St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1893-11-30
Il AT deg said
! siIss"
No"
"Yes,be spoke


n
it Just as plainly
as l do now. / taught him to say that
word when was young man, and used
to 90 hunting In the woods around the
marshes He said Silas, and no word
ever fell on my ears that has given me
such cause for gratitude as that. He
was an old coach dog. drove the stage
between Boston and the cape before l
went West. He used to lie under the
leather boot to guard the mail bags"
1t was Thanksgiving eve. My good
grandfather had asked that we should
all relate the incident of our lives that
had given US the greatest cause for
thanKfulness Each had related some
remarkable incident, except Uncle
Silas, the stage driver and prospector.
/ glanced towards him as the freight
fell on his kindly face, and asked him
the same question. His answer startled
the company, though lie events to
which lie referred were not new to me.
l had heard him relate many times at
huskings and on long winter evenings
his story of the speaking coach dog, or,
as he was accustomed to name it, The
window in the Woods" others called
it The Phantom Inn" The story in
part was told in old newspapers and on
red settles forty years ago.
The scene to which we Introduce the
reader on this Thanksgiving eve was in
the old WinslOw house, at Greenhorbor,
now Marshfield, Mass. No house in
America. We may safely say, ever had
so many colonial legends of ThankSgiy-
ing days as this. Gov. Wlnslow himself,
the old Pilgrim, had begun this Thanks
giving story telling. He used to relate
how MassaSoit, the king of the POkanO
ket country, had invited him to go hunt
ing with him. When they had roamed
over the forest for several days, the
venerable chieftain had dispatched
runner to Plymouth with some secret
message to the Plymouth people. When
he returned to Plymouth, accompanied
by the chief, he had found the town
filled with grief, which his presence
turned to joy. The runner sent by
Massasoit to Plymouth had reported
that he (WlnsloW) was dead.
''Why did you send that false report?"
asked the Pilgrim.
ITO make them more glad to see you
when you returned" answered the de-
lighted chief.
This was the first Thanksgiving story
III the colonies. 1t was true one, and
one worth repeating i'll all historic
Thanksglvings
Josiah Winslow, the first native-born
governor, was distinguished for his great
soul and liberal table, and he con-
tinued the old Pilgrims habit of
Thanksgiving story telling. He could
tell the later legend of the Five Grains
of Corn, and we are glad to know that
some people in New England still place
five grains of corn under the plates OF
the Thanksgiving table, to recall the
Pilgrims days of famine, and to con-
trast it with the prosperous meal of the
developed nation. a pleasant surprise
and noble object teaching may. be
made of such use of the five kernels
OF corn placed under dinner plate in
any American home where ThankSgiy =
ing is observed. 1t tells at a glance the
sturdy resolution and purpose out of
which the nation grew.
''Silas" said |, tell us the story of
the dog that said 'Silas.' 1t will be new
10 the company"
The story of the Window in the
it. Some folks do and then some folks
don't-sOme folks say that it makes 'em
lie awake when the shutters bang"
The company eagerly demanded the
tale.
1t was a strange room. In one corner
were bushel baskets heaped with corn,
Uncle SilaS shelled corn as he said for
company" Oil other than holiday or
Sunday evenings. Over the coru baS-
betS were strings of dried apples, pump
kins and red peppers. Near the fire.
place were rennets for cheese, and
under the rafterS were candle poles.
The fireplace revealed great fore sticks,
apple tree wood, which made an eSpe-
cially hot fire, and was used on Thanks
giving ewes, and at special times. APP
pies in rows were toasting on the hot
hearth. The family consisted of an
old couple, named White, and their
sons and sons wives and children from
towns near Boston, and a few invited
guests.
There had been a nut-cracking after
the Thanksgiving dinner, followed by a
merry-making, at which an old New
England drUllery had been sung to
Sias' fiddle. This old song was called
Uncle Jeddediah,' and represented the
happy arrival of guests from Boston,
and the chorus was sung amid most
lively bobbing of heads.
"Oh. won't we have merry time?
Oh, won't we have a merry time?
Polly, put the kettle on
And wei all lake tear
Uncle Silas caught up his chair, and
lifted it in the jumping way of the old
colonial times to place nearer the fire
A shutter banged, aud he cast his ewes
mysteriOusly towards the window. The
room grew very still.
The clouds are scudding over the
mCon,'' he began. The wind is rising
i can hear il III the tops of the trees
Many'S the time | have gone down tC
GreenharbOr in the old stage coach Oh
nights like this, and leaped from the
seat and snatched the mail bag from the
boot, and when | said 'Silas,' there
would creep out of the boot that old
coach dog.
That dog was given to me by a sailor
who was about to go to sea from the old
North river. He was a pup then.
never knew dog that seemed to think
so much of his master as that dog did ot
me. His eyes were never off of me.
taught him a number of tricks, such as
10 stand upon his hind legs and beg
which he did by uttering a sharp, piti
ful cry. While begging one day. he
made ii sound like 'Silas.' | repeated
it, and he uttered 1t again. After tina
! would hold back from him his fooc
until he had made that sound. SAY
Silas, | would say. and after d time ht
would utter the word, or what sounded