Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1875-08-20
THE LOST CHILD.
Truc Traditlon Of Nvachuse.t
ny WILLIAM T. BARLOW.

Indians, nor hunting gtlzzly Deurs III lho
Sierra Nevada or the Rocky Mountains,
nor building Pacific railways, nor shaking
with chlls and fever in the valleys OF the
Sacramento and the Yellowstone. Neither
chills nor railways had ever been heard OF.
But then, as now, fighting Indians was tho
occasional necessity of the pioneer; and If
grizzlies did not then dispute the pioneers
right TO his newly-found home, divers of
their congeners, nearer or more remote,
claiming seizin thereof for long periods
whereof memory of neither man nor beast
ran to the contrary refused to recognize
any other title than their own, whether
based upon discovery, disseizin, or con-
quest. The pioneers of America were then
rough hewing New England. Robert
Keyes was hewing out for his family
home on the eastern side of Wachusett
Mountain, "in ye township of Princeton,
in ye countie of Middlesex, & colonie of
Massachusetts Bay"
Mountains, like everything else, are
great or small only by comparison. Wa
chusett may be a very humble mountain
as compared with Shasta and other snowy
peaks of the great continental ranges of
America. But in the estimation of the
people who live within sight Of Wachu-
sett, it is a great mountain, and they call
it, by way of emnence, Me mountain. Do
they not visit it, and boast that they have
actually ascended its peak once, twice,
thrice, or more, in the course of their
lives7 Have not divers enterprising per-
sons built famous summer taverns upon
it a nd about it for accommodation Of its
admirers? Is not the mountain more in
flllible prophet than even Old Probabilities
himself to the farmer, who is able, accord
ing as Wachusett hath his rain cap on, or
oil herwise, in the morning, TO divine the
prospect of the day for haymaking, or 9TH
er fair weather work? I have seen an al
penstock carried by a Worcester county
traveller, whereon was aflectionately en-
graved the name of Wachusett in the same
column with the Jungfrau and the Natter
horn.
1t was in l751 that Robert Keyes COM
me need his pioneering on tho slope of Wa
chusett and the same year his wife bore to
him a daughter, whom the parents named
Lucy, and who was to be the subject of
tragic mystery which bailled all attempts
TO solve il for more than half a century
then TO come. The Keyes family was the
fourth to settle in Princeton, and at that
time the parties were about forty years old.
Besides Lucy, they had two other daugh-
ters considerably older than she. There
was, at the distance of about mile from
the clearing which Robert had made, and
Loo l,i hig hnnsn
called Wachusett Pond, whittier the two
elder sisters went one April morning in
l775 TO get sand for house cleaning. The
route TO the pond lay through the woods,
and was only indicated by blazed trees.
Unobserved by the elder sisters, Lucy,
then four years old, followed them into
the woods. The mother felt no concern
about the absence of the child, surprising
her to be in the care of her elder sisters,
TILL their return without her; when il ap-
peared that they were unaware that she had
followed them, and had seen nothing Of
her either going or returning.
Search is Immediately commenced by
the mother and elder sisters, who explore
the woods all the way to the pond, without
finding any trace of the missing child.
Loud and earnest calls of the childs name
are only followed by reverberating echoes
from the mountain sides. The father
plowing in the field, hears the eager calls,
and joins the searchers. lie suggests that
probably Lucy has fallen asleep upon some
rocks, where she may have sat down TO
rest or to play, and does not hear their
calls. He raises his own voice to the high
est pitch and in the stiffness of that April
morning his call to his child might have
been heard for miles. But there is no an
swer. The woods are now more and more
widely searched. Every place that could
be supposed to conceal child is examined;
and the forenoon is spent before they are
aware of it. 1t occurs to the father that
the child may have fallen into the pond,
whittier he hastens, dreading the discovery
that ne expects. The margin of the pond
| is sandy and he looks for little foot prints
in the sand. but can find none. He peers
anxiously into the water, but fails to max Q
| the dreaded discovery. Meantime 1t oc-
ours TO the mother, that, while they have
been looking for Lucy in the woods, shc
may have herself returned TO the house "a
| DOsSlblllll lhdi shO thSg hih NV
think of before), and with her daughters
hurries home. The kitchen door is open
just as they left it but no trace of Lucy's
| having been there Is visible. The whole
house, barn, and all the other buildings,
enclosures, and possible places of conceal
ment, are seai ched in vain.
The father also returns home and meets
| 4 4, l,o 10 -,
the woods. Neither has any discovery to
report to the other. He casts an anxious
look at the sun, which is noticed by both
mother and daughters. The sun is al
ready past the meridian, and has COM
menced his descent of the western sky.
Absorbed in the anxiety of the search they
had taken no thought Of the flight of time
and their usual dinner hour had come and
gone unnoticed by any of them. And the
father had forgotten that he had lelt his OK
en- in the yoke attached to the furrow. Be-
sides the possibility that Lucy might have
fallen into the pond and been drowned,
there are other possibilities which all have
thought OF, but none have dared trust
tongue to name. There are beasts of prey
wolves certainly, and perhaps other wild
beasts, upon the mountain. And there are
hostile savages in the vicinity. Lucy may
have been carried of by wolves or Indi'
ans. AS we shall have occasion to speak OF
these possibilities again, let us for the sake
of brevity and distinction, designate them
severally as the wolf theory, the Indian
theory, and the pond theory.
Night is coming and an appalling sensC
of their situation seems, sim multaneOusly
with the fathers glance at the sun, to seizC
both parents and children. All possible