USA > Pennsylvania > Crawford County > Pioneer sketches : scenes and incidents of former days > Part 8
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CHAPTER XXVI.
M. P. SARGENT.
ANCESTRY-BIRTH-CHILDHOOD.
M Y FAMILY is American in all its branches. My great grandfather was born and lived in Massachusetts. His son, Phineas Sar- gent, my grandfather, was born in Worces- ter, Massachusetts, in 1765; married Mary Kingsbury, who was born in Oxford in 1763. A short time after their marriage they removed to Cortland County, New York, where they lived until 1814, when they and family removed to Spring, Crawford County, Pa., of which mention has been made in other pages. My father, Alfred Sargent, and my mother, whose maiden name was Maria Phelps, were born in New York State, in Cincin- natus, Cortland County; my mother in Leroy, New York, and were married in Spring, Crawford Co., Pa., in 1830.
I was born on the 15th day of July, 1832, at Spring, Crawford Co., Pa. This was my home principally for twenty-two years. The school that we attended was kept by the school marm in summer and by the school master in winter, where S. and three R.'s, "Spelling, Reading, Riting and Rithmetic, " for the first two or three years, was taught, when it was discovered that the young ideal required teachers of a different calibre, and we began to have taught spelling, reading, writing, arithmetic, grammar, geography and algebra, and later to practice elocution, composition debating, etc.
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There was a plenty of material of both sexes in our school and in the winter term as high as ninety scholars, quite enough for one teacher in one small school room. We generally had good schools. Occasionally a tender- foot would start in. We had no use for such and would swap him off. Our school made good progress, from the fact that the apt scholar was not held back for the slow one. It was free for all on their merits.
I have many times been thankful to my father and mother for giving me the best opportunity they could at that time to attend school in my youthful days, for I realize that what I learned in those days I can best remember. I can look back through the long vista of fifty years to those youthful, happy days and delineate most minutely every scene and incident enacted, and which I then witnessed, as though it was but yesterday. Recreation I know is health- ful, and in this respect I was not stinted for the want of pleasant recreation. I have seen its baneful effect upon the youth. Too much leniency given, however, might be per- nicious, but on the other hand, the hand of discipline, the every-day stay-at-home, the over-worked youth, is often dwarfed in mind, in body, and in soul. And this trait is not confined to the youth. How is it with the miser, or the man who lives in one corner of your town, and you wouldn't know he lived there unless you went to see him ? A donation is announced, or a festival, the proceeds of which are to be used for some worthy purpose-not a nickel; and he quite begrudges the quart of buttermilk or the dish of saurkraut donated.
In my early teens I had a desire to go somewhere occasionally and see something of the world. In this respect my parents were sufficiently lenient. But had it
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been to the reverse, from my nature I know that it would not have been as well for me in the long run.
THE OLD BLOCK HOUSE.
The old block house stood on the brow of the hill on the west side of the Albion and Springboro Road. in Spring, Pa. It was built in 1819, and was occupied by Phineas and Mary Sargent and family. Stately whitewood and cucumber trees were felled and cut in lengths 22 and 32 feet, and hewn for the erection of the Block House, the ends of the logs being dovetailed to hold them firmly in place. The amount of valuable timber used in the construction of those crude pioneer buildings would now-a-days bring a snug sum of money.
Saw mills then in that timbered country, were much scarcer than cyclones are now on the western prairies. The early settler was fortunate in getting lumber sufficient to lay down a floor in his house, and shakes (split out of white ash timber) about three feet long, were generally used in place of shingles, for roofing the cabin, house or barn.
PUNCHEON FLOORS
Was the sort of flooring generally used by the early settlers. Straight rifted smooth trees about a foot in diameter were selected, cut to the required length, split and smoothly hewn and laid down closely together for the floor. It made, however, a strong floor which wouldn't spring and joggle to flop the milk out of the pans at a house warming, when stepping to the tune of "The Arkansaw," "Zip Coon," or the "Devil's Dream."
THE WOOD BEE.
It was the custom in those days for the people to turn out and get up a large pile of firewood for old people, the wid-
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ow, the sick or unfortunate. One wintry afternoon in Janu- ary was the time set for a wood bee at the block house of Capt. Sargent. A goodly number of teams, men and boys, were on hand, some to fell and cut the timber into sled lengths, others to assist in loading and unloading, others to chop the logs into fire wood at the door, and when night came there was a large pile of beech and maple logs, also a good pile cut into fire wood. Grandfather was much pleased, and extended thanks to them for the good work they had done for him, when they left for home, except the few who ling- ered for a little more juice from corn and rye. There were a couple of old hunters among the number, Chester Morley and Charles Sargent, who proceeded to seat themselves in the old block house by the fire. The fire place was as big as all out-doors, wherein a couple of huge back logs, a big fore stick, numerous brands and sticks of kindling wood had been placed, and soon there was a rousing, cracking fire-
With lots of glowing coals, To drive out the cold.
Chet and Charley settled down in their usual way, Then us young kids knew they'd come to stay,
Their hunting stories to relate,
Until an hour quite late.
When us kids, a half dozen or more, lit out for home to get our sleds, to have some fun on the hill a little later, and to peer in upon the picnic going on in the old block house ; returning, and after testing the speed of our sleds down the steep declivity of the hill and across the flat, onto the ice of the stream to make our mark. This having been accomplished in due time, we changed our tactics, ascended the hill, and ventured in upon the noted nimrods, where we beheld Morley already in his element, undergoing a
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doubled geared movement in gesticulation and articulation, descriptive of Old Red and the bear and the deer, which, when deciphered, runs something like this :-
Chet Morley had a rifle he called "Old Red," Of him and his gun it often had been said When he drew a bead along the barrel of "Old Red" Upon a bear or deer, 'twas surely dead.
THE DIFFERENCE.
Old Charlie would take a nip at every round, But wouldn't take enough to fetch him down.
We soon discovered that Morley was getting so mellow that there was not much hope of having a picnic with him, later on the hill ; but we knew old Charlie was good for it if we could get him interested.
Presently Morley calls for the brown jug, with which I quickly stepped by his side and whispered in his ear that the boys had fixed it and that it was not fit to drink, and he declined to drink, while old Charlie's eyes were on me, looking like two peeled onions. "Mart.," said he, "hand that bottle to me." Then he snuffed at it a couple of times and then took a drink. Morley, squinting with half-closed eyes, said, "Chales, Chales, how does it taste?" "Why, you fool," exclaimed Charles, "you can't fool me with kid's water," and handed Morley the bottle, from which he took a long pull. "Stop !" said Charles, "don't be a d-d hog-why don't you do as I do, take a little and often ?"
The old clock struck ten, when Charlie said, "Come, Morley, it's time to make a start for home." The kids, with the biggest sled, were already in line on the brow of the hill to give Uncle Charlie a fleet ride down and up the steep hills homeward. It took considerable persuasion to get him to consent to take that ride, but finally, with the
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UNCLE CHARLIE'S RIDE.
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interrogation, "Now, my short lads, will you give me a good ride down this and up that slippery hill ?" "Yes," was the answer, when he cautiously and skeptically got aboard the sled, with hands firmly clenched to the raves, feet protruding outward, when he said, "All ready, my lads." This was the cheering word we had been waiting for for hours, when off we started with our eight-hoss kid team with our precious cargo of 200 pounds aflying down the hill, across the flat, like a drove of antelopes. We ascended the steep, slippery, Woodard hill, and old Charlie enjoyed his ride hugely. When near the top of the hill we suddenly pushed the sled with its precious cargo backwards at a fearful rate down the declivity. The scene we just then realized was terrific. We held our breath in fearful suspense as old Charlie and the sled were approaching the brink of the precipice, already on the edge of the bridge, over which if he went would break his neck. Uncle Charlie had awaken to the danger of the situation, when just then behold some desperate movements. His legs and hands in quick manœuvre, the snow aflying, the sled broadside, when over she rolls, cargo and all, his head protruding over the bridge, with sufficient avordupois resting on the bridge to prevent his going overboard. He cautiously got away from the edge of the bridge, picked up that hand sled and slung it into Woodard's field, striking on a huge rock and making every joint holler, when he started up the hill, exclaiming, "I'll fix you, my short lads, if I get hold of you !"
We didn't propose he would get hold of us. While this was sport for the boys, it was next to ruin for the Land sled and a sad accident to its rider. After all we had a desire to see our genial Uncle Charlie safely home.
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And we watched him slid his way along, Until he had reached his quiet home To dream that night of riding on the kid hand sled, And how he rolled o'er that snowy bed:
Chester charged into a fence corner,
Where, lone-handed, he threw up Jonah While on his way to his abode, As he had too big a load.
That night he got the biggest load of corn Ever since the day he was born.
Various other ways did the early settlers help each other. In the spring time they would plow, plant and sow the spring erop for those who were unable by sickness or otherwise, and in many instances harvest their crops, with- out money or price. All they required was, when the un- fortunate one recovered, to act manfully and do likewise when occasion required.
They also furnished reliable mutual insurance without paying for high salaried officers and gilt edged policies. When the house or the barn of a pioneer was destroyed by fire or lightning, they re-built it. There was no premium offered for incendiarism by over insurance at that day. Hence they created no fire bugs. Bed bugs and mosquitoes, no doubt, were preferable, and sufficient to be pestered with.
They drew a lesson from the corn cribs of Egypt, when Joseph interpreted the troublesome dreams of Pharoah the king, when he saw seven fat, sleek cows come up out of the river Nile, followed by seven gaunt ones which were to de- vour the former. The seven fat cows were synonym of seven years of plenty, the seven gaunt ones were seven years of famine, and the people must lay up one-fifth of their crop each year to prepare for the famine, which they
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did, and their assets were sufficient to insure them food through the famished years. The pioneer people of Amer- ica shared with the famished and the needy from their assets, their corn cribs, flour bins and pork barrels-a reliable in- surance company; and they never scaled a genuine policy.
As we return to the old block house on the hill, we find its occupants, Phineas and Mary Sargent, have been busy, and mindful of the future, in planting trees, shrub- bery, etc. In front of the house-
Stood the stately locust and the fragrant lilac,
Neath the hill, near the rill, the willow and the sumac; Ascending the hill you would come
To the artichoke and delicious egg plumb. Farther on the cherry, peach and apple trees,
And in a sheltered nook hives of honey bees.
Busy bees, flying here, there and all over,
Extracting honey from the lilac and the clover.
In looking back to those former days, To note the good, old-fashioned ways, Compared to the modern style, We think it hardly worth the while
The agonies of fashion to undergo,.
And wonder why it should be so.
Revolving time has wrought its change, From Texas to the State of Maine.
We hope such change will prove for the best, For you and I and all the rest.
Some of the changes that have been wrought, However, have been dearly bought.
But now, as we drive up to the stream, If we can't ford it we can cross by steam. Should we to fashion's swirl comply,
When we're fixed to live we're ready to die.
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I think I'd better close my ditty soon, For my wife is coming with her broom, And I will up and out of door, For you know she wants to sweep the floor.
After all, the floor is swept,
Still, I find there's something of me left.
With wife's consent, I'll proceed to relate Something about the spare rib and the JJohnny cake.
In the fire place hung the crane Planted in the chimney there to remain, On which to hang the spare rib, turkey and goose, To roast deliciously for family use.
Yes, the crane was an important factor on which could be hung pots and kettles, or swung out in front of a glow- ing fire to suspend the rib or fowl a swinging, and neath it a dripping pan, from which the hot grease was frequently applied as a dressing for the roast, and in due time a place was prepared in the hot ashes in the fire place, when a half peck of potatoes was placed therein, covered with hot ashes and hot embers, and in a short time were nicely roasted. In the meantime the Johnny eake was baking in the tin oven or spider in front of the fire. Ah, the flavor of those nice roasted pinkeye potatoes, spare rib and Johnny cake was good enough for ye latter day saints and kings. Many times, since, I have wished I could taste of the like again. But some may say it's all in your eye and taste. But no; and the proof is, to begin with, we have no such potatoes nowadays as those old white- and blue pinkeyes, yielding from 200 to 400 bushels to the aere, and bright and smooth did they come out of the ground, and perfectly healthy. Also that golden eight-rowed corn, planted 1st of
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June, the 1st of September ready to be ground and made into hominy or Johnny-cakes. I tell you those spare-ribs, roast potatoes, Johnny-cakes, puddings, and maple 'lasses would tickle a vigorous appetite and cure a dyspeptic. But those good old days have passed. Grandfather and grandmother have passed away, and I suppose to occupy as much of God's green earth and Heaven as the millionaire of to-day.
Not measured by shares in railroad stock,
But by their noble Pioneer work; Which is their heritage and assurance, Something of greater endurance.
CHAPTER XXVII.
OUR FIRST FIDDLE.
HOW GOT-A NEVADA SILVER MINE-WEAVING -- MY GOOD MOTHER,
HEN A YOUTH of about a dozen years, W we took it into our head that the fiddle was the thing lacking, and of all other things, at that time, the most desired to complete the round of a happy, earthly existence. When, one evening soon there- after, at a neighboring house we heard F. Pratt playing Dandy Jim and other tunes on his violin, which took us kids by storm and my determination to have a fiddle was a fixture, as we stood in amazement and gazed upon the player as he apparently so easily glided his fiddle stick, strung with white horse tail hairs, over the vibrating, melodious catgut strung on the deck of his fiddle.
I imagined the happy hours I would have in producing those melodious strains that go with "Dandy Jim," "The Girl I Left Behind Me," or "An Arkansaw." Wherefore the next morning I said: "Father, I wish you would buy me a fiddle."
"A fiddle ?"
"Yes-I want one."
"You had better have a ewe sheep."
"I know a sheep would raise lambs, but she won't raise a fiddler, and I want something to play a tune on."
Mother was present, and seemed very much amused at our dialogue, and when dinner was over she said to me :
10
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"I am going down to Vaughn's and you had better not go away, but stay about the house, until I return."
In about three hours she returned with a fiddle wrap- ped up as nicely a young infant.
The sight of that John Vaughn fiddle just then done me more good than to have fallen heir to a Nevada silver mine. My good mother, on that afternoon, walked two miles to buy that fiddle, and in course of a few days wove a piece of flannel eloth in her hand loom to pay for it, to please her first born.
That was the kind of a mother I had. Musical talent, perhaps, .did not predominate in me as much as in some others, nevertheless I got there in a manner, and have the consolation that the first tune I learned to play on that violin was the one my mother learned me, which many a time, at her request, I have played for her.
Yet it has been fourteen years since my good mother passed from earth, I seldom take up my violin but that the tune she learned me comes among the first in the exercise, and carries me back to my youthful days; in memory, to noble deeds and heroic struggles of a kind mother, who was always ready to make great sacrifice to please her child. She is the one person who most keenly perceives the real wants and needs of the child and the youth. Reader, if you have a kind mother and a father you well know my meaning. Then, in return, be kind to them, for the time you will have them with you here is of short duration.
When life's temptation o'er us brood Through days of youth to manhood, What personages, more than any other Ministers to our wants ? Father and mother.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
COONING-LINE OF TACTICS-COON, OPPOSSUM, PORCUPINE-THE NIJE. RODS-CUFF AND PONTO -A PAINFUL INCIDENT.
O THOSE old schoolmates and neighboring boys of 1840, '45 '50 I particularly refer. Some of whom have gone on before, whom we naturally expeet some day to overtake. But those of them who are still perambulating the varied busy scenes of life will bear witness to an incident of 1845.
The latter part of August, 1845. we noticed numerous tracks in the bed of a small stream running through a meadow on my father's farm, resembling a child's track from one to two years old. Such funny tracks, thought I, and called father's attention to them. He said they were coons' tracks. That was enough to know that the coons were out and the corn cars fit for roasting. An invitation was quickly extended to the boys in the neighborhood to come on for a coon hunt. There was a strip of wood in the form of an "L" on two sides of the cornfield. In the evening the boys assembled under a big locust tree on the lawn, and after a short consultation as to the line of tacties to be pursued, with dogs, axes and rifles, some matches and a handful of salt tied up in a rag, we proceeded to forward march, marching out the roadway in solid column, along the north
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side of the cornfield, around to the nook of timber, we took our position.
Corporals Will and Trume held the dogs by the collar, and at a given signal were to charge down the centre of the field, supported by the riflemen. Woodard's Light Infantry, armed with clubs, was to move down the left, and Sargent's Infantry along the right, and at the signal of old Cuff, the boss coon dog's warning voice, was to charge directly across the field by the left flank to the point of interest and scene of carnage-
When at about half-past nine Old Cuff began to whine.
And Corporal Trume could with difficulty hold him. When Capt. Sargent said, "Let him go !" we moved quickly in the darkness. Soon came a yelp from old Cuff. Yelp, yelp. To the left, directly across the field to a small maple sap- ling, on which was perched a coon, and the sapling bending under its weight. Woodard on the left intercepted the coon from getting to a larger tree. 'Twas but the work of a moment to shake off and dispatch the coon.
Dogs and boys, like Napoleon, still eager for greater conquests. Our plans had worked admirably, and we quickly moved on the lower field, resorting to our former line of tactics.
GAME AHEAD.
Then at the southwest corner of the field a coon crossed Woodard's line and went up a big soft maple tree. The signal given by the old dog betokened this, when we swung to the left and all came up on a pivot. Well, this coon trec towered heavenward 100 feet, and Ponto was barking up another near by, and we soon discovered that we had to-
· CMG
COONING.
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Lay siege for that coon, oppossum or the bear,
Porcupine, or whatever might be in the trees up there.
A nice log heap near by was lighted, and some fenee rails arranged for seats, etc., to prepare for the feast and to bivouac for the night. The roll call showed we had not lost a man, nor dog, nor the salt we had tied up in the rag, wherefore the animals had not time to devour much corn that night and our time had come to partake of those luscious green ears of roasted corn with salt well rubbed in between the kernels. Cuff and Ponto stood as sentry at the foot of the trees and we proceeded with our sport as follows: +
Boys are boys when hunting the coon, Whether the night is dark or brightly shines the moon; They liberally pluck the ears of corn
At intervals from 10 o'clock to the coming morn.
The log-heap is lighted and soon is all aglow,
Straightway for the corn-ears the boys do go And roast 'em o'er the fire of the burning heap,
And salt 'em well and eat, and stories tell all night to keep Awake until the dawn of day,
When the first nimrod will blaze way
At the coon upon the tree.
Bang, bang, bang, miss; one, two, three.
Number four comes to the scratch and draws his bead; The coon lets go and quickly drops, indeed.
Old Cuff, who through the night as sentry stood, Quickly tries his nippers on his victim as if he would Like to have a picnic with his cunning coon,
And looked sad 'cause life went out so soon.
Upon the other tree, under which Ponto watched all night, We behold something of a different stripe.
Bang, bang! Amid the smoke we see an oppossum fall; But lo! on his way, around a limb his tail it coils. By the tail it hangs, grinning, a funny sight.
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Reader, had you seen it 'twould have given you delight. Poor oppossum, still hanging high up in the air: Another leaden messenger sent to bring him down from there. When on the ground Ponto seized him by the back, When we could fairly hear the bones in its body crack. Later on, we found that 'possum was still alive, Had fooled the dogs and all the boys likewise.
On examination, neither bullet had pierced its heart, But simply passed through less vital parts. Whereas it had stood such a galling fire, We concluded that 'possum should peacefully retire.
The next morning we found it gone, perhaps to see Its young oppossums up a green tree. Some say the hardest animals to kill is a woodchuck or a cat; They aint to be compared to that Oppossum of eighteen hundred and forty-five, Which, I presume, is still alive.
Presently the dogs began to bark up another tree. By peering up through the leaves we could see A dark object bristling up and sort o' shine, Which we discovered to be the prickly porcupine.
A shot was let go at it; to the ground it fell . The dogs promptly grappled it, and as quickly did they yell; The porcupine's quills are bad medieine for a dog:
By a lash of the tail it will thrust its quills into a log.
Much better ornaments for beads for the Indian squaw Than they are for a dog to chaw.
Our faithful dogs got a hot dose that bright summer morn,
Their mouths were chock full of porcupine thorns.
The dogs followed us to the house, where an hour we did de- vote
In pulling those quills from their mouth and throat. With bullet moulds and pinehers 'twas all we could do; But the noble animals felt better when we got through.
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The coon we nicely skinned and tried ont its oil; The porcupine we let rot upon the soil,
Not with the hope that other porcupines would grow,
As it is the " eursedest " animal created here below.
It does not require much of a mathematician to figure out quite SOOD
That a bevy of boys will eat as much corn as a litter of rae- coons;
But it is natural for the boys to take down the gun
And go among the coons, 'possums, " poreys, " and have some fun.
In looking back to that night of 1845
I find some of those valiant boys are still alive.
Wm. Skeels, Win. Alderman, Truman Sargent, Lucius Church. a noble four.
Whose hunting seenes on earth have passed o'er.
But revolving time brings forth its change.
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