The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1883-07-18
The Little Red House and It's Victims.

Riding over the hills of one of the
beautiful towns of Connecticut one dav.
where delightful view of the month of
the river with the white houses of Saw
brook sparkling in the morning sunlight
burst upon the view, l noticed an old
stone chimney, blackened with smoke, on
the crest of ridge and all around it signs
of former habitation. Currant bushes in
the aforetime garden, lilac bushes in clus
tiers, the old we'll with long sweep. the
moss-covered bucket dangling within the
well-curb, the broken, patched. and thrice
broken fence intertwined with vines and
bushes, all suggested once happy, con-
tented home.
"Who lived there ?" 1 asked of NV
companion.
ooh, different folks, within the last
twenty years. 1t was built by a thriving
man, about sixty years ago. fisherman /;
but when he died his family was broken
up and the house went into other hands,"
"Whv didn't his widow keep it ?"
"Well, it's long story all told. But
do you see that little red house down the
river p
eyes"
Well, that house devoured this one"
How was that ?"
"The fisherman who lived here sold his
shad down there near that house, which
was then and always has been tavern.
They used to catch lots O. ahad in those
days, and the fishermen all grew rich !;
that is, for this part of the country. They
sailed all the shad down there at the
wharf There wasn't any fresh shad sent
to market; but they took schooner-loads
of salt ones. Well, the fishermen had
some rough nights, and, being cold and
wet many times, went into the red house
to warm up. And what was more nat
ural than to take glass of Santa Cruz
rum They had it good in those DAYS.
So this man got to taking his rum; and
it grew on him. He stayed away from
home more and more, and when he came
home, brought less and less money with
him. Year by year rum had more and
his family had less. The little red house
did lively business for its owners. And
when the fisherman died, the only effects
of value he possessed were about hogs
head of empty bottles and jugs in the
cellar. The homestead had all been
drank up, the widow and children were
turned out, and the little red house put
in tenant at thirty dollars a year."
"Well. but how did it come to be
burned ?'
"Rum's tenants would, somehow, fail
to pay the rent after while. Their
cows would 60, their pigs, their furni-
ture. and all; and then they would go,
and the little red house would put in
another tenant. So it went This was
a sort of tender to the house down there.
I've often thought of the red house as be-
ing painted with the blood of women and
children. Maybe 1 amt right; but it
kind O. seems so to me. Well, after
while, about five years ago, man moved
in here with seven children. His wife
was dead. They say he killed her; but
don't know. His eldest girl was about
thirteen, and she did all the homework
and cooking. and mighty little cooking
there was, too, in that house. You could
git drink of whisky any time, but
nothing to eat. / believe in my soul
them children was hungry more'n half the
time; and he wouldn't let them 90 to the
neighbors for anything. He told 'em he'd
kill 'em, if they did; and the poor little
things would go out in the woods
here and eat berries, and them lit
tie wild apples. and sassafras, and
birch, and such like. Things went on so
for long while. Finally, the long, cold
winter of IA and rs came on. The
neighbors kind O. looked out for them
children but they had to be cautious,
for, if their father had known of it, be-
lieve he'd killed 'em. He was an ornery
cuss as ever lived, and whiskey made him
so. The snow was deep on the ground
one night, and the wind blew livin'
gale. 1t was one of them nights when
man bolts the door, draws up to the fire,
and thanks God that he amt out in it.
remember the night as if it was only last
night. was down to the white house
there, visitin'. All of sudden, as we
was eatin' hickory nuts, some one said !:
Hush What was that p We all held
our breath, the wind roared like mad.
We couldn't hear anything else.
| what was it ?" asked some one.
al thought heard little cry under
the window. And, my soul, John if
there amt fire up there on the hill I
Put on yer coats, boys, and go out and
zee if them children's burnt up i said the
Missus.
AT this we all jumped for our SOU
westers, an | tell you, if we didn't make
| eihol no uoOr was Optnou dnu we was
a-rushin' out when what should we see
but a lot of shiverin' children huggin the
doorstep. No questions were asked. We
knew what it meant. They were taken
in, an we ran up the hill. Halfway up
come to little bundle of something in
the road. / took it in my arms. If it
wasn't little girl, with both feet frozen |
l give it to one of the women to carry
back to the house, and run on. Well, as
l come to that piece of fence there, could
see the old house burnin' and something
curled up under that big rock. went to
it. Ii was the Oldest boy. / opened my
overcoat, sat down, aud took him into my
breast, all could, and tried to warm him ;
but he was stiff. He never moved. hur-
ried down to the house with him, but the
poor little skeleton-there want no meat
on his bones more'n there is on one O.
them old pickets. carried him in Che
was light as feather) and we tried to
bring him to-; but we couldn't--he was
dead. The other six lived but they all
was badly frozen in their hands and feet.
You see, they was tryin' to keep warm
and built up as good a fire. AZ thew could