Marrying a blind man and Methodist feet

CHAPTER FOUR — DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND — (Circa 1813)

The Ohio River was a muddy torrent and John Wickerham (1789-1865) son of Peter and Mary (Platter) Wickerham (Peter Wickerham was born in Washington Co., Pa., in 1756. He was a soldier of the Revolution and was wounded in the Revolutionary War. Peter and his wife Mary, in company with her older brother, Peter Platter and his family, migrated to Kentucky, and a few years later to Ohio. Peter Wickerham built the first brick and plastered house erected in the Virginia Military District on his farm on the present site of Palestine near Locust Grove in Adams Co., Ohio.) felt that his life was synonymous with this disturbed stream, for what could be more disturbing than to be going blind. John had gone to Cincinnati a few months before with great vision. The eloquent preaching of Rev. Peter Cartwright had inspired him to enter college with the Methodist ministry, his ultimate goal.

Within a few months, the sight of his right eye began to fail. He had not thought it serious. He had spent many hours studying by candlelight and thought perhaps this was the reason, so he arranged to do only daylight studying. In spite of this precaution, he was now totally blind in that eye.

Back and forth on the bank of the river, he continued to walk, trying to come to a decision. Physicians were vague about prospects for the other eye. Sometimes, they said, when the sight of one eye was gone, the other would become stronger–nature’s way of making up for the lost eye, but there was a possibility that the sight of the remaining eye would weaken.

This was in early February. For a week, the river had been out of its banks, then it had receded for a couple of days and skies were clear again after two weeks of a steady downpour. The stagecoach road was in bad condition for that mode of travel and if no more rain came it would be several days before travel by horseback could be resumed. Had the road home been passable when the sight of his eye had completely faded out, he might have left school at once.

The shock of the situation over, he had begun to formulate plans for his future course; he could continue his year of college and trust providence for the outcome. Some months had passed by and John had spent the summer outdoors, clearing land on his father’s farm. The sight of his good eye remained perfect, so fall found him teaching in a nearby school, as he was fearful of going back to long hours of study.

John’s father, an old-time fiddler, had taught him to play the fiddle at an early age. He had played very little during his busy student years. Now his evenings were spent improving this talent. The sweet strains of Scottishness, cotillions and polkas – the frontier type of fiddle music rang through the Wickerham Inn evenings. Sometimes he was joined by his father and other fiddlers, so time passed not unpleasantly.

Spring found John working again on the farm, with teaching for a profession accepted for the present. It was by no means all work and no play. The stricter elders of the church felt that square dancing should be prohibited. Others were for allowing it by keeping their parties strictly within church circles. The former was forced to suffer the square dancing, but opposed inviting any but Covenanters. The less strict backed the young folks in including young people from the Associate Reformed and Methodists.

It was a lovely moonlight night. The matchless perfume of locust blossoms filled the air, as over the country roads, through fields and woods, the young people came from all directions to the Copeland farm, not far from the hamlet of Palestine, where the Covenanters were giving a party. John was there because there were always parlor games to entertain those who did not dance. The non-dancing Methodists were referred to jokingly as having Methodist “feet.”

It was said that Peter Cartwright, the Methodist Minister, was as much opposed to his young people being thus subject to temptation, as were the gray heads among the Covenanters to their young folks being subject associations that often culminated in their choosing mates outside the church. However, none of our elders have ever been able to entirely regulate such situations.

As is sometimes the case when one has a physical defect, John was very sensitive about his blind eye, so no one knew about it, as the sightless eye looked quite normal. No explanation was needed for dropping out of college to teach. It was, in most cases, a regular procedure for those who attained a college education.

John was seated in the parlor where he had a good view of lady guests as they came down the long stairway from an upstairs bedroom, where they had removed their wraps and primped a bit.

He knew all the young people of the neighborhood and a visitor among them was rare.

Suddenly, he sat a bit straighter in his chair – such a vision of loveliness as was coming down the stairs, her hand in that of Ruth Copeland! “This is my friend, Jane Milligan,” he heard Ruth say, as they moved around the circle. Now they had come to John. As he looked at this lovely girl with the heavy coronet braid of golden hair, he felt he could indeed see very much with one eye.

Before the party ended, John felt he was well acquainted with Jane. For some reason, she had dropped out of the dancing and joined in playing parlor games. He learned that she was a Covenanter girl from “The Ridge” (Nichols Ridge near Tranquility) and would be visiting here among the Covenanters for a few days.

John had often attended the Covenanter church near his home and although he did not agree with some of what seemed to him, unimportant points of doctrine, he agreed on those points he considered essential.

The following Sabbath found him occupying one of the rough church benches. The heavy, Scotch-Irish brogue of the Reverend Wallace seemed easier to understand this day, and the long explanation of a Psalm, always a prelude to a sermon, did not seem so tiresome. He even found himself almost agreeing with him, when he declared against the singing of hymns in worship.

Wyatt’s hymns had created quite a furor fifty years back when one branch of Presbyterianism had adopted them. In fact, that had a great deal to do with there being this branch, known among the others as “hymn-singing Presbyterians.”

Covenanters continually warned against them. They would praise God with His inspired Psalms – the songs of Zion. “Has anything man added to God’s way ever been an improvement?” I say ye, “Nay!” On and on went the sermon for nearly two hours, then an intermission at noon, when baskets were brought and families gathered for the noon meal. If weather permitted, they ate outdoors. There was no picnic atmosphere – just plainest of food for nourishment, often just bread and butter. This over without delay, baskets were put away and all were seated again, each family together and they listened to another complete service.

John knew of the Sabbath strictness of the Covenanters. There was no opportunity for more than a how-do-you-do between boys and girls, so he did not come expecting any conversation with Jane. No rule, however, could prevent him from sitting where the back of the golden head, adorned with a pretty be-ribboned bonnet would be with his line of vision. All summer John courted Jane. Eight miles by horseback was quite a distance, but love always finds a way.

At the close of the services in The Ridge church one Sabbath in November, the presenter arose and read the following notice: “Marriage is intended between Jane Milligan of this church and John Wickerham of Palestine.” This was known as the proclaiming of bans. The bans were read at least for two Sabbaths before the date set for marriage.

John had been troubled in conscience all through this courtship – was he being honest not to tell Jane that he was blind of one eye? He argued a great deal with himself about it, but he kept silent. Had he known, Jane was having trouble with conscience, also.

John was twenty-four, she knew. He had once teasingly said to her, “Are you sure you are eighteen?” and she had replied in the same manner, “Oh yes, I am considerably past eighteen.” The subject was not spoken of again and she knew he thought she was near her nineteenth birthday. But, like John, she kept her secret.

They had been married a number of years. Children, Mary Grizzell and John had been added to the family circle. John had “come in” to her church when they were married and was a devout Covenanter and they were a very happy family.

About this time, the lid of John’s blind eye began to droop and one day Jane asked him if he could see as well out of that eye as the other. Said John, “I have been blind of that eye since before I ever knew you.” “And why did you never tell me?” queried Jane. “Oh, I thought if you couldn’t tell you were marrying a blind man, it didn’t make any difference.” Teased John.

Now was Jane’s time to confess. “I guess it didn’t, John, and if you couldn’t tell you were marring a girl eight years older than yourself, I suppose it didn’t make any difference.” And it never did.

(Jane Milligan Wickerham 1782-1855, was the great-grandmother of the writer, Lena (McCoy) Mathews).

Written circa late 1950s and early 1960s by Lena McCoy Mathews (1893-1988) and transcribed for The Defender by Joyce Wilson. Look for more history in future issues of The People’s Defender.