Fannie Young Carr Murray Letter

(Transcribed by Ben Parkinson, 2005.)

[FHL 0281261. A cover letter says the original was in possession of Mildred Allred Clark of Los Angeles, California, in 1962.]



January 1st, 1845

            Dear Brother

                        I now sit down to redeem the promise long since made to you, of giving you a sketch, as far as my knowledge extends, of the history of our forefathers, but not having the means of information as I could wish, my communications will be somewhat limited:— I have for many years, at times, felt a great desire to obtain a more perfect knowledge of our ancestors on our Father’s side, and often convers’d with him, (previous to his death,) on the subject:— his recollections of his father, however, could not aid him much, as he was but six years old at the time of his death:— the most he knew of him, (and I suppose he obtain’d this information of his Mother,) was, that he was a native of old England, that his Father was an emminent Phisician, and vastly rich, and he, the only son, his Father gave him a liberal education, and choice of professions; he chose that of his Father, and studied with him, and began to practice with great success; but his mind was ill at rest; he long’d to set his foot upon the shore, and feast his soul with the novelties of the new world:— accordingly he press’d on his Father, through much entreaty, to suffer him to visit America; he furnish’d him with plenty of money, and as Boston was then the seat of learning, in this country, he advis’d him to locate himself in that City, saying, Joseph, you are my only son, and it is no small burden [p.2] on my heart, that you are so anxious to leave your Father; but since it is so, I give you up, but remember my son, I send you abroad to acquire useful knowledge: see that you are true to your trust:— there are, no doubt, Medical Gentlemen in Boston, of great knowledge and experience; you had better study with them, and make yourself master of your profession, that you may be useful in your calling, to your fellow creatures: with this, and many more tender sentences from an anxious Father’s lips to his only son, he took his leave of home and friends and native land, and full, of hope and joyful anticipation, he soon reach’d his destin’d port, and settled himself commodiously in the land he had so long sigh’d to explore he now began a new career of life, set up for himself , and anxious that his conduct should merit the highest approbation of his indulgent and doting Father—while in this situation evrything prosper’d in his hands, whenever he administer’d medicine it was sure to have a good effect, he began to get a great name as a Phisician,  and an extensive practice—but O! how soon the fairest prospects are blasted: that spirit of evil which constantly seeks the destruction of the children of men, was now preparing the most fatal snares for the unwary feet of the young traveller.—a number of Young Gentlemen arrived in Boston, from his own native land; with these he soon became acquainted, and a mutual attachment was the result of their acquaintance.— he found in a short time however, that he had launch’d into too [p.3] deep water, and began to think of making good his retreat, but it was impossible, he was shorn of his strength, and though at first he shudder’d at thought of becoming a Gambler, yet he was not dispos’d to give up the pleasant society of his new friends, as they were the very spice of life to him, and evry thing else began to be insipid and tasteless:— in a short time he dismiss’d his scruples and fears, and began to be a good fellow; he could sit up all night to gamble, and be merry over his glass as well as the rest; but they, being old practitioners knew how to drain his purse, and destroy his reputation, his patients were neglected, his employers lost confidence in him; his indulgent Father, who had often sent him large supplies of money and cloathing, began to suspect that all was not right, by his son sending for such large sums of money: he soon found means to ascertain the truth and confirm his fears: he withheld his hand from helping him, threatening to disown him altogether if he persisted in his wicked practices. — this stung him to the heart, his pride was alarm’d; he began to look about him; he found that his very warm friends had grown cool, they had no more occasion for his company since his money was gone, and his Father had refus’d to supply him with more: he now began to think seriously of his situation; he found he had ruin’d himself, and that repentance had come too late—in this frame of mind, and with these reflections he almost gave himself up to despair—never before had he known the worth, or want of money; but now his own imprudence and folly had brought him to a painful knowledge of both. — what could he do? he was desperate, [p.4] but hope, that soother of the distracted soul, came to his bosom: — he was young and healthy, he knew his skill as a phisician was great, why could he not travel off a little into the country, find a place where a Doctor was wanted, and try what steady habits, and faithful practice would do for him yet—accordingly he set out on his expedition, and had not travel’d far before he fell in company with some gentlemen whose appearance pleas’d him; they convers’d together, as they travel’d along, and he carelessly inquir’d if they knew of a vacancy anywhere for a good phisician, they told him they did, and seem’d gratified that he was the man that wanted the place, all was soon settled to his mind, and he soon found himself respected, and in good business:— not many months after this, a circumstance transpir’d which introduced him to the acquaintance of our Grandmother, who was then a young widow with four little children. — her Father, old man Haydon, a rich farmer, in the Town of Hopkinton, was afflicted with a very distressing Cancer.— Dr. Young’s fame for curing Cancers spread far and wide, therefore he was sent for, as a forlorn hope, but all in vain, it was out of the power of man to save him, he went to the grave; and the widow’d daughter found a husband in the man that came to save her Father:— he now felt that he was not alone in the world, he lov’d his wife, and she ador’d him—he purchas’d a good farm in the vicinity of her friends, and thought he would settle down and try what happiness was to be found in the endearments of a domestic life:— evrything seem’d to favor his wishes, and he was indeed a happy man:— but this was not always to last; their family increas’d fast, and with it their wants and cares: he had not been used to care, he could not endure it, not so with her who was the sharer of all his joys and griefs, she had been accustom’d to hard labor all her days spinning, weaving, and making all kinds of cloth that was commonly made in our country, had been her employment for many years; she did not slack her hand, her exertions now redoubled, so that with her good economy and hard work she kept evrything in order, and was happy, when the cares of day were done, if she could only be blest with the society of her husband: but this she could seldom enjoy:—the noise of a loom and spinning wheels, must be dull music to him who had never [p.5] accustom’d to anything of the kind in his life:— he began to spend his leisure hours at the Tavern, about a mile from his home, at the centre of the Town: there were always at that place a set of men who seem’d to have nothing to do in this world, but waste their time and money and destroy their families, and their own souls:— strange as it may appear, after all he had pass’d through, he soon became entangled with these libertines, and nothing could break their spell — the tears and entreaties of his afflicted wife would sometimes cause him to promise reformation, but these promises were soon broken, and at length he became so insensible to all the endearments of home, and sorrows of his family, that he could stay whole nights to revel away his few remaining hours.— he had neglected his business, times began to be hard with him, he borrow’d money, got in debt here and there; prospects were gloomy; his soul sicken’d at the situation his own imprudence had brought him to; he began to be contemplative, staid more at home, and our Grandmother flatter’d herself that she should still have comfort with him who was the Idol of her soul, notwithstanding all his improprieties and bad management: she often told him, if he would stay at home, she could easily manage all the affairs of living, all she wanted was his company; and at this time, it seems, he determin’d she should be gratified, feeling, no doubt, a conviction of the wrongs he had been guilty of, in abusing her love and tenderness so long.— while things were going on in this way, and hope began to brighten the countenance of our grandmother, he said to her, just at the twilight, “my dear I think I shall go down to Town a little while this evening” — O! said she, do not go, I shall see you no more this night, if you go there I am sure; he look’d seriously [p.6] and tenderly upon her, and said, “Betsey, if I live, I will come home this night by bedtime.” —he went, and she did not expect him home till late, she thought she would do a great evening’s work, so as to sit up until he came, she did so, but he came not, her heart sunk within her, could he be so regardless of his promise, and of her feelings? had he return’d to his old comrads, and forgotten the friend that never forsook him? — it was all perplexity and sorrow—she went to bed, not to sleep, but reflect, and brood over her sorrows:— morning came, she arose, and felt a kind of anger which she had not felt before, her patience was entirely gone, she went to work, but in a few minutes said, I must go after your Father: although I am angry with him, I am distrest about him.— he always came home when he promis’d before.— she started off; and because it was much nearer, she went across the lots; when she had gone about an hundred rods from home, she met one of the neighbors, who look’d solemn; he bade her good morning and said, “I have heavy tidings for you, Mrs. Young, your husband lies dead at the further side of this field.” — how vain would be the attempt to describe the anguish of her soul! — let the feeling heart [?] the scene to its own imagination! — sorrows innumerable foll[owed?] in the train! — as soon as the sleeping dust of her husband was [de]cently committed to the grave, evry man to whom he ow’d a Dollar was on the wing, — her farm was sold; and evry article which the law would allow, was taken from her, the select men of the Town found places for most of her children, and bound them out. — her oldest children, by her first husband, being girls, were permitted to stay with her; also the two youngest of her last, the one being an infant. — these she brought up by her industry and good management. — and I might also add, good resolution, [p.7] of this she had more than a common share. — her name, probably, before her marriage, was Betsey Haydon — her first Husband’s name was Treadway, and her first children, Betty, Hannah, Lucy and Benjamin; if there were more than these, I have no knowledge of them.—her last children were William and Susannah, John, Joseph, and Anna, and Ichabod who was an infant at his Father’s death, and died when about five years old.—after struggling along for a number of years, our Grandmother married an elderly Gentleman by the name of Samuel Howard, they lived happily many years, when Mr. Howard died with the gravil [Note: kidney stones], when I was about seven years old, I remember him well, I suppose the better for his being a very merry old gentleman; and a great friend to children, as I can well remember his having us all around him when he came with our Grandmother to visit us, and we all thought more of him than of her — after burying three Husbands and passing through much tribulation, she lived, a widow many years, (I think about eighteen,) and died with the bilious cholic, in the Town of Hopkinton, her native place; and where she had spent the most of her days. — her oldes daughter, Betty Treadway died somewhere about the same time, never having been married. — Hannah Treadway, her second, died when fifteen years old, in consequence of eating green sweet apples, only lived a few hours after eating them — Lucy Treadway, her third daughter, married a man by the name of wood, living in the Town of Upton, joining Hopkinton, I know not but she is living now, never having  heard of her death. — if living she is about an hundred years old: Benjamin Treadway, her oldest son lived to be seventy six years old, and died in the Town of Rutland Jefferson County New York — I dare say you recollect him yourself as you often saw him when a child and sat upon his lap. — I shall have occasion to speak of him hereafter. — her second son, who was [p.8] our Uncle William Young, died since my remembrance, leaving a large family: he had been married twice, his children by his first wife, were Orange, William, John, and a pair of Twins, which I think were Caleb and Samuel, but I am not certain, as it is like a dream in my mind; Orange and William I have seen, John lived near my Father two years, but the Twins I never saw.— Uncle William married a second time, chose his first wife’s sister, which was consider’d very strange and improper at the time, but they seem’d to think rather more of suiting themselves than any body else, and took no trouble about the speech of people.— after he married this woman, he thought he would go into the new country and get him some land, and clean up a farm, as he had a fine family of boys coming on, he should have plenty of help in a few years: he bought him a new axe, or had it made for himself, a pound and a half heavier than common axes: he came to my Father’s early in the spring, to make his farewell visit, told my Father he hoped to get in a fine crop of wheat the next fall; spoke of his new axe, said he believ’d he could clear as much land in the course of the season as any other one man; my Father told him, he believ’d he would kill himself if he chop’d with that axe through the summer season, but he made light of it, and bade us good bye, full of life and animation.— I well remember how he look’d and how he was drest — his cheeks bloom’d with roses, I have heard my Mother say, she thought he was the fairest complexion’d man that ever she saw:— but this was the last time we were ever to look upon him— he went, as he anticipated, and prepared as fast as possible to move his family to his new residence; his labors were so incessant that many warn’d him to desist, assuring him he [p.9] never would live to take care of his family, if he did not act with more judgmement about himself; however he had no concern about it, thought nothing could hurt him.— when it got to be the fall of the year, and the time drew near that he should return to his family, he redoubled his diligence in making preparations for their comfort in a new country:— but on a sudden his hopes were all blasted, and evry fair prospect sunk to the grave: a blood vessel broke in his stomach, which emited such a quantity of blood, that life could hardly be kept in him. — however the bleeding stop’d and he began to recruit; insomuch that in four weeks he resolv’d to start for home, fearing, no doubt, that he never should see his family again; — he travel’d one day quite comfortably and put up at night, somewhat encouraged; but, alas! he was soon to realize the reverse of all his hopes ; — the bleeding of his stomach commenced again that night, and never did he remove from that house, untill he was carried out a lifeless corpse: — he had, previously, written to his wife what day she might expect him home, if he was alive and well, and he had no doubt but he should be:— when he found he could not live, he paid a man for going to see his wife, desired him to start as soon as the scene closed with him, and tell her all the particulars of his death; he also told him of the day appointed for him to reach home; and whether the man made his calculation on purpose to see her that day, I cannot tell, but so it was, the morning of the day was beautiful, she rose early, had her breakfast out of the way, and work done up in order, telling the children they would see their Father before they slept. all was joy and cheerfulness, and though she did not expect him until towards night, yet she could not help looking out to see if he was coming, when instead of her husband she beheld a stranger advancing towards the [p.10] house; her heart sunk within her, she felt that dreadful tidings were in his mouth; he came in, she almost fainted before he told her a word:— poor thing, she was made to realize her most dismal forebodings; he told her all and her grief was beyond bounds, she refus’d to be comforted; a short time made her the mother of a fine daughter, but there was no Father to look upon the child, or comfort the mother:— the little boys belonging to the first wife, were all put out, and the disconsolate mother with her little daughter, sought a habitation among her friends at some distance from the place where she then resided, and some years afterwards we heard she was married to a man by the name of Pike.—

                        The next of our Grandmother’s children was Susannah; but I never heard anything of her childhood, and only know that she married a man by the name of Joseph Moseley; that he was rich and I verily believe this was the most that could be said in his favor, — however she was well enough satisfied, as the name of being rich was evrything to her, although I have seen many poor people that lived far better in evry respect than they did—I know not but they are alive at this day, if so, they are old people indeed and have always been in search of happiness, but I fear have never found it. — the next to be mention’d is our dear Father:— at the time of his Father’s death, he was six years old; he was taken by the select men, and bound out to a man by the name of John Jones, always call’d Colonel Jones, because he held that office in the Kings army before the revolution. — he was a good natur’d wicked man, not caring much about anything, only his own comfort and accommodation, but his wife was the very reverse of all this, highstrung, ambitious and proud; not caring for any thing but her own proffit and aggrandizement, and that of her family:— they had many servants, some black, and some white, among them was [p.11] our Father, with two or three more little Orphan boys that were bound to them. Father was the youngest, and generally treated with kindness by the kitchen company.— the old Woman had a pick upon him, because the rest all liked him, even the old Col. would like him if she would let him alone; but she never fail’d to have an accusation against John, whenever the Col. had been out, and came home again. — she always wanted him whip’d any how, because she said he always deserv’d it. — she would gladly have done it herself many a time, but the older ones would instruct him whenever she went to whip him, to run like the mischief: they told him if he would do this the old Col. would not flog him for it, for they had tried it before. So the first time he tried it, the old beldam had got him up, and was delivering her lecture to him very graciously, with a whip in her hand, but the first thing she knew, her prisoner had fled; he flew from her like a wild deer, and she could not catch him, although she ran with all her might for a minute, forgetting her dignity entirely in the heat of her anger, because the little rascal could run like a wild deer, and she could not overtake him — but when the Col. came home, the house was in arms; John was worthy of death as well as bonds, and it should be attended to without delay. — accordingly, the Col. — the whip and poor John were soon on the way to the barn, which was considerable distance from the house — John expected he should now be whip’d to death without doubt. — when they were in the Barn, and the door shut, the old man began, “John, you dog you, what did you run away from your mistress for; don’t you know I will whip you to death if do so, you do you, will you do so again? he promis’d reformation, almost petrified with fear, when the old Col. exclaim’d, (stamping with his foot,) clear out you you dog, and [p.12] don’t you come to the house this three hours, and don’t let me hear of your running away from your mistress again; poor John, felt as though he had narrowly escap’d death, and I have often heard him laugh at the satisfaction the dear old woman felt in thinking he was so severely flog’d when in fact the merciful old man had done nothing to him, only what he did with his breath, and that indeed was enough, for he nearly died with fear. — when our Father was about ten years old, the war broke out between america and great Brittain, and continued for years, Father was longing to be old enough to enlist, and when he got to be sixteen years old, he sought, and soon found an opportunity of enlisting into the army, which he did with joy; and not being satisfied to leave his brother Joseph behind, he told the recruiting Officer, that he had a brother almost as old as himself, and that he was smart and active but the people where he liv’d were afraid they should lose him, and that he long’d to be in the army. — the Officer was pleas’d, told him to fetch his brother there, and he would tell them what to do; accordingly the little br Joseph was notified that night, and the next day he was forthcoming at an early hour; he waited on the Officer as soon as possible, who talked with him and looked at him for a little while, then told him if he had any inclination to be a soldier, he would take his name, for he was as good a fellow as he wanted. — so the two brothers were now completely happy in their own estimation, they were free from their masters, and they thought they should be together all the time, and they delighted in trying to please their Officers, and being called good soldiers.— but, the time of their rejoicing together was short, the place they were first march’d to, was near Boston, and the brittish were lying there, so that their spies had daily access to our troops:— at this time provisions [p.13] were very scarce in our army, many suffer’d exceedingly on this account:— the Regiment to which our young soldiers belong’d was divided, and John remain’d with one part, while Joseph went with the other:— this was a grief to both, neither could help themselves; and the company to which Joseph belong’d were more distrest for provisions than the others, they were also nearer the Enemy’s Camps so that the British Officers found access to them, and flatter’d away almost the whole company, but many return’d, and were forgiven, because they were young, and were driven to these measures by extreme hunger—but nothing could take Joseph from his new friend; a British Officer had taken a great fancy to him, and he used his utmost endeavors to gain his love and confidence, by the kindest possible treatment. he sat by his side at the Table, was clothed with the nicest apparrel, and evrything done to make him happy and contented: this was something new to the Orphan boy, of course his heart would cleave to the only friend he had ever found, and nothing could prevail on him to leave him: — after, this the Young Brothers seldom met; — about a year afterwards the war clos’d. — Joseph went to England with his new friend, and John return’d to Col. Jones, not as a servant, but the old man hir’d him, gave him good wages, said he was worth more to him than any two strangers he could get. — he staid with him two years; — but the young brothers that lov’d each other so dearly, never met again. || now as I have given a brief history of Joseph, in connection with my Father, (as he was near to my Father) I shall mention Anna, she was the youngest child living, and married a man by the name of Woodberry, and liv’d in the town of Sutton, ajoining Upton, and I know not but they are living at this day — as to my Grandmother’s Brothers or Sisters, I know but little about them the most I know about them is, that her [p.14] Brothers, Elisha Hayden, and John Hayden, lived in the Town of Hopkinton all their days, had great farms, and great Orchards;—I have been there a few times, in my growing days, and remember how they were situated. — I also remember an old gentlem dying by the name of Bowker and being buried upon the Sabbath day, as I went to meeting that day, I was at the funeral—I recollect my Father used to call him Uncle Bowker, and when he died, I heard some things spoken of, and hints given, as though that man could not possibly have gone to heaven. — I afterwards learn’d that Mrs. Bowker was Grandmother  Howard’s sister, and that her husband had been an old Tyrant, and deserv’d a worse fate than he shar’d. — but I will leave him for the present; I shall tell you a story about him hereafter: — ———

                        I must now commence the history of my Mother’s family, as far as I can trace them back: — I shall be indebted to Uncle Haven for any information I may obtain respecting our great Grand Father Godard’s Father. — but I cannot now obtain that information, therefore I shall proceed with what inteligence I have and which I obtain’d in my Young days, as I us’d to listen to Grandmother Godard, as to an oracle — and I now remember circumstances I heard her relate when I was a child, better than I do things which transpir’d last year. —— Grandmother Godard’s maiden name, was Sibbel Brigham. her mother died when she was eleven years old, leaving her to take care of the family, and the infant whom she had left. — — this task she preform’d with much credit to herself, insomuch that she was spoken of both far and near, as being the most capable girl of her age, which the country produc’d. — in these days Mr. Ebenezer Godard was the sherriff of the County, a man much respected and beloved of his upright conduct, and benevolent principles and disposition. —— one morning in the [p.15] spring of the year, Sibbel thought it would be a good time to clean out her garret, and make a thourough job of it, untill she had gone from the garret to the cellar; accordingly she went to work, and having saved all kinds of herbs, she had plenty of them with the rest of the dirt, by the time she had gone through her garret and chambers, and just got to the foot of the stairs in the Hall: at that moment, to her utter vexation, some one rap’d at the door; when bid to walk in two Gentlemen enter’d, she open’d a door, and show’d them into a parlour which was in ample order, notwithstanding the unfavorable appearance of the Hall.— they enquir’d for her Father, Mr Brigham, and made some other inquiries to all which she gave very satisfactory answers; they soon left and as they went from the house, one says to the other, “Mr Godard, there is a wife for you.— in fact, he thought so himself, and so it proved—for not long after, he saw her Father, and beg’d the priveledge of paying his addresses to the daughter:— the result was, they were happily married, when she was thirteen years old; such an instance as was rarely known in that country, and in that age of the world.— I have heard my Mother say, that even in old age, her Grandmother would sometimes speak of this circumstance, and laugh a little at the singular manner in which they first met; as it cost her, at the time, some very severe mortifications.— I can remember myself, hearing Grandmother Godard dwell upon the perfections of her husband, with such enthusiasm, that one would have thought him an Angel: in fact, I had form’d such an idea of his perfection, in my childhood, that I used to ask my Mother if she supposed there was a man on the earth now, as good as her Grandfather Godard was, when he was alive:— if there ever was such a thing on the earth, as connubial happiness [possibly crossed out with “bliss” written above], I believe it was enjoyed in our Grandfather Godards family.— but as a rose can seldom [p.16] be found without a thorn; so our Grandfathers family was sorely afflicted, and in a very strange and unaccountable way; so much so, that hundreds and thousands of people went to see and satisfy themselves respecting the marvelous things that were constantly transpiring in their family—Grandfather was a man what would do justice, in the strictest manner, to evry one that employ’d him; therefore many widows call’d upon him to be an administrator to their estates, in which capacity he always gave entire satisfaction, and had many very warm and devoted friends.— I must now leave the thread of my story to tell you about a strange society of people that lived in the town of Hopkinton, joining Framingham where Grandfather Godard lived:— they were, and are, the greatest wonder to evrybody that knows them, of any people that ever came under my observation.— they always had a God of their own, and they came in succession; when one died another took his place—I was at the funeral of one of these Gods, when I was about Eleven years old:— but no one saw the dead God; neither had they a prayer or any thing of the kind in their house—they were entirely by themselves, were they rich, kept their own secrets, went evry Sunday to the house of their God, but whether or no they worship’d him, was more than any one knew, as they kept close doors, and none but their own company were ever admitted into their meetings: when they married, instead of any ceremony, the young man took his girl into a Carriage, carried her to Boston, bought her a new silk dress, and then carried her home:— I recollect when I was a child, hearing a man relate an anecdote about one of these young Smiths (for that was their name) who had lately brought home his wife, this man said, he asked young Smith when and where they were married; the young man [p.17] look’d archly in his face, and said, when you tell me when and where Isaac and Rebekah were married, I will answer your question.— at the time alluded to, of the trouble at Grandfather G—’s, this old Nat Smith their God was very angry with Grandfather G — on account of an estate which the old God thought his privilege to handle to his own advantage, as it was somewhere upon the outskirts of his domains; but the widow, knowing his character, was determin’d to keep her property out of his hands, and chose Grandfather G — for administrator to her estate.— after he had got his papers, and everything regular, old Nat waited on him; told him it was his right to administer upon that estate, and wish’d him (Grandfather) to give up the writings to him: he refus’d and told him preemptorily that no man must interfere with his business; that he was chosen to settle the estate, in hopes that some things could be sav’d for the widow and children, and he should do his best to have them realize their wishes.— old Nat told him, he should rue the day he went into that job.— he then left him; but our Grandfather had no fears of his threats, and troubled not himself anything about it.—— a few mornings after this, one went out to the well to get a pail of water, but looking down into the well, discover’d that it was cover’d with papers; a young man went into the well and gather’d them up and brought them out, and to their great surprise they were the papers that Grandfather had lock’d up safely in his desk; he went quickly to his Desk, and found it lock’d as he left it, but evry paper that was of any consequence to him, was gone; but what amaz’d them was, that not a paper was wet:— I can well remember, with what a solemn look, I have heard my Great Grandmother pronounce these words, “the evil one, had power to throw all Mr Goddards papers into the well, but he had not power to wet  them.”— they began to feel as though they had not understood things exactly, for they fear’d the Lord greatly, yet they had no idea that the Devil had such power on the [p.18] earth. they were not much inclined to the marvelous, and did not comprehend the meaning of such things; however, they concluded to say nothing about it, and let it all go, as it was impossible to account for it in any rational way.— directly my Grandmother began to discover that something ail’d the milk, they could not eat or drink it. So she pour’d out the milk; and behold in the bottom was one of her silver Table spoons, fill’d with the most horrible filth. She knew not what to think or do, so when her husband came, she told him with much concern, that she fear’d some strange thing was coming to pass with them, as she could not in any way account for what had taken place with her milk; he told her not to be troubled, as he was very sure they should find a natural cause for all these things.— at this time, they had a little black boy living with them, that was given to them when an infant; he was an uncommon good child, never was known to tell a lie on any account, and was a great help to Grandmother, about her children, as he was very kind to them, and she could trust him any way, as I have heard her say, he was the best child, she ever saw.— they all lov’d him, and none but Grandfather could suspect him guilty of the mischief that was done; neither would he, but he said it could be no one else; so he call’d in poor Dick, and asked him if he knew how the spoon, with the contents, came in the milk. his reply was, “yes, sir” did you put it there Dick? “yes, sir” don’t you think you deserve a dreadful whiping?—yes sir, was the reply, and he wept bitterly.—Now said my G. you have always been a good boy Dick, and I am griev’d that you should now begin to do evil; don’t you feel sorry that you have abus’d your mistress so, when she has always been so good to you? “yes sir, said Dick and he sob’d and cried, and look’d up to her with such affection, and such innocence that they could not correct him.— if we forgive you, said Grandfather, do you think you should ever be guilty of such things again? I don’t [p.19] know, said he, but I hope not;— this was not just such an answer as they anticipated; and they marvel’d at it, but they forgave him, assuring him, if ever he did the like again they could not again forgive him.— however, in a day or two, to their astonishment, the same game was play’d over again with the milk, and when they laid it to the charge of poor Dick again, he never pretended to deny it, but said he could not help it:— he made no excuse at all, nor would he promise to do so no more: this was aggravating, that he would persist in such abominable mischief, and yet show no ill will, nor give any reason why he did so:— but there was no alternative; he must be compell’d to do right, if he could not be flatter’d to it. So the poor boy took a dreadful whiping, but could not be made to promise reformation: however, Grandmother thought she would watch him so close that he could not do mischief if he wanted to:— but what was her astonishment when the very next mess of milk she went to skim, had the very same kind of filth in evry pan:— she knew not what to do, she could neither make butter or cheese, or have any milk fit to use for any thing, except what was used as soon as milk’d and strain’d.— Grandfather began to lose all patience with a child, that neither entreaties threats or stripes, could deter from so detestable, and unnatural mischief.— but what astonish’d Grandmother was, that with all her assiduity in watching, with the assistance of her daughter who was then fifteen years old, it was impossible to detect the child when in commission of the deed.— he did not fail to do it evry day in spite of all their vigilance; and he, in return, got many dreadful floggings—this seem’d to make them all miserable; and my Grandmother said to her husband, “I do believe there is some fatality upon poor Dick, and I cannot endure to have him whip’d in such a manner—however, he was slow to believe in the fatality she mention’d, but told he would soon find [p.20] out.— the next morning when they got up, he took a leather strap and buckl’d round Dick, and fasten’d it to something in the corner, where he could get to the fire; telling grandmother that when he went out some one should keep hold of the strap and not let him loose that day—after breakfast, Grandfather went away, on business, as he commonly did evry day.—Dick wore a leather apron, as all farmer’s boys did, in those days, whether black or white; and when tied up in the morning, his cloaths were search’d, so as to know there was nothing about him.— after Grandfather had been gone a while, Dick rose from his seat, and step’d to the fire to warm himself a little; while standing there, Grandmother was looking at him with pity, when she saw something fall from under his apron to the hearth, it caught the eye of the daughter as well as mother in a moment, and she sprang to catch it up, exclaiming, it is my cap. it was the fashion in those days, for young ladies, as well as married ones, to wear caps when they went abroad; and she had a very nice one up stairs in her drawer, not thinking she should see it fall from under the leather apron of a little negro boy:— but so it was, and before she could possibly get hold of it, she saw one half of it go up chimney, while she caught the other half in her hand:— it was cut smoothly in two, but by what means she knew not: she flew up stairs to her drawer, but no cap was there, neither did she ever see the half that went into the chimney, afterwards:— Grandmother was now convinc’d; and she said to her daughter, “Sibbel, you may untie Dick, he is not to blame; it is not Dick that does the mischief, and I am sorry he has been whip’d so much:— This broke the charm with the poor boy he seem’d to spring into a new state of existence, he ran to his mistress, kiss’d her hands, and fairly wept for joy—Said he could not bear to do what he did, [p.21] but that a little bird came evry day and whisper’d in his ear that if he did not do what it told him to, he should be kill’d that night. it also told him if he told anybody what made him do it, he should be killed but said he tried to tell his master, when he whip’d him so, but could not: after this there was no more trouble with Dick, he was the same good boy that he used to be: but Grandfather never got over it:— he mourn’d about it all his days; as it was the only unmerciful act of his life; and that this should be inflicted on the most innocent and inoffensive child that could be, was to him an insupportable reflection.— but this was only the beginning of their trouble, as to having things destroy’d, although it was more grief to them, than the loss of evrything that was destroy’d.— directly after this, when they were heating their Oven, as they went to look how it was doing, behold the fire was cover’d with books They haul’d them out as fast as possible; some were entirely spoil’d, others, injur’d but not wholly spoiled, while some were burnt but little: I have seen, and read, many of these books, where the edge of the leaves were burnt a little, and some spots burnt in onto the reading.— one day, when they were heating the oven, Grandmother was siting looking into it, and dar’d not leave it one moment, behold the cloaths of their infants a pair of twins that were sleeping in the cradle, came down through the top of the Oven to appearance, she saw them the moment they fell and got them out as soon as possible, but they were spoil’d:— she went to the cradle, found her babies naked, as she expected; and this was only one circumstance, of the many that transpired in a similar way:— they knew not what to do, they never had been used to any such thing, neither had they believ’d that such things existed; but they now found to their astonishment and sorrow, that they did exist, and were likely to destroy evrything they had.—many went [p.22] to see the wonders that were daily exhibited.— it was noised through the whole country, it was the topic of conversation in every house both public and private; but nobody could do them any good;— things went on in this way for a year, and there seem’d to be a kind of despairing consternation upon then.— at length they made up their minds to try what virtue could be found in fasting and prayer—they sent for many ministers, the most devout and holy men they could find; they got sixteen together at their house, and they seem’d to feel the importance of the occasion:— they fasted two days and nights, and the third day they spent in fervent prayer—there was one man among them that seem’d more intent upon the subject than any other; he could not be denied; he plead with the Lord, as a man would plead for life; that he would break the power of the destroyer, that he would rebuke him, and command him to leave that house and family forever.— towards night, on the third day, when he was pouring out his soul with such fervour, and they were all united with him, in a moment there seem’d to be a shock through the whole house, not of distress or sorrow, but of joy and assurance that there was a God in the heavens, whose ear could be penetrated with the cries of his children, and who was not slow to answer the prayers of those that put their trust in him.— from that hour, not a thing of the kind even took place in their house, or any where about them.— they lived many years after this, in great peace and happiness; Dick grew up to manhood, was universally esteem’d for his piety, and good conduct:— he never left the family, but finally went into consumption and died.— when on his death bed, he rejoiced that his lot had been cast with those that fear’d the Lord—did not blame his master for [p.23] what he had done; and never wish’d them to feel bed about it. Grandfather, and Grandmother Godard rais’d a large family, of which I have a record taken from an old family bible, which belong’d to them.— I will give you the record, just as I found it—perhaps it may be a satisfaction to you in some future day.— ———

Abigail Godard was born Sept 11th 1737.
Martha Godard was born March 18th 1739
Sibbel Godard was born Jan 14th 1741
Susanna Godard was born Sept 25th 1742
Mary Godard was born August 3d 1744
Sophiah Godard was born Oct 3d — 1746
Betty Godard was born Jan 26th — 1749
Esther Godard was born June 16th — 1751
Ebenezer Godard was born August 9th 1753
Benjamin Godard was born Sept 2d 1755
Edward and Samuel Godard born April 16th 1759
Abigail Godard was born May 16th 1761

I do not expect that this was their regular family record, as there is no mention made of Grandfather or Grandmothers age or marriage; but I know Grandmother had a large bible, and I expect their family record was in that, as it should be; but I found this in a little old bible that used to be in the family.— I cannot remember how long Grandfather lived after the trouble, of which I have spoken; but when on his death bed, was compos’d and happy, looking forward to a blest immortality beyond the grave.— there was but one transaction of his life, that gave him pain and that was the one mentioned above, although at the time, he thought he was doing a duty, which to neglect, would bring him into condemnation.— Grandmother Godard lived until the year 1807: retaining her intelects in a very remarkable [p.24] manner to the last.— full of hope and consolation, she went down to the grave in peace, like a shock of corn fully ripe—I come now to speak of their children, although some of them I have but little knowledge of.— Abigail, their first, I think was not married, but died young, I do not know at what age; all I know of it is, that she was greatly beloved in the family, and her name perpetuated thereby.— Martha, the next, I think, married a Hemenway, but she died before my remembrance, and I know nothing of her posterity, only, that she left one daughter, whom they call’d Patty, and I suppose that was all the child she left.— this Patty Married a Demon; had two children, and was then left a widow; it was at this time I used to see her at my Grandfather Howe’s, and her two children, Ebenezer and Patty, used to come with her, and go to school with us:— Ebenezer Demon, afterwards, married our cousin, susan Brigham; and Timothy Brigham, her brother, married Patty Demon.— but they are, long since, evry one of them, in the world of spirits: and their names, once so dear, almost consigned to oblivion.— there was something very singular in the death of Mr. Demon, the Father of E.— and P.— as I have heard my Mother relate it. — — a number of friends had collected at his house for a visit; Mr D. was all life and gaity; but told them he had promis’d to go, with a number more who were going over the River for something, I cannot remember what; neither can I remember the name of the River: he regreted leaving the company, said he would not go, unless they came after him:— however, in a short time he was called for, his wife remonstrated against his going, but to no purpose:— said he should not be gone long; and went off in high glee, biding them all farewell in a very solemn manner; yet it was only for sport; [p.25] When he had gone about forty rods, he wheel’d his horse and came back upon the full gallop; they were all at the door; well, said he, I thought I would just come back and bid you farewell; so he stretched out his hand to the one that was nearest, and so to the next, untill he shook hands with evry one, and bade them farewell: he then rode off, full speed as before, and was soon out of sight.— When they had gone back into the house, Mrs Demon said, she believ’d something would befall that day, for she never had seen him in such a gale in his life.— —— in a few hours, a messenger came, saying that Mr Demon was drown’d:— he had swam the River twice, and in going the third time, he sunk: he was carrying something, I recollect what; he was near the shore, and call’d loudly for help, but they all suppos’d he was doing it for sport, and no one made a single exertion to save him—I hope he will be remember’d when saviors come up on Moun Zion: if souls are in prison, and waiting for the living to open the prison doors, I hope the living will be inspired with the importance of the cause!— Sibbel Godard, the next one, married a Mr Woodard for her first husband, had several children; then buried her husband, and afterwards married a Mr Butler—I was at old Uncle Butlers funeral, almost as long ago as I can remember.— aunt Butler lived many years after this, and I do not remember the exact time of her death, as it was long after we left that country.— her youngest daughter married a man by the name of [p.25b] Isaac Eames, but I know not what has become of them or the rest of the family.— the next one Susanna G.— married Mr Phineas Howe; these were our dear Grandparents.— the names of their children were Rhoda, Susanna, Abigail, Martha, Phineas, Nancy, Nehemiah, Betsey, Samuel and Peter.— I shall speak more particularly of these hereafter. [p.26] Mary Godard, the next one, I know nothing about; I presume she died in childhood, perhaps in infancy, as I never recollect hearing Mother mention her name, although she frequently talk’d of her uncles and aunts; this is the means by which I have learned many things, that transpir’d before my day.— the next was Sophiah Godard, she married Mr Abner Morton; these are our much esteemed great uncle and aunt Morton; though you know but little of them yet no family was ever more highly esteem’d by our parents, or by myself, that were they—their children I have some knowledge of, and believe I know all their names, yet with some have had but a very slight acquaintance.— the first of their children Thomas Morton, I presume you do not remember, although you have seen him at our Fathers—the next, Salmon, was that Elder Morton you have seen in presence in Aurellius many a time; he died in Marcelles when you was about twenty years old—Levi, was the next, you know him well, and to know, was to love him; as nothing but excellence ever appear’d in his character, to my knowledge.— Abner, the next, was graduated at Yale College, and to say the least of him he was a finish’d Gentleman and consistent christian.— Julius, the next, you have seen and being so deeply prejudiced against your religious sentiments, he did not appear to you, to be that humane noble minded man, which I think in reality he is.— Elihu Morton was their youngest son, a good man, very religious and very melancholy.— they had four daughters likewise, but as I can not place them regularly, by age; I mention them last.— I believe Esther was their eldest daughter, and Sophia next. Esther married a Berry—and Sophia a Williams—these I never saw but once, had no acquaintance with them.— the next was Nancy, she married a man by the name of Daniel Warren—with her I became considerably acquainted and loved her much—Sally the youngest of the family about my age, married a Mr Charles Lewis.— she was [p.27] [like] a dear sister to me, and her memory is precious.— Betty Godard is the next to be mentioned.— she married Nehemiah Howe, brother to our Grandfather, Phineas Howe. they had no children but an adopted son, whom they brought up from infancy as their own: this child provided a great curse to them; as a recompense for the most tender, and indulgent care, which they had always bestowed upon him, he squander’d their property and abused their confidence until he ruin’d them—neither could they be made sensible of his villiany, until they were undone—Such was their doating fondness for this son, that evry one who tried to convince them of the reality of things, that they might save themselves from utter destruction, whoever did this, was sure of their displeasure—they lived and died in Hopkinton, but I have never learn’d what became of the prodigal son.— the next one, Esther Godard, Married Mr Samuel Morton, brother to Mr Abner Morton, the two brothers married the two sisters, as was the case with Grandfather Howe and his brother Nehemiah.— of this family I know but little only that she died young, leaving a son and daughter her son Calvin M is alive now for aught I know, is a universalian preacher, her daughter was Mrs Bullard, that died here in Nauvoo; Mother to Joel, Levi, and Isaac Bullard and Elizabeth Hyde.— Ebenzer Godard was the next; but I know little of the family: he married a Death, and although I used to know her cristen name, I have now forgotten it, it being many years since I have seen her.— their children were Benjamin, Jotham, Ashby, Lyman and Lucinda: if there were more, I have forgotten them.— the next was Benjamin Godard, who died when a young man; I have heard my Mother say, she remember’d his visiting at her Fathers, when she was a child, and that [p.28] he died soon after.— Edward, and Samuel Godard, the twins were next; Edward Married Ann Death, sister to the wife of Ebenezer G but he was not happy with her; she was a very singular woman indeed, and caused her friends much anxiety, as evry one dreaded her displeasure little less than death: but I will say no more of it—they had a family of children, and I believe I can name the most of them. Ann.— Dolly.— Oliver, Samuel, Keziah—Samuel Godard married a Pond, and as far as I know, is now living, in the Town if Hopkinton—Edward too is living, perhaps, but I know not where.—Abigail, the Youngest Married Mr John Tidd—her children, were Lois, John, Polly, Ebenezer, Amasa, Sibbel and Elbridge.— this is our Aunt Tidd, who visited us when we lived in Chenango. I think you must remember it.— I know not but she is still living.— ——— So much for our great grandfather’s family, on our Mothers side.— our great grandparents on grandfathers side, I know nothing of, except, I found a record of their death, in the same old Bible where I found the other record.— it was simply this. Peter Howe died, December—1756. Thankful Howe died, January 1766 Nehemiah Howe, their son, was born December 6 1747 and died March 17th 1825—this sketch is all I can find of their record—.

[p.29] I must now speak more particularly about Grandfather Howes family—their eldest, Rhoda, Married Mr Joseph Richards; they raised a large family, with much respectability, and went down to the grave in peace, as you know; and their children, our cousins, the most of them, are here with us, and we hope the rest soon will be:— Cousin Joseph Richards the oldest of the family I believe you never sold he does not yet discover the necessity, it seems, of fleeing from Babylon: I hope the Lord will stir him up, untill he will open his eyes to the realities that surround him and flee to Zion.— Cousin Rhoda you know is with us: Susanna the next, died many years ago; and will doubtless be brought up by her friends, to rejoice in the new and everlasting covenant.— Cousin Phineas Richards, you know, with his interesting family, is here with us.— Levi, the next one, died when a child, and I remember well how I wept and mourn’d about him; it was something so sorrowful that he was buried in the ground, I could not bear to think of it [Na]ncy Richards, our amiable cousin Mrs Pierson, was next [page torn] ore acquaint’d with her, and her lovely children, than [page torn] next was Hepzibah, our sorrowful cousin who died [page torn] and was, in pity, no doubt, taken from the evil [page torn]—the next was Betsey, a most lovely and interesting [page torn] died in childhood, as it seem’d as though this [page torn] a suitable place for her.— the next is [page torn] for the other; and is here with us.— I used not [page torn] virtues, because you know him—. the next is William [page torn] William; whom you know much better than I do. [Note: A crossed-out version of page 25 appears here—see end of this transcript.] [p.30] Susanna Howe, married a Brigham,— he was own cousin to her Mother, as Grandmother Godard, and old Mr George Brigham Father of our uncle Brigham were brother and sister.— Uncle and Aunt Brigham rais’d a large family, and as you know them, as well as I, we will leave them—I presume you remember the time that Uncle Brigham died; the winter that we mov’d to Genoa, when so many were swept off with the Epidemic, he also fell victim to that relentless disorder:— The next, was Abigail, our dear, and honor’d Mother: she married the little Orphan, John Young, brought up at Col. Jones’s—this she did, sorely against the will of her parents, particularly her Father, for he though it rather beneath him, that his daughter should choose a servant boy, brought up in the kitchen with black, as well as [page torn] vants—but so it was, and from them we have [page torn] our existence.— Martha Howe, always called Patty [page torn] a man by the name Elisha Morse, rais’d a [page torn] children, and their names I will mention, because [page torn] not know them—Samuel, Winthrop, Susanna [page torn] and Martha, and I believe there was one or [page torn] re after we left, but I cannot remember their [page torn] the next of our Grand family was Phineas; one of the most [page torn] markable young men for sobriety, good morals [page torn] good principles, and good manners: [words struck through and page torn] that the age could produce, I remember [page torn] a child, that Phineas Howe’s name was always [page torn] respect; and often have I heard it remark’d [page torn] could not produce another young man so [page torn] his ways, as Phineas Howe. for many years [page torn] seen, on Sundays, at the head of the singers [page torn] voice could be distinguish’d from all the rest; [page torn] seem’d as though his soul [p.31] went out in pure devotion when he sung, and I [page torn] I have heard my Mother say, that from a chi [page torn] cern’d about his soul, and what would be his [page torn] in those days, there was nothing to comfort the disconsolate [Soul] but the doctrine of Election; if you was ord[ained] to eternal life, the Lord would, bye and bye, converted your so[ul and] you would be saved; but if you was a reprobate, it [was[ in vain to struggle, you could not be sav’d; because you had not the pure charity; and it was impossible to have that, until the Lord converted you and that would be in his own time, if He [saw] fit to do it at all. if not, it was your indispensible duty, to thank and praise and adore that almighty power, and good[ness?] which had in tender mercy sav’d your neighbor, or your friend or brother and perhaps all three, while you was d[oomed] to welter in Eternal fire, where their worms dieth not, and their fire is not quenched this was the consolation handed out in t[hose] day to the poor solitary sinsick soul; and no one dar’d to say a word against the precious truths, lest they should offend the Lord and so render it impossible to be save anyhow——however, our Uncle had the audacity to dissent from these op[inons], for being both modest and humane, he could not imagine the Lord [illegible] him, any better than other souls he had made, and if almost all the world must be miserable, he did not care much what became of him. these things were constantly on his mind, grow [page torn] he did not talk and think carelessly about them a [page torn] but his whole soul was asorb’d in it; he be [page torn] melancholy, and no exertion to cheer him up [page torn] effect:— he never smil’d:— seldom made any [page torn] with any one, except what his  business [page torn] went on in this way for a long time; [page torn] said about so good a young m [page torn] at length a circumstance [page torn] evry-thing to a crisis with [page torn] [p.32] [page torn] ny something to market; when he returned next [page torn] to be dishearten, not crazy, but in total despair; [page torn] were greatly alarm’d; he groan’d evry breath, [page torn] they beg’d him to tell what was the matter, they feared he had kill’d some one accidentally, or some dreadful thing: but he soon exclaim’d “none but my self, none but my self, I am damn’d, I have committed the unpardonable sin”— not a wink did he sleep for two nights, neither could any one sleep in the house, as evry breath brought a dreadful despairing groan:— our poor Grandmother almost sunk to the grave:— at length he became more calm, took a little refreshment, which was a great relief to his afflicted friends—but for one whole year he never was capable of any kind of business neather did he care enough about anything in the [?] to lift his hand for it.— there was no night but [page torn] spent in bitter groans, and [grieving] [page folded] half the night in traversing the room, and after repeating, [page folded] there is no mercy for me! there is no mercy for me!” if he went out unobserv’d, (which was seldom the case) they never expected to see him alive again:———— his parents would often propose sending for the priest. but he as often objected to it, saying “what good” could arrive from a poor hireling priest he does not know anything about the Lord, and if he did, he could not help me, for my damnation is already seal’d!” he continued in this situation [page torn] sometimes feeling a little more composed [page torn] days, and then again neither eat or sleep for days [page torn] .— after a great while, he became more [page torn] his way, his sufferings were not so exquisite, [page torn] melancholy bordering on despair seemed to pervade his whole soul: [page torn] and he was the same wretched [page torn] never seeming to [?] [page torn] he had; evry thing was [page torn] terest in any thing:—

[pp.33–40 missing]


animal, which did not retard her flight at all; but the dogs went after her with all violence: finding herself so closely persu’d, she made the best of her way, onto a tree. — when the men came up to the tree, they knew not what to do; they had nothing there to kill the Bear with, neither did they wish to let her escape. — they finally agreed, if two of the men would stay and watch the bear, and try to keep her on the tree, the others would go to their homes, and return as soon as possible, with means to despatch her. my Father immediately volenteer’d to stay and watch the Bear, and another man, who had a gun loaded with shot, agreed to stay with him:— my Father immediately took his axe cut a stick six or eight feet long, and sharpen’d the end of it; the man appear’d very uneasy, told Father he was sure they were presumptious to stay there, and wish’d to run away; my Father told him to go in welcome, he had rather be alone than to have him there; but he was not to be persuaded, he would not go, and leave his neighbor to be kill’d. — however, he soon hit upon a method to save himself, at least. — ‘now,’ said he, “Young you know I am a marksman, I can shoot that Bear with the load that is in my gun, I know I can.” my Father told him he was crazy, begg’d him not to think of firing the gun, until the others return’d; but in spite of evry remonstrance he drew up, and fir’d the whole charge into the Bears face: now came the trouble, the poor creature was so angry that she determin’d to avenge herself of her adversary; she began to descend from the tree like a Tornado, with such fury did she come; the man who shot her, seeing this, ran for his life, crying evry jump “Young run for life, run for life.” But running was the last thing in my Father’s mind; he stood ready to meet his antagonist, with the sharp stick [p.42] in his hand: when she had got down low enough to jump, she sprang upon him with all her powers, her mouth open as far as her jaws could extend, while he as full of energy, as the other was of wrath, met her with such aim, that he plung’d the stick into her mouth, and down her throat with such violence that the poor creature in terrible agony, still kept trying to spring towards her enemy which aided him in jaming the stick still further down her throat; which after a severe struggle brought the furious animal dead at his feet. — — meanwhile the man who ran away with such terror met the others, who enquir’d where Young was, and what was the matter—he told them he supposed he was dead for the Bear was coming upon him, and he could not persuade him to run:— they came up full speed, when to their astonishment, instead of a dead man, there lay the largest bear that ever was kill’d in that country. — ten years afterwards, when some men from that place call’d on Father, they told him, that there never had been a Bear kill’d in that country since, that came up to the one he kill’d, by considerable. — ——— while these scenes were transpiring, our Mother full of fears and cares, together with a delicate state of health, wrote back to her friends, in her letter she spoke of her lonely situation, and the scene she should have to pass through without a Mother or sister to comfort her:— in september she was presented with another daughter, (our dear sister [Rhoda] Greene) and in a measure forgot her fears and sorrows; — not so with her parents and friends at home, they were constantly devising means and methods to bring her back. our Grandmother could hardly eat or sleep; she said it was cruel, that poor Nabby, who had always been a child of sorrow, should now become an outcast, far from her Father’s house, and in a wilderness of wild beasts, where [p.43] life was constantly in danger. — the whole family became very unhappy on her account; so as soon as the sleighing was pronounc’d good, our Grandfather started two sleighs after his lost child, and her family:— I have heard my Father say, he never saw so unhappy a night, before, in his life, as the one after these men arriv’d to carry them back to their native place, he was doing well, and evrything he put his hand to, prosper’d. — he had got in a good crop of wheat, they had a good cow, and two heifers that would come in the next year; a good yoke of young Cattle, and provisions for the winter. — in short, they were doing as well as anybody could be, with their opportunity. — the men thought it a pity for them to leave, but Grandfather had charged them never to come back without his daughter. Father said, he was sure that Mother never talk’d so much in one night, either before or after in all her life as she did that night. she long’d to go back; it would be heaven to her to see her brothers and sisters; and a little more than that to see her parents. — my Father could not withstand her entreaties, although he knew it would ruin him to go back. — when the morning dawn’d, my Father, who had yielded up the point of controversy, hasten’d with all possible dispatch, to regulate his affairs, that they might start the next morning, as the snow was fast leaving them, and they were afraid the north River would be broken up, before they could get across. — there was a man living in the place, by the name of Steven Ballad, to him my Father was particularly partial, — consider’d him his friend, and a very honest man. to him my Father applied at this time, told him all the circumstances, that he could not stay to dispose of anything, ask’d him (Ballad) to take the place, cattle, and whatever he had, and do the best he could with it, and they would settle to their mutual satisfaction another day. — Ballad was [p.44] very glad of the opportunity; they made an estimate of the property, and Ballad gave his notes. — the next morning, by sunrise, our dear Mother, to her inexpressible joy, and satisfaction, found herself on the [way?] to the home of her Fathers, which she knew would indeed, with rejoicing “welcome her back.” — when they got to the river, it was consider’d presumtious to try to cross, they could not get a Pilot, as no one chose to risk their life for a triffle. — they knew it could be many days before the scows could cross, and [?] [?] seem’d to be no alternative, they must go on the ice, which they did, cracking about, and after sticking their [?] canes through the ice into the River; when they reach’d the shore, my Mother drew a long breath, as she said she dar’d not breath while on the river, for it was open above and below, and she expected any moment to go to the bottom.— I can date the beginning of my recollections to this time. I remember when when we came to our Grandfather’s house all the family flew out to receive us, and caught the three children, (one older and the other younger than myself) in their arms while my Grandmother and my mother wept. ———— we now find our parents at our Grandfathers, with those little children, without house or home, or anything wherewith to obtain the comforts of life, except their naked hands:— my Father felt bad; he knew that Grandfather had always disliked him; and he could not feel willing to place himself under his immediate inspection;— he desir’d to do well for his family, but this circumstance depriv’d him of that power. — however, as the days came along he always found employment, and thereby a sustenance for his family—when the spring open’d, they mov’d into a house on Grandfather’s land, and rais’d corn on shares; the land was hard and barren, and there was but little to reward the laborer’s toil

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when he had gone about forty rods, he wheel’d the horse, and came back upon the full Gallup; they were all at the door; well, said he, I thought I would yet come back and bid you farewell; so he strech’d out his hand to the one that was nearest, and so to the next untill he shook hands with evry one, and bid them farewell, he then rode off full speed, as before, and was soon out of sight: when they got back into the house, Mrs. Demon said, she believ’d something would befall him that day, for she had never seen him in such a gale in his life.— in a few hours a messenger came saying, that Mr Demon had drown’d; he had swam the River twice and in going the third time time he sunk, he was carrying something; I cannot recollect what; he was near the shore, and called loudly for help, but they all suppos’d he was doing it for sport, and no one lifted a finger to save him.— I hope he will be remember’d when saviors come up on mount Zion: if souls are in prison, and waiting for the living to open the prison doors, I hope the [page torn] inspir’d with the importance of the cause.— — ——— Sibbel Godard Married a W [page torn] first husband, and several children, then buried her [page torn] afterwards married a Butler—I was at old uncle [page torn] funeral, almost as long ago as I can remember; [page torn] til after we left that country, and I do not rec [page torn] time of her death, altho I remember heari [page torn] dead; her youngest daughter, Betsey, married [page torn] by the name of Isaac Emes, but I know not what h [page torn] come of her, or the rest of the family.— Susan [page torn] Married a man by the name of Phineas Howe; [page torn] our  dear Grandparents;—the names of their [page torn] were, Rhoda, Susanna, Abigail, Martha, Ph [page torn] Nehemiah, Betsey, Samuel, and Peter [page torn] [three more lines scribbled out]