FAMILY HISTORY: POETRY Collection written by Elsie Strawn ARMSTRONG
  
  File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by: Les Howard Strawn
  
  Copyright 2006.  All rights reserved.
  http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm
  http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/somerset/
  ________________________________________________
  
          CHAPTER FIFTEENTH
  
  Before it was a month,
      After we had got there
  I thought we had best go home,
      Of our things to take some care.
  
  Our cornfield and our garden
      And our chickens need care,
  And for us to go home again
      My things I did prepare.
  
  And it was our intention
      To set out early next morning,
  But that day they killed poor Phillip,
      And to us it was a warning.
         
  And then I changed my plan,
      My second son and me,
  Well mounted on good horses,
      Rode home, our things to see.
         
  We planted more potatoes,
      Hoed cabbage, vines and beans,
  And then rode up to Ottawa
      And in the fort convened.
  
  "Twas the eighteenth day of June
      When that seed we planted,
  And 'twas naught but eyes and skins,
      Though the product was not scanted.
  
  For we dug fifteen bushels,
      Which were of the pink eye kind,
  They were fine large potatoes,
      It is plain still, in my mind.
  
  We had planted a large acre
      Early, by the road side,
  But the troops took all of them
      And left us no divide.
         
  My third son had enlisted,
      And Ottawa was his station,
  And he could answer to his name
      And go to work on the plantation.
  
  And it was our intention
      To all go home next day,
  And there did all we could
      To help ourselves that way.
  
  But when they saw their plows,
      They needed some repair,
  So they went to work at them, and
      That day, they stayed there.
  
  And I went home alone,
      To work, it was agreed,
  And go to Mr. Reynolds' and
      Next day, bring some seed.
         
  So I started of alone,
      And when I came in sight,
  From appearances before me
      I thought things were not right.
         
  I saw a small black pony
      Close by the house did stand,
  And a red-shirted Indian
      With a canteen in his hand.
  
  And the smoke, like chimneys rising,
      Down in the woods below,
  Made me think it might not be safe,
      On to the house, to go.
         
  My horse walked too fast to suit me,
      Him 'twas difficult to check,
  For if I pulled upon the bridle
      He would strike a pace or rack.
         
  I looked upon the weed
      I was holding in my hand,
  And thought if I should turn
      I'd like quick to leave that land.
         
  I saw the weed looked tough,
      And I thought that it would do
  To encourage that good horse
      To do all that he knew.
  
  I saw the Indian had no gun,
      And him I did not fear,
  But there might be more hard by,
      And his own gun might be near.
  
  While I was thus ruminating
      A white man did appear,
  Came round the house, the north side
      And banished all my fear.
  
  This man wore a white shirt
         And on his head was a hat,
  Tall, well dressed and graceful,
      And on his shoulder, our cat!
         
  Just then a host of horses
      Coining up the bluff I seen,
  And they were our troops' horses
      A feeding on the green.
         
  So I went on to the house
      And under the shed hung my saddle,
  And went to the barn, and
      Turned my horse into the stable.
  
  And lots of troops came in
      And in the house sat down,
  Upon the naked bedsteads
      And chairs a standing round.
         
  Some sat upon the doorsill
      Where they could get a seat,
  While their horses were a feeding,
      And their dinners they did eat.
  
  I spoke to Colonel Matthews:
      "Last year we were all sick,
  This spring we could do but little,
      We were drove away so quick.
         
  "We had to leave so soon,
      We got in but little seed,
  And for all those horses
      It would make but little feed.
         
  "And if we lose our corn
      "Twill be bad for us indeed,
  For we have but little left,
      And of that little we have need."
         
  He said, "Madam, my troops' horses
      Shan't eat your corn, one stalk;"
  And thus the friendly officer
      Kindly to me, did talk.
         
  Then I sat in the house
      Till I saw the troops a going,
  Then I felt I'd idled time
      And I hurried to my hoeing.
  
  After having so much company,
      I felt myself secure,
  And to be there alone
      The better I could endure.
  
  I kept myself a hoeing,
      And a weeding all the while,
  And believed there were not white folks
      For nearly seven miles.
  
  After three or four hours
      Human voices I did hear
  And could not be mistaken
      For the sound was loud and clear.
  
  I dropped my hoe immediately
      And climbed upon the fence,
  For I wanted much to learn
      Who it was, from where and whence.
  
  I stood upon the fence and listened,
      And looked about to see,
  But there I could see nothing,
      Neither man, nor beast, nor bee.
  
  Then I went to the house, and
      From there went to the bard,
  And there I did climb up,
      For I thought it best to learn.
  
  And away off through the timber,
      Perhaps half a mile,
  I saw men there a riding
      In single Indian file.
  
  They were going quartering from me,
      Across an open space,
  And soon went out of sight,
      And left that vacant place.
  
  Then I thought I'd hoe no more,
      But fix my horse to ride,
  For there was neither cow nor calf,
      Neither pig nor chicken then inside.
  
  And there I had no company
      Except my horse and cat,
  For the place looked so deserted,
      And I think no living rat.
  
  So I went to Mr. Reynolds',
      And that night I stayed there
  And got back before my sons,
      For not one did yet appear.
  
  Hartsell, the Indian trader
      That day was passing round,
  And he took off my buckwheat
      And under the shed he set it down.
  
  Then I put away my horse
      And went off to my hoeing,
  I thought I'd soon have company,
      My children were a coming.
  
  I had not been hoeing long
      Till human voices I did hear,
  Then I climbed upon the fence again
      To see what would appear.
  
  Away down through the timber
      I saw a flock of men,
  A stooping, picking strawberries,
      They were busy then.
  
  I saw that they were white,
      And I wanted much to hear
  How the war was going, and
      How things did then appear.
  
  They said they found a bee tree
      In the woods they day before,
  But couldn't take all the honey
      And that day came back for more.
  
  But the active little bees
      Had carried off the rest,
  And conveyed it all away
      To some new, secret nest.
  
  So now, my little friends,
      You see that how today
  The mysteries of yesterday
      Are all explained away.
  
  Except about the man
      That wore the shirt of red,
  His skin was dark brunette,
      And a small cap on his head.
  
  And at such a distance
      Like an Indian did appear,
  With his pony and canteen,
      And his naked head of hair.
  
  And I was told, the hostile Indians
      Were all a wearing red,
  To show their war intentions,
      The white man's blood to shed.
  
  And then, when I went back,
      My children then were there,
  And I was glad to see them
      And to work we did repair.
  
  That day they sowed the buckwheat,
      And plowed what corn they could
  And I kept myself a-hoeing, and
      Trying to do some good.
  
  And that Saturday night at parting,
      We agreed to meet again,
  On the next Monday morning
      To go to work?in vain.
  
  Next day was the fatal Sunday
      Poor Barrisford was slain,
  And I thought it was not safe
      To go home to work again.
  
  My friends they did advise me,
      And I thought it would be best,
  For me not to go home again,
      Till the Indians were drove west.