USA > Connecticut > Windham County > History of Windham County, Connecticut > Part 23
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"I have to leave in the morning," he replied, rather sadly. "My regiment broke camp yesterday, and is on its way to New Jersey to be ready for some early movement. My orders are to be in New London to-morrow night."
What a damper his words cast over their joy! Only one night, and what could they do for him in that brief period? There was not a yard of cloth in the house, except a few yards of white flannel which had been sent to the mill in autumn and returned undressed, as the clothier had gone to the army. There was not a yard in the neighborhood, nor an inch for sale in the market. What could they do? A bright thought flashed through the
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young girl's mind. Her little brother had just come in from the barn, and was sitting on Jimmie's knee. She whispered some- thing in his ear, and he was off in a moment.
" Do you remember Dido, Jimmie?" she asked her brother.
"You'd better believe I remember her," he said. "Whatever became of the ugly imp?"
"She is alive and well, and has turned patriot."
Dido was a black cosset, given to Hettie by one of the royal- ists, who left the country at the commencement of the war, and was as vicious a creature as could be imagined. Not another sheep on the farm would eat at the same rack with her, and she had to be confined in the winter in a solitary outhouse. Before her brothers left home they advised their sister playfully "to tie the king's documents around the critter's neck and make a colonial messenger of her, or else send her to England with the other black sheep."
Nevertheless, Dido had been tenderly cared for by her young mistress, to whom she was uniformly gentle and docile. The little brother's orders were to lead the cosset into the cellar- not an easy task, for while he slip-noosed a cord around her neck she stamped at him, butted him with her hard head, and tried to bite his knees; but the boy's will was as strong as her own and she was pulled into the cellar. Hettie was there before them with a large pair of shears in her hand.
" Now, Dido," she said, "you have never made any sacrifice for your country, but you must do so now. Lie down, my pet, and give me your coat !"
At a wave of her hand the creature obeyed, and caressing her, Nettie began to shear the long, coarse wool from her back.
" Take this to grandma, Eben, and ask her to card it before I come up. And then you run as fast as you can to Aunt Remem- ber's, and ask her and Cousin Sallie to come here right away, and help get Jimmie off in the morning. They'll want to see him and hear from the army."
It did not take Hettie long to shear the wool from Dido's body and sew around it a warm blanket. Then she hastened up the stairs with her burden, which was laid at her grandmother's feet. The great wheel was next brought nearer the fire, and the rolls, already carded, laid beside it.
" How glad I am you finished weaving in that web this morn- ing, mother!" she said, gaily. "We can now send Jim away
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with a new suit of linsey-woolsey black as Dido. It will at least look better than a white flannel one at this season of the year."
"Is the gal crazy?" asked the old grandmother, resting for a moment on her cards.
"Crazy with joy, then ! Your rolls run beautifully, grandma ; warm from the sheep, you know. Jimmie, can't you quill ?"
A hearty laugh, the first they had heard from the young sol- dier, did their hearts good. Hettie's tongue buzzed as fast as her wheel. As soon as she had spun enough for a single quill, she called on her mother to wind it, fill her shuttle, and begin the fabric. Never had they wrought inore cheerfully; there was no time to think of the morrow. Cousin Sally and her mother soon joined them, and another pair of cards and another wheel helped on the work. The carding and spinning were fin- ished at nightfall, and the evening was not spent when the fab- ric was cut from the loom. Aunt Remember was a tailoress, and while the supper was preparing she measured Jimmie for the round jacket and loose trousers, which she said could easily be made before morning.
A pleasant night they made of it while the storm wind whistled without. The boys cracked nuts and Jimmie told camp stories until after midnight, when the two were sent to bed in their mother's room, which opened from the warm kitchen. Early the next morning she stole softly in and awoke little Eben, that he might feed old Dolly and make ready for departure, as he was to accompany his brother on his way. Jimmie appeared at the breakfast table in his new suit, and laughingly promised his sister that Dido should have a pension at the close of the war if she was living.
When the sword of Cornwallis was placed in the hands of their beloved commander-in-chief, that broken band of cousins, with their surviving comrades, came marching home. There was a wedding at the old homestead not long after, and when Hettie left her father's house for a new home of her own, proudly in the train that accompanied her was led the old cosset, with one of her lambs as black as herself at her side. For more than a century the story of Dido and that linsey-woolsey suit has been an heirloom. The children and children's children have heard it, and from that day to this a black sheep has been the family pet and pride.
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A CHARACTER.
Every town has its-I will not say vagabonds, but easy-go- lucky fellows, who flourish, like dodder, with no root in the ground. Some years ago Scotland parish had one of this sort, who got his living by fishing, hunting, and occasionally hooping a tub or cask. It entered his odd head at last that a help-meet would be in order, and he applied to one of the good farmers of the neighborhood for the hand of one of his daughters.
"What!" said the old gentleman, in astonishment. "You, Daniel, want a wife? What on earth could you do with one?"
"Why," returned the young man, straightening up to his full six feet, "I can almost support myself, and it's a darned poor woman who couldn't help a little."
The farmer did not see it so, but it seems the daughter did, and in spite of opposition she became Mrs. Daniel For years they obtained a precarious livelihood, the "woman help- ing a little" by tending a turnpike gate. But turnpike gates became obsolete with the march of improvements, and Daniel became rheumatic and was no longer able to haunt the streams and woods; then the town became their almoner.
Some time after her husband's death a small legacy fell to the widow, when it was suggested by a relative that it would be a good time to procure a stone to mark his grave. The old lady looked serious for a moment, as if considering the matter, then replied : "Wal, now, I reckon if the Lord wants Daniel in the day of judgment He can find him without a guideboard !"
When the old lady came to her death-bed she was visited by a minister, who, with other inquiries, asked her if she had made her peace with God. She looked astonished, and after a little replied : "I don't remember as the Lord and I ever had any difficulty."
TEA-TOTAL.
" The women took the matter up And said, ' We do agree To plant our gardens green with sage, And drink it all, 'ere we Will taste the Tory tea ! The barley malteth in the sun, The raspberry leaves are free,
And we will teach the little ones To glean industriously, And tell them Liberty Is sweeter far than tea.'
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" And boys went whistling through the street, ' Oh, not a fig care we For England's herb-drink-bitter-sweet ! Hurrah for Liberty ! We drink no Tory tea !'
Brave lads they were; and when the strife In earnest was begun, They dropped the school-book for a fife, Or took a rusty gun- Still shouting valiantly, ' We'll drink no Tory tea !'
" But England sent the tea along, Though men of all degree
Protested loud against the wrong, And said, ' We've no idee Of paying tax on tea !' And Boston men did more, for when The ships at anchor lay Three hundred chests of tea were steeped In Massachusetts Bay. But who went out to tea Was not so plain to see."*
The passage of the Boston port bill gave Windham a new dragon to fight, and men, women and children were ready for action. For years tea had been the bête noir of their special an- tagonism. No one was permitted to bring it into the town, or even to taste a drop of the "detested weed," under penalty of seeing his name gazetted as an enemy to his country, or at the risk of a coat of tar and feathers. The venerable Doctor Cogs- well and lady, of Scotland parish, greatly offended his parishion- ers by indulging in the prohibited beverage after returning from the burial of a beloved daughter, whose sudden illness and death had nearly prostrated them. The transgression was made public and the reverend gentleman informed that the offense would be reported to the committee of inspection. Greatly agi- tated, he went at once to that body and informed them that the tea had been taken by advice of a physician, and they promised to waive proceedings. But his parishioners were not so easily satisfied. "Better to die," they said, "than to be guilty of so evil an example !" And many worthy members refrained from church-going unless their minister would make a public confes- sion from the pulpit; and their action was commended by a majority of the citizens of the neighboring parishes.
* Extract from an old poem by a Windham lady.
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Nothing delighted the Windhamites so much as the tidings of the destruction of those ship-loads of tea in Boston harbor, and nothing since the passage of the stamp act had aroused their in- dignation to such a pitch as the closing of the harbor in conse- quence. The news reached Windham on Saturday, and before night handbills were posted all over the town. Mr. White took the subject into the pulpit the next day, and made a most earnest appeal for their brave suffering brethren, exhorting his listeners to concert some speedy measure for carrying aid to the be- leaguered city. There was no need of such exhortation, for already had the citizens resolved in their minds what they could best spare from their own necessities.
A town meeting was called at once, and there was a grand rally from every section of the town. The old meeting house was crowded to its utmost capacity, women and children filling the galleries. Solomon Huntington was moderator, and soon announced that two hundred and fifty-eight sheep were contributed and ready for delivery. A number of the young men volun- teered to go with their offering, and remain to fight if needed.
Mr. Bancroft, in his "History of the American Revolution," makes very honorable mention of this Windham donation-the first from Connecticut, and the earliest save one from any of the American colonies.
DOCTOR COGSWELL AND PHYLLIS.
Many anecdotes are told of Doctor Cogswell and his two old negro servants, Ambrose and Phyllis. Phyllis, when young, was brought from Africa, and it was the theme of her life-long thoughts and conversation. She was very fond of the kitchen garden, and laid by every variety of seed against the day of her death, when she fully believed she should return to her beloved Africa, bearing with her germs to make the desert fruitful. Poor old slave! Toiling and easing her heavy burden with the blessed balm of Hope, which never yet has quite forsaken the wretched. May we not believe the poor slave's eyes have, ere this, opened to scenes familiar, that she has sat in the shad- ows of the palms, and tasted the cocoa milk, so sweet to her earthly childhood, in the home so often regretted and longed for in the dark years that succeeded? Surely the All-wise will suit the future of his poor creatures to their earnest longings, so that no shadow of disappointment will await the "ten thousand
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times ten thousand," whether their hopes stretch forward to the "land of pure delight " of the Christian or the "happy hunting grounds " of the savage.
Old Ambrose was allowed a small patch of ground to till for his own personal benefit, after the custom of master and slave. A remarkably fine turnip crop was the result of one season's sowing, of which he was very proud. One day on going to his patch he discovered a number of vacancies, and shrewdly sus- pected his missing vegetables had found their way to the par- son's table. A passer-by overheard the darkey venting his in- dignation in this sort: "Very religiss, he is ! Steal a nigger's turnips! Dem'd religiss !" And the story was not long in getting circulated.
The doctor became very forgetful in his later years, often omitting the notices for the week. On one occasion he forgot to mention the lecture preparatory for the sacrament on the coming Sabbath. Good old Deacon Kingsley, who, like most of the men of his time, made great account of " training days," arose in his seat and said: "I guess Mr. Cogswell has forgot that next Sabba' day is the first Monday in May."
AN OLD FAMILY OF SCOTLAND.
One of the most distinguished families of the ancient township of Windham was that of Nathaniel Huntington, an early settler of Scotland parish. It consisted of six sons and three daughters. Their home, a fine old mansion with broad front and sloping roof, after the fashion of the time, is still standing, with green lawn before it, a few rods west of Merrick's brook. It was the favorite gathering place of the young people of the parish, who were drawn thither in part by the attraction of music, for which the family was famed, and for the wit and good cheer which always abounded. Three of the sons were graduates of Yale, and two of the others became even more distinguished than the collegians. The second son, Samuel, left a name to live in his- tory. His father intended him for a mechanic, and he was ap- prenticed to a neighboring cooper, but a little circumstance brought out the spirit of the boy, who, it seems, "was father to the man." His elder brother was fitted for Yale, and left home one bright autumn morning clad in broadcloth and fine linen. Sam was sent to the barn to hatchel flax. Going thither some time after to see how the work progressed, his father found him
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stripped to the waistband, while his homespun shirt was passing vigorously through the iron teeth of the hatchel.
" What are you doing there, boy?" his father demanded sternly. "Trying to make my shirt as soft as my brother's," he replied unflinchingly, never for a moment pausing from his work. Beat- ing his shirt did not, however, clothe him in Holland or send him to Yale. He was duly apprenticed and must hoop tubs until he attained his majority, but his mind refused to be bound. Every spare moment was devoted to such books as came within his reach, and at twenty-one he had more knowledge in his head than many college graduates. He taught himself Latin, and be- gan the study of law in direct opposition to his father's plans and wishes. But the father of his young playmate and sweet- heart, Martha Devotion, is said to have encouraged him to per- severe in spite of obstacles, discerning qualities in the young man that fitted him for a model statesman. Nor was this confi- dence in his abilities misplaced. Others were not long in dis- covering his fearless independence, his wise judgment and his great purity and integrity of character. The best offices in the gift of the people were conferred upon him. He was made mem- ber of the assembly, associate judge of the superior court of Con- necticut and delegate to congress. Not long after his name was enrolled with that immortal band "whose names," in the lan- guage of our best historian, "will be household words as long as the principles of 1776 shall survive in the hearts of the people."
Nor were these his only honors. In September, 1779, congress elected him their leader and president, an office calling for the highest wisdom of the jurist and the statesman. After his re- turn to his home in Norwich, to recruit his exhausted strength, he was appointed chief justice of his native state, and later was made its chief magistrate, an office he held for ten years, until the time of his death, 1796.
His father did not survive to read his cooper boy's name among the signers of the declaration of independence, or to see him elected to the highest offices of his state and nation ; but he lived long enough to see him honored among men-the friend of Washington, Jefferson, and others of that illustrious band of patriots whose names and fame will not die, and without doubt to regret the stern parental misjudgment that bound his proud son for so many years to an uncongenial trade.
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Four of the Huntington brothers were in the ministry, and honored their calling. One of these was a celebrated musician, who composed for the singers of his native parish the popular fugue, "Scotland's burning," which has been sung the world over, like John Howard Paine's " Home, sweet home." Music appears to have been a family gift, descending to the next gen- eration. Jonathan, son of Eliphalet, the youngest but one of the six brothers, possessed a voice of remarkable power and sweetness. He made music his profession, and taught it with great success in Boston, Albany and St. Louis, where he died.
The old people used to tell of a quilting frolic at the family mansion in Scotland, where all the belles of the town were as- sembled, and where the beaux were expected to join in the festal games and dances of the evening. The sideboard had to be replenished, and a member of the family went to one of the village inns for that purpose. There was a little too much sampling of the liquors, perhaps, and when the young man re- turned and was about to enter the room where the young ladies were assembled, he stumbled at the door sill and fell headlong. His wit did not forsake him, however, for quick as thought he called out, in the very tone of their choir leader, "Sing Old Hun- dred, ladies; I have given you the pitch."
But those were days of hilarity, when even the clergy thought it no sin to drink their flip and crack a harmless joke, always provided they held firmly to the "Saybrook Platform " and gave dissenters no countenance.
THE STORY OF MICAH ROOD.
A stranger turning over the musty archives of one of our county towns, some years ago, came across the following record : " Nov. 16, 1760 .- Micah Rood died AWFULLY."
" How did he die?" was the question propounded to the town clerk, who could not tell, as he was a new comer and had never heard of the circumstance before.
The stranger's curiosity was piqued. "Died awfully" kept ringing in his mind until another question suggested itself : " Have you any very aged persons in the place?"
The clerk spoke of two, one a revolutionary veteran, very deaf, and an aged widow, who remembered away back into colony times, and could tell stories forever without stopping. This last seemed the very person he wanted, and he inquired where he
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could find her, and was directed to her residence, a mile or two away on the Providence pike.
The place was readily found, and after introducing himself the stranger made known his errand.
" Have I ever hearn tell how Mike Rood died ? Why, man alive, I remember all about it myself the same as though 'twas yester- day, though I warn't no bigger when it happened than this great- grandchild of mine here is now. It had ben kinder snowin' and rainin' all day, and father had ben to town, and when he got back he said with a shiver, 'There's the awfullest thing happened you ever heerd on, mother !'
"' Do tell us what it is!' she said, turning dreadfully white, while I stood looking up at him, all ears, you may depend.
"'Mike Rood's hung himself on that 'arly apple tree there's ben so much talk about.'
"' Did he leave a confession ?' she asked.
"'Not's I heerd on. The jury hadn't got back when I was down town. He must have done it in the night sometime, for when he was found in the morning he was cold and stiff as a log.'
" Father went out wiping his eyes, and I run up close to grand- mother, who was sittin' in her great chair before the fire, and hid my face in her apron, half afeared I should see the dead man.
"' There ain't nothin' to be afeared on, Molly,' she said, ' though I guess if the truth was all told, there has been them that feared Mike when alive.'
"' What for ?' I asked.
""' Never mind to-day, child! Some long winter evening I'll tell you all about it.'
" I warrant you I didn't let her forgit her promise, for I was mighty fond of stories in them days." She paused a moment to take breath, and then resumed. "It was a dreadful strange thing she told me one night when father and mother had gone to conference meetin' and we were left alone; but everybody believed it in these parts. You see, we'd jest ben in the midst of the old French and Injun war, and folks was afeared of their own shadders. Mike was a strange chap, and nobody knew ex- actly what to make on him. Some folks thought he warn't very cunnin' ; others said he had wit a plenty, only an odd way of showin' on't. He lived alone with his mother, who was a poor
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widder. His father was killed a few years afore, fightin' French and Injuns, arter which all the sperit, Mike" had Jin him was turned agin the French.
" In the fall of '59 a peddler come into town, bringin' all sorts of forrin notions, and everybody set to wonderin" who he was and where he come from.
"' I know,' said Mike. 'He's a Frenchmanjandga spy, that's jest what he is ; and I dare say, if the truth was known, he come straight down here from Canada. But-' Mike went away whispering to himself, 'Dead men tell no tales! Likely as not, mother'd like some of that stuff o' his'n.'
"Nothin' was ever seen of the forrin peddler arter he went to the Widder Rood's that night, and there"was some whisperin' around as though Mike might not have used him fair ; but afore winter was over everybody would havejben done talkin' about it, only Mike wouldn't let the subject rest.
"'What makes the blows on the 'arly apple tree look so red this spring ?' he would ask the children on their way to school. That was one of Mike's foolish questions. And 'Why didn't the old robin come back to her tree this year, as she allus had done afore? There ain't another such crotch for a nest in the whole orchard.' The children couldn't tell that, nuther; and their parents said, 'Mike was half-witted to ask such foolish ques- tions.'
" When the apples was ripe the first of August, the children went up one noon-time to beg some. 'The apples is pizen this year,' Mike said, shakin' his head.
" ' Give us some, and we'll resk 'em.'
" ' I'll bet a copper you darsent eat one on 'em,' he persisted, ' for there's a drop of blood in 'em all.'
"' You've got to show it afore we'll believe it,' the children re- turned. So Mike went and brought his hands full of great mel- ler apples, and begun to cut 'em up. 'There ! Look now!' he said ; 'Didn't I tell ye ? You may eat 'em all if you want to. I don't !'
" Not a child would put a tooth into an apple, for, sure enough, every apple had a drop of blood in't, as Mike had said. The young ones went home and told their story, but nobody be- lieved a word on't till they'd ben and examined for themselves. Then everybody from the minister down said it was a special meracle. Maybe 'twas because the hand that planted the tree was cut off by the blood-thusty enemy.
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" Toward the last of October suthin' turned up that set folks thinkin' and talkin' again. A reward of forty pounds was posted up for any information of a young German, who left Phila- delphy with an assortment of fancy goods the year afore. The last heerd from him he was travelin' in eastern Connecticut. Everybody who read the notice said straight off, that was the forrin peddler ; but what become of him was another thing.
" Mike read the notice with the others and thought he saw a great many eyes looking at him. 'They'll hang me now, as sure as fate,' he thought, as he walked away, 'and they'll git that forty pounds, beside, which is a heap of money. I never should have teched the feller, only I thought he was a cussed French- man, one of the very same as knocked over the old man. Ef I could manage now to git that forty pounds for mother, and tie the knot in my own halter, they might call Mike Rood half witted as long as they live, for all I care.'
"That night as the wind blew and howled round the old house, and his mother sat paring apples and stringin' 'em on strings to dry, he cut a leaf out of his father's account book, took down the lead inkstand and begun to write- curus-looking writin' it was too. But as his mother looked up and see what he was doin' she thought he was real smart. There warn't no better meanin' woman in the whole town than the Widder Rood.
"'I've a'most forgotten how your writin' looks, mother,' Mike said after awhile. 'You jest take the goose quill and write your name down here where I can see it,' and he handed her the pen with which he had been figerin'. She put down her dish of apples, pleased enough to write her name. He examined it carefully and said, 'that's fust rate ! I declare you are the best writer in town, mother.'
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