Reminiscences from The Life of a Pioneer by Ira Ayer I

 

I was born December 26, 1802, and was tenderly cared for in early life, excepting in one case in infancy; my nurse, in a petulant mood, it was said took hold of one of my hands or feet and snatched me roughly into bed. How much this effected my after life I don't pretend to say, but this much I know, I never was such a strong heavy and laboring man as my Brother Goreham. But to say nothing more of this, I was blessed with parents of high respectability, who looked well after my wants, always ready to administer to my necessities. If they saw anything in my behavior not according to the rule of good manners, they admonished me of my fault, if in no other way by the shake of the head. I had only the advantages of a common school education as more than this was not expected except in the few. My parents (James and Sarah Bradley Ayer) were strictly a church going people; they were not professors of religion, but regarded those who were, perhaps we might say, with more respect than otherwise they would. They attended the close communion Baptist church. I well remember that cold Sabbath Day with four feet of snow upon the ground when, we had to go home from church 'cross lots, turning into the lot on the hill not far from Judge Foster's, coming into the road again opposite Shoemaker Harvey's. Here the whiffletree, or something, hit the bar post, or something and broke the harness, which had to be fixed by the shoemaker with his waxedend. Then we got home nicely.

As soon as I was old enough, my parents let me go out around with Lowe and Goreham. I remember going fishing with them one cold winter's day, over a mile or two, to a pond. Two or three holes were soon cut through the ice and hooks dropped in; it wasn't long before we had a bite and then a pickerel out upon the ice. Never were our hearts so glad before; at least it will do to say so, he was a large fellow. We caught a larger one that day, at any rate, and I shouldn't wonder if this was the one, after all. We were a happy lot of boys, jumping and laughing, anyone a mile off could see that we had caught a fish, that is if they had pretty good eyes. We arrived home laughing and happy, with three fish and one was a bouncer.

While I was yet in my early boyhood I recall another fishing excursion. Brother Goreham and myself took it to our heads to go a fishing on the river ice, whether with or without the consent of our mother I am not sure. Be this as it may, off we went, a little down the River, I think about half way to the City Bridge. This we called our fishing ground. Our tackling was soon ready, and if we did not cut holes in the ice it was because there were cracks running up and down the ice caused by the tide from the ocean, through which we could fish. What luck we had, this time, I cannot say, but the hours passed on so rapidly that we hardly realized how long we had been gone; rapidly with us, but slowly with dear mother. How little, children know the anxiety of their parents for their safety. We heard a hallooing for quite a long time, but were not certain what it was; to be sure it seemed to come from the direction of the house and sounded like our dear mother's voice and yet we didn't know but it was the cock crowing; finally we come to this conclusion, hoping we were right, yet fearing we were wrong. Nevertheless, taking our chances, we kept on fishing; it may be until the evening shades began to gather around us. At the same time, it maybe, we began to feel that our dear mother was concerned about us. So we fixed up our fishing tackling and started for home. No doubt our dear mother's heart was much relieved to see us once more in the body, how happy to see us alive and well shedding it may be tears of joy. Dearest, dear mother, true to your family, true to your neighbor, true to the poor, true to the church, true everywhere and now in Heaven! Glory to God in the highest, Hallelujah to the Lamb forever! Blessed dear mother in Heaven, yes in Heaven! I trust I shall see you there bye and bye dear Mother, amen and amen! You are a stranger to grief now my dear mother. The tears that fill my eyes now will be wiped away when I see you. Dear, dear mother, Amen--Amen.

Perhaps during the war of 1812 Brother James, then a baby, had his dish of bread and milk in his lap, while sitting on the floor in the log house. His dish was a pint cup with a handle on one side. While managing as well as he could, holding on to the handle with one hand and eating his bread and milk with the other, he made a little miss and all went on the floor; after his mother had scooped it all up into the dish with her spoon and was about to carry it away, Squire Gray, one of our neighbors said, "Let the baby have it, he will never know the difference!" The Squire spoke in a laughing way, but my dear mother was so far from joining in with him in the laugh, that she said, rather disapprovingly, "I would never give a child what I wouldn't eat myself."

While in my early boyhood, say five or six years old, I commenced going to a public school with brother Lowe who was about 12. Lowe took part with the ball players, while I was nothing but a looker-on. I suppose it was noon-time when the boys out on the sod were playing away briskly, each side striving for mastery as best they could. While thus engaged, with all possible might, young Bartlette sprang forward, with a furious jump to catch a rolling ball in time to hit another before he got to his goal. Bartlette failed; he was a little behind time, and said it was because Lowe Ayer was in the way, and in his fury took the ball, which by the way, was brother Lowe's and threw it at my brother as best he could. How the matter was settled I don't remember, that is, between Brother Lowe and Bartlette; between myself and Bartlette it remains unsettled. Our teacher Mr. Chandler, had but one eye, and had to wear a pad over it. Mr. C. was a very efficient teacher as well as gentleman. Bartlette in school time fixed a pad over his eye, the same as the teacher had, over his and went forward, up the aisle, to the teacher to be instructed in some question in his lesson. I don't suppose the teacher appeared to notice him, but of course it made a great disturbance in the school. This is the last of my remembrance of Bartlette. He may be living now. If so he is about 90 years old. If he by chance should call on me I might see a gentlemen, or a tramp and a scamp; if the former, he has made a happy change for himself, if the latter, he had no change to make. I may be a little prejudiced on account of the play ball affair.

In the same summer, on a bright Sabbath day I was standing on the Little River bridge. It was the day appointed for baptism. The ceremony began, and a boy standing by me would say, as each candidate was baptized, "dip." Only once he omitted to do so and the thought struck me that this one was the boy's sister. I afterwards made inquiry and found it to be as I supposed. However rude the boy was, we find this redeeming quality that he had respect for his own Sister.

Now I will go back to the occasion of my Great Grandmother Marble's(1) funeral which I can just remember of attending. I think it is the very first thing in my life that I can recollect. It has just come into my mind. She was about 90 years old. While living she was about as deaf as she could be, and I should think blind too. She lived in one of the old fashioned small wood colored houses, a mile or two back from the River Road and about three miles from us. I want to say a word or two about this old house; I should think it might have been one of the first framed houses ever built in that neighborhood "round about". Oh how very, very old the old house looks to me, in my mind. When I think of it, it almost makes me lonesome. The funeral ceremonies, I suppose were observed with precision and solemnity. My great grandmother Marble is gone. I suppose she has been in her grave nearly eight years. Good bye dear Grandmother. I hope we shall meet again on the other shore. Amen. The friends went back from the grave to the house again for tea, before parting. I remember the fried cakes were not quite cooked through. Good bye to the past; Every day carries it farther and farther away.

Goreham and I had the promise of going to see Grandma Bradley, sometime, if we would be good children. The long wished for day finally came and off we started as laughing and happy as we could be. We were not long going two miles up the River Road to Grandpa's house. All was pleasant, all was happy: a day or two passed on with satisfaction to all. Finally dear Grandma thought it would be "a good time to get a lot of chips picked up, now the boys are here if they are willing." Of course we made no objections. Baskets, new and old were brought forward, and carried out to the chip yard for us to fill as best we could. We soon found the yard of chips was not sufficiently large to fill all the baskets with good chips, yet we supposed our dear Grandma expected we would fill all the baskets with good chips. Finally we concluded to solve the difficulty by putting small chips in the bottom of the baskets and good ones on top. In this way we could fill all the baskets to satisfaction, at least in appearance.

At it we went and in due time we had them all filled and carried into the woodhouse. We heard nothing of our mode of filling the baskets until dear Grandma came to our house, visiting, when she told Mother all about it. Of course they had a good laugh at Goreham's and my expense: but as I remember about it now, it was a matter of necessity: so, at least, it seemed to us at the time. Dearest Grandma Bradley how long since you have passed away into the great future! How soon am I to follow! Your generation is gone and mine will soon be with it. How I like to indulge in the thought that we shall meet, dear Grandmother bye and bye. How beautiful, how grand the thought! It is engraved as we may stay, on the pillars of heaven! It is the paramount of glory. I hope we all will be there!

Uncle Lowe Bradley(2) went to sea in early boyhood, I suppose by the consent of his parents. In after years he was captain of a vessel, was cast away and remained on masthead three days. He was a man of very fine appearance, more than ordinary height, straight, heavy, broad shouldered, commanding attention wherever he might be, without saying a word. After leaving the Sea, he bought himself a small farm about two miles above our house, a little off from the River Road, perhaps on the same place where Grandma Marble used to live. He built a very pretty house, not to say large and expensive, but just such a one as it might be expected a man of his appearance would build. On his way to town he would often call to see his sister. I remember that one of these occasions dear mother had carpet rags around sewing, and Uncle Lowe took to show the children how to sew them. At another time, he called to take tea. Of course I was too young to sit at the table when Uncle Lowe was there, so I stood by the fireplace. In the mean time I had a young robin concealed in a hole under the oven. During the time of eating the robin made a loud chirping. Not thinking anything in particular was the matter with little robin, I didn't go near it for fear of Uncle Lowe's hearing that I had a robin in that dark hole. I knew if he found it out he would reprove me sharply for doing such a thing to a young innocent bird, and finally say so much I would have to let it go. The bird, after a while stopped its chirping and as I supposed, all was well. No sooner had Uncle Lowe left than I ran to the hole. An awful sight greeted me, one I had never seen before and I do not remember any since that, that ever gave me such a shock. The old cat had done the mischief. Had I known what was going on, Uncle Lowe or no Uncle Lowe I should at once have run to the rescue of robin. What added to my grief was, that I should have to wait a whole long year before I could have another, it being past the time to catch young birds.

But I must pass on, Uncle Lowe has long since passed away, I hope to that better land.

The potatoes were [???]: the corn in the other end of the field was not gathered in: the after grass on the meadow was grown to make a good bite for the milk cows, but what was to be done! Father finally concluded to turn the cows on to the grass, and let Ira watch them to keep them from the corn. How long the corn was safely guarded, I am not able to say. After a while, watching the cows became an old story; so pleading loneliness I finally prevailed upon them to let Sister Mary go with me to watch the cows. This went on very well for a while, until we finally concluded to play at something. We decided upon making ovens by covering our feet with dirt, on the potato ground, in a very firm way, so that the dirt would not cave in when we drew out our feet. In this way we passed our time very happily for a number of days, it may be; in fact we began to think more of making ovens than of watching cows. It seems that the cows thought luck had turned in their favor; the watchers being on one end of the field and they on the other, they concluded to try a little corn with their grass: So into the corn they went, and began eating as fast as they could. Mary and I were so engaged in our play we had quite forgotten the corn, but, in the mean time, our father had seen, from the house that the cows were in the corn. Soon, we saw him coming as fast as he could with a small stick in his hand.

I suppose we thought it a very strange way for Papa to come, so we asked him what he was coming for. He said "he would show us." Soon he had me by the shoulder with one hand, and was whipping me with the small stick in the other. Then he said "Go and drive the cows out of the corn." While the whipping proceeded Mary was crying to see how Papa was whipping Ira, not thinking that she herself might soon pass through the same experience. But no sooner had he finished whipping me, than he took her and did the same with her saying, "Now go to the house." Of course I ran as fast as I could and drove out the cows from the corn, then went and sat down in the crotch of and old apple tree as mad as I could be.

One day my dear Mother had a matter to attend to upstairs and took baby Sarah and myself with her. Soon she was ready to return and on her way said hastily, "you stay here Ira and take care of baby." Not giving me time to even say "I don't want to." I felt it all the same, notwithstanding. The words rang in my ear, You stay here, Ira, and take care of the baby. I looked the words over with much care, hoping to find some loophole where I might dodge out, but I found none. I could put but one construction upon it; in fact, it meant but one thing; just the right words were used, not one too many nor one too few. Now the question was, what did Ma mean by care. Well, I finally thought she meant keep baby from falling down stairs. So I kept the stairs well guarded, and let baby creep around as she would. By and by she crept into the bedroom: the window was low and shoved up. It may be baby thought it a good time to see what there was in the outside world, and in order to see to good advantage, she found it necessary to get her little stomach pretty well up on the window stool. Now, I thought, was my time; Baby will not come to the stairs now, and down I went. No sooner had I reached the floor than my dear Mother asked in a very earnest and excited tone, "where is baby." "Looking out of the window," I replied. "Run up and get her quick!" she exclaimed, more excitedly than ever. On the instant the point flashed into my mind, and the next moment I was at the head of the stairs, but no baby was there. I ran to the window just in time to see dear Mother taking baby from the ground. The little innocent was not badly hurt, after all. After she was rocked to sleep, Mother said to me, "I should have thought, Ira, you would have known better!" All I could say, was "I didn't know she would fall out of the window."

The common way of traveling for people going to Town from the back country, was on horseback. If the traveler was seen coming by the farmer, he would make it in his way to be by the roadside, in order to have a little talk with him. This was expected on both sides, for they believed, in those early days in the practice of reciprocity. Their greeting would seem to be almost in the form of a dialogue, commencing it might be in this way; "How do you do Sir?" This would be the introduction on both sides. Then one party would ask at the other "What may I call your name Sir, if I may be so bold?" "Not at all, Sir, my name is John Dole. What may I call your name, enquires horseback, with a respectful nod of the head. "My name is Ayer, James Ayer," with a genteel bow. "Well Mr. Ayer you have made a great improvement since I traveled this road before, excepting in the old house with a brick end; that looks just as it did in war time. Let me see, how old are you?" "If I live to see the 25th of next month I shall be 38 years old," was the reply. "Oh, I am a good deal the oldest. I was all through the Revolution. Well I was going to say something about the old house, it was wood color then, and its the same now: it don't look as though it ever saw a painters brush in the world, does it now? The old brick end looks the same as it did in war time, holes and all: we used to call them port holes. Often a company of us, after we had been out on skirmishing duty, would come down this way. If we saw a puff of smoke from one of the port holes, we knew there was trouble. If we judge we were strong enough to storm the garrison, we made a rush at once; if not we turned and run as fast as we could. In one instance while running in this way, one of the boys received a slight wound. Upon this we made a rush on them (Indians they proved to be) hit or miss and gave them a good flogging, killing a few and making prisoners of the rest. After hand cuffing them and tying them together with a bedcord we had with us, we took their guns and marched for town where the prisoners were securely placed in the "jug up," as we called it. That was the last trouble we had with the Indians.

While I do not say that the above conversation ever actually occurred I do say it is very likely to have occurred and in very much after the manner indicated.

The witch bridge was about a quarter of a mile above our house, on the River Road. I have sometimes thought in my own mind why it was called witch bridge, and finally concluded that in a very early day, grandmother Frink had stopped there possibly to take a drink of water from the brook and that some one who came along not knowing the old lady had gone home and told his folks that he had seen an old lady down by the brook bridge who looked like a witch and that ever after, they called it by the name of witch bridge.

Uncle Peter Ayer lived about a quarter of a mile above the witch bridge. He had a large family much respected by his neighbors. He had six daughters, Abagail, Harriet, Adaline, Ann, Jane, and Clarissa. His three sons were Richard, Robert, and Varnum. Abagail married Capt Lowe Bradley. They had two sons, one of them, I think, engaged in business in N York City. I have made some inquiry, hoping to find him the same Bradley that was chosen a member of the Pres't Hayes committee to decide who was Pres't; but as I couldn't make it appear very clear I let it drop.

Richard Ayer married a girl by the name of Head. She lived over the River, about opposite, I should think. She was an only child but not generally thought to be very attractive. Her Father was said to be very rich. I don't know whether that had anything to do with the marriage, or not. Robert was looked upon as a sharp dealer, though as I should presume, highly respected by his acquaintances. Varnum, when we left Haverhill was yet in his boyhood. He was older than myself, yet we mated very well. On one occasion we were out in the barnyard, playing. His uncle James Ayer, my father, was cleaning out the stable. Varnum was maneuvering around, and happened to be standing right opposite and near by a large opening, between the boards. His uncle made up his mind that he, Varnum, was about to treat him in a way unbecoming to a man of his age, and an uncle at that. So he concluded to help master Varnum out with his play; that there should, in fact, be two parts to it, one part to be performed by Varnum on the outside and his own from within. The inside party discovered the beauty of the play depended upon his performing his part at the instant the outside party had finished his. A shovel full of fine manure was in readiness and at the right moment, thrown from within through the boards, with a force, that no doubt led Mr. Varnum to say in his own mind "Uncle James acted his part well," while his Uncle James felt that he had given as good as was sent, in other words, had paid for all receipts in full, to date.

Varnum grew to be a clever man and married well; although it was said of him that he would not confine himself to water to quench his thirst, when he could get something he liked better.

The history of Uncle Peter's family is ended. It may be I am the last to tell the story. What is man? He comes forth in the morning; he flourishes like the grass of the valley at noon day; at evening he is cut down like the mown grass, and is no more.

The time for going into a new country was near approaching. Some things were already packed; the looking glass was removed and nothing but the bare post remained where it had so long been hanging. All was confusion. The far west was the order of the day. Sister Martha was 13 years of age. Jim Kelly was a tall young mad who had the appearance of not being favored with the advantages of social life, and seemed to care little for what might be said to him for his improvement. Martha occasionally would indulge in trying a joke on Jim. As luck would have it, about this time Jim came in; Martha met him with a look of excitement and said, "Jim, what is the matter with your face?" "Nothing as I know of," was the reply. "Nothing!" said Martha; "then what is it that makes you look so; I should like to know? have you been having a fuss with some body? do you have spells sometimes Jim? go look in the glass, and see for yourself." At the time Martha stepped one side, in order that Jim could see the way opened for him to go to the glass. While on his way Martha sprang for the door out of Jim's sight to enjoy a good laugh. Jim went up to the post with no little curiosity to take a look at his face, but to his surprise found nothing but a bare post; he saw the joke at once, and started for the door, grumbling as he went along, "that's just one of Martha's tricks." I have no recollection of hearing anything from Jim since Martha had a long laugh at the time, and I suppose for weeks after would laugh out when she thought of it.

More on Martha in the next chapter.

In a short time all was in readiness for a start. Two wagons covered well with painted canvass, one for the family, the other for the luggage; stood at the door. To them were attached four fine horses well [Red?] up, who seemed to understand they were to act a very important part in going the long journey to the far west. Some things for common use, such as table ware and the like were packed in the wagon; some pretty well worn were thrown away, and the balance I suppose was laid aside to go at auction. Neighbors to say goodbye had called; the Family were all seated in the wagon, tears all wiped dry. The horses at the crack of the whip, started.

(1) This is Sarah Marble. She was the second wife of Joseph Bradley. The only child they had together was Enoch Bradley, Ira's Grandfather. After Joseph Bradley died she married John Marble. Before she married Joseph Bradley she was referred to as Mrs. French from Newbury. It is not known if the name French is from an earlier marriage or if it was her maiden name. She died on April 26, 1809 at an unknown age.

(2) The only Low that Peters (Bradley of Essex County) lists in the family of Enoch Bradley and Mary Low is Caleb Low Bradley, born 22 Feb 1780. He was between 25 and 30 years old at the time bird story to be described. The Haverhill vital records list him as Capt Low Bradley and Caleb Low Bradley at the time of his marriage to Abigail Ayer (daughter of Ira's uncle Peter Ayer) on 17 Nov 1811.

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Copyright 1997-2002 William H. Scholtz.
Last revised: January 14, 2002.