Chaugham told them of his parents Living in their Indian wigwam On the confines of Block Island, Storied "Island of Manisses,"

Rising midst the swinging ocean.

There between the storm-lashed ledges, With the shifting sand and sea-weed, Ever drifting all about them Lie canoe and sailing vessel, Broken by the wild waves' fury.

Chaugham told them of his boyhood, Of the fishing in the ocean, Of the hunting in the forest And the coming of the white man.

Told them of his Indian father, All his skill in fishing, hunting.

Told them of the forest dances, Taught them how to pray to Manito, How to scare the evil spirits, Dji-bai, from the fires eternal, Souls of wicked ones departed From the pathways of the living To the fires beneath the mountains, Fires beneath the smoking mountains, Where they surfer through the ages, Coming, back at times in anger, Seeking vengeance on the living.

Told them of the talking spirits, Ghosts that wander in the night-time, Viewing old familiar places; Ghosts that whisper in the darkness, Souls of those who once were with us.

Souls of honest, kindly people Ever absent in the day-time, Often present in the night-time; Always peaceful, harmless spirits, From the Happy Realms of Sunset, From the wigwams of the Blessed, Souls of those who have departed Coming back to scenes deserted, Seeking old familiar places, Singing, talking in the darkness,

Told them of the festive dances, In the autumn in the moonlight, When the ears of corn were yellow And they gathered in the harvest.

Taught them how to chant sedately, When they met along the pathway, "Hun-da-hun-he; Hun-da-hun-he,"

Peacefully we walk together, "Hun-da-hun-he; Hun-da-hun-he."

This was friendship's sacred token Known by all the Narragansetts.

Taught them ancient Indian legends, Legends of the Narragansetts, All the mystery of creation, How the lands and seas were fashioned, By great Manito, the Mighty,

Little Solomon and Samuel Learned to dance in wild abandon Swiftly round the flashing firelight, Like the Narragansett sannups-- All the children learned the legends Of the Narragansett people.

With a background partly whiteman, From the sayings of their mother; With a background partly Indian, From the sayings of their father, Growing up, they roamed the valley, Traveled often through the township, Mingled daily with the natives, Meeting many, making friendships.

23. MARRIAGE IN THE TUNXIS VALLEY.

The yearly seasons rolled along, Bringing marriage to the hill-side And daily Molly's gentle song Soothed her children's children's slumber.

Six were married in the valley, Binding thus in holy wedlock Families of the early settlers And the Narragansett children From the cabin in the forest, Home of Molly and James Chaugham.

Samuel married Green of Sharon, Mercy married Isaac Jacklin.

Polly married William Wilson, Mary Chaugham married Webster, Hannah married Reuben Barber, (Barber's parents came from Canton), Solomon and Hayes were married In the Ragged Mountain cabin On the lonely mountain-side.

Two there were that died unmarried,-- Sally died in early childhood And Elizabeth, unmarried, Lingered in her father's cabin, Lingered to the age of eighty, Died at eighty, still unmarried, Died in eighteen four and fifty.

24. ?OLD SOL WEBSTER, BASKET MAKER.?

And to Gum Webster and his wife, Daughter of fair Molly Barber, Was born a son known through his life As "Sol Webster, Basket Maker."

Mary Chaugham married Webster, Later known as "Old Gum Webster,'

Built a cabin on the hill-side, Lived and died beside the Tunxis, And their bones are in the graveyard, In the graveyard on the hill-side in the shelter of the forest; None to guard their final slumber.

Solomon, the son of Webster And his wife, fair Mary Chaugham, Married Mary Niles of Riverton, Lived by making brooms and baskets Lasting for a generation; Sold them on the streets of Winsted, Kept a garden, worked for farmers, Died when he was two and ninety, In the month of January, In the year of nineteen hundred.

Even now in conversation On the busy streets of Winsted, In the valley of the Tunxis, People speak of "Old Sol Webster"

And the baskets that he fashioned.

25. WILLIAM WILSON BUILT A LOG HOUSE

Soon Polly Wilson's house was built On the side of Ragged Mountain And Wilson preached 'gainst sin and guilt In the meeting house in Colebrook.

Polly Chaugham married Wilson, William Wilson, preacher, soldier Wounded in the fray at Monmouth, Fighting in the Revolution;, Lying; wounded near the cannon, Molly Pitcher gave him water, Dressed his wounded side and ankle, Knowing; not the Light House story, Saw him only as a soldier, Bravely fighting for his country.

For her deeds that day in battle, Molly Pitcher's name was honored; Soldiers called her "Major Molly,"

Congress made her "Sergeant Molly."

William Wilson built a log house On the side of Ragged Mountain, In the Little Light House Village, With a fireplace strong and ample-- Wood was plenty for the cutting.

Often 'till the midnight hour Gleamed the fire light through the side-walls Of his airy mountain cabin, Light House for the weary travelers Toiling on the Tunxis pathway.

Held in high esteem was Wilson, Many years he was a preacher, Limping slowly to the service, Where the people gathered weekly, Eager for his righteous sermons And the sight of Polly Wilson With her dozen restless children, Scrubbed and polished for the solemn Sunday prayer and lengthy sermon By their father in the pulpit, In a meeting house in Colebrook, Hemlock Meeting House in Colebrook.

Fallen now that house of worship, Baptist Meeting House in Colebrook, Built in five and eighteen hundred.

Gone the pulpit and the altar, And the names of those who worshipped Now are written on the tombstones In the Hemlock Cemetery.

Buried, too, the Hemlock pastors, Bellows, Talmage, Morse and Dory, Atwell, Garvin, Wilson, Watrous.

All their toil and preaching ended; All their sermons are forgotten, But the good they did is living On in present generations.

26. BUILT NEW CABINS IN THE FOREST.

The Tunxis, as it rolled along, Saw new cabins on the hill-side, And heard the children's twilight song, Ere they closed their eyes in slumber.

Two of Molly Barber's children Dug new cellars on the hill-side, 'Neath the pine trees ever sighing, Built new cabins in the forest-- Tiger lilies grew beside them.

Fragrance from the purple lilacs Floated through the air at spring-time.

Ever busy were the people, On the hill-side in the cabins And along the winding river.

Oft they hunted through the forest For the rabbit and the squirrel.

Oft they labored by the river Building swift canoes for sailing.

Often in the shallow water, Spearing eels and trout and suckers, Food for hungry, growing children, In the cabins in the village-- Light House children, more descendants, Children playing on the hill-side, Children playing by the river, Children swimming in the river, In the pleasant days of summer.

Children playing by the cabins, "Bar-wa-see" they said at sunset, To the sun beyond the hill-top, Western hill across the river.

To the moon, "Nu-garti-an-a"

As it rose o'er Ragged Mountain.

Thus they spoke in Indian accents.

Oft the children sang at twilight, Sang in accents soft and plaintive, Ere they closed their eyes in slumber, Sang a prayer that Molly taught them, Sang it softly in the twilight--

"Evil spirits are around us, Keep us, Lord, all through the darkness.

By the stream a loon is calling, Keep us, Lord, all through the darkness.

On the hill a fox is barking, Keep us, Lord, all through the darkness.

In the village while we're sleeping, Keep us, Lord, all through the darkness.

Da-wa-hee-gen, da wa-hee-gen."

27. THIRTY CABINS ON THE HILL-SIDE.

The village on the hill-side grew, Thirty cabins on the hill-side,

And all worked hard to feed the crew, Hunting, fishing, weaving baskets.