| Notes |
- Her poem "MY GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S RIDE"
http://thechasechronicles.com/chronicles/58Chron.html
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Newspaper Adams NY Jefferson County Journal 1889 - 0348.PDF http://fultonhistory.com/Process%20Small/Newspapers/Adams%20NY%20Jefferson%20County%20Journal/Adams%20NY%20Jefferson%20County%20Journal%201889.pdf/Newspaper%20Adams%20NY%20Jefferson%20County%20Journal%201889%20-%200348.pdf
MY GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S RIDE
by Elizabeth Hoard McGuinness ... Stockbridge, New York
Come little children and sit by my side While I tell you of my great-grandmother's ride.
She, more than a hundred years ago, When Liberty strove with a British foe,
Lived in the midst of war's alarm, In a little log house, on a Vermont farm
A woman loyal, and brave and true, Doing with might what her hands found to do.
Fearless in speech and deed, and strong To defend the right and resent the wrong.
Her husband, a Captain of "Rangers" brave, Was fighting, the land from the foe to save;
Leaving her there with their little ones, The baby Bess and a little son;
With a mother's love to lighten their toil, And a living to wrest from the rugged soil.
Up in the early morning gloom, Milking the cows, plying the loom,
Helping the little boy to till the sod, Reading her Bible and trusting her God.
One day, ere her morning tasks were o'er, When the sun shone in on the kitchen floor,
The big brick oven was filled with bread, And the loom was banging to her tread
As Bess in her sap trough cradle lay A sound of swift hoofs came that way
. Then a loud quick call by the open door, A call she had dreaded long before,
And that nerved her mother heart and eye, "The British are coming, haste and fly,
Take what you can with the old ox team, Before is torn up the bridge o'er the stream."
Ah! then, our grandmother's steps were hurried, The precious ironware was quickly buried,
The brine turned off from the barrel of pork, The web, half woven, cut out with a jerk.
And she, with an arm as stout as her heart, Loaded it all in the old ox cart.
She sent little Harmon away with the load, While she on the gray mare after them rode,
With her dear little Bess, clasped close to her breast As on to the bridge at last she pressed.
The men were tearing it quickly apart, When she reined up her horse with a sudden start,
Wheeled it around to the backward track, "Wait," she cried, "until I come back,
I left my oven full of good bread, And my children will need it, nor shall it be said,
That I helped to feed a Tory crew." "Come back," they cried, but away she flew,
Back to the old house the swift feet sped. Out of the oven she drew the hot bread,
Placed it all in a big meal sack And tossed it over the horse's back,
Sprang to the saddle, tightened the rein, And was off for the place of refuge again.
Both felt, as the old mare loped along, A burning, stinging, sense of wrong?
The woman, a patriot's vengeful ire, The horse, the hot bread's steaming fire,
That nerved her speed as she thundered back, Ere the planks were torn from the bridge's track.
To her brother she went, with the boys and Bess, To await the coming of Captain Jess,
To watch for friends in the fleeing throngs, As she grieved o'er the suffering nation's wrongs.
Next day she saw with a kindling eye, A herd of cattle driven by,
A mounted officer in the rear. Our grandmother gazed with list'ning ear
, Then said, "My cows are there! Full well, I know the sound of every bell."
"And I'll have them, too," she cried, nor stopped, For remonstrance vain, but the bars she dropped,
And called her cows by the names they knew, Trusting their gentle memories true.
And her voice rang out like a bugle clear, "Come Cherry, come Whitefoot, come Brindle here,
Come Lineback, come Sukey, Co bos Co." The old cows turned with a joyful low
And came to the bars, but the heifers wild Lowed, and then like a wayward child, Went with the herd.
The officer turned, While high his anger within him burned,
And drew his sword, and above his head He swung the blade, then with loud oaths said: He would cleave her skull! But the gritty dame, Cap-border erect and with eyes aflame,
Cried, "You cowardly Tory, strike if you dare, If you harm my head by a single hair,
You'll pay with your own poor worthless life, I'm Captain Jesse Sawyer's wife."
She then caught a huge oven broom from the ground, (A woman's weapon) as she swung it around,
The officer wheeled, and rode out of sight. Routed and put to a cowardly flight
By a woman's daring, and we this day, Proud of her words and spirit, say,
"All honor to her, our grandmother brave Who helped this glorious land to save."
And pray that the spirit that moved her then, May bless her descendants forever! Amen. __________________
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The H600 Project Genealogy DB
1840 - 1927 (87 years)