in managing and assisting in providing for several
small children, she frequently labored more than she was well able.
But her mind was not so much occupied with the things of time as to
hinder her from attending religious meetings when able, and when the family was
in a situation to leave. In
addition to that, she often made a sacrifice of time in reading the Holy
Scriptures and the approved writings of Friends… and of visiting the sick when
circumstances would permit. She did
not appear to have any disposition to become wealthy but often spoke of the
injurious effect of almost the whole time and attention being given up in
pursuit of the things which perisheth. She
was a faithful wife, a tender mother, and of a kind liberal disposition… and
also a sympathizer with the poor, the afflicted, and the distressed.
She was not a tattler, but a lover of unity. I do not recollect of her having a difficulty with any person
but was respected (I think) by the most who were acquainted with her.
She appeared to have a concern to live a religious life the most of the
time since we lived together, and—of the latter years—this concern seemed to
increase even before her bodily afflictions became alarming.
She set a value on our various Christian testimonies and requested me
after she was apprehensive that she would leave us to keep a watch over our
children to prevent them from going into company that would be likely to be
unprofitable to them. She said that
she believed that there were many young people who would have made valuable men
and women if there had been the right kind of care extended towards them,
but—for the lack of that—that many had sustained a loss.
More than once when conversing with me about the awful time that appeared
to be approaching, she said that she knew that she had not lived the life that
she ought to have done, that she had nothing of her own to confide in and that
she did not see her way so clear as she wished to, but hoped for mercy.
The day before her decease, she expressed herself something similar to
the foregoing, but with some more assurance of being accepted by the Savior.
She then said that she did not see things so clear as some appeared to
have seen them—but that she had been endeavoring a great deal to examine into
her situation, and that she hoped and believed that that mercy would be
extended. That was what she craved,
she said, above everything else. She
was generally quite patient through the course of her long afflictions, thought
there were a few times when in much suffering that there was some appearance of
impatience. She observed to me one
day in a very feeling manner that she had at some times become impatient for
which she said she had seen a great deal of trouble.
She had the appearance of being engaged in mental prayer at times for
some weeks previous of her decease, and once in singing praised to her maker.
A few hours before the final change, with an audible voice said, if it
please the Lord to cut short his work in righteousness and release this poor
suffering body, but not my will but Thine be done.
She appeared to have her reason nearly, if not quite, to the last, and
the power of speech also, but sometimes she could not be distinctly understood.
But I understood her to say a few minutes before she departed, “Come,
come, come.” Asking her Redeemer,
I have but little doubt to finish the work and receive her.
The
foregoing account was mostly penned a short time subsequent to the decease of my
dear dear companion when the recollection of her expressions were fresh in my
memory divers (??—MSF) of them I could give verbatim at that time.
I have lately been engaged in transcribing it and thought that I would
feel best satisfied in making some little alterations.
I have accordingly done so, abridging in some places and adding a little
in others. Perhaps I might say that I do not think I ever indulged in a disposition to murmur or complain on account of the loss of this, my most lovely of earthly friends, never doubting that my loss was her great gain. But the mourning, the Lamentation that often covered my mind for considerable length of time is known better by those who have experienced trials of a similar nature than I can describe and, even now, at times my mind is covered with something like mourning on account thereof.
She
was born on the 3rd day of the 12th month of 1833.
She was a child of good natural abilities, and one who willingly
submitted to parental authority especially of latter years.
She was in the practice for some of the last years of her life of reading
the Holy Scriptures frequently, and also the writings of the Society of Friends
on the subject of religion. And I
think that she appeared to be thoughtful on that subject frequently.
I noticed of latter times, whilst on her way to Meeting, that she usually
kept a little behind the rest of us, appearing to have but little inclination to
enter into conversation, and her countenance as she rode along often had the
appearance of one whose mind is serious, and I think that most likely she was
desirous to meet with her friends at such times to profit. She was met with the
loss of her mother whilst in the 14th year of her life.
She was the eldest of my children, and we still kept house, and I
thought, considering the age of herself and next sister and the circumstances
which surrounded them, that they got along quite well in providing for and in
taking care of the younger children. On
the 21st of the 3rd month 1850, I was applied to for her
to nurse a family, several of whom were laboring under a disease that I had some
fears was infectious to some extent. I
felt some uneasiness of my own, on account of the application.
But, considering her nature of the subject willing to undertake, and when
she was consulted, she did not make any objections and went with apparent
cheerfulness. On the 26th,
she was attacked violently with the prevailing disease. On the following day, she appeared to be considerably better,
and I think sat up most of the day. Inflammation
appeared to take place shortly. And the disease did not appear to be under the control of
medicine to much extent. She
underwent almost continual suffering from the time that disease settled on her
bowels, and considerable portion of it appeared to be great.
She did not appear to have anything to say relative to her prospects of
future happiness on suffering that came, to my knowledge, until the 7th
day, morning of the 30th. I
had lain down for awhile the latter part of the night for to try to take some
rest but was requested to arise before it was light.
When I arose, I was informed that Martha said that she thought she’d
not recover and that she was afraid that she was not prepared to die (she said)
and go to Everlasting punishment. Shortly
after I received the information above alluded to, I went into the room, to her
bedside, and she expressed something of her uneasiness to me also. I told her that I thought that likely the enemy would
endeavor to persuade her that her situation was a bad one but, as for my part, I
could not tell her whether she was prepared or not.
I told her that Mercy sometimes appeared to be extended near the
termination of time with us here and encouraged her to make the examination for
herself and, if she found that she was not fully prepared for what seemed likely
to take place shortly, endeavor to labor for a preparation.
She, in a short time, prayed to her Father to raise her up and carry her
through if consistent with His will. I
told her that she was aware that I had frequently advised them (meaning herself
and Sister) to endeavor to seek for that which would be more likely to afford
them more happiness in time to come than the changeable things of this world.
She replied that she had often rambled in the woods after dark and
frequently wet her pillow with tears—and that she desired us to seek for
assistance to help her through. Shortly
afterwards, she requested us to cover her face with a handkerchief, and she did
not seem inclined to talk for awhile. A
friend came in awhile after this and asked how she was. “Very poorly”, she replied, but she said, “I have some
more hope of being spared than I had awhile this morning, but I think that it is
very uncertain.” After this, I
was out of the house a short time and, when I came in, a friend said that she
had gone into the room in my absence and that Martha looked at he earnestly in
the face and said, “Hannah, I am going to die”.
The friend asked her what made her say so. “Because it is the Lord’s will”, she replied.
Shortly after I entered the room, she said that if it was the Lord’s
will, she would be glad if the thread of life was cut shortly.
I asked her if she felt any better satisfied than she did this morning.
“Yes”, she replied, “I believe I will be accepted.
I was informed in Martha’s presence that she had expressed a wish
whilst I was out to see one of her aunts. “Yes”,
she replied. She said that she had
told an untruth sometime before and that she had not corrected it. This was about all that she said about the subject in my
presence. But a friend has informed
me since that he was present when she first mentioned the subject and that he
did not understand from her that she had willfully told an untruth, but that the
words that she had spoken did not probably convey the meaning that should have
been conveyed. And I suppose that
she felt some condemnation for what she had said, and I have but little doubt
but she repented of it and experienced forgiveness for the same, for what her
aunt alluded to was in her presence a few hours after she was talking on this
subject, and she said nothing to her about it.
Early this morning, she had expressed a desire to see her little brothers
and sister. They were at home,
about 2 ½ miles from where she was, and were quickly sent for.
About this time, she again expressed a desire to see them.
She was told that we expected them shortly.
One of the company spoke and said they were coming.
When they came into the room, she seemed very glad to see them and spake
very lovingly and feelingly to them, and in a more audible voice than had been
common with her for some time past.
She spoke to each one of them separately.
First calling her sister, Ruth, she took her by the hands and told her
that she had come to tell her farewell, and advised her to be a good girl, and
to mind Father and Susannah, and more than I can now recollect.
She then called her brother, Hiram, and advised him to be a better boy
and not to get mad so often—and, looking him earnestly in the face with
considerable emphasis, said, “Thee knows that thee is too easily made mad.” After some further remarks to Hiram, she called Stephen and
said, “This is the baby.” He
was the baby when Mother died and advised him to be a good boy. She then spoke to Susannah, bid her farewell, pleaded with
her to do better, and to take time to read.
She kissed all of her
brothers and sisters as she bade them farewell in a loving manner.
And, speaking to them collectively, she said that they would see Martha
at home no more, that she thought we looked like a desolate family [??—MSF]
when Mother died, and that now we would appear even more so.
She said considerable more to the children, advising them according to
their several capacities in an appropriate manner.
She then took me by the hand, bid me farewell, encouraged me not to give
out, but to press forward, said that she expected soon to be in Glory, and hoped
that I would be also. She again
pressed my hand and said farewell. She
then called Milton Newlin (a cousin of hers who lived with us) and bid him
farewell, and encouraged him to be a good boy.
She spoke to Anna L. Hadley, said that she was her schoolmate latterly,
pulled her face down to her own, and I think kissed her and made diverse
expressions to her, some of which I did not understand, but the tenor of her
discourse seemed to be to encourage her to good works.
There was a considerable number of people in the room at that time, all
of whom she took by the hand (I think) and bid farewell, and to one of whom she
wanted to prepare for another world—and not put it off until near the time to
die like she had done herself, but to endeavor to prepare to come to a better
world. And to one of the friends of
the house where she then lay in a feeling manner said, she said, “Farewell,
David Hadley. Little did I think
when I came here that I would lay down my life in thy house.
But when I was first taken sick, I thought that it was all for the
best.” David seemed to be
considerably affected, and said it grieved him much that circumstances had
occurred as they had. “Never
mind”, said she, “Never mind.” She
called her brothers and sisters to her again (after bidding the rest of them
farewell who were in the room) and bid each of them farewell again and kissed
them again. She said that she
wanted to tell Jonathan and Caroline farewell, they being two of the children of
the family where she then was and, lately, also her schoolmates.
They were also called in, and she took hold of the hand of each of them
and bid them farewell. Nearly as
soon as she was done telling us adieu, she petitioned her Heavenly Father, some
of the words of which I do not at this time recollect, but I think that the
substance of it was to release her if consistent with His Holy Will, but I
recollect that she said at the last of it, “…not my will but Thine be
done…”. I thought that it
appeared a time of favor whilst she was taking leave of us. After the opportunity was over, she seemed very much
exhausted from the effects of it. She
did not appear able to say much for several hours after-wards.
Notwithstanding, the morning seemed to be a time of favor with her.
I suppose it was the will of Best Wisdom to suffer a cloud to pass over
her mind again, for a friend told me that Martha asked her on the afternoon of
the same day what she (the friend alluded to) thought of her situation. I did not understand what her reply was, but Martha said that
she did not see her way so clear as
she wished she ought to have done, but that she had endeavored of late to pray
to her Maker after she had lain her head on her pillow, and also before she
arose in the morning. Her brothers
and little sister stayed at the house with her about one day and were in her
room frequently. And
notwithstanding she was so glad to see them come, and advised them so freely and
appeared so loving towards them, yet she never spoke to one of them after that
opportunity with them that I know of. I
suppose that was the right time for her to take leave of them and that she did
not feel at liberty to converse with them afterward.
On the 1st day of the week and 31st of the month, I
do not know that she said anything relative to the situation of her condition.
Yet it was discoverable that she was gradually sinking.
On the morning of the 1st day of the 4th month,
before daylight, at a time when there was but one attendant in the room, I
understood that she was engaged in supplication, a part of which was not
understood. When a friend of the
house arose from her bed this morning, in the same room where Martha lay, the
afflicted one looked at her rather earnestly as though she wanted to speak to
her. And, as the friend approached
the bedside, Martha said, “Hannah, I shall go shortly.” “Thou dost not feel any better, I suppose”, said the
friend. “Not in my body”,
replied the feeble one, “but I do in my mind.”
And I understood that she told another one on that morning that she could
not stand it long, and that she was willing to go.
She appeared to be sinking all the day, and her reasoning appeared to be
getting weaker also, as far as I discovered.
About dark, a considerable change in her was discovered; she appeared to
be sinking fast. At about 20
minutes after nine o’clock, she ceased to breathe.
The foregoing account was mostly written a few days after the date of the
decease, whilst Many of her expressions were fresh in my memory.
I have been transcribing it at times lately and finished it this day,
making some alterations from the original.
Notwithstanding, I believe that my
dear daughter had had sincere desires at times to live an upright life, yet I am
apprehensive that her will was not brought into subjection fully to the divine
will until she was laid on the bed with her last sickness, but I have a hope
that her sins were all erased through the Mercy of the dear Redeemer, before she
was taken away. But,
notwithstanding, I have this hope I have often felt the loss of this, my worthy
child, and sometimes keenly. But I
do not think that I have often (if ever) felt like murmuring on account of my
bereavement. It looks reasonable, I
think, to conclude that myself and the children have met with no small loss, yet
believing as I do that the change to her is for the best, I do not consider that
it is hardly safe for me to indulge in a desire to say that I would rather she
was yet with us.
1st month, 12th, 1851
--Lot Lindley LINDLEY TREE
George Maris -
Grandfather’s grandfather on his mother’s side, passed December 9, 1782.
No account of his birth. Elinor
(George’s wife) - born August 15, 1750, and passed away January 12, 1783, aged
32 years, 3 months, and 27 days. Jonathan
- Grandfather’s father, born in February 1770, died November 1850, aged 80
years and 9 months. Susannah
Lindley (Jonathan’s wife — and formerly Maris) - died December 6, 1782.
No account of he birth, as I can find. Lot
Lindley (Jonathan and Susannah’s son) – born September 7, 1805, and died
December 2, 1872. Miriam
Lindley (lot’s wife) – and formerly Kersey) – born September 4, 1842, and
died June 8, 1847. Hiram
Lindley (son of Lot and Miriam) – born September 4, 1842, and died July 7,
1916. Hannah Lindley (Hiram’s wife) – born November 11, 1845, and died May 21, 1917. |
Parke
County, Indiana