Brother, Part 2

An incident in my brother’s early life I will refer to. As I have already stated, we had settled in the woods, comparatively a brief time, when a minister emigrated from North Carolina and settled in the town of Newport, just laid out, in eastern Wayne county, bringing with him a family and credentials as a recommended minister of the Friends. He was, like the one alluded to at Whitewater, a mechanic, and started a tan-yard. But not long after coming, being poor as to worldly goods, they had to undergo the hardships and privations common to all new settlers. In the midst of these privations and scarcity of money, the new comer requested the privilege of performing a religions mission through the Eastern States where any of the Friends were organized, many of whom were in Philadelphia, New York city. &c. He received the necessary recommendations, as was a custom of the Friends who went on such missions, to have a companion to accompany their ministers in membership and good standing, the lot seemed to fall on my young married brother as such a companion. In the latter part of the summer of 1819, preparations were begun to fix them off on a long journey. At that date no public conveyances were much in use, save steamboats and some scattering stage coaches. It was deemed advisable that they be rigged out with a carriage and two horses. The minister in question had brought with him a rather dilapidated carriage from the Carolinas. It was hardly deemed sufficiently respectable for so extensive a journey. As I have already mentioned, my father had just finished his new carriage, and had taken but a few rides in it. The Friends prevailed on father to loan them his new carriage and harness, and receive in lieu thereof the minister’s old worn out carriage to go to meeting in while they were gone; and it came to pass he did so. They got off that year and were gone till early the following spring. Several incidents occurred that winter while my brother was away, leaving his little family and cabin in the woods. I being of tender age yet, had to perform many little chores for the good wife. I have a recollection, of a storm of wind blowing the roof off the cabin one day; I was posted off among the neighbors to come and place it on again. I may refer to them again after their return.

About this date an incident of house-burning occurred in our neighborhood. A new settler had a building he used as a cabinet shop and for other purposes. This log shop and a log barn took fire in some manner unknown, as well as stacks of grain, in the warm season of the year. A fire-brand was found on the roof of the cabin in which the family lived, before it took fire. This occurrence caused much excitement in the neighborhood, and accusations were made against some of the neighbors, who were new-comers. Their sons were arrested, and two justices were sent for, one from Richmond and the other in the country; the trial was held in our log school-house near by the incendiary work. No positive proof could be obtained, though an attempt was made to convict by witnesses on circumstantial evidence; but all were acquitted, and the neighbors turned out and built him another shop and barn. Though young, I was with my older brothers who were helping to cut logs. The neighbor who had his shop burnt had a son cotemporary with me in age. While together in the woods I asked him who he thought set fire to his father’s buildings. He replied, “I know, but I wont tell thee.” Many years rolled away after that event and it is still wrapt in mystery; but in subsequent years circumstances developed pretty conclusively who did the deed; but as the parties have passed away, I will forbear any further alussions to the subject.

War of 1812

I will go back a few years prior to 1819, and relate some early recollections. During the war of 1812 a number of the earliest settlers became frightened, and left their homes and sought older settlements. My parent’s family did so, going to Eaton, Ohio, where they had relatives, remaining about two years, or until peace was declared. On coming back we renewed the opening of our farm. I have a distinct recollection of the desolated condition of our house and surroundings. The sequel proved the flight unnecessary, as but little hostility was manifested by the Indians towards those who remained at their homes. I believe the only quadruped to be seen on our premises was a house-cat, who seemed to welcome our return.

Not long after our settling in the dense forest, cabins built, and a few acres cleared of the heaviest timber, Robert Hill, who settled near by in 1806, plowed the first furrow for my father. On one occasion, my father mentioned to his neighbor, Hill, that he was in a little strait in regard to his land, having entered his quarter section at the Land Office at Cincinnati, and made one payment. The second payment had become due, and he had not the money to pay. He had money due him where he came from in North Carolina, but the distance was so great he feared he could not get it in time; delays then were dangerous, lest some one more fortunate in having the money would go to the Land Office, make the payment, and claim the land. Neighbor Hill loaned my father the sum required, and he went to Cincinnati and redeemed his land. This neighborly act proved the truthfulness of the adage, that “A friend in need was a friend indeed.” My father and the neighbor—for such he was—about the same in age, were mutual friends during their remaining lives.

Andrew Hoover, who I have noticed, came to my father’s new home on business one day in mid-summer, and was invited to dinner. At that early date, he was the first Quaker I ever saw. He being very corpulent, weighing about three hundred pounds, avoirdupois, led me to look upon that religious persuasion as a peculiar people. He sat down to the dinner-table with his broad-brimmed hat on. I stepped up by him and politely asked him to take off his hat, as our Southern rules of etiquette were to do so on most all occasions. He replied, “Sonny, my head is bald, and the flies annoy my bald head.” This explained all and I was content.

Superstitions

For the information of those who may not have learned the fact, I will mention that some who first settled the Whitewaters brought with them traditions and superstitions concerning what was familiarly called witchcraft, and which lingered long with those who received their education in slave states, which circumstance, no doubt, had much to do in fixing these legendary stories in their minds. When I was a boy I used to listen with great interest to some of the early settlers relating to each other their stories of witches, ghosts and hob-goblins. My father would tell an incident in substance as follows: He had been to a country town on horse-back, and on returning he was a little belated; darkness overtook him near a graveyard by the roadside; he saw an object standing in the graveyard; imagination soon supplied the remainder; as the object was white, visions of grave clothes flashed before him, and he decided that surely it was a ghost, or some one risen from his grave before being regularly summoned by Gabriel’s horn. His horse showed repugnance to passing by it, and he failed, with all his efforts, to urge him on. I have no doubt if my father could have coaxed his horse to run the gauntlet by that graveyard he would have asserted with great confidence that he had seen a ghost. But there he was in the road—no go to his horse; at last he ventured to speak to the spectre by asking who was there. No response. He again asked. No reply. Then again with more emphasis, “If you are a ghost or one risen from the dead, do speak.” At last was drawled out, “It’s me!” This was not yet satisfactory. He asked again, who me was. After a little painful suspense the reply came, “I am Sambo.” Now Sambo had been down to the same town with a bundle of split hickory brooms, and was also late getting home to his master’s, hearing the sound of my father’s horse’s feet in the road behind him, fearing it might be patrolmen after him, for it was contrary to law for a slave to be out after dark, from his master’s premises. Another incident my father related when he was at home with his father, he being the eldest. His father owned two old decrepid [sic] slaves of Guinea descent. The old man’s name was “Chance.” One night his nose took to bleeding; the old man, very superstitious, always expected when he died to go straight back to Guinea. He had my father sent for to come to his cabin, told him to pull a leg out of a three-legged stool, and bore a hole in a log of the cabin, and drive in the leg. But first he held it under his nose, saturated it with blood, and then it was driven into the hole. The old man having faith it would stop the flow of blood; but in case it might fail he had my father to place his shoes by his lowly couch, saying he would need them on his journey. But the old man didn’t get off at that time, his faith in the stool leg, or something else, stopped the blood.

I heard an early settler tell the following story: That he knew an old miser in North Carolina who lived alone, and hoarded up his money in silver, probably burying it for fear of being robbed. The relater said one night he went over to the old miser’s hut; it being very dark, not long after night set in. As he was conversing with his neighbor miser, a rap was heard at the door; the man of money asked who was there, when he was answered in a very sepulchlar voice, “The Devil.” The notion generally prevailed that this imaginary devil had horns, and he sometimes was called “Old Split-Foot.” The relater of the story said to the neighbor, “Hand me your ax,” lying near by, and quickly opened the door. There stood before him his majesty with a green cowhide wrapped around him, having the horns above his head. The man with the ax says, ‘ I will try one of your horns, any how,” suiting the action to his words. The supposed devil turned upon his heel and fled; the man with the ax close at his heels soon caught the fleeing devil and stripped the hide from off him, which revealed to him the person of his near neighbor.

Trip to Salisbury

One fine morning about the last of May or first of June, my father rigged up the dilapidated old Carolina carriage that he had swapped with the minister for the time being, using for the harness the old plow gears, hearing that there was a carding machine at Salisbury, then the county seat, he started with a bundle of wool tied up in a sheet to get it carded into rolls, taking with it a pot of grease (as was the custom); my mother went along. This makeshift of a carriage was without springs, the body resting on the bolsters of the wagon. In passing over an unused wagon road, he not unfrequently ran over logs a foot or more in diameter. Though my father was a good driver, occasionally a stump would come in contact with the wheels of the carriage, and large spurs of beech roots. Being yet young and unsophisticated, I had not yet been initiated into the peculiar doctrinal views and customs of the Friends, and I could not see how it was that my father loaned his nice new carriage and put up with this old one. I suppose it was owing to the fact of being severely jolted on that trip to Salisbury that caused me to entertain these vain thoughts. We pursued our way, winding around ravines and hills, crossing the East Fork of Whitewater a trinity of times, till we reached Whitewater meeting place where the roads became more tolerable, passing on the road into Richmond, going down Front street, and stopping at the first beer saloon we refreshed ourselves with Ezra Boswell’s beer and ginger cakes, passed on by Morrisson’s store, Lacy’s tavern and Smith’s store, going down the steep hill at the bluff near now Wiggins’s tan-yard, crossing Whitewater, ascending the opposite bluff, quite steep; from there, was a passable road by John Stewart’s a stout, burly Friend, a short distance from where Earlham College now is, and we soon came to the carding machine on Clear Creek, a branch of Whitewater, where we left our wool and concluded to go up and see the town, passing by Woods’s farm, who was the proprietor. Here was several houses on the road, a pretty fair court house, a log jail, a tavern and several machine shops. I noticed on a board at the tavern, “korn, oats, and whisky for sale.” One lawyer, at least, I saw. He was a stout, rough-looking man, middle aged; one peculiar feature was noticed, he wore his hair in a cue down his back a foot or more, as I have seen the pioneer mothers have their hair platted and let hang down their backs to be seen below their sun-bonnets. I learned afterwards that he was not only a lawyer but a cabinet-maker, preacher and politician. About this time a man was hung at that place, the first one in the county. Not long after our visit there the county seat question was agitated, a strong party desiring to move it to Centreville, a small town three miles west, and after a long and heated controversy it was moved, and to-day, at this writing, not a stone or brick lies upon another where the town of Salisbury once flourished and where so much bickering and contention and bad blood was stirred up on both sides.

A little story has often been told before, but some who may read these sketches may not have heard it, which I will relate. I have no vouchers for the tale, so you will have to take it for what it is worth. It serves to show how prejudiced Salisburians were against Centrevillians in those days. The road that led to Centreville ran a mile south of the present Wayne county pike, over low, wet, marshy ground. It was said many emigrants having to pass that road one day, somebody in the suburbs of Centreville saw a man’s hat lying in the middle of the road—he went for it; as he was about to pick it up, some one cried out below to let that hat alone. It was found to be on a man’s head, and he sitting on the saddIe-horse, having swamped down.

I have before alluded to the Middle Fork Meeting House being filled with a company of promiscuous worshippers of Carolinians and Delewareans, the latter having settled near together some distance east of the Middle Fork stream. It being proposed by this settlement to move the site for a meeting place, more central or in their more immediate neighborhood; the former party were not disposed to favor such a suggestion, hence among themselves who attended that indulged meeting, they were not united in having the site for a meeting place moved from where it was first set upon lands of Edward Bond, who had donated it for the use of the Society as a meeting place. The matter was referred to Whitewater Friends for a conciliation, who appointed a committee to choose a site for a new meeting place. That committee did so, but it failed to effect a compromise with the members. The committee had to report without progress; but subsequently another committee was appointed, who finally chose a spot a mile or more east from the Middle Fork meeting, making that spot much nearer my father’s farm. The sequel was, the Middle Fork settlers refused to submit to the decision of the Whitewater committee, and alienated themselves from meeting with their brethren at that meeting place, and attached themselves to Chester Meeting, situated on the West Fork of Whitewater, two miles or more distant. They had to pass through almost an unbroken forest, with only an occasional settler or a squatter on reserved school lands. About that time the log meeting-house on the Middle Fork disappeared between two days; no clue to the incendiary. This little unpleasantness, that so soon took place after my father’s family were initiated among the Friends, about a place to worship, was somewhat discouraging. The new settlers or the Eastern Friends were our nearest neighbors. My parents were disposed to be neutral during the controversy; yet, owing to some marriage ties, our family went a distance of near five miles to Chester Meeting for a season, though a meeting-house was built within one mile of our home.

Brother, Part 3

One afternoon early in the spring, about sugar-making time, two fine, portly looking men were discovered coming up my father’s lane on horseback. Upon their coming to the house revealed one of them to be my brother and the other, our neighbor, Grave, who, perhaps, had met with my brother at Whitewater meeting, and who had just returned with the minister from their long and extended journey East. I noticed that my brother’s wardrobe was much replenished, which served him several years after; so also was the minister’s. But they came home minus my father’s carriage. In explanation of this I will state it was owing to the bad condition of the dirt-road after reaching a settlement of the Friends in Preble County, Ohio, some fifteen miles from home; they rode home on horseback. My father, to get possession of his carriage, after the roads became a little settled, took a short journey after it. I accompanied him as a companion and we brought the carriage home somewhat worse of the wear. I believe my father never loaned that carriage for so long a jaunt afterwards. I noticed my brother did not bring his fine young sorrel, high-flyer mare. Upon interviewing him to learn what he had done with her, he referred me to the old bay stump-tail horse that he rode home on. Some eastern horse-jockey had persuaded him that his high-flyer mare was too young for the jaunt, and he swapt her for the old stage-horse, as afore said. I think we all appreciated our carriage more since having it back, and getting to ride in it to meeting and other places. My brother renewed his clearing of land with an eye to business; probably he had thought of the saying, by this time, “Business before pleasure.”

After the burning of the meeting-house, and locating a place for a new one, what was called the Bond family and relatives generally, wandered through a wilderness to meeting, for reasons alluded to, while my father’s family did the same for a few years; but we had back our carriage to ride in. In going this five miles, we necessarily had to pass through the Middle Fork settlement. Not unfrequently my father would pass pedestrian mothers going to meeting and would have me to vacate my sent in the carriage, for those on foot, or to change places with them. In that case I preferred stopping at the one-mile meeting-house.

Snakes

On a former occasion, I published in one of our city papers a sketch of the history of snakes, showing from past history that snakes, by their gliding movements constitute an expressive type of the whole reptile order who take their name from the Latin repo, “I creep;” but I am reminded of the circumscribed limits of this little work, so I shall have to pass over that, and refer briefly to some of our North American snakes, of which probably the so-called “rattle-snake” is the highest type. The body being covered with scales, the tail is furnished with an appendage termed the “rattle,” consisting of several thin horny cells, which fit into each other so loosely that when quickly vibrated they produce a whirring noise. At a certain age a new rattle is added each year. The bite of a rattle-snake is terrible to man or beast. The adder is also said to be venomous. It bites only in self-defense, or when suddenly molested. The writer has a recollection of hearing an early settler on the Whitewaters relate when he was out with his gun shooting game, he espied near him a bird in apparent agony, fluttering on the wing, performing a circular movement towards the ground. A large fallen tree intervened between the hunter and the bird. Advancing to the fallen tree, upon looking over, he discovered a large rattle-snake in the act of charming the bird nearer and nearer to its mouth. He raised his rifle and drove a bullet through the head of the snake, thereby relieving the poor bird from a speedy death and enabled her to return to her nest. What a lesson for humanity to learn to keep out of the way of the charmer that lies in wait to deceive.

In early times the very ground where the city of Richmond stands was prolific of snakes. My venerable friend Cox, who at the date of penning these lines, survives, has told me of killing a large number one morning before breakfast, and said it was not an unusual morning for snakes, either. A few miles north of Richmond a den of snakes was supposed to be in the bluffs of Middle Fork. A fence was made around the hole and a large number were killed. I have read that snakes in other parts of the globe sometimes came into houses. In some instances it was the case here, that snakes of a pretty large size, perhaps harmless, would crawl into cabins of the early settlers. One warm summer day, a snake of some size stealthily crawled in when the inmates were out, save a newly-born babe, lying in the cradle. Young mothers, you must not go into a fit of hysterics if I say that when the mother come to lift the cover, she discovered a large snake snugly coiled up under the cover at the child’s feet. One day, at home, my mother had occasion to go a little distance from the house, and in her path she saw a large snake. Without doing, as many would at the present day, run away from it, she gathered a club and killed the snake, and went on her way. Upon relating her adventure at the dinner-table, some of the oldest of the family went to see what kind of snake it was, and it was found to be a black-snake, about four feet long. At another time on a warm summer day, at a log meeting-house, not many miles from where I now write, a few Friends were holding a silent meeting, (those kind of meetings were more common then than at the present day.) The custom of the Friends from time immemorial was to hold these meetings for worship from one to two hours. When all was silent within the walls, save it might be, the faint wailing of a young babe, the Friends sitting demurely in meditation occasionally crossing their legs to relieve the monotony, when those sitting on the raised seats, fronting the open door, saw a large snake crawl into the meeting-house and take his position on the floor behind the door; suffice it to say that the time of holding meeting was made shorter than has ever been known at Whitewater since.

Trip to Cincinnati

In the same year that my father got his carriage back, having some business to transact at the Land Office at Cincinnati, late in the fall, he started in his carriage. I had an older brother not yet out of his teens, who concluded to go along with a yoke of well-broken oxen, attached to a light wagon, loaded with new corn-meal, for the Cincinnati market. It was not clearly understood by an unsophisticated youth, as I was, how it came to pass to take meal from such a new country to an older settlement; but so it was. I being young, and had never been so far from home, was allowed to go along. We traveled the first day as far as Eaton, where we tarried over night with my father’s brother, who had settled there in 1807. The next day we proceeded on our way; sight-seeing became now my business. On each side of a pretty well-beaten dirt-road, fine open farms lay before me, orchards loaded with fruit, comfortable hewed log dwelling-houses, shingled roofs, but occasionally we saw barns and sheds covered with straw, indicating that we were in a German settlement. Night overtaking us we stopped by the way-side at a house for lodging, that kept teamsters. Nothing of note occurred while there, save the seeing and tasting the first apple-butter. The next morning we traveled on, reaching Cincinnati about noon; we drove on down a street pretty near the landing, where we found a vacant lot, turned our teams upon it and fed them. The reader must imagine that I was not idle in looking for sights. I thought it was a very big town, and the Ohio a big river, having never seen any before larger than Whitewater. (It never in those days got on a high as it does in these latter days.) The most notable sight was the figure of a man mounted on a post on a street corner near, if not on the corner of Main and Fifth streets. It was mounted in a grotesque manner, (I suppose it was a wooden man,) but how could I tell, having never seen such a thing before. In order to satisfy myself more fully what it was, I ventured across the street to look up at it. While there I read, for I had learned to read, above the door “Museum.” I had heard teamsters telling about going to the Museum when they went to Cincinnati, and of the sights they saw, such as stuffed monkeys, snakes, wax-figures, and of hearing of the rattling of chains where his Satanic Majesty, or Old Split Foot, was chained. I saw a stair-way leading up, and was about to ascend, when a man accosted me thus: “Sonny, where is your quarter?” Not having the same, I posted off to the carriage, and coaxed a silver quarter of a dollar from my father; it was soon in the hands of the door-keeper, and I went up stairs, of course. There I saw things I never had seen before. After feasting my eyes for sometime, when about to come away, near the head of the stairs, I saw a stuffed man with gray hair and beard a foot long, with large teeth, &c. At the same moment I heard chains rattling, which changed my mind of it being a stuffed man, but thought it was the very Old Nick himself. I was down the stairs in very quick time, and soon at our teams, where I found my father waiting to go and hunt up the Land Office, while my brother went to sell his meal. After crossing and recrossing and going on wrong streets, and getting stopped for passing on them on account of workmen paving the streets, we finally arrived at the Land Office, hitched our teams to a post, and entered the office, about ten feet square. At the door we were roughly accosted with profane language, by a man sitting on a chair with both feet and legs resting on another, near the door, on pillows, saying, “Take care, don’t come near my feet.” It seems that the old man had the gout pretty bad, and I suppose that was the reason he swore at us. I believe his name was Findlay. After transacting the business we came for we wended our way back to where we first stopped. After doing some shopping and looking around a little, and stopping in front of a barber-shop to hear a son of Africa play on a violin that my father, though a Quaker, was fond of hearing, my brother soon found sale for his meal at fifty cents per bushel. A quarter would have been a big price for it at home. We got started out of town a little before night and put up at a tavern where Cumminsville now is, where we found a dozen or more teamsters lodging for the night. We were nearly the only sober ones among them. They kept up a great noise most of the night—whisky being the cause. We started early the next morning and by driving pretty hard arrived at Eaton an hour or two after dark. The next day we arrived at home, and found all well and safe.

Brother, Part 4

A word more about my brother who went East with the minister. In addition to his wardrobe he had other advantages over his associates on the Whitewaters in being able to tell of the many curiosities and sights he had witnessed while on that visit. He had stood on the beach of the Atlantic’s briny deep, and saw its waving ebbs and tides. Among other things he told a pretty big fish story, of seeing the carcass of a whale, having a flour barrel in its mouth to hold it open, and of his crawling in the whale’s mouth, but said, in looking down the throat of that whale, he didn’t see how Jonah ever got through so small a hole.

Trip to Randolph County

The following year after my first trip to Cincinnati, late in the fall, my father conceived the project of taking a tour into the adjoining county north, now familiarly called “Sockum.” I believe the ostensible purpose of this exploration was the report he had heard, that in those wilds were large quantities of crab apples that could be had for the gathering. My father went in his carriage that had been loaned to the minister. My brother concluded he would rig up his ox team and go along, and I, being of tender age, was allowed to go with them in that excursion. We started early in the morning, with a view of making the journey in one day. As this was my first trip in that direction, I closely noticed things as we passed along. It was not long before we reached the newly laid out town of Newport which, at that early date was a live little Quaker village. Its inhabitants were mostly Friends from Carolina. The minister who had my father’s carriage was living there and engaged in the tanning business, when he was not out preaching. I believe he was not at home when we passed through, at least I have no recollection of seeing him, or of obtaining dinner at his house, as anticipated; so we shook the dust from our feet and passed on. We soon reached the border settlement. Of the rude cabin and other appendages that I saw, it may hardly seem necessary to give a description, as they were the common domiciles of us all. The following parody on a passage from Goldsmith’s “Deserted Village,” may be applicable:

“Such is the hut which one rude beam divides,
And naked rafters from the sloping sides,
Where the rough rails that cover it are seen;
And sticks and mud are all that lie between;
One dull pane that, carelessly patched, gives way
To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day;
Whose walls of mud scarce bar the broken door,
And rough slabs do constitute the floor;”

But as I happened to be born, and raised, as they say, in a cabin similar to those I saw, imagination need not stop to portray the muddy splendor of these rustic places.

“No whitewashed walls, no richly sanded floor;
No varnished clock to click behind the door;
A box contrived a double debt to pay;
A bed by night, a place for clothes by day;
No pictures placed for ornament or use,
A nest for pigs and hens, and also the old goose;
The chimney of sticks, scarce conveys the smoke away;
The hearth all rubbish and smaller lumps of clay;
Three broken cups, so wisely left for show,
In one corner ranged to glisten in a row;
Vain, muddy splendor could not all
Reprieve the tottering cabin from its fall;
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more supply
An hour’s shelter to the travelers by.”

You need hardly be informed that these primitive log cabins usually contained but one room, one window, and one door. An incident occurred in the days of pioneer preaching, that illustrates the character of their habitations. An unsophisticated preacher who was holding forth to an audience, read his text thus: “In my Father’s house are many mansions”—or rooms. He was about preparing to expound, when one in the congregation, who happened to be acquainted with the preacher’s father, sprang to his feet and gave the preacher the direct lie, declaring he had often been at the house of the preacher’s father, and would make oath it was but a log cabin, and there was only one room in it. It seemed to be apparent that as these early settlers in Randolph were so little behind those on the Whitewaters, they hardly had an excuse for living in such squalid huts, even at that date. It was not unusual to shelter their domestic fowls and newly born pigs in their cabins. But suffice it to say, we passed on in a new road till night overtook us, when, observing by the wayside the cabin of a new settler, we found it to be that of a Friend Quaker. Of course we obtained leave to tarry for the night, as it is customary with Friends always to entertain their members free of charge. But aside from that, I thought my father was entitled to some hospitality at the hands of the Friends, for his aid in assisting the minister before mentioned. Early the next morning we resumed our journey, and soon came in sight of the newly laid out town of Winchester. At the suburbs we were intercepted by fallen timber across the road; but with the use of an ax that we had with us, after an hour or more delay, we passed through the new town of a few houses, and soon arrived at the crab orchard, but found that kind of fruit not so plenty as we heard. After some time taken up in gathering the precious fruit, we succeeded in getting about a barrel full, when we came back to the kind Friend’s house we left in the morning. The next day we left for home. To help out our enterprise my father purchased of this early settler a barrel of maple sugar, paying about three cents a pound for it. We wended our way as best we could, often missing the almost obscure road, the fallen leaves having nearly covered our tracks the day before, and occasionally turning out to avoid the numerous frog ponds that so abounded in that region. But to be candid, I don’t know but what my father and brother got a little bewildered; perhaps similar to a grown son of an early settler’s family, who took down his father’s trusty rifle from its place over the door of his log cabin and went out in the unbroken forest in quest of game. In his wanderings he became lost. After considerable traveling and retracing of his steps, he finally espied a cabin by twilight in the evening. In coming to it he found the family seated around a huge pot partaking of their evening meal of mush and milk. He was recognized as their son. The shades of night began to close around us while we were reconnoitering around a frog pond to find the road on the opposite side. The borrowed light of the moon was not shining on this side of our globe at that time. We were in a dilemma having no means of striking a light nor provisions for ourselves or teams. At last my brother discovered in the dim distance a feint light supposed to proceed from one of these squalid huts we had seen on our journey to the crab orchard. We went for it and found inmates, but all the assistance they could render was fire. There being no road to the cabin, he obtained a burning torch, returned, and soon had a blazing fire kindled by the side of a fallen tree. Our teams were untackled and tied to trees, and we began to devise ways and means for a supper. The crab-apples and sugar were thought of. Happening to have a tin cup we stewed the apples with sugar—more sugar than crabs. For the lack of spoons splinters were substituted, our frugal meal was relished well. We then set about lodging for the night. My father’s carriage served well to lodge in, and we should have slept soundly had it not been for the hooting of owls and howling of wolves that prowled around our campfire, which we kept up during the night. Not unlikely, if the frosts of November had not prevented, we might have had for base the croaking of bull-frogs in the ponds near by; yet we had quite a comfortable night’s lodging. At the dawning of the next day, we had our teams hitched to our vehicles, and when sufficiently light, found we had missed the road, such as it was, a short distance in going around a pond of water. We pursued our way till we reached a pretty well opened farm in the border settlement of Newport, where we halted at a house whose occupant we found to be another of the Friend Quakers. I think we were fortunate in being among Friends, for they fed our teams and gave us a good breakfast, which we certainly enjoyed much; at least I can testify that I ate with a keen relish as the crab-apple desert the night before had served to give me an appetite. Now though half a century has passed since this occurrence, I have ever held in grateful remembrance the Friends, with all their foibles and shortcomings, for their kindness in entertaining strangers. From there we reached home in safety and found all well. I believe that adventure cured my father’s penchant for crab-apples.