Death Valley in 49 | Page 4

box of
coarse slats, notched and locked together at the corners, held a vast pile
of the crushed apples while clean rye straw was added to strain the
flowing juice and keep the cheese from spreading too much; then the
ponderous screw and streams of delicious cider. Sucking cider through
a long rye straw inserted in the bung-hole of a barrel was just the best
of fun, and cider taken that way "awful" good while it was new and
sweet.
The winter ashes, made from burning so much fuel and gathered from
the brush-heaps and log-heaps, were carefully saved and traded with
the potash men for potash or sold for a small price. Nearly every one
went barefoot in summer, and in winter wore heavy leather moccasins
made by the Canadian French who lived near by.
CHAPTER II.
About 1828 people began to talk about the far West. Ohio was the
place we heard most about, and the most we knew was, that it was a
long way off and no way to get there except over a long and tedious
road, with oxen or horses and a cart or wagon. More than one got the
Western fever, as they called it, my uncle James Webster and my father
among the rest, when they heard some traveler tell about the fine
country he had seen; so they sold their farms and decided to go to Ohio,
Uncle James was to go ahead, in the fall of 1829 and get a farm to rent,
if he could, and father and his family were to come on the next spring.
Uncle fitted out with two good horses and a wagon; goods were packed

in a large box made to fit, and under the wagon seat was the
commissary chest for food and bedding for daily use, all snugly
arranged. Father had, shortly before, bought a fine Morgan mare and a
light wagon which served as a family carriage, having wooden axles
and a seat arranged on wooden springs, and they finally decided they
would let me take the horse and wagon and go on with uncle, and father
and mother would come by water, either by way of the St. Lawrence
river and the lakes or by way of the new canal recently built, which
would take them as far as Buffalo.
So they loaded up the little wagon with some of the mentioned things
and articles in the house, among which I remember a fine brass kettle,
considered almost indispensable in housekeeping. There was a good lot
of bedding and blankets, and a quilt nicely folded was placed on the
spring seat as a cushion.
As may be imagined I was the object of a great deal of attention about
this time, for a boy not yet ten years old just setting out into a region
almost unknown was a little unusual. When I was ready they all
gathered round to say good bye and my good mother seemed most
concerned. She said--"Now you must be a good boy till we come in the
spring. Mind uncle and aunt and take good care of the horse, and
remember us. May God protect you." She embraced me and kissed me
and held me till she was exhausted. Then they lifted me up into the
spring seat, put the lines in my hand and handed me my little whip with
a leather strip for a lash. Just at the last moment father handed me a
purse containing about a dollar, all in copper cents--pennies we called
them then. Uncle had started on they had kept me so long, but I started
up and they all followed me along the road for a mile or so before we
finally separated and they turned back. They waved hats and
handkerchiefs till out of sight as they returned, and I wondered if we
should ever meet again.
I was up with uncle very soon and we rolled down through St. Albans
and took our road southerly along in sight of Lake Champlain. Uncle
and aunt often looked back to talk to me, "See what a nice cornfield!"
or, "What nice apples on those trees," seeming to think they must do all

they could to cheer me up, that I might not think too much of the
playmates and home I was leaving behind.
I had never driven very far before, but I found the horse knew more
than I did how to get around the big stones and stumps that were found
in the road, so that as long as I held the lines and the whip in hand I
was an excellent driver.
We had made plans and preparations to board ourselves on the journey.
We always stopped at the farm houses over night, and they were