Family Memories

Benjamin Linn...John Ritchie...John Gilkey and a story of an early distillery in Kentucky by M.L. Coomes, January 7, 1895.

JOHN RITCHIE Sr., Nelson Co.

John Ritchie was born in Scotland in 1752 and died in 1814 in Nelson

County, Kentucky. He left Scotland and came to America while a mere youth and settled in Virginia. It is not known with whom or how he came to

America, nor is it known just how long he stayed in Virginia but it is

believed that he stayed about six years when his restless nature prompted

him to seek new fields of excitement and thus he made his way west.

Before White Man had explored Kentucky the entire area was part of

Augusta County Virginia. Later all of Kentucky was part of Fincastle,

Virginia, then in 1776 Kentucky was designated Kentucky County, Virginia. In 1780 it was divided into three counties: Fayette, Jefferson and Lincoln. In 1790 those three counties were subdivided into nine and so on until on June 1, 1792, Kentucky became the fifteenth state admitted into the union.

John Ritchie went west to Eastern Kentucky County, Virginia. While there,

he made the acquaintance of Benjamin LINN who was making up a company to defend themselves and families from the Indians and go even farther west. In this company was John GILKEY, the GOFFs, the KINGs and other families.

Before John left Eastern Kentucky he met Miss Jemima QUICK who would be called a Yankee Girl having been born in Jersey, then called the Island of Jersey.  Jemima was born ca. 1753. She died in 1840 in Nelson County, Kentucky.  Jemima was of Dutch descent, her ancestors from Naarden, Holland. Jemima and John were married on the banks of the Licking River.

Under the leadership of Benjamin Linn, John Ritchie, John Gilkey, the

Goffs, Kings and others constructed a flotilla of five boats and with

supplies started down the Licking River to the Ohio river, then on down to

the landing place where Louisville now stands. There were only two log

buildings at Louisville at that time, one being a Post Office and the other

a small store.  After a few days stay, they proceeded down the Ohio to the

Salt river (now West Point, Ky) then up Salt River to the Rolling Fork and

from the Rolling Fork into the Beech Fork to a small stream now known as

Landing Run which is about five miles southeast of Bardstown. From here

they journeyed through the wilderness about three miles and on the edge of

a beautiful plateau, built a fort known Linn's Fort. The fort was located

on the brow of a hill and commanded a full view of the rising and setting

sun.

John Ritchie was the first man to build a house and leave Linn's Fort. He

built his house two miles west of the fort near the Beech Fork River where

he took up 650 acres (the original deed says 590 acres) of land and began

to till the soil.

He built a distillery not 100 yards from the residence where he made the

first sour mash whiskey ever made in Kentucky and perhaps the first made in the United States. During the year 1780, John Ritchie and companions loaded a flatbed boat with whiskey he had made at the distillery and together with other produce, made a trip to New Orleans where they sold their entire boat load at a good profit. After disposing of their stock, they all tramped back through the wilderness to Kentucky with a load on their backs.

Historians in the Ritchie family say they were many long weeks returning

home and fought off Indians many times.

Upon their return to Linn's Fort, John Ritchie and John Gilkey concluded to

go to the place where they first landed when they settled in Kentucky,

which was at the mouth of a small branch. While standing there they spied a buffalo coming toward them. Ritchie fired and killed the buffalo. At this

juncture three Indians jumped out of the thicket and shot at the white men

with arrows, at the same time running toward them with uplifted

tomahawks. Mr. Gilkey who was armed with a good gun, kept them at bay while Mr. Ritchie ran for his life. Then Mr. Gilkey who was very fleet of foot, would run until he overtook Ritchie. This mode of procedure was continued until the fort was reached, when the Indians disappeared and were seen no more.

The creek where Gilkey and Ritchie started on the race for their lives was

called Ritchie's Run and is still known by that to this day. The stream

where they killed the buffalo was called Bull Run and it flows from the

direction of New Haven, emptying into the Beech Fork at Buckman's fish

trap.

John Ritchie built his house about 1778, it is located about 2 miles from

Linn's Fort. The location is almost if not directly on a portion of land

occupied by an Indian Village and burying ground. It is certain that both

the Indians and John Ritchie drew water from the same spring.

The two-room log house is still standing, with the marking J.R. 1780 on a

rock in the chimney. With additions to the rear and second floor, it is the

home of Guy B. and Doris Ritchie a fifth-generation descendant of the

original builder and their son Gregory a sixth generation. It is located on

what is known as Ritchie Road, one mile south of U.S. 31E.

Jemima Ritchie contributed her share toward making a home. The family wore plain clothes made of linen and woolen cloth called homespun. Jemima and her daughters knew how to hackle flax, spin and thread and weave the linen for sheets, pillowcases, clothing etc. They carded wool and wove into blankets, spreads, and clothing. Winter evenings found them home sitting by the firelight knitting socks and stockings and sewing for the entire family. They made soap and candles and were contented and happy living in their new home in the wilderness of Kentucky.

Ritchie Linn Goff King Quick Gilkey

=

Scotland VA Holland

http://www.rootsweb.com/~kygenweb/kybiog/nelson/ritchie.j.txt

Betty Tichenor:

"I told you I remember Cora Craycroft was demanding, and she used to beat the cane on the floor when she wanted something. And I really don't remember much, except that she was in bed all the time. I will tell you a little story—I know I wasn't in school yet. She took the Extension magazine, which is a Catholic magazine, and she had those stacked up in her closet. I know I was playing in her closet. I think I must've torn up some of those magazines because she got up out of bed, which she didn't usually do, and she had these soft-soled house shoes, and she was coming after me. I scooted right out of that room and ran down the hallway and climbed under the bed in the next room. And I can remember crawling out—she was still standing in the doorway. And I ran back under there. And she finally went back to her room, and I hightailed it downstairs and acted like Miss Innocent. I just remember I guess because she got out of bed, and she didn't usually get out of bed. I did something that she didn't like, probably tore up some of the magazines looking at them.

"And she ate the same thing just about every day. She liked soft, coddled eggs, she called them. I can remember Mother would take them up there still in the shell and break them and put them on toast. It tastes like a soft boiled egg I guess, and I know she must've had a queasy stomach or something because I can remember she said she had gallbladder troubles, now that I think about it. But how did they know what she had? Today, they'd probably have mended what was wrong with her, and she'd have gone on.

"But I thought she was ancient, and of course she was a lot younger than me when she passed away. I was eleven, so she was probably in her early seventies. She wasn't in bed like when they were younger. Cause I know she wasn't nearly my age. And I can remember when she passed away, only that I was not feeling good, and I was in one of the bedrooms upstairs. I called for my mother, and she wouldn't come, which was unusual for my mother because, you know. And, when she finally came in there, she said, ‘My mother's dying. I don't have much longer to be with her.’ She said, ‘You'll be okay, and I'll come in here later.’

"And I was thinking, ‘Dying. What does that mean?’ And I can remember Aunt Ola being there and staying overnight, so she must've—it must've been expected. Aunt Ola never stayed all night, but she did come to see us often. But, you know—that's about—

"I don't remember my mother ever raising her voice. She was very—soft-spoken—Well, you know, I look back at my mother now, and I think, ‘How did she manage?’ And I think I never heard her complain. And I can remember as a very small child, waking up in the morning, the first thing you say is, ‘Mommy’ or ‘Mother’ or whatever we called her. And she used to have a huge garden. That was I guess her therapy. And I can remember crying and walking out the back door, and she said, ‘Here I am.’ She was coming in from the garden. And her eyes and her face looked swollen-looking, and I realized she'd been out there crying. And I thought, ‘What's wrong with her face?’ And I can remember she said, ‘I'm right here. I didn't go far.’

"But—my father committed suicide. I don't know if anybody's ever told you that or not. I was two-and-a-half months old, but it was the Depression time. You couldn't make any money, and he was depressed, and that's something else today they could've done something about it. And of course, my mother was pregnant with me, probably; my God, at forty-five, she probably had to go to bed. But she said they knew something was wrong because he would kind-of wander off, and, you know, wasn't his usual self. And she said to me that his brother-in-law—brother and brother-in-law had come up to talk to her about, ‘You're going to have to do something.’ And she thinks he overheard and knew that would be more money that they didn't have. Because he didn't ordinarily have a gun, he'd probably borrowed a gun from somebody. I don't know if it was a handgun or what kind it was—told them he had rats in the barn; that was the excuse he used. But it was first Friday, and we used to always think first Fridays was a Catholic thing—first Fridays. And he shot himself in the back of church. No, he got there early, and, of course, they never locked the church or anything, and I heard at one time it was—Then, if you committed suicide, you were not allowed to have a Catholic funeral. So it was on a Friday, and Father Thompkins was there, and he had a funeral on Sunday, and I don't know—But he had a funeral, and I'm sure he got called in by the Archdiocese.

"And my mother was an organist—she played that organ—I can remember walking—Have you ever been to Cecilia? Well, we lived probably a good mile or more from church; of course, back then, they had cars. I can remember—that church kind-of sits back up on the hill. My mother would be at the top of the hill, and I'd still be down there at the bottom. She played when she was a little child at St. John's. I guess they taught music lessons. The church in Cecilia is Ambrose.

"Cecils is the name—Rose Cecils is who donated the land. Cecilia was named for the Cecils. And that goes back to—the had a Cecilia, and they called it the Cecilian College. Well, it was right behind where our