ascertain if he was still alive, his son, Monroe, continued roaring and
laughing until some one said, "Why, Monroe, it might have killed your
father," to which he replied between spasms, "I should have laughed
just the same, if I had known it had killed him."
During the excitement Aunt Lovey pressed her hand to her heart, but did
not speak until urged by the pastor, when she said: "Well, really, you
were all talking so much about going to heaven that when I witnessed
Samuel's sudden departure, I wondered, yes, I really wondered, whether
my halleluiah husband had started for heaven or for the other place."
Uncle Sam survived and lived on the old place until he was 94 years
old, but that was the first and last prayer meeting up to Uncle Sam's.
[Illustration: ANISE LADD'S HALLELUJAH TESTIMONY. UNCLE SAM LOSING HIS
BALANCE. AUNT LOVEY, NONCHALANT, UNDER THE PICTURE ON THE WALL.]
GOLDEN DAYS
Oh, those golden days when with indulgent parents we gathered around
the table of plenty. There we romped in the orchards, woods and
meadows, among the wild flowers and through the shady dells, where
we chased the rabbits and squirrels, hunting the shy nests of birds,
watching the pretty fish in the crystal stream, as they darted about
showing their silver sides. The side hills teemed with wild fruit,
shadberries, checkerberries, cherries, grapes, strawberries, etc.
Wild birds were in abundance and their songs were gay; I think I hear
them now. Father taught us that we must not destroy the nests of
crows, hawks or other bad birds, not even the homes of the mischievous
woodchucks, who nibbled our pumpkins. He said, "Let them bring up their
little families. God provides room and food for all."
When we brought the little blue eggs in for mother to see, she would
kiss and hurry us back with them to the nest, for she said the mother
bird's heart would ache if we broke one of her little eggs.
And yet, after all, my brother, Gordon, and myself were not real
neighborhood pets, for the two little sun-burned blondes were not as
innocent as they looked. Aunt Becky Bragg, our second-door neighbor,
was quoted as saying that Warren Richardson's two little whiteheaded
urchins were the bane of her life, and all attempts to chide them
seemed only to add fuel to the flames.
We must have been useful about the farm, in teaching the chickens
and cats to swim and the colts and steers to let us ride them, who
occasionally dumped us where we least expected. One lively pastime was
to tie a tin pan to one of the sleepy old cattle's tail, and watch him
bound over the bushes to clear himself from what seemed to be following
him. I can now see these great gentle creatures with half-closed eyes
chewing their cuds, while father was around them, but when we appeared,
they would stop chewing, bulge out their eyes and make ready to jump
over the wall at our first gesture.
Still we had our confiding pets, hens, lambs and even pigs. We had a
curly-haired pig which would follow us around and lie down for us to
scratch him, and as for dogs--why, old Major, the neighborhood tramp of
suspicious character, stood in well with us and licked our hands and
faces as we fed and gave him a warm shelter from the cold night.
Father and mother understood it all, I know they did, but they realized
how we would soon be out in the hand-to-hand conflict of life, and they
wanted us to look back to our childhood mountain home with gladness and
not pain.
I was exceedingly stubborn and moderately truthful, so much so that one
of the first remembrances of my life was that in some mysterious way I
had acquired the nickname of Old Honesty. Oh, it did make me so mad to
be called that, for I must have considered it a sort of defamation of
character.
THE WILD SEXTON STEER
One day in the spring of 1855, when all the folks were away except
Gordon and myself, we felt somewhat elated that we were running the
farm on our own hook, so we conjured up a little fun.
Our long barnyard opened with bars towards the house across the center
to separate the cattle from the sheep. Here, just for sport, when no
one was around, we would put up two or three bars and then chase the
cattle, one by one, and see them jump over.
We had a ferocious wild steer, we called Sexton, which would jump over
almost anything to get away from us boys, so he was usually our victim
for sport.
Father was accustomed, each fall, to bring muck into the barnyard,
which through the winter was covered with cornstalks, straw and manure
from the stables, which the cattle would tread in during the rainy
spring and mix it ready for the land. On this occasion it had been
raining, and the mixture, soft as jelly, was about a foot deep, with
the exception of a dry spot by the house bars.
Our custom was to teach all the newcomers into our ranch, or farm, to
carry us on their backs, and as the bushes hung low in the pastures and
the steers had no manes to cling to, we often got dumped, but we did
not care for scratches and bruises, for I boasted to be able to hang to
a frightened steer's tail through a bush pasture longer than any boy in
the neighborhood.
On this occasion the wild Sexton steer was in the yard--a big black
fellow, who was so mean that he would kick the boards off the barn,
just if we tickled him with the tines of a pitchfork. Really, he was so
unruly that he had no respect for the other cattle, or even a ten-rail
fence, when Gordon and I, with the dog, got after him.
Forgetting we were going to prayer meeting that evening, and that we
had already put on our Sunday clothes, I said to Gordon:
"I think now is a good time to teach old Sexton to let us ride him."
"Oh, Merrick, don't try that again, he will kill you."
"Nonsense, I'm not afraid; if he throws me off, I will land on my feet."
"You may and you may not; see how black his eyes are; let us take our
bows and arrows and go and shoot at Kendel's cats. Mr. and Mrs. Kendel
went to Sommers today, so there is no one at home but Grandpa Bragg and
he cannot see well enough to tell whether it is us or the Wires' boys."
"Never mind the cats, Gordon," I said as I stripped off my coat in
a real businesslike manner, "I am dying for a ride on that steer.
Come and help me catch him. There, that's right, now we have him, so,
bossy--so, bossy--so-so-bossy, so. Look out, there, Gordon!"
"Merrick, I told you we could not catch him."
"It was because you was so slow. Now you come and stand on this dry
spot and when I chase him around, stop him, and I will creep up--there,
that is better--so-bossy-so."
"There he goes again. What did I tell you, Merrick? I said we could not
catch him."
[Illustration: ALL THE FOLKS AWAY FROM HOME EXCEPT US TWO BOYS.]
"Oh, that is because you are so slow. Now, when I get him here again
and he lets me put my hand on him, you must be ready to grab the foot I
raise and throw me over square on his back, then I will ride him around
and around until he gets tired out; that is just the way they tame
elephants. Here we have him again, grab, now grab--there I am. Say,
isn't it funny he does not move or stir? Why, I am having a regular
picnic up here."
"Oh, Merrick, but if you could see his eyes, and his neck is curved
like a ram's horn. He is going to do something. You better seize his
tail and slide off backwards before he starts."
"Oh, you little fraid goose, I am just here on his back and he can't
help himself. It's just fun, and when I tell the girls about it, won't
it make their eyes open wide? He can't just help himself, now punch him
a little with the fork handle right under the flanks--gee whiz, it is
funny he doesn't start, isn't it? I wonder if steers ever rear up in
the front?"
"First you know, Merrick, he will rear up behind and send you into the
middle of next week. See, he won't stir when I punch him with the fork
handle. He is just getting ready to do something terrible, and when he
does start, something will happen. Oh, how he kind of swells up."
"I'm not afraid. Just twist his tail a little, twist it harder.
Hey-hey, here I go--look out! Gordon, stop him--whoa-whoa--Oh, Gordon,
where have I been? What did he do? Where am I now? and where are my
pants?"
"Why, Merrick, just as you were talking to me, he hollered 'Bah,' and
started. First your legs flew up and before you caught your balance he
stopped suddenly, threw up his head and his horns caught your pants
and ripped them clean off, and you took the most awful plunge. You
actually flew through the air about ten feet, like a quail, and then
disappeared in this manure pond. I thought he had killed you. Say, are
you almost dead?"
"Dead, no, but where are my pants and did anybody see us? Did Charlotte
Lewis and Mariva Shepherd come this way from school?"
"No, they did not, but see your pants are on his horns now. Oh,
Merrick, your eyes, and ears, and hair are just chuck full. Do you
think you are hurt inwardly?"
"Hurt? No, I'm not hurt. Gee-whiz, I'm glad the school girls weren't
coming along about then. Say, Gordon, lets run for the brook and I will
dive, head-foremost, right into the old deep hole, and when I come up I
will be span clean."
"Gracious, Merrick, but there is ice floating down now and aren't your
legs cold?"
"Cold? No. Pa says there are lots of people in the world who wear no
pants--say, Gordon, now listen--if you won't ever tell of this to
no living soul I will do all the chores: milking, feeding the hogs,
cleaning the stables, building the fire mornings, and I'll be hanged if
I don't help you lie yourself out of every mean scrape you get into in
the next ten years."
[Illustration: ALWAYS WELCOME AT SISTER CAROLINE'S WABBAQUASSETT HOME.
LEFT TO RIGHT. CAROLINE, MARTHA, WALTON, WARREN, EVERETT, LUCIUS.]
SCHOOL DAYS
Nearby was a backwoods school which was called the White Birch, where
about eighty scholars met in winter to fit themselves for future
eminence. Here it was that life's troubles began with me. The mode of
punishment in those days for a boy was to draw him over the master's
knee and spank him, and I am quite sure I got more floggings than all
the other seventy-nine scholars together. Tom Wheelock often spanked me
so furiously that the rising dust often made the other scholars think
he was setting me on fire.
From the first at school I had been a mental genius. When eight years
old I could calculate in my head problems intended for large scholars
to work out with slate and pencil. The knottiest problems in Colburn's
old mental arithmetic were as simple for me as three times ten,
and this I could do without ever looking at the rules. But, oh, my
spelling, reading and writing were shockingly deficient, and my grammar
was laughable. Once the master compelled me to write a composition, and
when he read it he laughed and said, "The ideas are good, Merrick, but
it needs a Philadelphia lawyer to connect them."
I would as soon fight as eat and was ready to hammer any boy of my
size who had broken up a bird's nest, and was ready to protect the
girls to the limit of my strength and ability. Whether I was right or
wrong, I can now see that I was unconsciously following the dictates
of conscience. When fourteen years old I took a serious dislike to
punishment of any kind, and the result was that I left school for good.
[Illustration: WABBAQUASSETT GIRLS. NEWELL HILL IN THE DISTANCE.]
COUNTRY BOYS IN TOWN
My boyhood days were spent in what might be termed, the upper strata
of the last stages of the tallow candle age. Mother dipped candles
each fall to light us through the year. Whale oil was also used, but a
little later coal oil from Pennsylvania came into vogue.
In order to obtain whale oil, vessels for that purpose were sent out
from New Bedford, New London, New York and other harbors along the
northern Atlantic Coast. Accordingly, four of us youngsters, my brother
Collins, Lucius Aborn, Lyman Newell and myself, formed a scheme to go
catching whales and decided to visit New York and look the matter up
and, if possible, learn why our parents so seriously objected to having
us become sailors.
Accordingly, we went to Hartford and took the night steamer, on the
Connecticut River, for New York. While waiting for the boat in Hartford
we all went out to get shaved and I remember it, for it was my first
shave.
The barber must have been a funny fellow, of the Abe Lincoln type, who
looked serious when he said and did funny things. He was not sparing
of his lather, for my ears held quite a lot, but I bore it bravely
until he grabbed me right by the nose to begin, which made me burst out
laughing and let the lather run into my mouth. When I sobered down he
would seize me by the nose and begin again, which would make my friends
and the other barbers all laugh. I laughed a little myself, but he
never smiled--just watched for his chance to seize me. When he got
through, without a smile, he said he never charged boys anything for
the first shave.
On the steamer, of which the cabins seemed to me as dazzling, beautiful
and wonderful as the constellation of Orion does now, the cabin porter
got our cow-hide boots, while we were asleep, and shined them and then
demanded ten cents for each boot, but we compromised on ten cents for
the whole lot, and threatened to throw him overboard at that.
When we landed at Peck Slip, New York, we at once inquired for the
office where sailors were enlisted for three-year voyages catching
whales.
The agent was a man probably seventy years old and began inquiring our
names and where we were from, and then he said he knew about Square
Pond, as he once drove stage right along its shore on the old route
from Hartford to Boston. Then he said: "Sit down, boys," and he talked
to us to this effect:
"Now, boys, you do not want to enlist for a three years' voyage. If you
have got the fishing fever I can get you all a chance on a smack for
three months, off the coast of Newfoundland, catching codfish. Then
if you are not sick of the job you can go whaling." We listened to
him kindly and finally gave up, not only the whaling, but the fishing
altogether.
We then began canvassing the book stores for a book which Lyman had
heard about, which boys ought not to read, and that was why he wanted
it. The title was "Fanny Hill," and when we inquired at the book stores
we were turned down, until we struck a Yankee who sold second-hand
books, who inquired where we were from, and when our boat would leave
New York, and then said he hardly dare sell it to us for fear he would
be arrested.
[Illustration: BEAUTIFUL WOMEN, WORTHY MEN, CHARMING OLD WABBAQUASSETT.
CENTRAL LOWER LADY FIGURE, JULIA NEWELL WARNER, MY LIFE-LONG ESTEEMED
FRIEND.]
The price he said was $1.00, and he would run the risk, if we would
come around just before the boat started and then promise, all of us,
not to open the package until the boat had left the dock. To this we
readily agreed and then went on taking in the town, thinking more about
the book than we did about the giants, pygmies, monkeys and elephants
which we found at Barnum's Museum.
We were now hungry again, so we took another oyster stew and then
started up the Bowery, when we heard music and were invited in where
a wheel table was turning. One could put down ten cents and might win
$100.00. We were going shares in everything, so decided to risk ten
cents, and the other boys allowed me to try. "Forty dollars," cried the
man, and then discovered his mistake, that it was only forty cents, and
then began telling of folks from the country winning money, and this
was one of the stories which did not take:
"A large man," he said, "came to New York from the mountains of
Pennsylvania and offered to bet $50.00 that he could carry a
feather-bed tick full of buckshot across Broadway on his head. Well,
boys, we loaded the tick, which took nearly all the shot in the city,
and he started. He won the bet, I saw him do it, but you see that stone
pavement on Broadway, do you? Well, boys, when he crossed the street
the load was so heavy that he mired into that stone pavement clear up
to his knees, but he won the $50.00."
Then we told him that we were liars ourselves, and trudged on, actually
having beat the gamblers out of thirty cents.
After another oyster stew dinner we strolled into the Bowery Theatre,
where minstrels were playing, which amused us, as it was the first we
had ever seen, and supposed they were genuine darkies. They sat in a
half circle and after singing and playing, the two end men would ask
questions, and one dialogue ran this way:
"Rastus, I heard you was out last night."
"Yes, Sah, I was out prominading on Broadway."
"Did you have your best girl along?"
"Zartenly."
"Did you take her home?"
"Zartenly."
"Did she invite you in?"
"Not zackly. We stood inside the gate."
"Did she exhibit great affection?"
"Great what?"
"Great affection."
"I suppose so."
"What did she and you do?"
"Dat am a pointed question, sah."
"Well, but you said she showed great affection."
"Showed what?"
"Great affection, Rastus. Did she love you?"
"Yes, sah, she squozed my hand and then I squoze her with my arm."
"Squoze, Rastus? Why, there is no such word as squoze."
"Yes, there is, for she said she had never been squoze by a regular man
before."
"Where do you get that word?"
"Noah Webster, sah. Shall I instruct you?"
"Certainly."
"Is not rise, rose, risen, proper?"
"Certainly."
"Then why not squize, squoze, squizzen?"
Then they all sang again.
One incident that I yet remember was that all had on light-colored
vests, and while crossing Broadway, dodging here and there among
the omnibusses, trucks, and other vehicles, such as we had never
seen before, I slipped on the wet stone pavement and fell flat on my
stomach, but it soon dried off and I was at the front again, and at
the appointed time we appeared at the book store and gave the man his
dollar, who again cautioned us not to let the police see it.
It was papered up nicely and I can now see how nervously Newell jammed
it into his inside pocket, which was not quite large enough, and then
we boarded the steamer, all the while looking out of the corners of our
eyes that no one suspicioned us.
After the steamer had cleared the dock and Lute Aborn said we were on
the high seas, we slipped around behind the wheel pit, for it was a
side-wheeled steamer, and as Newell was nervously untying the string,
he said: "Now we will all look at the pictures first and then you,
Lute, who is the best reader, will read it aloud"--when, behold, it was
nothing but a New Testament worth ten cents.
This little Fanny Hill experience was really a blessing in disguise
to us boys, but we did not think so at the time, and if we could have
gotten hold of that dealer we would have taught him that there was yet
a God in Israel.
AS A YANKEE TIN PEDDLER
At the Methodist Church just south of Wabbaquassett there were revivals
each winter and with other I experienced religion, but mine, even
though serious, sort of struck in and did not break out again for
several years.
At the age of nineteen I had become sort of terror to my enemies, for I
was quick, strong and fearless. One night I had my usual warning dream,
of trouble ahead, and the next day I nearly killed a man as fearless as
myself. The following day when I caught my father weeping I resolved
ever after to avoid all personal encounters, which determination for
self-control has carried me over many a rickety bridge in safety, and
my warning dreams have never troubled me since.
Farming soon became too tame for me, and while nature's adornments
which made up and surrounded our quiet home, often charmed my soul
into serious dreamlike fancies, yet, somehow I enjoyed singing funny
songs and telling stories, together with their proper amendments and
legitimate construction--in fact, like my mother, I could tell an
old story which every one had heard forty times in such a way as to
cause laughter. Therefore, as farm life seemed to be an insufficient
incubator for hatching out fresh productions, I mysteriously evolved
into the seemingly exalted position of a Yankee Tin Peddler.
[Illustration: ALBUM OF SUNNY DAYS.
CENTRAL LOWER LIKENESS IS OF MY COUSIN O. M. RICHARDSON, NOW RETIRED
MANUFACTURER OF ROCKVILLE, CONN. THREE GIRLS IN CENTRAL SCENE, LINA,
ELVA AND JOSEPHINE NEWELL, DAUGHTERS OF MY SISTER JANETTE AT HER OLD
WABBAQUASSETT HOME. 1890.]
There were at that time at least ten firms in New England and York
State who manufactured tinware, for which they loaned carts and gave
credit to lively chaps who had teams. The peddler would go on the road
and trade the tinware for barter, old iron, copper, brass, lead, zinc
and all kinds of paper stock, besides cow hides and sheep pelts or
anything of which he knew the value, and ship it in to pay his account.
It was a lucrative business for a clever boy, often clearing $100.00
per week besides his expenses. Also it gave him a chance to study human
nature, as a good peddler must be able to read his customer before he
says the wrong thing, for a frolicsome Irish woman appreciates a tone
and language with perhaps a friendly slap on the shoulder, which would
frighten an elderly, sedate, bloodless maiden into spasms.
Soon my two brothers and myself with several neighboring young men were
into the business, and in the Spring of 1861 Alonzo Shepherd and myself
ventured a trip to Long Island by the way of New York City. On this
trip we acquired both wealth and fame. The ridiculous instances of our
travels often come up before me now. We were continually playing tricks
on each other which always ended in laughter. On this trip we became
horse traders, which proved to be more lucrative than peddling.
In 1863 I shipped my team to Batavia, New York, and in August sent
for my brother Gordon to come to Dunkirk, where I had another team,
and we peddled through Pennsylvania, Ohio and Michigan, returning to
Connecticut in the Fall, after which I returned to Elba, N. Y., where,
December 10th, I married Mary Jane Hoyt, a beautiful, intelligent girl
of twenty years.
The following year, 1864, with several other teams each, we came West
again and returned to Albany for the winter. On my return I followed
the shore road of Lake Ontario around to Watertown, N. Y., while
Gordon returned through Pennsylvania, our object being to buy horses of
the mountain farmers.
[Illustration: MARY JANE HOYT, ELBA. N. Y., 1863. WILDER WOODS.
THIS PICTURE WAS TAKEN THE SUMMER BEFORE WE WERE MARRIED.]
THE THOMPSON FAMILY.
From Watertown, I worked East, where I fell in with a family by the
name of Thompson, who owned a large stock-raising farm in the foot
hills of Mount Seward, not far from North Elba, the Adirondack home of
John Brown.
My experience with the Thompsons left a vivid impression on my memory
which never grows dim.
As I remember them Mr. Thompson was short, heavy set, blue eyed, fair
complexion, with a physiognomy indicating that he seldom suffered
defeat. He was usually thoughtful and serious, but when telling stories
or relating experience he was full of mirth.
Mary, his wife, was an interesting woman. Her stout figure, dark eyes
and hair with fair skin made her look striking, especially in laughing,
when her eyes twinkled and gave expression of mirth. All the animals
on the farm were seemingly her special pets, but their little dog Joe
came in for the lion's share. Really the little white, curly fellow
with black eyes and nose, when standing erect with head and tail up,
did look as though he was monarch of all he surveyed. Everybody loved
him except the cats. Much of Mrs. Thompson's time was given over to
church work, for which she must have been well fitted, as her Christian
character was discernible at every move and turn.
Vida, their daughter of sixteen summers, was fair, with large dark
eyes, auburn hair and prominent chin. Her quick glance and mirthful
smile betokened self-esteem and decisive character, while glee and dare
innocently portrayed pent emotion and artful design.
During the evening I turned the conversation to the story of John
Brown, and was glad to learn that Mr. Thompson had been a near friend
of Brown and was with him on the Kennedy farm only a few days before
the raid on Harper's Ferry.
At Mrs. Thompson's suggestion we planned that we four take a horseback
ride after church services on the morrow, up to the Brown farm and see
John's grave and the big rock nearby from which, in former days, he had
done much preaching to the mountaineers.