INCIDENTS AND ANECDOTES.
DEATH OF MY GRANDMOTHER--MY FATHER--HIS CHARACTER--HIS
DEATH--BEGINNING THE WORLD BAREFOOTED--GOING TO GRASSY PLAINS--THE
TIN WARE AND GREEN BOTTLE LOTTERY--“CHAIRY” HALLETT--OUR FIRST
MEETING--EVENING RIDE TO BETHEL--A NOVEL FUR TRADE--OLD “RUSHIA”
AND YOUNG “RUSHIA”--THE BUYER SOLD--COUNTRY STORE EXPERIENCES--OLD
“UNCLE BIBBINS”--A TERRIBLE DUEL BETWEEN BENTON AND BIBBINS--FALL
OF BENTON--FLIGHT OF BIBBINS.
In the month of August, 1825, my maternal grandmother met with an
accident in stepping on the point of a rusty nail, and, though the
matter was at first considered trivial, it resulted in her death.
Alarming symptoms soon made her sensible that she was on her death-bed;
and while she was in full possession of her faculties, the day before
she died she sent for her grandchildren to take final leave of them. I
shall never forget the sensations I experienced when she took me by the
hand and besought me to lead a religious life, and especially to
remember that I could in no way so effectually prove my love to God as
by loving all my fellow-beings. The impressions of that death-bed scene
have ever been among my most vivid recollections, and I trust they have
proved in some degree salutary. A more exemplary woman, or a more
sincere Christian than my grandmother, I have never known.
My father, for his time and locality, was a man of much enterprise. He
could, and actually did, “keep a hotel”; he had a livery stable and ran,
in a small way, what in our day would be called a Norwalk Express; and
he also kept a country store. With greater opportunities and a larger
field for his efforts and energies, he might have been a man of mark and
means. Not that he was successful, for he never did a profitable
business; but I, who saw him in his various pursuits, and acted as his
clerk, caught something of his enterprising spirit, and, perhaps without
egotism, I may say I inherited that characteristic. My business
education was as good as the limited field afforded, and I soon put it
to account and service.
On the 7th of September, 1825, my father, who had been sick since the
month of March, died at the age of forty-eight years. My mother was left
with five children, of whom I, at fifteen years of age, was the eldest,
while the youngest was but seven. It was soon apparent that my father
had provided nothing for the support of his family; his estate was
insolvent, and it did not pay fifty cents on the dollar. My mother, by
economy, industry, and perseverance, succeeded in a few years afterwards
in redeeming the homestead and becoming its sole possessor; but, at the
date of the death of my father, the world looked gloomy indeed; the few
dollars I had accumulated and loaned to my father, holding his note
therefor, were decided to be the property of a minor, belonging to the
father and so to the estate, and my small claim was ruled out. I was
obliged to get trusted for the pair of shoes I wore to my father’s
funeral. I literally began the world with nothing, and was barefooted at
that.
Leaving Mr. Weed, I went to Grassy Plain, a mile northwest of Bethel,
and secured a situation as clerk in the store of James S. Keeler & Lewis
Whitlock at six dollars a month and my board. I lived with Mrs. Jerusha
Wheeler and her daughters, Jerusha and Mary, and found an excellent
home. I chose my uncle, Alanson Taylor, as my guardian. I did my best to
please my employers and soon gained their confidence and esteem and was
regarded by them as an active clerk and a ‘cute trader. They afforded me
many facilities for making money on my own account and I soon entered
upon sundry speculations and succeeded in getting a small sum of money
ahead.
I made a very remarkable trade at one time for my employers by
purchasing, in their absence, a whole wagon load of green glass bottles
of various sizes, for which I paid in unsalable goods at very profitable
prices. How to dispose of the bottles was then the problem, and as it
was also desirable to get rid of a large quantity of tin ware which had
been in the shop for years and was considerably “shop-worn,” I conceived
the idea of a lottery in which the highest prize should be twenty-five
dollars, payable in any goods the winner desired, while there were to be
fifty prizes of five dollars each, payable in goods, to be designated in
the scheme. Then there were one hundred prizes of one dollar each, one
hundred prizes of fifty cents each, and three hundred prizes of
twenty-five cents each. It is unnecessary to state that the minor prizes
consisted mainly of glass and tin ware; the tickets sold like wildfire,
and the worn tin and glass bottles were speedily turned into cash.
As my mother continued to keep the village tavern at Bethel, I usually
went home on Saturday night and stayed till Monday morning, going to
church with my mother on Sunday. This habit was the occasion of an
experience of momentous consequence to me. One Saturday evening, during
a violent thunder shower, Miss Mary Wheeler, a milliner, sent me word
that there was a girl from Bethel at her house, who had come up on
horseback to get a new bonnet; that she was afraid to go back alone; and
if I was going to Bethel that evening she wished me to escort her
customer. I assented, and went over to “Aunt Rushia’s” where I was
introduced to “Chairy” (Charity) Hallett, a fair, rosy-cheeked, buxom
girl, with beautiful white teeth. I assisted her to her saddle, and
mounting my own horse, we trotted towards Bethel.
My first impressions of this girl as I saw her at the house were
exceedingly favorable. As soon as we started I began a conversation with
her and finding her very affable I regretted that the distance to Bethel
was not five miles instead of one. A flash of lightning gave me a
distinct view of the face of my fair companion and then I wished the
distance was twenty miles. During our ride I learned that she was a
tailoress, working with Mr. Zerah Benedict, of Bethel. We soon arrived
at our destination and I bid her good night and went home. The next day
I saw her at church, and, indeed, many Sundays afterwards, but I had no
opportunity to renew the acquaintance that season.
Mrs. Jerusha Wheeler, with whom I boarded, and her daughter Jerusha were
familiarly known, the one as “Aunt Rushia,” and the other as “Rushia.”
Many of our store customers were hatters, and among the many kinds of
furs we sold for the nap of hats was one known to the trade as “Russia.”
One day a hatter, Walter Dibble, called to buy some furs. I sold him
several kinds, including “beaver” and “cony,” and he then asked for
some “Russia.” We had none, and, as I wanted to play a joke upon him, I
told him that Mrs. Wheeler had several hundred pounds of “Russia.”
“What on earth is a woman doing with ‘Russia?’” said he.
I could not answer, but I assured him that there were one hundred and
thirty pounds of old Rushia and one hundred and fifty pounds of young
Rushia in Mrs. Wheeler’s house, and under her charge, but whether or not
it was for sale I could not say. Off he started to make the purchase and
knocked at the door. Mrs. Wheeler, the elder, made her appearance.
“I want to get your Russia,” said the hatter.
Mrs. Wheeler asked him to walk in and be seated. She, of course,
supposed that he had come for her daughter “Rushia.”
“What do you want of Rushia?” asked the old lady.
“To make hats,” was the reply.
“To trim hats, I suppose you mean?” responded Mrs. Wheeler.
“No, for the outside of hats,” replied the hatter.
“Well, I don’t know much about hats,” said the old lady, “but I will
call my daughter.”
Passing into another room where “Rushia” the younger was at work, she
informed her that a man wanted her to make hats.
“Oh, he means sister Mary; probably. I suppose he wants some ladies’
hats,” replied Rushia, as she went into the parlor.
“This is my daughter,” said the old lady.
“I want to get your Russia,” said he, addressing the young lady.
“I suppose you wish to see my sister Mary; she is our milliner,” said
young Rushia.
“I wish to see whoever owns the property,” said the hatter.
Sister Mary was sent for, and as she was introduced, the hatter informed
her that he wished to buy her “Russia.”
“Buy Rushia!” exclaimed Mary in surprise; “I don’t understand you.”
“Your name is Miss Wheeler, I believe,” said the hatter, who was annoyed
by the difficulty he met with in being understood.
“It is, sir.”
“Ah! very well. Is there old and young Russia in the house?”
“I believe there is,” said Mary, surprised at the familiar manner in
which he spoke of her mother and sister, who were present.
“What is the price of old Russia per pound?” asked the hatter.
“I believe, sir, that old Rushia is not for sale,” replied Mary
indignantly.
“Well, what do you ask for young Russia?” pursued the hatter.
“Sir,” said Miss Rushia the younger, springing to her feet, “do you come
here to insult defenceless females? If you do, sir, we will soon call
our brother, who is in the garden, and he will punish you as you
deserve.”
“Ladies!” exclaimed the hatter, in astonishment, “what on earth have I
done to offend you? I came here on a business matter. I want to buy some
Russia. I was told you had old and young Russia in the house. Indeed,
this young lady just stated such to be the fact, but she says the old
Russia is not for sale. Now, if I can buy the young Russia I want to do
so--but if that can’t be done, please to say so and I will trouble you
no further.”
“Mother, open the door and let this man go out; he is undoubtedly
crazy,” said Miss Mary.
“By thunder! I believe I shall be if I remain here long,” exclaimed the
hatter, considerably excited. “I wonder if folks never do business in
these parts, that you think a man is crazy if he attempts such a thing?”
“Business! poor man!” said Mary soothingly, approaching the door.
“I am not a poor man, madam,” replied the hatter. “My name is Walter
Dibble; I carry on hatting extensively in Danbury; I came to Grassy
Plains to buy fur, and have purchased some ‘beaver’ and ‘cony,’ and now
it seems I am to be called ‘crazy’ and a ‘poor man,’ because I want to
buy a little ‘Russia’ to make up my assortment.”
The ladies began to open their eyes; they saw that Mr. Dibble was quite
in earnest, and his explanation threw considerable light upon the
subject.
“Who sent you here?” asked sister Mary.
“The clerk at the opposite store,” was the reply.
“He is a wicked young fellow for making all this trouble,” said the old
lady; “he has been doing this for a joke.”
“A joke!” exclaimed Dibble, in surprise. “Have you no Russia, then?”
“My name is Jerusha, and so is my daughter’s,” said Mrs. Wheeler, “and
that, I suppose, is what he meant by telling you about old and young
Rushia.”
Mr. Dibble bolted through the door without another word and made
directly for our store. “You young scamp!” said he as he entered; “what
did you mean by sending me over there to buy Russia?”
“I did not send you to _buy_ Rushia; I supposed you were either a
bachelor or widower and wanted to _marry_ Rushia,” I replied, with a
serious countenance.
“You lie, you young dog, and you know it; but never mind, I’ll pay you
off some day”; and taking his furs, he departed with less ill-humor than
could have been expected under the circumstances.
Among our customers were three or four old Revolutionary pensioners, who
traded out the amounts of their pensions before they were due, leaving
their papers as security. One of these pensioners was old Bevans,
commonly known as “Uncle Bibbins,” a man who loved his glass and was
very prone to relate romantic Revolutionary anecdotes and adventures, in
which he, of course, was conspicuous. At one time he was in our debt,
and though we held his pension papers, it would be three months before
the money could be drawn. It was desirable to get him away for that
length of time, and we hinted to him that it would be pleasant to make a
visit to Guilford, where he had relations, but he would not go. Finally,
I hit upon a plan which “moved” him.
A journeyman hatter, named Benton, who was fond of a practical joke, was
let into the secret, and was persuaded to call “Uncle Bibbins” a coward,
to tell him that he had been wounded in the back, and thus to provoke a
duel, which he did, and at my suggestion “Uncle Bibbins” challenged
Benton to fight him with musket and ball at a distance of twenty yards.
The challenge was accepted, I was chosen second by “Uncle Bibbins,” and
the duel was to come off immediately. My principal, taking me aside,
begged me to put nothing in the guns but blank cartridges. I assured him
it should be so, and therefore that he might feel perfectly safe. This
gave the old man extra courage; he declared that he had not been so long
in bloody battles “for nothing,” and that he would put a bullet through
Benton’s heart at the first shot.
The ground was measured in the lot at the rear of our store, and the
principals and seconds took their places. At the word given both parties
fired. “Uncle Bibbins,” of course, escaped unhurt, but Benton leaped
several feet into the air, and fell upon the ground with a dreadful
yell, as if he had been really shot. “Uncle Bibbins” was frightened. As
his second, I ran to him, told him I had neglected to extract the bullet
from his gun (which was literally true, as there was no bullet in it to
extract), and he supposed, of course, he had killed his adversary. I
then whispered to him to go immediately to Guilford, to keep quiet, and
he should hear from me as soon as it would be safe to do so. He started
up the street on a run, and immediately quit the town for Guilford,
where he kept himself quiet until it was time for him to return and sign
his papers. I then wrote him that “he could return in safety; that his
adversary had recovered from his wound, and now forgave him all, as he
felt himself much to blame for having insulted a man of his known
courage.”
“Uncle Bibbins” returned, signed the papers, and we obtained the pension
money. A few days thereafter he met Benton.
“My brave old friend,” said Benton, “I forgive you my terrible wound and
long confinement on the brink of the grave, and I beg you to forgive me
also. I insulted you without a cause.”
“I forgive you freely,” said “Uncle Bibbins”; “but,” he added, “you must
be careful next time how you insult a dead shot.”
Benton promised to be more circumspect in future, and “Uncle Bibbins”
supposed to the day of his death that the duel, wound, danger, and all,
were matters of fact.