Wichita eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1886-1890, 1889-06-15

Inc past Wlrn ali It's IeatSb
Its silence andits tears,
Its lonely yearning years,
Shall vanish in the moment of that meeting
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps
THE TWO BRASS KETTLES.
It was a queer structure-the old Minot
house in Dorchester. 1t was really brick
house incased in wood-a fort house it was
called. 1t was built in this way to protect
the jewellers against rude Indian assaults.
There is but one house standing that resem-
bles 1.-THE Cradock mansion in Medford.
There were many such houses In the old col
onies, but one by one they grew gray with
moss and vanished The Minot house itself
was burned about twenty years ago, after
standing about $50 years.
The old people Of dorchester and Neponset
must remember it. It rose solemn and state
~ at the foot Of the high bills overlooking
the sea meadows The high ddes came into
the thatch margins near II and went out
again, leaving the abundant shell fish spout
ing In the sun. The hinged gentians grew
amid the aftermath Of the hay fields around
it. The orioles swung in the tall trees in
summer time, and ospreys circled and
screamed in the clear sky over all
But the orchards-here were the fuIlness
and perfection Of the old New England or
chards! The south winds Of May scattered
the apple blossoms like snow over the emerald
turf. and filed the air with fragrance. The
earliest bluebirds came to them, and there
the first robins built their nests. How charm
ing and airy it all was In May, when the days
were melting into summer, and how really
beautiful and full Of life were all Of these
venerable New England homes!
After the old house was burned ! visited
the place, and brought away few bricks as
a souvenir Of home Of heroic mernories-of
happy memories, too, If we except a single
tragedy Of the Indian war. The great or
chards are gone, the old barns and their swal-
lows; only the well remained, and a heap of
burned bricks and the blackened outline Of
the cellar wall
1t was house full of legends and stories
wonder tales that once led the stranger to
look upon it with kind Of supersdtious awe.
It had its historic lore, but the most thrilling
legend associated with the old walls was
known as 1.-THE Two Brass Kettles" The
legend may have grown with time, but it was
well based on historic facts, and was often
told at the ample fresides of three genera
tions of Dorchester people.
"Uncle Zebedee," I piped.
"Well, dearie"
"Aunt said that you would tell us the story
of The Two Brass Kettles after dinner"
"Why, dearie, yes, yes I've been telling
that story these eighty years. como October.
Didn't you never hear ita thought all little
shavers knew about that The Two Brass
Kettles yes.
They're in the old cupboard now.
Bring them out, and will tell you all about
'em / shan't live to tell that story many
more years. Maybe I shall never tell it
again."
The servants brought out the two kettles
into the kitchen, where we could see them
through the wide dining room door.
''Put 'em in the middle of the floor before
the window" said Uncle Zebedee. There,
that will do. That is just where they were
when the Indian came.
"You see the window" he added.
It had great deep set easement. Grape
vines half curtained it now on the outside,
and the slanting sun shone through them, its
beams gImmering on the cid silver of the
table. 1t was past the middle Of the after
noon of the shortening days of autumn.
"You ha, all heard Of Philips war;" be-
gan Uncle Zebedee, leaning forward from
his chair on his crutch. Everybody has
it destroyed thirteen towns in the Old Col
ony, and for two years filed every heart
with terror Philip struck here, there and
everywhere No one could tell where he
would strike next. The sight of an Indian
lurking about In the woods or looking out Of
81, ll,-,, op{
cree (massacrel.
Zone Sunday in July, in 1878, the family
went to meeting leaving two small children,
a boy and girl, at home, in charge Of a
maid named Experience. The kitchen then
was as you see it now. The window was open,
the two brass kettles had been secured on
Saturday, and placed bottom upwards on the
floor, Just as you see them there
st was blazing July day. The hay fields
were silent There was an odor of bayricks
In tho air, and the bobolinks, / suppose, top
Piled about In the grass. and red winged black
birds piped among the wild wayside roses,
just as they do now. wish that you could
have seen the old hay fields in the long July
afternoons, ell scent and sunshine; It makes
me long for my boyhood again, just TO think
Of them But shall never NOW again
"Let me seq The two children were SIT
ting on the hoor near the two kettles Ex-
perienca was preparing dinner and had made
a fire In the great brick oven, which heated
the bricks but did not heat tie room
"Weu, on passing between the oven and
the window she CHANGED to look towards the
road, when she saw g sight that fixed her
eyes, and caused her TO throw up her hand.
with horror, Just Ike that"
Uncle Zebedee threw up both hands, Like
exclamation points, and let his crutch drop
into his lap.
"Wel, the maid only lost her wits for few
nornents She few TO the window and closed
it, and boited the door. Then she put one Of
the Children under one Of the brass kettles,
and the other child under the other kettle,
and took the iron shove! and lifted Il 90, and
waited to see what would happen and
Uncle Zebedes lifted his crutch like an in
terrogation point, and we could easily imagine
the attitude Of the excited maid.
"And-where was Ir
ssThe children were under the Two Bras
Kettles, and the maid was standing with the
fire shovel II bar hand, co. said aunt ia,
I've heard that story evy s.ncs I was girl
Eyes, zee; have IL all now said. Uncls
Zebedee. 'Sne was Standing with the FIRE
shovel up 80, wien sss discovered that the
Indian had q gun-a gun
.'Tor see tia. cid aintlock there. over tbs
Gdeboerdf used 70 fire it OF every Fourth
Of July, but the last time fred il Kicked ne
ove once-dOnt yo1 never fire Il, childrca-
I. always kicked, but Il never knocked ne
over before. ! don't think that an quite
v