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/
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          CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH
  
  We had more than three hundred chickens
      When we were driven away,
  And more hens that we setting
      The fifteenth day of May.
  
  But the troops took all my poultry,
      Except it was one hen,
  And I took that away, or
      They would have had that hen.
  
  It was the tenth of August
      When the most of us got home,
  But were badly scattered,
      Three of my sons were gone.
  
  Next day we did but little
      But fix the things around,
  And see how the fields had prospered,
      And what might yet be found.
  
  We found our tools were missing,
      And we still did meet the losses,
  We thought the troops took our oats,
      Perhaps to feed their horses.
  
  Axes nor iron wedges
      Neither troops nor Indians ever took,
  But were taken by white Indians,
      Who after plunder, there did look.
  
  And we, for the seed oats,
      Paid eighty-seven cents a bushel,
  It was standing on the left,
      And covered in a barrel.
  
  They from the loft took clothing,
      Left us neither bag nor sack,
  Perhaps they needed them
      The oats away to pack.
  
  But of those new shirts and pants,
      I confess I felt the loss,
  I spun and wove and made them,
      And to me it was a cross.
  
  For they were the best of homespun,
      Flax chained and cotton filling,
  And for us to lose them so
      I did not quite seem willing.
  
  I was half sick with toothache,
      And washing that sad day,
  That we did get the warning
      That we must go away.
  
  They had worn their clothes four days,
      But I thought they'd best be clean,
  So they threw them on the left,
      'Twas the last of them we seen.
  
  Some of the wash I'd just hung out
      More on the fire a scalding,
  And some was left in the tub,
      And then to leave was galling.
  
  Then I gathered my wet clothes
      And did the best I could,
  And forgot them on the left
      Or taken them I would.
  
  We had about one hundred bushels
      Of corn that did get sound,
  And pumpkins, beans and melons,
      And other things around.
  
  And cabbage and potatoes
      When we came home we found,
  And onions, beets and parsnips,
      A sticking in the ground.
  
  One son came home next day,
      And they went to making hay
  And I went at the sewing
      To prepare for the winter day.
  
  And still they kept a mowing,
      And saving of the hay,
  Till they had twenty-four fine stacks
      To last till the next May.
  
  On the sixth day of April
      Four fine cattle they found dead,
  That were stuck along the slough
      For the want of hay, they said.
  
  I rode away for wool,
      I took it in the fleece,
  I washed and dried and picked it,
      And then applied the grease.
  
  I carded and I spun it,
      And the half I carried back,
  That none of my little sons
      Might socks or mittens lack.
  
  My son George would sometimes card
      Till it was late at night,
  And I would spin the rolls,
      And he'd keep up the light.
  
  We sat by a log fire,
      Where I could see to knit,
  A carding and a spinning
      Till eleven o'clock we'd sit.
  
  And then for double mittens
      A dollar I did get,
  And I thought that was encouraging
      For me to faithful knit.
  
  Seventy-five cents a pair
      For sock was what I got,
  And I kept myself knitting
      All the fall, and tired not.
  
  Besides my other work
      I knit more that twenty pair,
  That I sold and gave for things
      That I wanted then and there.
  
  My sons then broke six acres
      To sow a little wheat,
  That they might have their seed 
      And also bread to eat.
  
  Then they went off with a team,
      To build a home upon each claim,
  For each one to have a farm
      It seemed to be their aim.
  
  And I got in the garden sauce,
      Dug the potatoes too,
  With some help from little craft
      That could but little do.
  
  And we gathered all the beans
      And thrashed them clean and good,
  And that was adding something
      To our little stock of food.
  
  And I saved three barrels of pickles,
      And two barrels I did sell,
  And every little helps
      When things are going well.
  
  We all enjoyed good health,
      And we worked with all our might,
  We worked well all the day
      And sometimes part of the night.
  
  Then my children felt encouraged
      To work hard all the day,
  And as soon as it was light
      Still they were under way.
  
  I hired men to help them
      To make some thousand rails,
  And they kept themselves well to it,
      And in that they did not fail.
  
  Some of them chopping logs,
      And others hauling out,
  And so they kept to work
      And put themselves about.
  
  At the first break of winter,
      Down on the bottom there,
  They went and made the sugar
      That lasted all the year.
  
  And then they made molasses
      We all liked very well,
  We all thought it was better
      Than they, the merchants, did us sell.
  
  My energetic little sons,
      Did fence and break the sod,
  And we were blessed and prospered
      And trusted in our God.
  
  They broke one hundred acres
      In the year of thirty-three,
  And planted it in corn,
      And fenced it round, you see.
  
  Then they broke forty more,
      On the north side of the road,
  And in the month of September
      On that ground, wheat they sowed.
  
  Then they went away two miles,
      And broke thirty-five for John,
  And that they sowed for wheat,
      It was for my eldest son.
  
  We had more than forty oxen
      And but three prairie plows,
  A fine set of horses,
      And a good lot of cows.
  
  It was then I made the butter,
      And then I made the cheese,
  My health was very good,
      And I worked at my ease.
  
  I raised lots of garden,
      And I felt myself at home,
  When my children were all with me,
      The third year I come.
  
  Our freedom was complete
      After we all got here,
  Our liberty was sweet,
      And no one to make us fear.
  
  And then on Sabbath morning
      We off to church could ride,
  On six well-rigged fine horses
      We traveled side by side.
  
  We were quite a little flock,
      Although not but a few,
  And in this settled country
      We helped to fill a pew. (Or a flat rail!)
  
  O, may I be enabled
      In the Lord to put my trust,
  May I be ever thankful,
      And be humbled in the dust.
  
  For such the Lord has promised
      By his grace he will assist,
  But the haughty and proud
      He has said He will resist.
  
  When my little sons began to marry,
      And scattered off from me,
  It was then I did feel lonesome,
      And I wanted them to see.
  
  When the oldest sons were married,
      They went off to their farms,
  And the youngest ones were with me,
      And they thought it was no harm.
  
  My eighth son I buried
      Before that I came here,
  In the state of Ohio,
      When he was in his fourth year.
  
  And eight I reared to manhood,
      And I brought to Illinois
  A pleasant and a lively set
      Of active little boys.
  
  But death took my fifth son
      In his twenty-third year,
  And O, how hard it was to part
      With one that was so dear.
  
  And in the year of fifty
      Death did visit us again,
  In the month of November,
      And two of my sons were slain.
  
  One died in California,
      And the other died at home,
  And O, what sorrow pierced my heart
      And filled my life with gloom.
  
  One of them left two daughters,
      And the other left two sons,
  And to me they were most precious
      And beloved little ones.
  
  Of all that brother band now
      I have only five,
  And the ninth in California
      If he is still alive.
  
  How sweet the recollection
      When my children were about me
  Then I felt I had protection,
      And no one dared to flout me.
  
  My wishes and my orders
      They prided to obey,
  And they enforced my regulations
      On the household night and day.
  
  The few that now are left
      Come to see me now and then,
  I am always glad to see them
      If they come, no matter when.
  
  They are now, and always were,
      My greatest earthly treasure,
  To grasp their hands and see them
      Is my greatest earthly pleasure.
  
  Now I am old and feeble
      And my eyes are very sore,
  My age is over seventy
      And more than two years more.
  
  My days are nearly ended,
         O! May the Lord prepare
  Me for some humble mansion
      In that bright city fair.
  
  Lines Written on a tour I took with my two brothers up the Illinois River in the 
  spring of 1831.