Dwelling here within the forest, In the sunshine and the shadow, While the years were rolling onward, Other children came and other Cabins rose beside the river In the shadow of the forest, Till the cabins made a village-- Thirty cabins on the hill-side.

Through this little Indian village, Ran a wood-land stream a-winding Down the side of Ragged Mountain, Small and scarcely seen in summer, "Mud-pie Place" for Indian children,

Playing on the mountain side-- Mighty in the early spring time, When the winter snows were melting; Mighty in the sultry summer Midst the flashing of the lightning, Midst the rolling of the thunder, Midst the heavy driven showers On the mountain and the valley.

Many children in the village, Children playing on the island, On the island in the river, Playing 'round their mimic wigwams, Thinking they were mighty hunters Seeking game among the bushes.

Children climbing to the tree-tops, Children roosting on the branches, Playing they were sleepy chickens, Roosting out of reach of foxes.

Many little voices crying, Many little feet to cover When the winter snows were falling.

Many baskets to be woven To exchange for food and clothing.

Many fishing in the river, Seeking food for hungry children.

Many hunting in the forest, Many making bows and arrows For the hunting of the squirrel And the lovely wood-land p.u.s.s.y.

Walking bravely through the forest, That the village may not suffer, That the food may be sufficient.

28. TRAIL-LIKE ROAD FOR WHITE MAN TRAVEL.

The trail 'became a winding road, Leading past the Indian village,

For man and beast with heavy load Toiling through the gloomy forest.

In the year of seventeen hundred Seventy-two was built a road-way, First of all the winding road-ways, Past the cabins on the hill-side, Trail-like road for white man travel.

Nailed across the cabin windows Were the skins of c.o.o.ns and foxes, Hides of catamounts and beaver.

Through these s.h.a.ggy window curtains, Where small holes were burned for day-light, Dimly lighting up the cabins, Nightly shone the crackling fire-light From the wood-fire in the fire-place, Cheerful signs of habitation To belated trav'lers toiling On the road beside the river 'Neath old Ragged Mountain's shadow, Thus the trav'lers tell the story In their books about the Light House.

29. THERE'S A LIGHT HOUSE IN BAKKHAMSTED

And when the stage came through the night, Past the lonely Indian cabins, The driver, seeing rays of light, Shouted gladly, "There's the Light House!

More and more the white man traveled, So the road-way by the river Was improved for stage coach service In the year of sev'nteen hundred- Eight and ninety--turnpike road-way Past the lonely Light House Village, Turnpike road-way for the coaches, Albany and Hartford coaches, Coaches on the Greenwoods Turnpike, Turnpike by the Tunxis River.

Far from Albany the coaches, Rolling nightly through the forests, Pa.s.sed the home of Molly Barber.

And the stories of the cabins On the side of Ragged Mountain Spread from city unto city.

Pa.s.sing on the lonely turnpike, On the turnpike by the river In the year of eighteen hundred, And the years that slowly followed, Through the dim and fearful shadows, Where the mists hung dark and heavy, When the great owls hooted sadly, Nightly came the stage a-creaking On its journey to New Hartford.

Seeing light within the forest, "There's the Light House!" cried the driver, "Five more miles to reach New Hartford!"

Light House for the stage coach traffic, For the ocean waves were rolling Sixty miles away to southward, And no ships were on the river, Sailing past the Indian cabins.

Thus was named the ancient village, Village of Barkhamsted Indians, On the side of Ragged Mountain, By the winding Tunxis River.

30. CHAUGHAM DWELT ALL UNMOLESTED.

When Chaugham saw New Hartford's doom, Pictured 'gainst the clouds of ev'ning, His signal fire lit up the gloom, Warning of impending danger.

Ever friendly to the white man, Chaugham dwelt all unmolested In his cabin on the mountain.

Once he read in smoke-cloud signals, As the twilight shadows gathered, Indian plans at Satan's Kingdom To attack and burn New Hartford.

Hast'ning to the mountain summit, Up the trail so steep and rugged, Midst the rocks and jagged boulders, To the lofty granite lookout, "Chaugham Rock" atop the mountain, Chaugham lit the danger signal.

Leaped the flames against the darkness.

Answered then New Hartford's signal From the top of Town Hill flaming, And the people of New Hartford Saw the fire and met the danger, Saving barns and homes and cattle, While the women and the children Rested safely in the fortress, On the top of Town Hill standing, Guarded by New Hartford's bravest; Fortress built of mighty timbers From the pine trees of the Mast Swamp, For protection 'gainst the Indians, Indians of dread Satan's Kingdom, Thus we find it in the records.

Friendly were the early settlers To the lonely Light House people, Dwelling in their lowly ca'bins On the side of Ragged Mountain.

Round and round the yearly cycle Rolled the ever changing seasons, With the coming of the robins, In the sweet and pleasant spring times; With the sunshine and the shadows In the sultry days of summers; With the robins flying southward Midst the falling leaves of autumn; With the lonely desolation In the cold and dreary winters.

THE SEASONS Pa.s.sED AND YEARS GREW OLD.

With summer heat and winter cold, Changed the river's nightly cadence, As seasons pa.s.sed and years grew old In the valley of the Tunxis.

With the changing of the seasons, Changed the river's nightly cadence.

In the sumlmer and the autumn, Quiet was the Tunxis River, Just a murmur of the waters As they wandered ever southward Through the sultry shadows flowing, Making music in the night time For the people of the village.

In the cold and dreary winters, Flowing in its ice-bound channel, Hardly was the river's murmur Heard within the little village; Yet the sleepers oft were startled, When the northern lights were shining,

In the cold and frosty night-time, By the sudden cracking, snapping, Of the ice along the river, Breaking thus the star-lit silence Of the river and the village.

When the air of spring grew warmer, Black and low the storm clouds gathered, Driven by the east wind's power, Swept across the darkened sky-ways, Pouring rain upon the valley, 'Till the river, slowly swelling, Moaning 'neath its heavy bondage, Burst its hard and icy fetters.

Raced the swirling billows foaming, Sweeping southward through the forest.; Tossing logs and jagged ice-cakes, With a mighty roar of waters, Crashing on the rocks and boulders, Tossing spray across the hill-side, 'Till the people of the village Trembled at the river's power, Fearing for their habitations.

32. CHAUGHAM'S SPIRIT LEFT THE HILL-SIDE,

And Molly Barber labored bravely on, Strong and stately, hale and hearty, Until brave Chaugham's life was gone, And they laid him in the grave-yard;

Wisely, kindly Molly Barber, Long the wife of Honest Chaugham, As is written in the records, Moved about among her children, Strong and stately, hale and hearty, Loved by all her children's children.

Though the children grew like rabbits, Still she taught them how to cipher, How to read and write a little-- Thus we find it in the records-- Taught the prayers she learned from mother, In her father's stately mansion, Near the mighty Central River, Long ago when she was little

And her world was filled with gladness.

Sped her years to five and eighty, From her birth beside the river, By the mighty Central River, In her father's stately mansion, With its comforts and its riches, Still she toiled beside the river, In the valley of the Tunxis, Through the ever changing seasons, Watching o'er her children's children To the third great generation, Till they called her Granny Chaugham, And her name became a legend, Fold beyond the distant oceans, And her spouse, the Honest Chaugham Lived respected by all people, To the year of eighteen hundred, When his spirit left the hill side, On its journey to the Happy Hunting Ground beyond the western sunset.

33. MOLLY TRIED TO READ THE SCRIPTURE.

The clouds obscured the western sky, Darkness circled round the grave yard As Molly sadly breathed a sigh O'er the grave of Honest Chaugham.

There was sorrow in the village, When they laid him on the hill side Southward where the soil is sandy, In the grave yard in the forest.

Molly tried to read the Scriptures, So the children have reported, From an old and tattered Bible-- Last of all her childhood treasures, Given by her loving mother, But her voice was low and broken, Hardly could they hear her speaking, So they sat in gloomy silence 'Till the ev'ning shadows lengthened, And they left him there in darkness With a field-stone for a marker, Seen to-day on Ragged Mountain In the graveyard's dim enclosure In the town of fair Barkhamsted.

34. GRANNY CHAUGHAM THOUGHT OF MOTHER.

All lonely, weary and bereft, Granny Chaugham thought of mother And all the friends that she had left By the mighty Central River.

Only then did Granny Chaugham Seem to feel the years were many; Only then did Granny Chaugham Seem to think of home and mother And her father's s.p.a.cious mansion By the mighty Central River, With the flowers in the spring-time And the yellow leaves of autumn; Then the coming of the winter And the friends that used to gather In the ev'ning in the parlor-- All the fiddling and the dancing, All the gay and playful parties, All the games they played together, Thinking not of gloom or sorrow-- Joyous days now gone forever-- Days when father was good-natured And her mother's days were happy.