Reminiscences of Early "Jericho"

Reminiscences of Early "Jericho"

Afton Enterprise, April 16, 1925

As told by Mrs. Melissa Landers Wilkins, a daughter of Isaiah Landers, one of the early pioneers of Jericho.  She would now, if living, be over 115 years old.  She was drawn on hand-sled to school mornings most of the winter of 1815, when she was five years old, by an old Indian name Kunkerpot, one whom the other Indians considered their chief; at least he was the one who settled their differences.  They lived in the winter in wigwams in a dense woods back of the Landers home, which is the same house so long occupied by a son, Hial Landers, and then by his son, Willard Landers.

 

A huge fireplace was in the large old kitchen and half of the time, on cold winter evenings, she said, there would be from three to six or seven Indians and Squaws lying on the hearth in front of the fireplace with their feet to the fire, and the only way to get them to eave at the end of the evening was to treat them to apples and cider of which they were very fond, then they would file out saying, "Good night, good woman, good night, good man; good fire, warm much plenty."

 

One old Squaw, Lispat by name, was overly fond of the cider, and used to come in the day time and beg for it till she was considered a nuisance.  So one day, when she came begging cider, Mrs. Landers gave her some from the bottom of the barrel that had yeast put in it to keep it sweet and consequently what remained in the barrel was rather thick.  She drank it without any remark, but when she came again, she said to Mrs. Landers, "Good woman, I like some more your emptens and cider." She was also given to helping herself to anything she wished if she had the chance.

 

Isiah Landers, who by the way always went by the military title of "Major," had a daughter, Clara [Stevens], who married John Stevens, and went to housekeeping on what has been known as the Carr farm.  One day in March, having workmen to provide for, she cooked a boiled dinner, taking it all up on a large pewter platter, setting it on a shelf in the pantry near the window and partly raising it to let the steam escape.  Upon returning to the kitchen she caught a glimpse of this squaw passing the corner of the house towards the window with a basket on her arm, she thought nothing of it; only wondered why she did not enter the house. But when she went to place her platter on the table, she found not a scrap of her boiled dinner. The old squaw had deftly slid it from the platter into her basket, and was on her way to her wigwam with it.

 

On a portion of Major Landers' farm, later owned and occupied by his grandson, Daniel Landers, is an Indian burying ground.  I once saw a half bushel basket full of Indian arrow heads that were picked up on the site of that old burial place, and a short distance this side of it is a space of quite a size where, on many evenings in summer, a dense fog arises reaching from the river up across the road, and the Indians said that had spirits came there to do evil to passing people, both whites and Indians, and that the Great spirit sent the fog to baffle their efforts.

 

There used to live near Major Landers, all alone in a little log house, a widow of a Revolutionary soldier called "Granny Catlin" who was very punctual to attend church services then held in a nearby school house, always wearing her only good dress, a black bombazine.  She might once have been an excellent housewife, but it seems with age she had deteriorated in that respect. As she had not attended church in several Sabbaths, a couple of the neighboring women went in to enquire if she were sick or what was the cause of her absence.  "La Suz," she replied "I've lost my bombazine dress and I can't come.  I can't find it anywhere, I fear it's stolen and I never can get another to wear to church."

 

Her bed, with a valance around it, stood in the one living room. About a year after the old lady came out to church wearing her bombazine.  After services, the women gathered around her, inquiring where she found her dress.  "La Suz," she replied, "I'd never thought to look under the bed till tother day and there I found it good as ever." Shortly after this, when she was between 90 and 100 years of age, the government granted her a pension of $8 per month.  When she received her first check she bought herself a gold ring and turkey-red calico for a dress.  Some of her neighbors thought that was not just the right thing for her to do and told her to that effect.  "La Suz" she replied, "I can't remember the time when I didn't want a gold ring and a turkey-red dress and I just thought I would get 'em and take a little good of 'em before I died."

 

Mrs. Wilkins commenced to teach school in 1827, when she was 17 years of age.  In the winter time the scholars brought raw potatoes which about 11 o'clock she had to put in the ashes at the corner of the fireplace and cover with coals that they might be baked by noon, and if their corn bread, Johnny cake, or cold meat was frozen, she had to take it from their dinner baskets and lay it on the warm stone fireplace hearth, to thaw out to go with their potatoes.

 

Teachers then only had every other Saturday to themselves, boarding around the district during the week, and in one place where she taught, the girls of the neighborhood used on those Saturday afternoons, to meet at the place where she would be for a visit with her.  A foolish fellow in the neighborhood thought it fine to come and sit with them, which pleased him much more than it did them.  So Mrs. Wilkins told the girls one day that if he ever came again they would have some fun, for she would ask him to marry her and see what he would say.

 

For all that this happened over a hundred years ago, I think girls were about the same as at present; fond of a joke, and sometimes get the joke turned on themselves, as in this case.  When he again came, she took a chair and sat down close to him and began talking with him for a little time, then leaning toward him, speaking in a confidential tone, she said:  "I am tired of teaching and would like to marry.  Will you marry me?"  "Boy ask Gal, not Gal ask Boy," he said.

 

No little girl of the present time would think of playing with a stone for a doll, as Mrs. Wilkins did when a child, more than a century ago. She was in the habit of playing by the side of a brook that ran near the house, under a tree up which ran a wild grapevine.  In the edge of the water she spied this stone. So she would take it out of the water and dry it in the sun, wrap it in a little blanket of her own, and there under the tree play with it, not daring to carry it to the house for fear the other children would laugh at it.  But one day old Kunkerpot surprised the "Little Missy," as he always called her, with it and the next she knew he had whittled her out a fine wooden doll with black eyes and hair burned in, nice red lips and nose colored with berry juice and for which her mother made a dress and "wasn't I happy with it," she said.

 

Many, Many years after, she dreamed of playing again by that brook side, and told her dream in the following lines:

 

Last night, in my slumbers, I had a strange dream;

In my vision I wandered down by the stream

Where in childhood's fair morning I sported so free.

Nor dreamed one sorrow e'er waited for me.

 

I saw the wild grapes as they hung on the vine,

The ivy and woodbine around them entwined;

The very same bluebird sang in the elm tree.

The robin and lark and the sweet chickadee.

 

My friends of my childhood were smiling around,

We gathered wild flowers, then sat on the ground;

We talked of past friendships with hearts light and free,

As the sweet little warbler's that sang in the tree.

 

How dear to my heart was the brook and the grove,

The orchard and meadow, the friends that I loved.

As I entered my home with what transport I see

My brothers and sisters, all smiling at me.

 

My father sat smoking, old "Watch" by his side,

My mother looked happy, as our wants she supplied;

On the old dining table a potpie, did smoke;

We were all seated around it and then I awoke.

 

I awoke, and how sadly my heart seem to say:

"My parents, the friends of my youth where are they?

That home, Oh, how lonely, many loved ones are gone,

In the cold grave, they slumber never more to return.

 

Since earthly enjoyments are passing with time,

Let us place our affections on things more sublime,

And when, with life's sorrows and cares, we are done.

We'll rest with our Savior in  a Heavenly home.

 

As told by Melissa Landers Wilkins

Provided by Mrs. Butler