JAMES NULTY; NO. 38 “NEW LONDON TIMES” MAY 30, 1902 Every year hundreds of thousands of people turn away from their kindred and their native homes in unhappy Ireland and come to the United States. This has been the case for centuries past, and heaven only knows when this flight from native heath and kindred will end. Why this constant, steady stream of immigrants from the Green Isle of the Ocean, greater in numbers by far than any other foreign country contributes? It is not because the land is already crowded, for many times the population could be comfortably sustained in that island blessed with the richest of soils and best of climates. Nor is there any inherent disposition upon the part of her people to seek fortune elsewhere. They come unwillingly, and every departing son or daughter steps on board with a heavy heart and views the receding shores through scalding tears. The only answer to these questions and reason for the modern exodus is the cruel tyranny and oppression under which this noble land of my fathers has suffered and groaned for over six hundred years. Rack rents and eviction stalk like devouring ghouls from one end of the land to the other, and to escape these imported demons the people flee from all the human heart holds dear. James Nulty, one of the banished, is the subject of this sketch. Mr. Nulty was born in the County Cavis, Province of Ulster, Ireland, about the year 1832. He does not know the exact year. With a people poor and uneducated, the birth of a child born simply to serve, without hope of the common and natural rights of mankind, seldom comes a harbinger of joy, and oftentimes goes unrecorded in the family. In the father’s family there were eight children, equally divided boys and girls. All but two, Uncle Jimmy and a sister in California, are dead, and sleep in graves far from the land of their birth. The entire absence of public schools in the country, and the pressing necessity of even child labor to keep body and soul together and pay the landlord’s rent, denied to our friend those educational advantages which God Almighty intended every intellectual people should possess and enjoy. It is true there are scattered parish schools feebly maintained by a devoted and loving clergy, but into whose doors the average Irish boy or girl could no more enter than take wings and fly. These are patronized by the fortunate few whose “bairns” can be spared from toil. The policy of the government beyond the chapel is best subserved by keeping the people in ignorance. “Before I was grown,” says Mr. Nulty, “my father and mother died. The children were all small and unable to pay the rent, so the landlord took the place and I came to the United States. My parents for many generations back were born in the home where I was born. Every association that tends to make home the dearest spot on earth was there. The parish church near by and in the churchyard the graves of all our kindred, but all were given up and left behind at the exacting demand of the landlord. We had paid in rent and taxes four times the value of the farm, yet as soon as a single failure to pay came we were put out. Among the things I can first remember was neighbors leaving for America. The event was almost like a funeral, and the departing people almost mourned as dead.” In 1851 he came to America, landing at New Orleans after seven weeks’ passage in a sailing vessel. He was then about sixteen years of age, stout, willing, and anxious to earn an honest living, and cheered by the splendid opportunities here offered him. At home on every side was seen armed men quartered in barracks and fastened upon the toiling people, ready to enforce with unrelenting vigor England’s oppressive laws. Here none armed with deadly weaponry were to be seen, and the young Irish heart beat with joy. His feet pressed the land of the free and the home of the brave. Above and about him the blessing of freedom abounded and none were to be called “My lord.” These things were new, strange, and almost bewildering in effect, but they gave the youth, away from home and kindred is a strange land a degree of courage and determination before wholly unknown. In Ralls County lived a neighbor “at home” Hughey Smith, and our young man made his way here. Hughey Smith was a County Cavan man, and the social instinct in the Celtic race prompted the long westward journey. When Mr. Nulty reached Ralls County his little purse was empty. In fact that was nothing new, but the wealth of energy and health was his, and these twin fortunes stood him well in hand. He found work at Ogle’s Mill, one of the first steam mills in the county, and remained in Mr. Ogle’s employ about four years. He also worked for Richard Flowerree, father of Paul W. Flowerree, of this city. “I have known Uncle Jimmy Nulty ever since he came to Ralls County,” said a gentleman to me lately. “He was a stout young Irish lad when I first saw him, and was Mr. Ogle’s main hand. Ogle’s Mill in those days was one of the largest grain and saw mills in this part of the state. The building, power and work exceeded anything about here. There was a world of timber about the mill and some of the largest trees I have ever seen in this part of the state, but none of these towering oaks were too large for young Nulty to saw down and into saw logs by himself. He is the only man I ever knew who could successfully manage a cross cut saw by himself. There was nothing too big or too heavy about the mill for him to manage. His willingness and strength was known far and near and then, as now, everybody liked him.” In 1857 he was married to Miss Mary Spalding, daughter of Robert Spalding, a relative of “Uncle Bob,” proprietor of Spalding Springs. Mr. Elijah Jameson, west of New London, was present at the marriage, also “Uncle Bob” and a few others living. To this marriage seven children were born, three of whom are all that are now living, namely: Mary Ellen, wife of Lloyd Elzea, of Hannibal; Miss Lulu, at home; and Murty, wife of William Eales, residing in Denver. A few years later, having saved his earnings and for some time cherished the noble purpose to own a farm and country home, he bought 282 acres of the Benjamin Ely heirs and began life for himself and family. The farm was on Salt River, north of New London, heavily timbered, and rich as any along the banks of this historic stream. He was now a landowner, something none of his fathers could say, and he went to work clearing away the massive forest and then to planting and reaping on the self-same farm until a few years ago. Like the old settlers, he sought a home with a spring close by, and there are numbers hereabouts who can testify to the cool and refreshing dairy products and palatable meats that have come from Uncle Jimmy’s home spring. One by one, as the letters went back “home,” the other members of his father’s family came to this country and all went to work and very soon bettered their condition. Like the poet’s river, this process of immigration seems to go on forever. Soon after coming here he became naturalized, and has given cordial support to the Democratic Party. In the days when Thomas H. Benton was at the height of his fame, Mr. Nulty heard the Senator speak in New London on several occasions, and remembers him as a great and martial bearing statesman. During the days of our civil war, when most men were compelled to take sides on the great issues then being determined by the conflict of arms, Mr. Nulty preserved an impartial course and both sides respected his personal and property rights. “I treated the Union and Southern people fairly, for I had many good friends among both,” says he, “and neither side bothered me.” This ennobling sentiment of fair and kindly treatment of others and proper regard for the rights that belong to them has distinctly marked our good old friends career all his life and has largely helped to win the high esteem in which he is held by all who know him. I never had a lawsuit in my life,” he tells me, “and have aimed to live in peace with all about me. Such, in brief, is the record of an honest, industrious life, and surely the world is better for his having lived it. Such men add to the material prosperity of the community where they live, and the example of good conduct which they set radiates from them as light and heat does from the rising sun. A few years ago the old farm was sold and 180 acres, part of the old Crawford farm, was purchased, where he now resides in peace, comfort and plenty. Several years ago his wife died, and with four children rests in the quiet churchyard of St. Joseph’s Church in Saline Township. These afflictions have been deep and lasting, but are borne with the fortitude which the true Christian can always command. The toil of youth and industry of later years has greatly told upon my friend and prematurely weakened the once stout man; still he works and goes about almost unmindful of nature’s warning. That he may find many days and years of earthly enjoyment ere the summons comes to meet the loved ones on the other side I earnestly hope.
Posted on: Fri, 18 Oct 2013 01:39:45 +0000
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