Yolo County CA Archives History - Books .....Chapter XI. 1904
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Peggy Perazzo pbperazzo@comcast.net January 4, 2006, 1:16 pm

Book Title: Recollections Of A Busy Life

Brother Freman.

Freman lived to bachelorhood in his carpenter work, then went into the 
forest two miles southwest of our home and built a water sawmill. Freman 
generally felt well and would enjoy a joke or laugh heartily. And yet his 
life was one of toil. But he knew something of the secret of a happy life 
by taking enjoyment in labor.

The mill was sawing logs, and it was all work, work, work. The farm was 
chopped and cleared by work, work.. The roads were built by hard work. The 
log house was replaced by a new and good frame house by work - hard work. 
How, where or when I cannot tell at present, but he met a good, smart, 
sensible woman, a school teacher.

They were married at her father's David Woodman, just east of Paw Paw. The 
Woodmans consist of several families in that vicinity, and among the most 
prominent families in VanBuren County. Have held most of the prominent 
offices in the county and some in the state. J. J. Woodman represented the 
Agricultural department of the State of Michigan at the great Chicago 
Exposition. Fremont took his bride to his new house, where they lived many 
years, till they sold out and moved, with the addition to his family of one 
son and three daughters, to Hartford Centre.


Martin and the War.

The war is being waged in terrible fury. Fathers, sons and brothers are 
being shot down on battlefields that never before had their equal. Neighbor 
is estranged from neighbor, for one is Union, the other is at heart 
disunion, though he dare not say so. I have stated that after Martin's 
barns were burned that he was elected County Clerk. Then he moved to Paw 
Paw, the county-seat.

As the war progresses he is called upon to make all sorts of legal papers 
outside of his regular office work, and he keeps so closely applied to his 
desk that he is failing in health. He has served one term of three years 
and has been elected again for another three years. He is now in his fourth 
year of doing, as some have said, two men's work. But it is killing him. 
Instead of stopping to recuperate - pride and ambition led him on - and to 
keep going he has his tea strengthened and chews more tobacco, till 
finally, when compelled to stop writing, his system was so filled and 
poisoned by the strong tea and stronger tobacco that medicine could not 
have its natural effect. Then he moved back to his farm and as often as 
once or twice a week he rode over to our house to visit the old folks. One 
day he asked if I would go with him on a trip on the lakes - said the dry, 
hot atmosphere was killing him here. In a few days I went with him to St. 
Joe, took boat to Chicago, then stopped to see Uncle William. Uncle wanted 
his doctor to see Martin; then the doctor was called, and said that if 
Martin would stop here about four days he might then go on the lakes and be 
benefited. So we stopped there. At the end of four days Martin was placed 
in a coffin, and alone with my dead brother I sadly returned. Sent 
telegraph message to meet us at Dowagiac. It was a large and sad funeral, 
for Martin's friends were numbered by thousands. The minister stated in his 
sermon that Martin Ruggles, at the age of 41 years, had virtually lived 
longer than most men at double that age, for he had accomplished much. 
Martin is buried just west of the village of Hartford.


A Birthday Party.

One day there was a few women gathered at our house. Well, you say, but 
that is not unusual. Very true; usually I keep right on at my work (just 
the same). But this time I was interested as never before in a visit of 
neighbors. They did not remain so very long, but when they left for home 
they left more than joy with us, for unto us a daughter was born, and the 
doctor said that all was well. Of course, there was never baby like that 
one. Soon after her Uncle Seth named her Minnie Alice. Not many months 
after I was going to a neighbor's with horses and wagon, and wife says, 
"Can't I go, too, and call at such a house till you return?" "Certainly be 
glad to have you." Soon after starting a fierce wind and rain sprang up, 
and in raising the umbrella I slacked on the reins; the wind caught the 
umbrella and away went the horses at full speed. I regained the lines, but 
the horses were large and felt gay, and I pulled their mouths close to 
their breasts, but still they ran with vengeance. Ahead was the home of the 
little preacher. He had built a heavy gate with large square posts. That 
was my only chance to stop them. You must stop at that gate or have broken 
head, thought I. Wife and Minnie were sitting on the bottom of the wagon 
box, the wagon bounding like pop-corn, but the gate stopped the runaways.


Finding a Waif.

I was driving with horses and sleigh north and east of Hartford Centre and 
overtook a lad and said, "Jump in and have a ride. What's your name?" 
"Henry," he said. "Where do you live?" "Don't live nowhere," Where is your 
father?" "Haven't got none." "Where is your mother?" "Mother's dead." Where 
do you stop to-night?" "Just ahead, in that little house." I called and 
questioned about the boy. They were caring for him as a matter of mercy, 
and they were not able to care for him. "Do you want to go home with me, my 
lad?" Yes, I believe I'd like to mighty well." So his very poor belongings 
were put in the sleigh and I divided blanket with him and on the way found 
him to be of Irish descent, witty, clever, small of his age, rather bright 
withal. At home he was made quite welcome, as there was no boy around, and 
after an evening spent in scrubbing him, burning up some things he brought, 
making over some clothing, in a day or two he looked very different, 
although the freckles on his face showed plainer than before. He lived with 
us some three years.


Sold the Old Farm.

It occurred to Viola and I that we might sell and buy again nearer a 
railroad, for we had tired of going fourteen to twenty-one miles to get to 
town. We sold and bought in Hamilton Township, four mile east of Keeler and 
six northwest of Decatur. Here a baby boy came to be company for his sister 
Minnie. He was a good specimen of a healthy fellow, too. I took no little 
pride in improving the farm, for all my neighbors were passing, in going to 
Decatur. Set a new orchard in addition to the old, set pine trees in front 
of the house and made it look like a different farm.


The Going Home of Minnie.

Minnie was now nearly three years of age, a fine, healthy girl, and usually 
lively and happy. I often took her with me on the farm wherever and 
whenever I could. The last time outdoors for her I took her in the wagon 
when drawing wheat, and when the load was on I took her up on the load and 
she wanted to drive, which I allowed her to think she was doing till we 
reached the barn.

Then there was a call to supper, and, going to the house, she done as she 
had often done before, ran ahead of me, laughing and saying, "Minnie beatie 
pa pa, Minnie beatie pa pa." Bloody flux was then very prevalent and very 
fatal. The doctor was called (for a good doctor lived but a short distance 
away, one-fourth of a mile. He said, "No danger, no danger; she will soon 
be all right." He came for three days and was then taken with the same 
disease, and very nearly died. When came a doctor from Decatur, saying, 
"Only be diligent; she will soon be well." That pleading look and pleading 
call still rings in our ears. "Some water, ma, ma, please, ma ma a little 
water." But she is still now, and we close those lovely eyes and once more 
curl those ringlets of hair that come to her shoulders, and on a beautiful 
Sabbath day we lay her to rest in the Hamilton Cemetery, where later we 
erected a tablet to Minnie. September 10, 1864, date of Minnie's death.

Last Wednesday Henry was taken with the same disease, and on Sunday, one 
week after we buried Minnie, I thought he was dying. He lay on the lounge 
by the window and I was sitting in the middle of the room, when Henry 
raised up quick, as if to go. I quickly got to him and said, "Where are you 
going Henry?" "Oh, just out there a little ways, to play with those boys." 
His eyes were then very large and looked wild. I picked him up and laid him 
back on the lounge. His eyes closed, could discover no breath, could feel 
no pulse; guess he is dead; no, no, he opens his eyes, but the wild, large 
eye is changed to a mild, soft, happy expression. "Oh, what a beautiful 
place that is," he said. "Where, Henry?" "Just a little way up there; can't 
you see it? Oh, there is mother, and she wants me to come." "Where is your 
ma ma, Henry?" "Oh, she is out there, a little to one side, and she is 
talking with some others, and she has on white, loose clothes. Oh, such 
beautiful winding walks! Oh, what a pretty place that is! Oh, there is 
little Minnie." "Where is she?" Ah, she is out yonder farther, playing with 
a lot of little girls, and she has something queer on her. Oh, yes, she has 
got little wings." "How is she clothed, Henry?" "In white; they are all in 
white." Then there was a tremor or starting again of life forces and Henry 
was natural again; but he did not know then of what had just passed. Seemed 
but spirit.


Abraham Lincoln is Shot.

It came as an electric shock. Can it be possible that any specimen of 
humanity can be found to shoot so noble a man? I was working in my garden 
by the road when a neighbor halted on horseback and told me the terrible news.

Next day a man rode on horseback into Decatur and there learned that 
Lincoln was shot. "Good! said he, "I've got five dollars in my pocket that 
I would like to burn in powder to celebrate that event. A soldier heard his 
remark and quickly turned, walking fast down the street, muttering between 
his teeth, "I'll get my Winchester and, and - but the rest was not heard. 
The fire in the rear man, as such were then called, noticed the soldier 
just as he started and heard him muttering something, and said to a 
bystander, "What was that bluecoat grunting about?" "He said something 
about his Winchester, and he will put a bullet through you if - there he 
comes now with his gun in his hands. That fellow lost no time in mounting 
his horse, and he hat fell off, but he did not stop for hat, but with hair 
flying in the wind away he galloped at a John Gilpin speed. "Is that man 
riding yonder the fellow that wanted to celebrate the shooting of Lincoln? 
"Yes, that's the fellow. Well, his action is much wiser than his words. You 
must be cowardly men here or no man would dare to make such a speech as 
that. I'd just as soon shot a rebel here as down South - in fact, I have 
more respect for an open enemy than for a sly, sneaking enemy, that puts on 
the garb of a friend.


Additional Comments:
"Recollections of A Busy Life," By Eli Fayette Ruggles, H. L. Ruggles & 
Co., Publishers, (published circa 1904)
Transcribed by Peggy Barriskill Perazzo, December 2005

Transcription submitted to California Archives by Kellie Crnkovich with 
approval from Peggy Perazzo on 12/27/2005


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