Chapters I - VI

Autobiography
of
Lydia Sexton

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The Story of Her Life
Through a period of over Seventy-two Years,
From 1799 to 1872
Her Early Privations, Adventures, & Reminiscences

Clouds and Sunshine,
As a Child, Wife, Mother, and Widow;
As Minister of the Gospel;
As Prison Chaplain.

Her Missions of Help and Mercy

Dayton, Ohio:
United Brethren Publishing House
1882

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Introduction

In presenting these pages for general perusal by the public, a word of apology is due. The manuscript, kept by me for many, many years, on transcribing, was found too lengthy, so I have aimed to compress the same to the limits of about seven hundred pages. But on reaching that number, extending through a period of about seventy-three years, I found that ten years of history can not appear in this volume. These ten years were fraught with much pleasure, much work and successes in the Master’s cause, and withal, much of sorrow for the loss of my dear companion for nearly half a century along life’s pilgrimage.
Joseph Sexton died of paralysis of the stomach, on the twenty-third day of October, 1878, in Wilson County, Kansas. He died, as he lived, with a happy assurance of having a part in the resurrection, and a blissful immortality. All that was mortal now sleeps in the cemetery at Fredonia; and the spirit, so good, so fruitful, so true, has returned to the bosom of his Redeemer.
Alone I journey, for days and weeks, and months and years, for the short lease allotted me; and wherever hands and lips and heart and mind can work for God and humanity, day and night, I will labor and toil until the good Master shall say, It is enough; come up higher.
Of course in a sketch of this kind there will be found much that will not be of special interest to the general reader; pertaining as it may to family affairs, anecdotes, and reminiscences; but even these may serve as lessons and warnings or encouragement to those who may have started out upon life’s uneven journey, and especially to those who have taken upon them the name and cross of Christ.
At this writing my mission is, “relief to the destitute thousands of refugees who have fled for succor and for safety” from Louisiana and Texas to southern Kansas. But as I go I preach the unsearchable riches of Christ.
In abridging my manuscript omission were occasionally made, “missing links” in the historic chain, which were not noticed in time for correction; also, some repetitions that might have been avoided had the original manuscript been written to completion. But instead, it was written through a period of about forty years; and as early impressions are more vivid and lasting than later ones, the early memories continued to crowd in upon me and take the foreground of the picture.
Brethren and friends, you have the story of my life; and if there adding of it shall awaken in your minds and hearts higher and holier aspirations, or should prompt any to more earnest, devout service in the cause of our blessed lord, I shall feel that my labors have not been in vain. Yours in the Lord.
Lydia Sexton

Contents

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Chapter I

Reminiscences of Childhood – Home- Kith and Kin – Father’s Conversion

Chapter II

Grandfather’s “Grant of the Mississippi Valley” – Too much for him; and he relinquishes it again, as it would “cost more than it would come to” – Dispersion of Kindred – Burials – Sensational Sermon on the Frog, by Walter Scott – A Forced Loan.

Chapter III

A Disgusted Miner – Sufferings on the Plains – Samuel’s “Night Thoughts” – “I say, Dave” – “Good-By” – My Sister Katy’s Teasing and Tarrying – “Blind Buck and Davy.”

Chapter IV

“An Old Sheep or a Lamb” – Sister Mary’s Imagination a Leetle too Strong – The “Bold American” – We Move to the Rabbalee Place – Incidents by the Way – A Crane, How to Make and How to Use It – Crullers.

Chapter V

Tallow or Lard? A Sad Mistake – “Froggy Bite Me” – Brother Finche’s Slough of Despond – Father’s Failing Health – Starts on a Heath-Tour – Returns Home to Die – Pilgrimage on Earth Closes – Elder Lathrop Visits his Dying Brother – “What is Left is for the Worms” – The Death-bed Scene – Funeral Service – Text – Epitaph.

Chapter VI

Widow’s Orphan Household – Three Years Elapse – A Rising Cloud – A Lone Widower with Seven Children, dependent Mother and Sisters, “Crazy Julia,” “Crippled Mary, “ “Silly Susie,” “Drunken Brother Phillip” – Too Much for One – Mother Shares his Responsibility – Marriage – A Gilpin Julia – From Deckertown to

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Autobiography of Rev. Lydia Sexton

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Chapter 1

Reminiscences of Childhood – Home- Kith and Kin – Father’s Conversion

The subject of this memoir was born in Sussex County, now Rockport, in the State of New Jersey, on the twelfth day of April, 1799; indeed it is claimed by some of the oldest survivors in our family that our home lay upon both sides of the state line, between New York and New Jersey, and in the counties of Sussex and Orange.
The home of my infancy was a very humble, log-cottage upon the mountain side, with a small clearing for garden, orchard, and field products.
My father was an accredited Baptist minister, and like some of the earlier ministers of the gospel, “labored with his own hands, that he might not be chargeable to” his congregations, which were made up of pioneers like himself.
My father, Thomas Casad, was the son of Anthony Casad (or Cozatt) of Somerset County, New Jersey.
My grandmother’s maiden name was Katy Coon. My mother’s maiden name was Abigail Tingley, daughter of Joseph and Christian Tingley of Somerset County, New Jersey, but who came from London, England, before the Revolutionary war.
My grandmother, on my mother’s side, was also from England. Her maiden name was Christian Manning, and she was the sister of James Manning, president of Brown University, located at Warren, and afterward removed to Providence, Rhode Island.
The reader will pardon me for this digression, in mentioning an incident of the Revolution.
My grandfather, Joseph Tingley, was driven from his home by the Hessians. Grandmother and children with their servants took refuge in Schooley’s Mountains, taking with them a few supplies to subsist on until relief could be procured from the army. Grandfather took his oldest two boys, Ebenezer and Jeremiah, and equipping themselves each with a flint-lock musket, powder-horn, homespun blankets, &c, set out for the head-quarters of General Washington, not far distant. Grandfather being an Englishman, but now an American peasant, was very obeisant in the presence of distinguished personages.
Approaching General Washington, he tool off his hat, and putting it under his arm, addressing him, said: “I believe I have the honor of being in the presence of General Washington.” The General replied: “My name is George Washington; put on your hat, daddy.”
Said grandfather: “I came to offer you my services and that of my sons, such as it is, to help in this struggle.”
“Noble offering; fall in ranks there, and at roll-call report your names.”
The Hessians had taken possession of the house and barn for head-quarters, who, on leaving it, left only the bare walls. Cattle, hogs, sheep, geese, and chickens were either destroyed or driven off.”
Those were the days which tried the souls of men and women of our young republic while planting the tree of Liberty, which they watered and nourished with their heart’s blood; and to-day we enjoy the boon which their valor, privations, and heart-aches and a wonder-working Providence have given us.
My father was born in Somerset County, New Jersey, and his youth and early manhood were marked for his rudeness and mischief. On one occasion he left home for Mt. Bethel Chapel, more for fun and frolic than to hear the wholesome lessons of gospel truth. The minister, old Abner Sutton, was to baptize some young people at the afternoon service. Father planted himself in the gallery, where he could wink and make grimaces at the young converts. Elder Sutton looked over the congregation with a solemnity upon his countenance which told the deep concern of his soul; then, raising his eyes toward the gallery, he said: “Lord, we have done as thou hast bidden, and yet there is room.” Father’s attention was arrested; an arrow had pierced his heart, and with a repentance that was numbered with the redeemed. He soon after commenced proclaiming the glad tidings of salvation and boldly and successfully warned sinners to flee the wrath to come. Some time before his conversion he had been paying his addresses to Miss Abigail Tingley (mother); but grandfather Tingley’s folks were greatly opposed to his visits on account of his wayward life, and sent her off to uncle James Manning’s, in Rhode Island, determined if possible to break off all communication between them. After his conversion they sent for her to return home, and not long after her return they were married.
Father was born September 13, 1763, and mother was born September 16, 1765. They were married at grandfather Joseph Tingley’s, in Somerset County, New Jersey, in 1786. They then put all their worldly effects in a two-horse wagon to seek them a home in Sussex County.
As grandfather Tingley had plenty of slave-labor for field and house, his children knew little of labor; but what mother lacked herein she made up in ambition and genius, and paid for the first eight acres of land they bought by weaving, while father, with what little aid he received from the churches, and his own labor, cleared the land, built a small house, and set out an orchard. Here they were happy and prosperous. He had the care of four congregations or churches, consequently he visited each once a month, Saturday and Sunday. Mother generally accompanied him – was a member of the same church (Baptist); and although great stress was laid upon the passage, “Let your women keep silence in the churches,” yet there was also a command to “admonish one another with psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, making melody in your hearts unto the Lord.” Mother was a remarkable singer, and contributed largely to the success in the good work, and barring the command to “keep silence in the churches,” she sung so loud and distinctly that the words of the hymn or song sometimes would be heard and understood half a mile distant.
Right here I wish to remark on this question of women keeping silence in the church, that there is good scriptural reason for believing that Corinthians, fourteenth chapter and thirty-fourth verse, - “Let your women keep silence in the churches; for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience, as also saith the law, “– should be taken in a qualified sense. In the third verse of the fourth chapter of Paul’s letter to the Philippians, he entreats them to help “those women which labored with him in the gospel, whose names are in the book of life;” also those noble women named in the sixteenth chapter of Romans, who were servants and co-workers in the church, such as Phebe, Priscilla, Mary, Julia.
Paul, in his last visit to the churches in Asia Minor and Europe, returned by way of Caesarea and abode with Philip the evangelist, who had four daughters “which did prophesy.” There is nothing to show that Paul discountenanced or discouraged it. Was it not a fulfillment of the prophecy of Joel of the time to come when the sons and daughters were to prophesy, the young men to see visions, and the old men to dream dreams? Do we understand that these preachers and prophets were to keep silence in the churches? The prerogative of ruling has generally belonged to and been exercised by those having the physical power to enforce their edicts; but in this enlightened age taxation and representation are (or should be) inseparable, for it has been fully demonstrated that women, in whatever field of labor, or in whatever trust, has shown great efficiency, capability, and, in some instances, wonderful executive ability. But without following this line of thought further, as I intend to make it the subject of another chapter, I will resume our family record, which maybe not be of interest to the general reader, but would be read with interest by a large circle of kinsfolk who perhaps have not given much attention to our genealogies. Especially would this be of interest to the Casads, Comptons, Coxes, Finchs, Suttons, Moores, Tingleys, Mannings, Sextons, Bodles, Wintermoots, Williamsons, Burks, Runnions, Harpendings, Elstons, Sheets, Allisons, McDiarmids, Tatmans, Creagors, Ayers, Hands, Townsends, Rossers, Fran Ciscos, Downings, Husons, Malthys, Smalleys, Warrens, Codingtons, Stites, Chaucey’s, Winnys, &c.
Thomas Casad was born in Somerset County, New Jersey, September 13, 1763.
Abigail Tingley was born in Somerset County, New Jersey, September 16, 1765.
They were married in Somerset County, in 1786.
They had ten children as follows:
Abner Sutton Casad was born June 9, 1787.
Christian Tingley Casad was born January 19, 1789
Anthony Wayne Casad was born May 2, 1791
Joseph Tingley Casad was born May 3, 1793
Catherine Compton Casad was born February 28, 1795
Mary Coon Casad was born April 15, 1797
Lydia Casad was born April 12, 1799
Thomas Meade Casad was born May 12, 1801
Isaac Finch Casad was born September 18, 1803
John Casad was born December 31, 1807
Joseph Tingley Casad died in 1795.
John Casad died in 1808.

Chapter II

Grandfather’s “Grant of the Mississippi Valley” – Too much for him; and he relinquishes it again, as it would “cost more than it would come to” – Dispersion of Kindred – Burials – Sensational sermon on the Frog, by Walter Scott – A Forced Loan.

My grandfather, Anthony Casad (Cozart) (or Cozott) came to America in early part of 1700. H had a land grant taking in the Mississippi Valley from the Gulf of Mexico to Alaska Lake, embracing five miles on each side of the river. (See Stark’s History of the United States.)
When this territory was ceded to the United States in 1803, and the question of title so clouded that the claim has been, as I understand, abandoned, grandfather and his brothers Job, Samuel, and Thomas, and his sister Hannah, settled in Somerset County, New Jersey. The two brothers, Thomas and Samuel Casad, married two sisters, Lydia and Caty Coon.
Grandfather Anthony Casad had nine children – Thomas, Samuel, Elizabeth, Caty, Mary, Jacob, Aaron, John, and Hannah.
My brother Abner Sutton Casad married Jemima Chauncey.
Christian Tingley Casad married William B. Codington.
Anthony Wayne Casad married Anna Stites.
Caty Compton Casad married Asa Elston, of Sussex County, New Jersey.
Mary Coon Casad married Abram Bodle, in the State of New York.
Thomas Meade Casad married Margaret Baker, of Ohio.
Isaac Finch Casad married Margaret Baker, of Ohio.
My grandfather, Joseph Tingley, married Christian Manning of Rhode Island. They had eight children – Eunice, Abigail, Sally, Ebenezer, Jeremiah, Joseph, John, and Christian. Eunice married David Dunn of Somerset County, New Jersey. Abigail married Thomas Casad. Sally married Lewis Runnion. As to Ebenezer, can not say. Jeremiah married Hetty Leddel, of London, England. Joseph never married. John married Hannah Wynans. Christian never married.
Aunt Sally Runnion and family moved to Jefferson County, Ohio; had a large family of children – Peter, Joseph, Micajah, David, Christian, and Lewis. I know but little of their later family history. Uncle and aunt, who have been dead many years, were good Christian people. They were Seventh Day Baptists, as well as uncle David Dunn’s family. Uncle Jerry Tingley moved to Ohio in an early day and there died, leaving aunt Hetty with a family of eight children – William, Joseph, Grace, Hetty, Sally, Christian, Eunice and Phebe. Grace married Charles Chapman, Esq. Hetty married Rev. William Knox. Christian married a Methodist Episcopal minister whose name I cannot now call to mind. Sally married Mr. James Simpson, then a merchant in Cadiz, Harrison County, Ohio. James Simpson died, leaving cousin Sally with a small family of children, which she educated and brought up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Her son, Matthew became a Methodist minister, and soon won for himself the highest position possible in that church, and has been for many years Bishop. Matthew has ever been a great comfort to his mother, a strong man in Israel, an honor to the church and country, and a blessing to mankind.
William Tingley married Rachel Paulson. One of his family is Professor Tingley, of Asbury University, distinguished for his many excellent qualities and rip scholarship, and bids fair to be the peer of his cousin, Matthew Simpson.
As for the rest of uncle Jerry’s children I know but little, only Hetty Knox. I engaged to learn the glove-making business of her; and I confess to you, dear reader, that my cousin Hetty Knox could shout the loudest, pray the loudest, and scold the most bitter and mean of any person I ever knew (not excepting any). For three months I did her kitchen-work, and all I ever received was regular installments of bitter tongue-lashing. I hope before her departure hence she had rid herself of this gall of bitterness, and that the Father of all mercies has forgiven her this heinous sin.
John Tingley and aunt Hannah had a large family. The oldest one, Sally, was remarkable for her beauty, and married a man by the name of George Haney. Uncle Joseph never married. He owned a farm near Fairfield, Greene County, Ohio, where he died many years ago, with but few of his relatives near him. John Tingley, his brother, was near him, but too dissipated to administer on his estate, so the place was given to my brother Anthony and Sally Tingley.
Aunt Christian Tingley died some thirty years ago, unmarried. In her will she provided that all and each of the girls named for her should receive thirty dollars, and the remainder of her property to be equally divided among her brothers and sisters.
Five were named for her, - Christian Tingley Casad, Christian Tingley Dunn, Christian Tingley Runnion, Christian Tingley (uncle Jerry’s daughter), and Christian Tingley (uncle John’s daughter).
I have no recollection of ever seeing aunt Christian or grandfather or grandmother, or any of mother’s people, except aunt Sally and uncle John Tingley. All of my mother’s people died in New Jersey, and were buried at Mount Bethel Chapel, in Somerset County, New Jersey, except uncle Jerry who was buried near Cadiz, Ohio, and uncle Joseph, who died, as before stated, on his farm, about nine miles north of Dayton and two miles south of Fairfield, where he was also buried.
My father’s brother Samuel married Rachel Smalley, and removed to the Genessee Valley, New York. They had a family of six children – David, Jacob, Samuel, Lochey, Rachel, Eliza, and Caty. Rachel married Mr. Samuel Huson, a merchant in Dundee, New York. Eliza married Mr. Maltby, also a merchant, of the same place. But uncle Samuel was never pleased with the match, and showed them no favors or countenance.
As a family history embracing thousands of persons and incidents would be incomplete without a few episodes, commonly called family jars, I may in, the course of this history give one occasionally, sometimes as a warning to others, and at other times as a relief from tedious monotony, as the minister sometimes introduces some familiar and thrilling anecdote to arouse a drowsy audience. To illustrate, Elder Walter Scott on one occasion, in Dayton, Ohio, was preaching a very able discourse upon the sufferings, crucifixion, and resurrection of our Savior. The ornamental element of the congregation soon became drowsy, even under the masterly arguments and brilliant eloquence of the minister, who observing it, changed the subject and took up the story of the boys and the frogs, picturing to the life the very wicked characters indulging in the sport, and in the massacre of the bruised and mangled frogs. The change of subject elicited the attention of the sleepers, who gave earnest attention to the story of cruelty and suffering, until a large portion of the audience were weeping. Stopping suddenly, he expressed alarm for an audience who would sleep under the recital of the story of the dying Savior, and weep at the stoning of a frog.
Now to the Casad and Malthy jar, or rather a joke on an irate father-in-law. Uncle Samuel Casad, having some surplus money on hand, was a little impatient to “get it out;” and about this time his son-in-law, Malthy, wanted to borrow about $3,000, which was just the amount uncle had – a pair of coincidences in time, as well as in amount. Uncle Samuel asked his other son-in-law, Huson, if he knew of any responsible person who wished to borrow money, say $3,000. “Yes,” said Huson, “I do.” “Will you go his bond?” “Yes.” “Where does he live?’ “In Dundee.” “Well, will you take the money over to him, as I want my money to be bringing me in something?” “I will.” “You think he is responsible, and will want $3,000?” “Yes.” “Well, I will just count out the money to you; and you get the man’s note, and write me, and keep it in your possession until you come over.” It was about thirty-five miles from Dundee to Junius, where uncle Samuel lived.
Mr. Huson handed the money over to Maltby, taking the note as directed. Matters moved along smoothly, until near the time of the maturity of the note. Huson, having business in Junius, took the note and delivered it to uncle Samuel. He looked at it in surprise. “What on earth did you lend my money to that scamp Maltby for? If you had told me, he should never have had a dollar of my money! No, never!” Maltby heard what his father-in-law had said, and immediately procured the money, with the full year’s interest, and sent it with Huson to uncle Samuel, to take up the note. “No, sir! I am to lose a whole year’s interest, no sir!” “But he sent you a full year’s interest.” Uncle now began to see how silly he had behaved. He told Huson to take the extra interest-money back to his daughter (Mrs. Maltby). But Maltby said, “Not a dollar of it shall be kept about the house; send it back to Junius.” “No, indeed,” said Eliza, “I shall put it in bank for our Theodore, when you and I break up.” And so she did.
At this writing, 1876, Eliza and her father slumber in the silent city of the dead.

Chapter III
A Disgusted Miner – Sufferings on the Plain – Samuel’s “Night Thoughts” – “I say, Dave” – “Good-By” – My Sister Caty’s Teasing and Tarrying – “Blind Buck and Davy.”

Jacob, David, and Samuel, uncle Samuel’s boys, started together for California when the gold-fever raged in 1844. In crossing the plains with a large train of emigrants, Samuel and David were separated from Jacob, and they never heard from him afterward. It is supposed, however, that he died while crossing the plains. Samuel gave out on the sandy plain, famishing for water. David started to procure some, distant about ten miles; but eh mule would sink knee-deep in the hot sand-beds, until they finally gave out. Then he drove the mule before him, tying himself to the mule’s tail he succeeded in getting to the spring. Watering their mules and drinking heartily themselves, they filled their kegs and canteens and retraced their steps to the camp where they left Samuel. He had nearly perished. His tongue was badly swelled, and his eyes were bloodshot. One of the company had his tongue so badly swelled that it protruded from his mouth, and his throat was swelled shut; and he was running around the camp in a most pitiable delirious condition. They seized him, and continued to dash water in his face and on his head until the delirium and swelling subsided. Thus were they saved in a weary land, by the Samaritan kindness of their fellows.
When David and Samuel arrived at the diggings, Samuel appeared very restless. The first night he lay groaning and tossing from side to side. David, by dint of loud and long-drawn snores pretended to be asleep. At last Sammy could stand it no longer and said, “Dave! Dave! I say, Dave!!!” “Wh-h! What you w-a-n-t?” “I tell you what it is, Dave, I am not going to sleep here on the cold ground and Caty at home in a good feather-bed. I start for home to-morrow.” “Oh, you are joking!” “Not a word of it; I start at daylight in the morning.” “But, Sam, don’t you think it looks very silly to risk your life, with loss of time and money to get here, and in less than twenty-four hours, and just beginning to dig gold, for you to turn traitor? Shame! Shame!!” “Well, I would rather stand all the shame they can heap on me than to lay here on the cold ground; and Caty or some of ‘em might die while I am here. The big fool sat on me when I started to California; but I can make it all right yet if God spares my life.”
So sure enough, rosy morn found poor Samuel wending his way to San Francisco to take passage for New York City. David accompanied him to the Pacific coast, saw him off, and then returned to the diggings. At the end of three years he returned to his family and relatives, laded with ninety thousand in gold. Of the rest of uncle Samuel’s family I know but little.
Soon after the marriage of my parents they moved to Sussex County, New Jersey, and bought a small farm where the town of Rockville now stands. While they resided at this place, I and most of my brothers and sisters were born. Here occurred many little incidents of early life that seem like rose-leaves between the pages of my memory. Here the book of nature opened to my young mind its ample pages. Here happy voices and smiling faces poured into my waiting heart the benisons of kindred and friends. Here, too, I learned, even by the misfortunes and disappointments in childhood, that the world is not all sunshine. Here in this humble cottage my father at eventide would tell me the story of the cross, the humility of our blessed Redeemer, his passion, washing of feet, the last supper, is death, resurrection, and ascension on high. Here was mother, too. Dear name, sacred tie, sweet relationship! Oh, the pleasant recollections that cluster around the memory of those happy days of life’s young dream, - the ramble of little brothers and sisters gathering moss, and shells, wild berries, fruits, and flowers to decorate our Eden play-house.
My dear sister Caty had her troubles in her youth. She was kind of juvenile Ishmael, forever antagonizing with some one of her playmates, and withal a practical joker. On one occasion, while the Caitlin children were over enjoying a romp with our children, Caty had to do the churning; so she proposed to Doss Catlin if he would churn she help him dig the potatoes. He accepted the proposition and finished the job. “Now,” says Doss, “for the potatoes.” “Not I,” said Caty, “I would look well digging potatoes with you.” “But you promised if I would do the churning you would help me dig the potatoes.” “Ha! Ha! promises and pie-crust are made to be broken. I am not going to work in the potato-patch with you or any one else, unless Abner is along.” “Then take that,” said Doss, striking her a blow in her face with his fist. “If that’s your game,” said Caty, “we can both play it at once:” so she gave him a severe pelting, sending him bellowing home. The fussing and screaming scared us smaller children almost into spasms, and to this day I can see vividly the terrible conflict and call to mind our intense alarm.
My private opinion always has been, that my sister Caty was a little off in that unpleasantness. Obtaining his labor under false pretenses, in promising to exchange labor with him and then to pretend that her finer feelings had been shocked by his supposing that she would work with him in the potato-patch, and closing the drama with a fist-fight, I expected father would certainly chastise her for her rudeness and falsehood. But in reflecting over the matter since, I think father thought that her willfulness could not be cured by brute-force; besides, she would have perished under the lash or at the stake before she would have surrendered or succumbed to any one.
On one occasion he had chastised her under the following circumstances: Father sent Caty over to a neighbors with an errand. It was getting dark, and still Caty had not returned; so father asked sister Polly (Mary) to go over and tell Caty to hurry home before dark. The night was dark and rainy, and father asked me if I could find my way over to Mr. Compton’s. I told him I could. “Well, daughter, you go over and see if Polly got lost, and tell the girls to come home.” I went and found that the old people were away from home, and Caty and the other children playing “Blind Buck and Davy.” When I told her father’s order for her to go “straight home” she said, “may be so,” &c., and away she went again at her play. In about an hour I heard father’s voice calling me, - the others were so busy they did not hear him, and I went out to the gate. He was on his horse. It was so dark I could not see him; but he asked me where the girls were? When I told him they were in the house, playing, he asked, “Did you tell Caty to come home?” “Yes, sir.” “Did you tell her I sent you to tell her to come home?” “I did.” “What did she say?” She said, “May be so; I may as well die for an old sheep as a lamb.” “Well, you go into the house and tell Polly to come out.” I did so, and she came out; and he took me on the horse before him and put Polly on behind, and let the horse choose the road for home. Caty followed on behind; but he said nothing to her, and you may well imagine the tenor of her musings.

Chapter IV
“An Old Sheep or a Lamb” – Sister Mary’s imagination a Leettle too strong – The “Bold American” – We move to the Rabbalee place – Incidents by the Way – A Crane, How to Make and How to Use It – Crullers

Next morning he called her up to him and asked her, “Did you tell Lydia you might as well die for an old sheep as a lamb?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, my daughter, there may be some difference, so here is for the lamb.” And he whipped her severely. “Now for the old sheep.” And he whipped her again, with more and heavier strokes. Although she showed no repentance or contrition for her disobedience, I think it rather quickened her sense of reverence and deference for his authority. Although father was very kind and indulgent toward his children, yet he would be obeyed.

My sister Polly told me of a circumstance in her experience that happened before my recollection, “least-wise,” as Father Keneyer used to say, I knew nothing of the circumstance at the time. Father and mother were in the habit of going to meeting on Sabbath and leaving the children at home to keep house. At such times the neighbors’ children would gather in to have a grand jollification. On one such occasion Polly came running in from her play, all breathless and in great earnest, and told Abner that “Bold American” (the name of a large English heifer father owned) had jumped over the high fence into the corn-field and smashed down the fence to the ground, and fell “flat of her back.” “Oh, dear me,” said Abner, “I fear she has killed herself; let us hasten and help her up.” “Oh, no, never mind,” said Polly, “she jumped right up and ran into the corn-field.” “Well, boys,” said he, “come let us go and turn her out, and put up the fence.” “Oh, no, I turned her out, and put the fence up just as it was.” “Now, Polly, you have told us a mess of lies, for you could not lift one of those rails.” And he told father, who gave her a severe whipping. When she was an old woman, she told me that she never forgot that awful whipping, and from that day to this never told a willful lie. She even expressed gratitude for the timely punishment; for had she escaped, no doubt she would have become an adept in falsehood, having made so bold a beginning. One peculiarity in father’s administration was, he would sometimes put off our punishment for several days, especially for offenses committed on the Sabbath. But the settlement was sure to come; and the apprehension was of itself a source of punishment.

About the year 1804 father rented out the place, and we moved to a farm about ten miles south-west, which father had rented for a year. “Three moves is as bad as a fire,” is an old adage, demonstrated as true by old folks; but with children it is a momentous event, an epoch, hey-day, a kind of hegira. Who ever heard of a child who was unwilling to move? But with all the ecstasy there was a shadow thrown athwart the path, as they observed the weeping of friends bidding farewell to the older members of the family. It was, of course, it was on Tuesday – we dare not move on Friday or Saturday. All day long on Monday were cooking and packing and loading and collecting live stock, and giving away to friends such things as we could not possibly take. The chickens and other poultry were cooped, and hooked on the rear of the family wagon, which was under the command of my brother Abner. And well did he understand the importance of his position. In this wagon was the chest of provisions, the box and barrel of dishes, the bureau, and such other articles as required the greatest care and prudence. Perched by his side was sister Caty, and nestled among the chairs and bedding were Polly and myself. The other two wagons, owned by two of our neighbors, and driven by them, contained the residue of household effects and farm utensils, and moved on in advance; then followed our Jehu, Abner, with his precious charge; then followed the cattle, hogs, and sheep, under the command of brother Anthony, on foot, with sister Christian as aid-de-camp, mounted on a young filly, supported on the right and left by two faithful scouts, Watch and Rover; and as a rear-guard, the family carry-all, containing father, mother, Tommy, and Finch. This was the order of march; but there was a heavy re-enforcement at starting, the Catlin and Compton children, who trudged along until one by one they dropped out and fell back, and we were compelled to clamber back into the wagon. Arriving at a mountain stream about one o’clock, there was a halt, ostensibly to water the teams; but the clamor among the children made it necessary to order a “nooning,” and a lunch was set out by mother for all hands, while the teams were fed, and the sheep and hogs were given a rest. About two o’clock we were all in line of march, and nothing of further interest occurred until we reached our destination, near Newton, the county seat of Sussex County.

Mr. Rebellee, from whom father purchased, was preparing to move to Genessee country, New York, about two hundred miles distant. The farm was well improved – good two and a half story frame house, frame barn, choice berries of all kinds in abundance, grafted fruit-trees of many kinds and varieties. Soon after our arrival, father set out three standard pear-trees, and he had me hold them while he threw in and tamped the dirt around the roots. He told me that after awhile they would bear beautiful blossoms, and then large, yellow, delicious pears. “How long will we have to wait for them, papa?” “Seven years, my daughter.” “Oh! how long! Seven long, long years.” But father died, and our family was scattered abroad before any of those pears ripened. Not one of all of them ever eat of the fruit of father’s planting.

I visited the place in 1853, in company with my son David, in the month of June, but too early for the pears. The trees were thrifty and well loaded with fruit.

On our arrival at the Rebellee place, our new home, we commenced reconnoitering the premises as children only can. We were “upstairs, down-stairs, and in the ladies’ chamber.” Mr. Rebellee was to occupy the kitchen and cellar until they should start across the mountains for Genessee, New York. They were very busy preparing for the trip.

In the side jamb of an immense fire-place was attached an iron frame, with a horizontal bar nearly as long as the width of the fireplace. This bar was welded to a perpendicular bar about two feet in length. The horizontal bar as strengthened by an iron brace welded to the middle of the vertical bar; the other end of the brace was welded to the horizontal bar about ten inches out from the upright bar. The upper and lower ends of the vertical bar turned in “eyes” in the ends of strong iron bars anchored in the walls. This they called a crane. Double hooks are used of different lengths, one end of which is hooked on this crane, and on the other kettles and other hanging cooking utensils having bails were suspended. To put on kettles the crane would be swung out like a gate, and the vessel hooked on, then pushed back over the fire. The different lengths of hooks were used to adjust different-sized kettles to the fire. This species of crane is almost extinct; but about the beginning of this century no well-regulated family would do without one.

Mrs. Rabellee and her girls were very busy cooking “crulls” (crullers) on a large scale. They had a large fifteen-gallon kettle nearly fully of lard suspended on the crane over the fire. Ever and anon they would draw out the crane, and with a large iron cullender (an iron ladle with holes in it) they would dip out the crulls, and then drop others in the hot lard. The dough was cut in strips about half inch thick and ten inches long, then twisted, doubled, and twisted again. These they made by the barrel, which I might here mention was liberally sampled by us children. We enjoyed the society of the Rebellees very much in those days; and though we regretted their leaving, we rejoiced at their preparation to leave.

Chapter V
Tallow or Lard? a Sad Mistake – “Froggy Bite Me” – Brother Finche’s Slough of Despond – Father’s Failing Health – Starts on a Health-Tour – Returns Home to Die – Pilgrimage on Earth Closes – Elder Lathrop Visits his Dying Brother – “What is Left is for the Worms” – The Death-bed Scene – Funeral Service – Text – Epitaph.

Soon after the Rebellees left, one Sabbath while father and mother were away at church we all concluded we must have crulls. So Abner and Christian agreed that if he would get he lard ready she would prepare the dough. I would here mention that we had a houseful of youthful guests, who generally knew when the old folks were away. To shorten the story, the crull-scheme was a failure. Abner had made a mistake and taken a large cake of tallow instead of lard, and they turned out something akin to dipped candles.

My readers must pardon my tedious narratives while I linger amid the scenes of three score and ten years ago.

Well, we were highly pleased with our new home, so large and ample, - three fire-places, one above the other, - for the house was two and one half stories high, - high porch full length of the house, nicely-hewed stone steps a the ends, excellent well of water, a good spring and milk-houses, fine stock-water, ample barn. All these we had, and with all happy childhood friends and kindred.

Notwithstanding all these blessings, when least expected troubles would come in some shape or other. One night a neighbor came to our door very late, and called to know if all our children were at home. Mother said she thought they were. He said he heard a child crying down in the swamp. Our people had heard that panthers would cry like a child – perhaps it was a panther; but to be certain she would see. On examination my little brother Isaac F. was found missing. The alarm was given, and away they all went with torches and lanterns, led on by Mr. Compton, the man that heard the crying; and sure enough, away in the swamp, on a log surrounded with water on every side, there sat poor little Isaac F., and crying, “Froggy bite me! Froggy bite me!” Oh, how mother did clasp her precious child to her heart, and thank God for his deliverance by sending Mr. Compton along so late, as she always did believe, to save her boy from perishing that cold, chilly night. How the child ever managed to get to that bog, surrounded as it was with water, was then and ever will remain a mystery. How he got away from home without being missed was a strange thing to every one. Mother supposed he was sleeping with Christian, as he ofttimes did; and she was always very kind and watchful over her brothers and sisters. Christian thought he was sleeping with mother, until aroused by Mr. Compton. I think Isaac was about three years old when that happened. He was too young to ever tell how he got from home, when he left home, or how he managed to get through the water and mire to the bog.

After we had lived at the Rabellee place for some three years, father’s health was failing him so fast that his physicians advised a sea-voyage to the West India Islands. He accordingly started to New York to take a vessel that was to leave in a few days. He gave out, however, when he reached Schooley Mountains, and stopped with uncle Samuel Casad. This Samuel Casad was father’s uncle, as his wife’s name was Lydia Coon, grandmother’s sister; and perhaps he was, as before stated, grandfather’s brother. They never had any children, so we failed to look after the relationship after they died. Father then wrote to mother that he could get no farther; but uncle Samuel had sent for a hogshead of sea-water to bathe in, and clams and oysters to eat. After bathing daily for a few weeks in sea-water, and eating plenty of fresh sea-food, he was so much improved that he wrote to mother that he thought if she would come and go along he would be able to take the trip as prescribed by the physician. So mother took baby and myself along with Abner to uncle Samuel Casad’s at Schooley Mountain, got father in the carriage, and on we went. Arriving at Black River, or Lamerton, father gave out, and for a week all thought he would die. Then he got better, and we managed to get him home. Shortly after this, brother John, the baby, took sick with inflammation of the brain. All that the best physicians could do, little Johnny must die. Mother and all of us were deeply afflicted, but father seemed well reconciled; call him “an angel;” said he “wished he could think Lydia as well off.” “Happy little voyager; only launched for a few days on the great sea of time, till called to cast anchor at the head-land of heaven.” “But more eminently happy are they who have breasted the waves and weathered the storms of a troublesome and dangerous world; who have entered the kingdom through great tribulation and thereby brought honor and glory to their divine convoy; who have administered comfort and consolation to the companions of their toil, and left a lasting and instructive example to monition to succeeding pilgrims.” Highly favored was our little brother Johnny, - accepted without being tried by the fiery ordeal. It was thy peculiar privilege to not “feel those evils which oppress they surviving kindred.” The arrows of calamity, barbed with anguish, are often fixed deep in our choicest comforts. The fiery darts of the enemy, who is the prince and power of the air, are always flying in showers around us. But panoplied with the whole armor of God, with the girdle of truth, breast-plate of righteousness, shot with gospel peace, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, - all these conditions are necessary to successfully quench the fiery darts of the common enemy. But how different with Johnny; for of such as he is the kingdom of heaven. Consider this, ye mourning parents and friends, and dry up your tears. Why should you lament that your little one is crowned, ere the sword was drawn or the conflict begun? Perhaps some inextricable snare lay in his pathway, or storms of adversity, pain, or misery, were impending. Your tender plant is sheltered from the wintry blasts of this unfriendly sky, and housed in the mansion prepared for it; and the light of that city, Jesus, the Sun of Righteousness, shall nourish it with beams of light eternal.

After the death of brother John, father grew much worse, and every ray of hope for his recovery was gone. We all felt the heavy calamity that was threatening us. All efforts to cure had long been without hope, and we could only endeavor to prolong his stay with us. Consumption was doing its dread work now, swiftly and surely; and seeing the end of his pilgrimage near at hand, he sent to Goshen, Orange County, New York, for Elder Lathrop to come and see him and preach his funeral sermon. When he came into the house, father was sitting, bolstered up in an arm-chair. The elder exclaimed in surprise, “O Brother Casad! How poor you are!” “Yes, but there is enough left for the worms.” Oh, how that awful sentence sounded in my ears. And is it so? Will the worms devour the mortal remains of my dear father? He lived three days after the arrival of Elder Lathrop. On the morning of November 19, 1808, at five o’clock in the morning, we were all summoned to his bed-side to receive his farewell benediction and blessings. It was truly a house of morning; and sister Christian’s lamentations were truly heartrending. Father said to her, “Daughter, I can not bear to hear that. If you can not control your grief, you must go where I can not hear you.” She went down stairs into the back cellar. Still her cries and lamentations could be heard. When father had kissed all farewell but me, as he took my hand he manifested strong emotion. With quivering lip and a look of earnestness that penetrated beyond the veil, he laid his cold, clammy hand on my head and whispered, “God keep my child.” His mission was ended. He folded his hands upon his breast, closed his eyes as in deep slumber, pressed his lips together, but opened them twice for a fugitive breath, or as though to whisper some lingering thought. Then all was over; the spirit had fled, and the earthly tenement was left for us to consign to its mother earth.

“Tranquil amid alarms
Death found him in the field;
A veteran; slumbering on his arms
Beneath the red-cross shield.

“Soldier of Christ, well done;
Sweet be thy new employ,
The battle fought, the victory won;
Enter thy Master’s joy.”

He had given Elder Lathrop the text for the funeral discourse, as follows:

“I have fought a food fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing.” (II Timothy, iv. 7, 8.)

Father’s remains were kept two days that his many friends and brethren might take a last lingering look at their friend and pastor. On the day of the funeral the corpse was placed in the front yard, that all might see him. An immense concourse of people was present, the largest I had ever seen, and I was almost bewildered. Elder Lathrop delivered the funeral discourse from the text above mentioned, showing how appropriate the text was to the occasion, and paying, in a most feeling manner, kind tributes to father’s memory. The solemn assembly then moved onward to Beemerville grave-yard. When all was ready, the coffin was lowered into the grave. The clods of the valley fell on the covering with a hollow, muffled noise. One thing attracted my attention. There was a large stone, nearly a foot in diameter, that had been thrown out in digging the grave. Oh! how I shuddered and trembled, lest some one, in filling the grave, would throw in on my father. When the grave was half full or more, old Enoch Ayers too hold of one of the shovels to help fill up the grave, and in he rolled the stone. Do you think I ever forgot that horrid act? For years I remembered with horror that act of Mr. Ayers. I look at the act from another point of view now. The Divine Power and energy that removed the tomb of the sepulcher will call my father forth from his grave in the first resurrection.

On father’s tombstone in Beemerville grave-yard, you may read the following epitaph:

SACRED IS THIS MOMUMENT
TO THE MEMORY OF THE
REV. THOMAS CASAD
WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE
NOV. 19TH
ONE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED
AND EIGHT
IN THE
FORTY-FIFTH YEAR OF HIS LIFE
FUNERAL SERVICES BY ELDER LATHROP OF
GOSHEN, STATE OF NEW YORK

Text: - I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith:
Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me in that day: and to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing.

Faithful this herald preached the word
And spread the gospel of his Lord;
Finished his course and left this clay
And rose to everlasting day.

The return of our widowed mother and her fatherless family to our desolate home was sad and mournful indeed. With aching hearts and eyes reddened with weeping, we rose on the morning of the twenty-second; and those who were old enough resumed the duties and cares of the household, and the management of the business of the farm. Father, in making his will, provided that mother should have the farm where he died and all the stock and farming utensils, as long as she remained his widow; if she married a certain portion, but if she stayed on the place they were to pay rent.

Chapter VI
Widow’s Orphan Household – Three Years Elapse – A Rising Cloud – A Lone Widower with Seven Children, dependent Mother and Sisters, “Crazy Julia,” “Crippled Mary,” “Silly Susie,” “Drunken Brother Phillip” – Too Much Care for One – Mother Shares Responsibility – Marriage – A Gilpin Julia – From Deckertown to Goshen under the Whip – Traits of the Wintermoot Household – Gloomy Prospects – Dispersion of the Casads – Brother Abner goes to the Navy – Anthony to the “far West” – His Impecuniosities – Foraging – Uncle Aaron welcomes the Wanderer – Brother turns Pedagogue – Marries Anna Stites – A Tussle with the Green-eyed Monster – His Vigils – He is Caught Napping – Vamoose – Turns Traitor – Then turns up in Jersey.

As father had provided, mother could have remained on the place and kept the children and sent them to school; the rent of the other place and the interest of the money must go to mother for our board and clothing. With such supervision as that, we would think that mother would be content, and devote her life to the care and education of her children.

In 1811 a Baptist minister named John Wintermoot, a rather good-looking gentleman, became impressed with the idea that he had found the being intended for his second wife, in the person of the widow Casad. Nor did it require long argument or importunity to convince her of the same fact; for she became greatly enamored of him. In the month of January of that year they were married, and she assumed with him the care of a crazy sister of his, who required almost constant attention, and the utmost vigilance to prevent her escape. An incident is given, illustrating the kind of annoyance which she was constantly subjecting them to. On one occasion when she was first losing her mind, her father, old Leonard Wintermoot, thought exercise would be a benefit to her and restore her mind; so he saddled up “Mahala,” an old beast that neither whip nor spur could force out of a walk. He also had a race-nag that he saddled for his own use, counting that he would be able to head off any attempt that Julia might make to get away. Julia appeared to enjoy her ride very much. Arriving at Deckertown, old grandfather Wintermoot stopped at Grier’s Hotel until he could go down town to do some trading. He urged the utmost care and vigilance, and not to let her go out alone or get out of sight. While father was busy trading the military companies appeared on parade with red coats, armed with guns and swords, and drums beating. Julia had never seen the like of it; and supposing they were going to capture her, she made a rush for the door, and ran out. She mounted her father’s race-horse, and riding “daddy” fashion, without bonnet or shawl, headed toward Goshen, in the State of New York, about twenty-five miles distant. Nor did she halt, or spare the whip, until she arrived at Goshen; and even here she would not have halted had not her beast been entirely overcome. The old man was at once informed of her escape, and immediately mustered a company to follow in pursuit. They had little difficulty in keeping her trail, as they only inquired, “Have you seen a woman riding astride at full speed without bonnet or shawl?” “Yes, we did, and thought the animal was running away with her, and that it would endanger her to attempt to intercept her.” “Which way did she go?” “Toward Goshen.” “Where did she come from?” “Deckertown, New Jersey. But I must hasten; she is a crazy woman, and is running away with the horse.” The people on the road only had to hear the true state of the case; and all that heard and had horses went in pursuit, until all the country between Deckertown and Goshen had joined in the chase. Such an excitement had never before been seen in New Jersey. In the first place, no girl in all that section was better known nor more highly esteemed than Julia Wintermoot; and all had hoped that a pleasant ride and seeing the general muster would be beneficial to her and tend to restore her right mind. But it only increased her insanity; for she seemed to think that the whole country, as well as the big muster, was scheming to capture her. There appeared, however, some method in her madness; for her shrewdness in selecting the swiftest horse, mounting astride and laying whip, and heading away from home, all showed some judgment. At Goshen, New York, the captured her, and by force took her back to her father. After the death of her father the care of her fell upon her brother, the Rev. John Wintermoot (my step-father); and it appeared a moral necessity that he should take care of her. But no so with mother; it was her deliberate choice.

Not only the helpless mother-in-law and crazy Julia wore on mother’s hands, but Susannah Drake, a married sister of Mr. Wintermoot, who had been married about twelve years, had four children, and at that period of her life was attacked with convulsions which resulted in loss of mind, was taken home to her mother, grandma Wintermoot, who was not able to take care of herself; and now all three of them were with mother. Susannah was very industrious, but had no judgment, and could do nothing but knit. Knitting was her forte, but only the manual part of it. She could not set the hell, nor narrow or widen. She would knit, and knit, on and on, upon the same stocking for half a year. When she had knit to the length of half or three-quarters of a yard, she would ravel out and commence again, and continue to knit the same as before, without remembering her first blunder; and thus she continued for months and years. She would measure on her finger and find that her stocking was too long, then start again, and so continue to ravel and start until she would wear out the yarn and then got a new supply. If any one would offer to show her, then “the fat was in the fire” at once; for she had the impression that she was the best knitter in all the county – only a little careless, and forgot to set the heel or narrow at the right time. She would complain about the quality of the yarn, without knowing or thinking that she had worn it out. So her labor was worse than none, for it wore out the yarn. But her mind had to be employed, and by allowing her whim of knitting she was the more easily cared for. Yarn was comparatively cheap as they had plenty of sheep, hand-cards and wheels, so that their yarn cost nothing but the pasture and care of the sheep, the shearing and carding of the wool (my hand-cards) and spinning. But had it cost five times as much, Susannah must have it to occupy her mind. She had lost her mind and memory so that she had forgotten husband, children, father, mother, brothers, sisters, indeed every relation of kinship – all, all, but her knitting work. “In her confused brain Reason had lost her way.” This was incumbrance No. 3.

Another was his brother Philip Wintermoot, who married a good woman, had two children, and at the end of five years became a drunken sot, so much so that his wife could not and would not live with him; so he came home to father Wintermoot’s and would take the flax and make ropes to sell for whiskey money. He did not steal the flax, but just took it without permission. “John had plenty and did not care.” He was right in that. John did not care for the flax; but John did care for his poor drunken brother Philip, who had thrown himself away, and become a nuisance to society and a disgrace to all his relatives. This was incumbrance No. 4.

Last was old Mary, an old maid, but who was rather a help than otherwise, as she did the cooking for the invalids, and for some time took care of her mother, Julia, Susannah, and Philip. Still, her wages and board were a burden. Incumbrance No. 5.

Then there were seven more incumbrances coming more directly under her supervision and care, - the seven step-children, six girls and one boy – one girl grown. All those children were without training or discipline; and as a consequence, rebellion had to be encountered very soon after mother’s marriage. But Mr. Wintermoot thought there never was mother’s equal in management and discipline, so of course the children must recognize and conform to the new government.