Telegraph and Chronicle, Norwich, NY, April 1, 1868
"Good Old Times" by Effie Johnson
To one passing over the fertile hills and through the pleasant valleys of Guilford, noting the broad cultivated farms, with their nice comfortable farmhouses, the schools and churches so thickly scattered over its whole extent, it would seem somewhat like a fairy tale to hear that some of the first settlers of this thriving town still live [in 1868], yet such is the fact, although the number year by year is rapidly decreasing and soon the last link which binds us to the past will be broken. Although the weight of more than eighty years is resting upon the calm pleasant faced old lady who gave me the facts which I shall here record, and the light has gone out forever from her blue eyes, yet her mind is as clear and vigorous, and her memory (especially of things pertaining to the olden time as perfect as at twenty-five. She belongs to the numerous and intelligent family of the Yales, who settled the south part of the town, giving it the name of "Yale Settlement" or "Yaleville."
Guilford formerly belonged to Oxford. About the year 1818, it was set off as a town and named Eastern. Where or when this was changed to its present name, we are unable to learn. The first settler was a Mr. Stephen Wicks, who with his family brought their goods from Bainbridge on their backs, their only road an Indian trail. This was previous to 1797. In 1799 Benjamin and Uriah Yale came on from Dutchess County [NY] and in 1803 Luman and James Birch joined the little company of settlers. The last named gentleman lived with the wife of his youth for 70 years. Married at the respective ages of 18 and 16, they lived together for seventy years, and at the ages of eighty-six and eighty-four carried on the work of a farm themselves, the good wife of eighty-four doing the dairy work for fifteen cows and churning by hand. It is no wonder that Guilford is famed for the amount and excellence of its dairy products when we know it was settled by such people as those. Two years later the venerable lady laid down to her long last sleep and at the ripe age of ninety-nine, her partner took to himself a bride of seventy.
We will return to our first settlers. Mr. Benjamin Yale the father of Mrs. Cooper, our informant, was eleven days making the distance from Dutchess Co., now accomplished by rail, in one. His family consisted of his wife and nine children. He drove a span of horses, a yoke of oxen and a cow all the distance. The country was an unbroken wilderness, but nothing daunted, the brave settler entered upon the task of felling the giant trees, preparing the ground for crops and putting in the seed which was to be for the life of all they brought with them, for there was no market in the wilderness where food could be procured at any price.
"I shall never forget the summer of 1800," said Mrs. Y, "for the scarcity of food and our near approach to starvation. It lacked yet several weeks to the harvest and our grain was nearly gone. Oh, how anxiously we watched the slowly ripening wheat, as our supply grew more and more scanty. At last, all was gone. We had the milk of two cows upon which eleven persons were to depend for subsistence. All we had left was a little corn which we had saved for a stool pigeon, and this my father took into an iron mortar and commenced pounding it up for our last morsel of bread. I remember how my mother's face had grown sadder as the food diminished and she looked round upon her little flock, till now, she broke down and cried.
Our good neighbor Stephen Wicks came in just then and said, "What are you doing, doctor?" Father answered, "I am pounding up my last corn for a little bread and then I don't know but we must starve."
"Not while I have a morsel to divide," said the kind man. "Send a child to my house, Mrs. Yale, and my wife will give you some flour."
"I went accompanied by a little sister, and the good woman filled a pillowcase with flour which was more precious to us than gold. How carefully that flour was dealt out by our frugal mother, a piece of bread to each, and a cup of milk until the harvest came. That was a joyful harvest, and after that we never knew want."
I looked from the pleasant window of the farmhouse where I was sitting with my blind friend, upon a beautiful landscape. The green meadow grass was waving in the summer wind; smooth pasture lands dotted with sheep and cattle were beyond and the hillside was crowned with forest trees. It was a peaceful rural scene, yet the shadowed eyes beside me had gazed upon this very land when it was one unbroken forest. On this well cultivated farm more than half a century ago, she with her husband made themselves a home.
"Our first housekeeping was very rude," she said, "Our house was a mere shanty, and we had neither table or chair. [Planks] a wide one for the table and narrow ones for the chairs had to do duty until fall, when we built a chimney for our house and bought a table and chairs." I could not but look with respect and reverence upon the venerable lady who had so patiently endured the toil and hardship of pioneer life and rejoice that in the evening of her days, surrounded by every comfort and cared for by kind children, she found rest. Only the summer before, her aged companion had left her for the eternal home, and it seemed a pleasure to her to recall the scenes of youth.
"Mother, tell how you were chased by wolves," said a bright-eyed daughter-in-law, who had been listening to the conversation. "My brothers were always busy, of course, clearing up the land, so it fell to my lot, a little girl then of ten or twelve years, to go for the cows at night. I always found them by the tinkling bells they wore, for there were no roads or fences, you know. My little sister accompanied me, and a large, faithful dog always was with us. We had gone about half a mile when we heard the bells and knew that the cows were chased by wolves or they were running very fast. They rushed past us and our noble dog growled while his hair stood straight up and I knew he was dreadfully frightened. I told my sister to run for her life and I hurried after as fast as I could, patting the dog and saying "don't leave me, don't leave me." For a while he obeyed me, growling and looking very savage all the time, then suddenly springing aside. I heard him grapple with a great wolf who was hoping to make a meal of us, since he had missed of the cows. You may believe I ran then, but before we reached home the faithful dog overtook us, with the skin torn entirely from his face and hanging from his jaws. He had saved us, and he was well cared for, and he got quite well again."
Deer and bears and wolves were plenty enough. I have seen eight deer at one time following each other, and hunting amounted to something then. Our neighbor Wicks was a famous hunter.
Benjamin Yale died in 1851 at the advanced age of 102. Mrs. Uriah Yale, who died in 1860 at the age of 99, was a remarkably intelligent woman and retained her vigorous intellect to the last. She was a great lover of the Bible and had almost, if not entirely, committed it to memory. In the house where she died, lives a lady of 100 years. So, Guilford does not seem unfavorable to longevity. One of the sons of Uriah Yale lived 70 years in the town and died during the summer of 1867 at the age of 85 years. Stephen Yale, his brother, still is living [in 1868], almost the only representative of the band of youthful settlers of 1799, who have made the wilderness to bud and blossom as the rose.
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