Did ‘Old Nath’ sell the same milk cow 16 times in one day to pay off his gambling debts?

This weekend, friends, I’m going to tell you a story that was imparted to me thanks to modern technology, which found it in an 1877 edition of the Greenville Democrat, which heard it from the Mount Vernon Democratic Banner, whose correspondent claims to have heard it years earlier directly from the lips of Nathan Headington himself.

In the early decades of Knox County, settlers came from all over and made living arrangements as best they could. Nathan Headington, or “Old Nath” as he eventually became known, came to Ohio from his native state of Virginia, where he was born around 1805.

He arrived in Knox County in the 1820s, and married a woman named Sarah, the daughter of Andrew and Sabra Welker in 1829, and they started having children.

At first, he made his living driving a wagon over the mountains from Ohio to Baltimore and back to haul goods, and he was said to be an outstanding drover. But in the 1830s, the growth of canals and railroads put Nath out of work, and he had to find a way to make a living at home, in Knox County.

Headington arranged to lease a “small farm among the oak hills overlooking the waters of the romantic Jelloway,” as the correspondent tells us, which is mighty vague considering that multiple creeks and tributaries make up that system of waterways in the northeastern part of Knox County.

The 1840 census report places Headington in Union Township, with a Millwood post office address, so we can take that to mean somewhere in the general area between Millwood, Danville, and Howard.

The only part about farm life that Old Nath seemed to dislike was the farming part, and since his rental agreement hinged upon giving over a percentage of the crops he raised, it didn’t matter that much if he didn’t raise a lot of crops, he still paid his percentage. It did leave him short on cash, though, and as Old Nath was very committed to his hobby of drinking, he needed money.

Mind you, the Democratic Banner’s correspondent had a very sly way of describing Old Nath’s habits. He wasn’t just some drunk quaffing gin at the corner tavern. No, Old Nath only frequented the distillery at the bottom of the hill, and only drank the purest sour mash whiskey.

Some wastrels played every card game under the sun while drinking, but Old Nath only played seven-up, the old card game which gave us the term “jack” for the face card previously known as the “knave.” The only other game he partook of was horseshoes. If these games required some wagering, so be it.

As he needed money to fund his imbibing and gambling, Nath found it expedient to borrow some money from his friends, family, neighbors, and any other acquaintance he could tap. He was very serious about borrowing money, and would always sign a promissory note to pay up in due course.

When time passed until the 1840s with a lot more drinking and card playing but not so much paying back of debts, Old Nath decided to use his skill at picking a horse to help his financial situation. He said that he’d put his smart little sandstone-colored mare up against any horse in the county, and bet double-or-nothing on his debts. The horse “Old Hippy” was suggested as a suitable opponent, and the race was arranged.

Old Nath’s sandstone mare took off like a shot from the starting line and took an early lead. But Old Hippy was not to be beaten that easily. Slowly but surely, the other horse gained ground on Headington’s mare, and at the finish line, it was Old Hippy by a nose.

Dejected and now twice as indebted as he had been that morning, Old Nath disappeared into the distillery for the better part of three days, then reappeared, with a new plan.

It seems he had talked with a traveler passing through the distillery who told him about the farm ground in Auglaize County, Ohio, out in the western part of the state, which was so rich, you didn’t even have to hoe the ground to get corn plants to sprout. This sounded more like the find of farming Old Nath could get into.

Word quickly spread that the debtor would be leaving town, so, one-by-one, his creditors dropped by his farm on one pretext or another, and just happened to end up mentioning that they heard he was fixing to leave town. They also just happened to recall at that point that Old Nath owed them each a little spot of money. Or not so little, as the case might be.

Old Nath, said to the first creditor that he’d been worried about that. After thinking it over for a minute, he pointed out that someone in Mount Vernon had just offered him thirty dollars for his sturdy milk cow, only four years old and still a fine producer.

Nath said that in order to pay off his debt to this creditor, he’d sell him the cow for the amount of the debt, plus five dollars cash, which was still less than he’d been offered for the cow, but allowed him to pay off his debt and not have to load up the cow and transport it to Mount Vernon.

Nath added, that if he could continue to use the cow to feed his family until the day he left, he’d just leave it here for the creditor to pick up. The creditor agreed, and paid his five dollars in cash, turned over the promissory note, and left.

Then the next creditor happened by, eventually inquiring about the money Old Nath owed him. After thinking it over for a minute, Nath pointed out that someone in Mount Vernon had just offered him thirty dollars for his sturdy milk cow, only four years old and still a fine producer. Nath said that in order to pay off his debt to this creditor, he’d sell him the cow for the amount of the debt, plus five dollars cash… I think you can see where this is going.

Old Nath Headington sold his milk cow sixteen times that day, got out of debt, and had a tidy sum left over in cash. A problem arose with the sixteenth transaction, though. That irascible old farmer said that if he’d just bought the cow, he was darn well going to take the cow home with him. And he did so.

The following morning, Old Nath’s farm was strangely still. Nath, his wife Sarah, their children, their wagon, and most of their furniture were gone. A couple of days later, Auglaize County had a new family.

And, no, for the record, corn does not pop up in Auglaize County without first hoeing the ground. I’ve been there and checked. I can only assume the informant was someone from their regional development committee.

Today, when one can travel across the state in a few hours, and when each and every one of us is trailed by a string of numeric and electronic identifiers, it would be easy to track down an old rascal like Nath Headington, and attempt to make him pay up. In the 1840s, though, people just shook their heads and added Old Nath to the rich crop of folklore building up in Knox County, and went about their days. By the time this story was told, it was told for laughs.

I can’t vouch for how strictly true any of the details were, other than to say that I was able to loosely document Nathan Headington’s residence in Knox County, his marriage here, and his move to Auglaize County in the 1840s.

That’s more underpinning than a lot of folktales we deal with in these pages. Tell you what, let’s make a wager on this…