Caroline Redman -- the eleventh child of Drusilla Dix Redman, was born May 25th, 1847. My father died when I was five years of age. My earliest memory is of him, I can remember where he used to sit and lean back in his chair, holding me on his knee.
Then, my little brother Clinton, how well I remember him. We had an old broken chair in which I pulled him, and we called it our wagon. I would pull it in a wrong direction just to hear him holler. I was 3 years the eldest; -- how angry he would get, if I did not please him. I was mischievous, and I just loved to tease him. When I was eight years old, he took the scarlet fever and died; -- how I missed him. When he was buried I cried nearly all day. My sister Maria was one year and six months older than I; so I had her to play with.
At father's death, mother had been left with eight children living. I was next the youngest. Before four years had passed, after my father's death, my oldest sister Mary and sister Lizzie, and my only brother, Clinton, died. Then sister Christiania died, and about two years after that sister Rebecca died. So mother had only three children left. Sister Louisa was next to the oldest -- Maria and myself, who was then the youngest living. As I saw death so often in my childhood, I never expected to live long. When I was eight years old, mother married again. That was a happy time for all of us children. The excitement of moving and having a new home; -- and, there were many strange things to look at in our new surroundings. My step-father was quite well-to-do; - - he had two pet deer, which I so well remember. Now we children would climb upon the high fence and feed the deer. They in turn would stand upon their hind legs to reach the food; and then too, there were the gay old peacocks, -- strutting around. It was my delight to watch them.
Shortly after our moving, mother was taken sick. She had taken cold while taking care of my sister Rebecca, who died with consumption. She had been cared for by a good physician, but still she got no better; finally the Doctor decided she had the dropsy -- she doctored for years, but never got over it. I was so afraid she would die and leave me. I believe it was the first earnest prayer I ever uttered; it was that God would spare her life till I was grown, and had some way to take care of myself: -- Oh! how often I prayed, -- I repeated that prayer again and again. Finally, heart disease set in with the dropsy and the Doctor said; "she was liable to die any time now." I felt then as if I did not know what I would do if she were taken away from us.
My step-father was always kind and good, but he had quite a family of children by his first wife. Five were still at home with him when he married mother. So there was a large family and lots of work to do. Mother's health failed about this time and that made it doubly hard on her; but she was very ambitious and kept at her work, when others would have given up and gone to bed. The Doctor said, "that was what saved her," -- because she kept on her feet and would not give up. How well I remember of going to school and looking back -- I would see her at the window -- watching us as long as we were in sight.
Our family grew smaller fast, as the eldest soon married, -- and I had two sisters die and my little step-brother, so there were only five left at home in a very few years; -- together with a boy we took to raise -- by the name of George Wolf.
I got my education mostly during the winter, as during the summer time I was needed to home to help with work. After I was 13 years old, I went to school till the winter.
I was nineteen the following spring, when there happened to be quite an excitement in out neighborhood over a young man, who had been away from home 10 years, -- and for six years, all his relatives thought him dead; -- but what was their joy and surprise to see him again alive and well; -- and worth about ten thousand dollars in gold. He had been west and had made his fortune in the gold in the gold mines. He had lived at out house before he had gone to California. Of course everybody was anxious to see him -- when they heard of his return.
I was going on an errand -- when I met him, -- it was quite unexpected to me, -- and I was alone; -- we stood still and looked at each other, - - neither spoke -- until a gentleman, -- "my step-brother" came along and asked him if he knew me? -- we then shook hands. Then I went on after the cows -- laughing at the incident. I soon met him again at his sister's home, and he paid me a great deal of attention and in a few days he came to our house visiting. After that he came often till we were married in the spring of 1867.
My husband (Lucius Sammuel Edelblute) bought a nice farm of 15 acres, about a month before we were married, and stocked it up with everything that was needed. We had 150 head of fine Merino sheep; 8 good horses, - -the buggy horse cost $350.00, -- two milk cows, -- hogs, -- over one hundred chickens and all things necessary. Besides, I had 50 acres of land from my father's estate, which I sold the second year after we were married.
In the spring of 1868 -- we had a daughter born to us. We called her -- Luella Maud. The next winter after we were married, my husband became dissatisfied with the climate of Ohio, and wanted to sell out and go to California; -- but I could not think of going so far away from Mother, I felt I would never see her again if we moved so far away; -- as there were no railroads through to California at that time, -- and we would have had to go there by the ocean. So we concluded to go to Tennessee. We sold all our property, -- which amounted now to about Twelve thousand dollars, -- including mine. We were told that Tennessee was such a good place for stock raising; -- that the grass kept green during the winter months. My husband then bought [number is left out] head of fine Merino sheep, and soon began his journey south with us.
He paid 50 dollars apiece for some fine blooded bucks -- paid 40 dollars for the best of shepard dogs. On our journey south that dog was worth that and more too, as she had the sense of a person in driving and watching the sheep. She could do more with them than five men, and she soon learned to know them all. We kept her about nine years: -- My husband was in the woods cutting down a tree, as it fell a limb struck her on the back of the neck -- she looked at my husband, whined and died. After that we had a herdsman hired to tend the sheep.
When we got to Tennessee, we found that the grass did not last all winter, so we had to feed our stock for about four months during the winter time. The climate also did not agree with the sheep, -- a great many died. The poor negroes would watch their chance and steal a Mutton when ever they had a good opportunity. We bought 785 acres of land in Franklin county, Tennessee in the fall of 1868, -- going gypsy style, by covered wagons. A family by the name of Hammond went with us, so there was quite a number of us in the party -- 12 in all, -- six moving wagons. We had a nice time on the journey. I enjoyed it, but we passed through many dangers seen and unseen. We were seven weeks on the way. As it was so soon after the Civil War, the country-side was filled with a low-class of southerns who had no use for Yankees. Some parts of the country traveled was full of outlaws, and cared not what they did. One day, going through a mountainous section of Kentucky where there were woods on both sides of the road for miles and miles, we met a band of highwaymen. They were on horseback. All of them had guns in front of them on their horses, and a wide belt around their waists with two pistols -- there were four of them in their party. Through the Providence of God they did not molest us. They talked to my husband; -- about the first thing that he asked them was, if they did not want to buy some sheep, as we had run out of money, and must sell some to get along. He said this to blind them, so they wouldn't rob us. I think they believed him, as they rode past us, and went on their way. This is only one of our many dangers. He told all he met that he was born in Virginia, which was true, -- this helped us through a great deal I think. On our way south we passed through the battle-field at Murfreesborough and saw how the country was laid waste on every side by the ravages of war -- fields all grown up with weeds and bushes, -- houses and fences all burned up. It was a desolate sight in many places. But how disappointed I was when we got near to where we were to live for the country still looked so desolate. Most all of countryside -- all woods and bushes -- with here and there a small log cabin.
Our plantation lay three miles south of Tullahoma, Tennessee. After we [came] to Tullahoma, the houses and the country-side were nor quite so forlorn looking. Our plantation had a two-story frame house on it, and three little log cabins in the back yard for the servants' quarters. The nearest neighbors were a quarter of a mile off. They were native southerners, but one family, -- and they acted like they did not know whether to be neighbors or not. There were several northern families living at Tullahoma, and some few in the country. The nearest northern neighbor was an old man, and his wife was from Ohio -- their name was Martin. How I loved them. His wife was a real mother to me. She always came to see me once a week. How glad I used to be when I saw her coming. She most always brought something to my children as I now had two little girls. My daughter Alice May was born in the fall of 1870 (September 13th). [Note: The date "September 13th" was in parentheses, probably added later by whoever typed this copy of the paper. Added in handwriting was "Grandmother Jewett, mother of Caroline J. Drewry."]
Mr. Martin was a nice, good, religious man. They belonged to the Presbyterian Church. They often call[ed] for me to go to church with them, -- we often went together to a church called "Foot Washing Baptist." The Martins had two daughters, -- one married, and one single. They all came south together, but the daughters did not like it, and so went back north. How sad was their lot. Mr. Martin went to town to do some shopping, he had stopped at our house -- we wanted him to stay, but he said "that he had some trading to do in town, then he would come back," so he went on. What a shock I got in a very short time afterwards. A man come running to our home and wanted to know if they could bring Mr. Martin's body to our house, -- that he had been shot dead -- by a southerner. I told them yes, -- but they concluded to take him home. I went and stayed with his wife till after the funeral, and shortly after Mrs. Martin went back north. Her husband was shot for giving a piece of his mind -- kind advice -- to a southerner. Every time, for the first three years -- after that, when my husband went away, I was afraid he would be killed before I saw him again. One southerner said, "It was his bravery that saved his life, as they were afraid of him."
The country was full of wild-cat stills -- the Government Officers were killed and captured sometimes trying to capture the men that run those stills. I saw them shooting at one, -- he was on horseback; but he got away. Another time the Government Officers captured a still and 36 barrels of wiskey [sic.]. They came to our house and forced my husband and his teams to go and haul it to the depot: There were about 25 United States soldiers, all dressed in uniforms with their guns and pistols. I was frightened when I saw them as I did not know what was going to happen next. Mr. Edelblute had to haul the wiskey [sic.] to the depot for them, -- the southerners were ambushed and shot at them on the way to the depot, but nobody was hurt. But that same night about one o'clock in the morning, -- here came the southerners who owned the wiskey [sic.] to our house; shouting out, -- "Get up, Edelblute, you hauled for one side; you have to haul for the other!" So he had to get the hired men, and hitch up his three teams, and go to haul the wiskey [sic.] back for them, -- as they had captured it. They had forced the engineer to hitch on to the car which had the wiskey [sic.] in it and run it down the railroad track where it went through the woods. There they stopped and rolled the wiskey [sic.] off of the car into the woods; -- after they had done this, they came to my husband to go with them and haul it away; -- he was forced to do this of course. They brought seven barrels of wiskey [sic.] and put them in our smoke-house, and we dare not say a word about it, nor tell anyone it was there. There were about eight southerners who ate breakfast at our house that morning, -- they ate their breakfast with their guns on their laps -- all ready for use.
We lived on this plantation for three years, then we rented the place and moved into Tullahoma. About that time my own dear mother came south to visit us and stayed six months with us. How glad I was to see her and to have her with me; -- once more -- words cannot tell. Two months before she came we had a son born to us: -- We called him John William - - that was in the fall of 1872. (August 16th). When my mother went home, I went with her on a visit and stayed six weeks in Ohio. I never will forget my parting, when I left home to go back south. It seemed so sad to me to go so far away, -- all alone -- with three children. I cried for three or four hours after I got on the cars. When I parted with mother; she said, "she would never see me again in this world," and I never saw her alive again.
We lived in Tullahoma three years. I liked it much better and could have been contented to have remained in the south, as things had become more quiet and peaceable. After we moved to Tullahoma, -- in the spring of 1870, we had another little daughter born. My husband was away at the time she was born: -- he had a wood cutting contract in Western Tennessee; He was away seven months. The little girl was two months old when he returned home. We named her Carrie Etta. When she was two months old, I got a telegram that mother was dying: -- I got ready as quickly as possible, -- and went on the first train, and took my little baby with me. I left the other three children with my hired girl and husband. I traveled all day and night and got home early the next morning, to find my mother dead, and already lying in her coffin. Then I realized I had lost my best [friend] on this earth. My sister Maria said; "Do not grieve so, 'Car,' if you saw how she suffered, you would be glad to see her laid at rest, as she could not lie down while dying." Elder Biggs -- I had always loved to hear him preach so well, and had been used to hearing him preach in my childhood, -- preached her funeral. How often, while in Tennessee, I used to wish I could hear him preach once more; but sad was that sermon to me. We had a large funeral. There were 36 carriages. We three sisters erected a monument to her memory. I also erected the following verses to her sacred memory.
Still to my cheek in dreams are pressed
Those lips that kissed me first of all.
Those eyes that watched my infant rest,
In fadeless memory on me fall.
Those hands, that voice; -- I'll ne'er forget,
That smile, each look, and touch and tone
Survives a lingering, sweetness yet,
Of that dear life that gave my own.
No wakening reason taught me then
To prize my mother at her best,
And find me helpless on her breast.
[Note: It seems a line was missing from the third verse.]
Then came the change. I heard the news
Of her, who o'er my cradle smiled,
With anxious fear, I harried back
To scenes where I [w]as once a child.
Her weary head had done with thought,
Her weary heart with care and fear,
I kissed her, but she knew me not;
I called her, but she could not hear.
There was not pain in that farewell
For her, I bore my grief away,
And wiped the secret tear that fell
In silence with the falling day.
At mid-night, saw her breathing cease,
And round her as a babe caressed,
Closed soft like hovering arms, the peace
Of Him, her faith had long confessed.
Oh! presence missed; but undestroyed,
I trace thee to the world unseen;
And love will find thee; though the void
be wide, as heaven and earth between.
My mother still, thine image sweet
Will all my life like light attend,
And thou wilt know me, when we meet
Where joys pure sunshine has no end.
* * *
I returned home in three weeks and found the children and every thing safe, but in a few weeks I noticed my baby was not well. The doctor said it was the warm weather, but she gradually grew worse and died with the dropsy: -- age six months and fourteen days. We buried her in the cemetery at Tullahoma. Shortly after this my husband and myself joined the Methodist Episcopal Church at Tullahoma. I had many dear friends there; -- one in particular; -- Mr. and Mrs. Maynard. They came to Cincinnati after we had moved there and made us a long visit: After we left the south and moved north.
My husband did not want to stay south; as we had such a large plantation it seemed impossible for us to sell it all to anyone; -- as most of those who came to buy land had but a few hundred dollars. So my husband went to trading the land off in sections with northern men that came south for property. He first traded 150 acres off to a man from Illinois. We got 40 acres in Ill. in exchange; -- this we sold for $1,800.00 and never saw it. Then he traded some more land off for 160 acres in Missouri. That land we still own. Then he traded some more off for 2 lots in Vaser, Michigan. Then we traded the land that had our homestead on it for 175 acres in Jennings county, Indiana. Then we traded the balance of our land in Tennessee for 100 more acres in Jennings Co., Indiana. The two farms were half-a-mile apart: -- both well improved; -- with two frame houses, and two log houses on the two farms. So we moved from Tennessee to Indiana. We first went to Nashville and from there took the boat -- "Silverthorn" -- and went down the Cumberland River to the Ohio River, then up to Evansville, Indiana. There we changed boats and took the steam-boat, "Henry Turner," and came up the Ohio River to Madison, Indiana. From there we took the train for Vernon, Indiana, -- our home. We brought two negro servants from Tennessee with us, -- a man and a woman. Diana was very useful to me, as I had three children to look after. My husband needed the man, as we brought five horses with us on the boat; -- two Norman stallions among them. I kept Diana until she married in Indiana, and the negro man, (Lee Grant Carney) we kept till after we moved to Cincinnati. After we got to Indiana, we bought an adjoining farm of 40 acres, with a house and a barn on it. We rented all the farms, but the one we lived on. We continued to live in Indiana three years. The second year we lived in Indiana a son was born to us; -- year 1877 (December 20th). We called him, Lucius Aaron.
Then my husband went to Cincinnati, Ohio, with a car-load of mules; while there he met a man who wanted to trade his Cincinnati property for farms; so my husband traded his farms off for this Cincinnati property. We traded with different parties for six houses and lots in Cincinnati, and 4 acres of land on Walnut Hills, Cincinnati. So soon we moved to the city, it was in the year 1877, and we lived there six years, -- renting all our property. My husband was in the manufacturing business now; -- he tended to this and his factory. He invented a great many patents and manufacture[d] them.
We next were in the flood of 1883, and suffered heavy losses from the water. The factory all but turned over, but the part that had the machinery in stood firm, but that was all under water. We next sold some property for half price -- after the flood. We moved everything up stairs that we could in our house to protect them from the dirty river water, and put some of our furniture on tressles, but the water came up to the top of the windows in all the first story, so that most of our furniture was floating around in the house for days. When the water went down everything was covered with thick-yellow-clay mud. It was a sickening sight to look at. Most all our furniture was ruined. The river was a grand sight to look at during the flood; -- for miles everything under water, or floating around. In the year 1882 -- we had another daughter born to us. We called her Elsie Elnorah. (January 18th).
We stayed in our house till we had to be taken out by boats and took refuge with our friends who lived on Walnut Hills. We soon sold our property and never went back. My husband thought the best thing he could do would be to sell his interests there. He sold out at a sacrifice. At that time a friend of ours (A.O. Smith) was at Sheboygan, Wisconsin. He came back and spoke of Sheboygan as being such a good place for manufacturing; so Mr. Edelblute went there and took a look at the place. He was well pleased with it, so we got ready for moving; -- packed all our things, and left, my husband to see to shipping them; -- myself and children went to Sheboygan in the year of 1884. Here my husband went into partnership with a man by the name of Burk. They had quite a large Factory. They made hay racks, wood sawing machines, table slides; besides other inventions of my husband. The business did not pay expenses; so we lost considerable money, and soon dissolved partnership. My husband went into a large toy factory with Mr. Garten, who agreed to make his table slide, but as time went on -- and there was never table slides finished -- he got dissatisfied, because his table slides were neglected. They always were crowded making toys and seemed to have no time. At this time my husband got an offer in St. Louis Mo. as a foreman over a large toy factory; -- so nothing would do but he must go there; -- so he went and took our eldest son with him, who was then but 16 years old. He got along there splendidly for a time, then difficulty arose, and Mr. Edelblute left after he had gotten everything in good running order. He went from St. Louis to Mound City, Ill. My son wanted him to come home when he left St. Louis, but he thought that he could do better somewhere else; -- and for a time he kept going from one place to another, until most of two years had gone by. Then got tired and homesick and so he came home and left his father in Vollin, Ill. After two years travel he expected to come back to Sheboygan the spring of 1890, -- as he had found no place to suit him to which to move his family. We had lived in Sheboygan six years and it is a thorough manufacturing place, and full of stir and business. At date it has almost 20,000 inhabitants. The city is improving fast. We have street cars, electric lights, water works, schools being situated near beautiful Lake Michigan. It had all show of becoming a large city in the near future.
I have five children; -- the eldest is 22 years old; she is married to a nice man by the name of John Artley. They live in Sheboygan, and have a bright little girl of two years. Alice my next daughter is fore-lady in the Sheboygan Herald Office, one of the largest printing offices in the city. My oldest son, John, is working at Garten's Toy Factory. He is a very good and industrious boy, and has great prospects to become a useful man. He is well respected. Lucius, the next son, is going to school Elsie the youngest, -- the pet of us all, -- goes to school. We have a pleasant home and everything comfortable, and many kind friends.
Myself and two elder daughters belong to the Methodist Episcopal Church here. We all have good health, which is one of earth's greatest blessings. I prefer Ohio or Indiana in which to live, as it seems more like home to me, and the people are more like home folks. The population here is mostly German, but contented wherever my lot is cast.
Some times mid scenes of deepest gloom,
By waters still o'er troubled sea,
Still 'tis His hand that leadeth me.
Lord, I would clasp my hand in Thine,
Nor never murmur nor repine,
Content whate'er lot I see,
Since 'tis my God, that leadest me."
Copied from the original by Lucius A. Edelblute, her son.
[Note: A handwritten note on the final page states:
Go to Caroline Redman Edelblute, "Pioneer History Index," for further information.
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