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Two hundred years ago.
The years have passed, two hundred years—and now
We stand beside the well, which was the first
Our village knew—“The Ancient Boardman Well”;
To-day the bucket dips, the waters flow,
Just as they did
Two hundred years ago.
We look where purple hilltops touch the sky,
We kneel and thank our God for all the past—
They clasped His hand as we do, tho’ that day
All that their future held they could not know
As we know now—
Two hundred years ago.
We thank our fathers’ God for all His care,
For smiling fields and busy haunts of men—
For all the gifts of Science and of Art—
For lives whose deeds His loving guidance show
Brave as those lives
Two hundred years ago.
All are from Him, these works of hand and brain
His love has made men wise, has kept men true,
Since first upon this hilltop life began,
And water in the wilderness did flow
Here at this well
Two hundred years ago.
THE TWO ABIGAILS
REMINISCENCES OF A TYPICAL NEW MILFORD FAMILY
Contributed by General Henry Stuart Turrill
Caleb Terrill, eldest son of Daniel and Zorvia (Canfield) Terrell, was born in Milford, Connecticut, December 3, 1717. Nearing his majority, he was given the right of land in New Milford of which his grandfather, Daniel, Sr., was the original proprietor. The first allotment to this right was made April 14, 1729, and consisted of about forty-two acres of land on Second Hill, fronting the old Bostwick place. Here, in the spring of 1738, Caleb built his house, cleared a little part of his land and planted a small garden. Late in the summer he returned to Milford. In September he married, in Stratford, Abigail, daughter of Josiah and Alice (Canfield) Bassett, his first cousin, and, in a few days, returned with his bride to the little home on Second Hill. On this spot he lived until his death, February 29, 1796.
This house was the home of his youngest son, Major Turrill, until his death in 1847. Among my very earliest recollections, is a visit to this old place. It was in 1846. I had just passed my fourth birthday, and spent my first day at school. So I, as the youngest of my name, was taken by my father to pay my respects to the oldest living member of my family. I think that this visit produced one of the most lasting impressions of my childhood. I can recall it now, sixty years after. At that time Major Turrill was seventy-eight years old. The large splint-bottomed chair in which he was seated had four enormous legs, seemingly six inches in diameter at least, the two in front continuing up to support the broad arms on which his hands reposed, the two behind extending far above his head. As he rested his head against the broad splint back, he produced the effect of a grand old gentleman in a rustic frame. Major Turrill was a broad-shouldered man of medium height, very upright even in his seventy-eighth year. He had a large, well-formed head and a strong face of a rather stern cast of countenance, while his hair, which was abundant, was steel gray rather than white. My father presented me to him as the youngest of the race, who had just commenced his life work by his first day at school. He called me to him and, placing a broad hand upon my head, said to my father, “A fine little lad,” then turning to me he said, “You must grow up as fine a man as your grandfather, and stand for your country as he stood for it.”
The marriage of Caleb and Abigail, descended as they were from some of the most important of the founder families (she, from the Baldwins, Bryans, Bruens, and Schells, he, from the Fitches, Pratts and Uffords, and both, from the Canfields, the Mallorys and the Cranes), was an event of great importance in Stratford and Milford; and, when it was known that Caleb was to take his bride to the new Plantation of the Weantinaug, the interest in the affair was much deepened. The conditions in those days were quite different from what they are at present. There were no parlor cars, nor honking autos to whisk the blushing bride, amid a shower of rice and old shoes, to the seclusion of the city hotel, there to hide her nuptial joys among the unknown multitude. So Caleb and Abigail were married in that pleasant Stratford home, she, surrounded by the friends of her girlhood, who, if the records are to be believed, were about the whole community, and he, supported by his three stalwart brothers and troops of cousins. A few days were passed in all the feasting and gayeties of the times, after which the young couple, surrounded by a band of the Stratford friends, started on their wedding journey. At the ferry across the “Great River,” they were bidden farewell on the Stratford bank, only to be received on the Milford shore by an equally enthusiastic band of Milford friends, and to be escorted to Caleb’s home in Milford. This was the founder home of Roger, and Caleb was the fourth generation to bring a bride to its shelter. His bride was a namesake of an earlier Abigail, who, ninety-nine years before, had come with her life mate to the then wilderness of Milford. Now, this second Abigail, this tenderly reared girl of scarce eighteen summers, was starting with her life mate, for another wilderness—the New Milford.
After a short stay at the old Tyrrell home, the wedding journey was resumed, up the “Great River” to the Weantinaug country. The “house plenishing,” demanded by the customs of those days, had been furnished by Josiah Bassett, and had been securely packed in a stout boat to be rowed and poled up the river, this being, at that time, the only means of conveying heavy articles to the settlements above. The various animals necessary to farming, although scarce in the New plantations, were plentiful in the older ones; and, since Daniel Terrell was a man of “much substance,” as the records say, an abundant supply had been assembled at the usual starting place for the journey up the river to the “Cove,” just above Goodyear’s Island. On a bright September morning, surrounded by brothers and sisters from both families, and a large company of friends and relatives, the newly-married pair set forth.
The accompanying friends went as far as the first “nooning,” somewhere below Derby. There, the last farewells were said, and Caleb, with his sweet girl wife on the pillion behind him, journeyed to their future home. They moved up the river, camping at night in some quiet nook, their boat, with their provisions and camp equipment, securely fastened to the river’s bank. The bright camp fires flashed out from under the dense foliage of the grand old primeval forests that lined the banks of the Great River, while this pair of children strolled СКАЧАТЬ