Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1903-03-12
IN THE LITTLE OLD LOG CABIN.

When still quite young my father was
taken by his parents to Oneida county,
in central New York, where his moth
er dying, he was bound out to a West
moreland farmer, John Townsend, with
whom he lived until he was 81, receiv-
ing in return for his services, his board
and clothing, common school educa-
ton, and on attaining his majority, a
yoke of oxen and hundred dollars in
money. The service could not have
been unduly hard, for Mr. Townsend
was kind man, and he treated his
ward in every respect as he did his
own son, John, the boys being brought
up together like two brothers.
My father and the younger John
Townsend never forgot their early at
tachment, but remained good friends
long after my father left Westmoreland
for the Genesee country as 1t was then
called farther west. l was named for
that companion of his boyhood, who
made us at least one visit in our back
woods home.
That part Of the Genesee country to
which my father emigrated was the
township of Ogden, in Monroe county,
few miles west of the river that gave
the region its name. Soon after at
tanning his freedom he had married
WestmOreland farmers daughter, Re-
becca Wiley granddaughter of Captain
John Wiley, of East Haddam, Conn, a
veteran of the revolution), when she
was Is and he 81. They kept house
about year and half in Westmore-
land Then, in the depth of winter,
namely, in February, 1872, he yoked his
oxen to a sleigh, on which werN loaded
few farming and kitchen utensils and
household goods--all it could safely
carry in the condition of the road, 4
road it could be called, a mere wagon
track cut through the primeval woods
and set out with her upon their
rough journey of over hundred miles
and know not how many days. What
is now Syracuse was then a frontier
settlement; beyond that their way lay
for the most part through unbroken
solitudes of the forest. There was no
bridge over the Genesee, and but one
house at the falls, where the city of
Rochester now stands. The emigrants
expected to cross by a ferry at the
mouth of the river, but they found the
river frozen over and the ferryboart
blocked. They put up at a log tavern,
and CLOSING the next morning on the
ice, pushed on into the vast and shad-
owy wilderness, my father walking by
the horns OF the oxen to navigate the
sleigh among the projecting roots and
through the snow-filled hollows; the
bars of sunshine slanting along the
arches of great trunks and limbs, and
the tinkling ice-crust dropping from
the boughs overhead. They reached
their destination that afternoon.
1t was in the midst of dense woods,
where a Westmoreland acquaintance
had already made a small clearing and
built a cabin. He took in the new
corners and helped father roll up
house"-a mere hut, built of logs not
too large for two men to roll upon in
clined poles, and place one upon anoth- !
er. The "puncheon" floor was of split
chestnut logs, the sleigh boards serv-
ing as the moor Of the loft. Not a nail
was used in the construction; nails |
were expensive; wooden pegs took their |
place. No stones could be gathered on |
account of the deep snow, and my |
mothers kettles would sink down into |
the soft ground which formed the !
hearth. The snow stayed until April. |
When 1t was gone, and she went out |
and found some good, nice stones" to |
set her kettles on in the fireplace, she
felt ricn," as she used smiling to tell |
us children in later years.
So my parents set up their simple |
housekeeping, and passed, | have no |
doubt, their happiest days-days as ]
happy, very likely, as any their chill
dren or numerous grandchildren or
great-grandchildren have enjoyed, in
the stress of a more complex ciyiliza-
ton. She sang at her work; his ak re-
sounded in the forest. He made a
clearing, and planted corn and beans
and potatoes among the stumps. Their
first child was born in that hut. The
grew, and before long a large,
well-built house replaced the primitive
cabin.
In this house all the nine children
were born except the first and the last.
was the eighth, and in II / first saw
the light THAT OF tallow candle) in
September, 1927, after our parents had
been Is years in their backwoods home.
The event, Of so much more impor-
lance to me than to anyone else, took
place so nearly on the stroke OF mid
night that 1t was uncertain whether
the 1.,h or 18th Of the month should,
In strict accordance with the fact, be
set down as my birthday. In my child
hood, some freedom Of choice being left
to be in the matter-strange as II may
seem that a boy should be able to
choose his own birthday stoutly
the 18th was the anniver-
sary, since It added the dignity of one
lay to my youthful years, and brought
The presents, If there CHANGED to be
any. one day earlier But later in life.
'or a sadder reason, fixed upon the
late that made me a day younger.
Then there was the satisfaction Of feel
ng that was child Of the morning
Atlantic Monthly. \