LONG JOURNEY
HA YES


WILLIAM L. -
CLEMENTS
LIBRARY
The University of Michigan
2-S-2S-2S--~~~~~~






A.
hung jºurney
T}{E STORY OF OANIEL }{AYES.
PORTLAND, M.E.:
1876.


Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the
year 1876, by
CHARLES W. HAYES,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress.
Hoo COPIF.S.

N. O. T E .
N the following Story of Pioneer Life, for
children, especially those of the lineage of
GEORGE HAYES of Windsor, I have hardly added a
line, certainly not a substantial feature, to the sim-
ple narrative handed down by tradition from the
truthful lips of its hero. This is the only apology I
have to offer for printing it. In Phelps’ “History of
Simsbury,” Hartford, 1845, now, I presume, a rare
book, the “Story of DANIEL HAYEs” may be
found almost exactly as here given, and for many of
its incidents I am indebted to that well-authenti-
cated version of the history.
C. W. H.
Portland, November, 1876.


M LONG JOURNEY.
CHAPTER I.
THE CONNECTICUT VALLEY.
THINK I shall never forget some
| early summer days of last year, spent
in the valley of the Connecticut river.
“You should see this river in June.”
I wonder how many children of this
day remember that piece of advice, or
the book in which it was given. But
the counsel has stuck in my memory
since I first read the “Child's First
Book of History” as a little boy, though
I never had an opportunity of putting it

6 A LONG JOURNEY.
in practice till I was nearly as old as was
Peter Parley when he wrote it.
“Who was Peter Parley 2" asks a
little girl at my side.
In my day a child would as soon have
asked who was George Washington.
I confess I never saw Peter Parley, but
then I never saw George Washington,
and throughout my childhood one was
just as real to me as the other. I never
had a doubt that if I should go to Bos-
ton (which I never did) and take an
early walk on the Common, one of the
first objects which met my eye would be
the kind, gray-haired old man, “a little
lame, and walks with a cane,” as he was
so often described to us, the friend and
companion of all children, and the most
delightful story-teller in the world.
Doubt I had no more doubt about
Peter Parley than I had of Santa Claus,

THE CONNECTICUT. 7
and a boy or girl who don't believe in
Santa Claus might as well be a Trog-
lodyte at once.
But we have not yet got to the Con-
necticut River “in June;” and to tell
the truth, I fear that at this rate we
shall not get there till December.
After all, I am not going to describe
to you either the river or the lovely
scenes through which my journey down
its valley led me ; in the first place, be-
cause I can’t, any more than I could
give you a clear idea of the bright
colours and changing figures of a kal-
eidoscope; and in the next place, because
most of you will sometime see it for
yourselves, and find out how little idea
any description can give you of its nat-
ural beauties.
Besides, the Connecticut River really
has not much to do with my story.

8 A LONG JOURNEY.
Only, as I went along, sometimes on
foot, as in one early morning walk I re-
member particularly, between Montague
and Greenfield ; or again, in a drive one
summer afternoon, with a pleasant party
of friends, along a road bordered on
one side by a high range of wooded
hills, and on the other by the most per-
fect meadow lands, I firmly believe, in
the world, to the quaint, old-time village
of Deerfield, with its houses looking
generally as if they had been sleeping
in the summer sun (and browned by it)
for at least a hundred and fifty years,
its one avenue of grand old elms, spread-
ing out towards the further end like the
letter V, and beyond, what seemed a
lake of emerald green, bordered by the
dark hillsides, and marked with a wavy
line of glittering silver through its cen-
tre (one could hardly believe they were

THE INDIANS. 9
only meadow and stream after all); or
once more, as I went flying along in the
rail-car on the last and sunniest, and
most perfect day of May, past Hadley
and Northampton, Mount Holyoke and
Westfield,—I could not help thinking,
as each new picture of this vale of peace
and loveliness came before my eyes,
bringing back my childish imaginings
of the Garden of Eden, how complete-
ly every scene was interwoven with
memories and traditions of the early pi-
oneer life of New England, and espec-
ially of the numberless struggles for life
with their almost constant foes, the In-
dians of that day and region.
And my story has something to do
with these Indians.
Perhaps there was not one of those
early settlements of Western Massachu-
setts and Connecticut that was not at

IO A LONG JOURNEY.
one time or another attacked, and al-
most desolated by the bitter, unrelent-
ing enemies which the savages had be-
come. For many and many a year, no
family in all that region could go to
their rest with any certainty that their
home would not be in ashes, and them-
selves doomed to death or a dreary cap-
tivity, before the light of another morn-
ing. The day's work in each little ham-
let began, in the more troublous times,
by setting the solitary sentinel, fully
armed, in the little block-house on the
hill, which formed the outpost of the
fort at Old Windsor, or the sufficient
refuge of the few settlers at Simsbury.
I could see just where those early de-
fences against the Indians had stood,
after I had crossed the Connecticut line,
right in the middle of that little square
of land, which, you will see on the

INDIAN WARS. II
map, makes such a curious notch in the
long straight boundary between the two
States.
Were these terrible wars all the fault
of the Indians ? Not at all. When,
here and there, there was a rare time of
peace, there were never truer friends
than they, though they fought, when
they did fight, like savage enemies as
they were. But what made them ene-
mies? First of all, they only followed
the example, and often the solicitations,
of the Christian kings and people of
England and France, who in those days
were perpetually at war with each other,
and fought out their quarrels in the val-
leys of New England as well as on the
continent of Europe. The Indians gen-
erally sided with the French, whom they
liked better than the English, and who
took infinitely more pains to gain their

I 2 A LONG JOURNEY.
good will. And from all the French
settlements throughout what is now
Lower Canada and Eastern Maine, small
parties of Indians went forth with the
promise of a reward from the French for
every English captive or English scalp
they brought home. So, between bribes
on the one hand, and too frequent prov-
ocations on the other, the poor heathen
savages were almost always fighting the
battles of one Christian against another.
When I had left the rail-car on that
last May morning, at the little station
of Granby, and walked along the quiet
country road for a mile or more (without
meeting a living soul) till I had reached
one of the loveliest, sleepiest little old
villages you ever saw or heard of re-
joicing in the name, appropriate a cen-
tury ago, of “Salmon Brook,”—I came
directly upon the scene of one of those

THE BURIAL GROUND. I3
strange adventures which the Indian
tº raids,” as we should call them now,
often brought about in early days. -
First I passed by the house—or the
ruins of it, for it came down some three
or four years ago—which the hero of my
story built for himself in 1720, and in
which some of his descendants now liv-
ing were born. Then, going on through
the broad, elm-shaded street, past the
very old and very neat little “Granby
Hotel” on one side, and the handsome
soldiers' monument of freestone on the
other (about the only modern thing to
be seen), I turned into an ancient burial
ground on the rising ground to the left,
well kept and cared for, but full of old
gravestones bending one way and an-
other, and with so many repetitions of
the same family names as to bring again
to mind the saying I had heard in child-

I4 A LONG JOURNEY.
hood, that all Granby was divided be.
tween two Surnames.
In the very farthest corner of the old
graveyard, and a little apart from every
other, was the memorial I was looking
for ; an upright slab of dark brown free-
stone, deeply worn with the storms of a
hundred and twenty years, but with its
quaint old-style letters still perfectly leg-
ible to a careful reader. The inscrip-
tion was exactly this:

THE HEADSTONE.
I 5
Here lies ye Body
of mr Daniel Hays
Who Served his Gene
ration in a Steady
Course of Probity &
Piety & was a Lover
of Peace & God’s Pub
lick Worship and
being satisfied with
Long Life left this
World with a Comfo
rtable Hope of Life
Eternal Sept 23 1756
In ye 71 year of his Age
I6 A LONG JOURNEY.
My story is about him, and it is a true
story.


C H A PT E R II.
THE CORN HUSKING.
N a pleasant evening, late in the
autumn of the year 1707, a large
and merry party was gathered at a log
farm-house, which stood at the end of
what was called (and is still called, for
that matter) “Salmon Brook street,” in
the town of Simsbury, now Granby, Con-
necticut. It is really a “street” now,
and the only street, if I remember right,
in the little village of the same name.
But in 1707 it must have been little
2

I 8 A LONG JOURNEY.
more than a rough road, through what
had been a few years before an un-
broken forest. Here and there a field
had been cleared of its trees, not of
their stumps, along the road, and near-
est to the little stream which crossed it,
and whose abundance of shad and sal-
mon had given the little place its name
and its attraction for the first inhabitants
—some twenty or more families from
the larger settlement of Windsor. The
salmon of Salmon Brook have been
gone now near a hundred years, and the
brook seems to be fast following them;
and except woods and fields, mountain
and valley, there is hardly anything left
of the primitive hamlet of one hundred
and seventy years ago.
I said the party at the log farm-house
was large and merry. You might not
call it large, perhaps, but it included

THE CORN HUSKING. I9
nearly or quite all the men, women and
children of Salmon Brook, and must
have filled the house to overflowing,
which, to be sure, was not a very difficult
thing to do. And merry certainly it
was, for it was a “corn husking,” a kind
of festival which I fear children of these
days know very little about, in the way,
at least, in which it was observed in old
times. If you should ever see a curious
poem of the last century called “The
Hasty Pudding,” (it is printed, I believe,
in Dr. Griswold's “Poets and Poetry of
America,”) you will find there a lively
sketch of the old-fashioned husking
party of New England, which brought
together friends and neighbours, old and
young, in the long evenings of the au-
tumn, not only to help each other in the
husking of the corn, but to enjoy what
was to them a delightful rest and recre-

2O A LONG JOURNEY.
ation after the hard summer's labour in
the fields.
How many families were gathered un-
der George Hayes' roof that evening, I
cannot say, but if they were all as large
as the household to which it belonged,
the little farm-house must have been
well crowded. There were ten sons and
daughters gathered round the father of
the family, not yet an old man, though
it was more than thirty years since he
had left his home in Scotland to seek
his fortune, first in the hills and vales of
Derbyshire, then in the great capital of
England, and finally in the wilds of the
New World. Whether he had found the
fortune he sought in Windsor or Sal-
mon Brook, I cannot say, but he had
found a good wife and a happy home,
now filled with a family of children, of
which any man might be proud; four

A PIONEER FAMILY. 2 I
sons, the tall, manly Daniel, who had
passed his twenty-first birthday six
months before, George and William, two
sturdy boys of twelve and ten, and the
black-eyed and ruddy-cheeked Samuel
of five: and six daughters, Abigail,
Sarah, Mary, Joanna, Thankful, and
lastly the toddling little Dolly of two
years. Of all these, except Daniel, I
can only tell you here that they grew
up, every one of them, to be heads of
families themselves, worthy to be loved
and honoured, as they were, by children
and grand-children. About sixty years
after this a baby was baptized in the
little church at Salmon Brook, and
named Joanna; around her were her
mother Joanna, her grandmother Joan-
na, and her great-grandmother, the
Joanna who was one of this husking
party as a merry girl of fifteen.

22 A LONG JOURNEY.
But of Daniel, the oldest son, and the
hero of our story, I can tell you some-
thing more. I said just now that he
was tall and manly in form. He was
also renowned for strength and activity,
and no one in the country around could
surpass him in those athletic feats and
out of door sports which were thought
much more of in those days than now.
Even the Indians who came occasionally
into the settlement, were not always
superior to him in the swiftness of foot
and skill in wrestling, on which they
prided themselves. All this, and still
more his happy, generous, loving dispo-
sition, had made him from boyhood a
favourite and something of a hero
among the young men and maidens of
Simsbury, and even of Windsor, and no
doubt helped to carry him through his
“long journey;” but it was something

GOOD NIGHT. 23
more than all these, as you will see, that
makes him our hero, a true courage,
patience, and self-control, making the
best of everything, and doing his best
in everything, without which there is no
real heroism.
The evening passed away quickly and
merrily enough, and by nine o'clock
every guest was gone, for there were
few if any of them who would not have
to be up and at their daily farm-work
before daybreak. So said Mrs. Hol-
combe, one of the last to take leave, as
she stood in the doorway, holding by
the hand her little boy, who evidently
would have preferred to keep up some
time longer his evening's play with the
little Thankful, who in after years be-
came his wife. “I must be earlier at
my milking,” she added, “for the cows
are ever so far away by the Stony Hill
woods.”

24 A LONG JOURNEY.
“Then I shall meet you there early,”
said Daniel, “for my horse has been in
the forest for several days, and I must
find him in the morning.”.
With another good-bye they were
gone, and for some hours the farm-house
was still enough. But it was not a quiet
night after all to Daniel, for some rest-
less spirit seemed to vex his faithful
dog, whose barking every now and then
roused his master from sleep, without
disturbing, as it seemed, any other mem-
ber of the slumbering household. Twice
he went out into the cornfield, suppos-
ing that some stray cattle must have
come about the house; but nothing was
to be seen, and finally, coming to the
conclusion that it must be after all the
dog's imagination (for dogs /ave imag-
ination as well as children, though I
don't think they are so often led astray

THE EARLY MORNING. 25
by it), he managed to sleep at intervals
until near daybreak.
The gray dawn of the morning found
Daniel, bridle in hand, on his way to the
Stony Hill wood, giving his usual cor-
dial and merry greeting to those of his
neighbours who were already astir. In
the last meadow beyond the village he
passed Mrs. Holcombe at her milking,
and a few moments later she saw him
with his light, quick step at the foot of
the lofty hill or ridge (they call it a
mountain there, and I am not sure but
it deserves the name), which separates
Salmon Brook from the valley on the
west, in those days, of course, a deep
and almost unbroken forest. She saw
him turn once more and swing his hat
as if for a last laughing good-bye, then
disappear around the point of the hill,—
and in another instant she saw a sight

26 A LONG JOURNEY.
which filled her with terror. Three
dark forms sprang from the bushes at
the foot of the hill, and in a moment
were lost to sight again at the very spot
where the young man had stood. A
faint sound of the cracking underwood,
a stified cry, and all was still again. It
all passed like a flash of lightning, and
even the terror of the brave pioneer
woman was but momentary. To ap-
proach what she could not doubt to be
the scene of his capture or death by the
Indians, whose savage forms she knew
too well, would be useless, and only
risking a like fate for herself. With all
possible speed she hastened toward the
settlement, and before the sun rose that
morning, many well-armed men of
Simsbury were in the forest in pursuit
of the Indians, or on their way to Wind-
sor for a larger force to help in the

THE SEARCH. 27
search. I need not tell you how readily
that help was given, nor with what ener-
gy and persevering effort the pathless
forest was beaten through. It was not
long before they came upon unmistake-
able traces of the Indian party, showing
even, to their great joy, that the young
man was not killed, but a captive in their
hands. Day after day new marks of
their course were found, but they led to
nothing in the end, and beyond the foot
of “Sodom Mountain,” many miles north
of Simsbury, all trace of the captive
was lost.
Then came weeks, and months, and
years of almost hopeless sorrow to the
household whose joy and pride the lost
one had been. No doubt it made their
grief still harder to bear, that now and
then, for several years, vague rumours
would come from far up the river that

28 A LONG JOURNEY.
he had been seen or heard of, rumours
which were sure to prove good for noth-
ing, and to bring only new disappoint-
ment. For seven years after that Octo-
ber morning, no New Englander set eyes
upon Daniel Hayes, or knew whether
he were alive or dead.

C H A PTE R III.
A THIRTy DAys' MARCH.
ND now I must go on to tell you
the real story of our hero's cap-
ture, and his adventures among the In-
dians, as he himself afterwards told it
to the father and mother, brothers and
sisters, who had long mourned for him
as one dead, and to the children and
grand-children who in after years grew
up around his own fireside. If I had been
making up a story, you see, I should not
have begun by showing you the grave-

3O A LONG JOURNEY.
stone with its inscription telling of his
peaceful death at the good old age of
“threescore and ten.” I should have
left you to wonder at each step in his
“long journey,” whether he was to be
killed by the Indians, or sink under his
fatigues and hardships. But I am tell-
ing you a true story, almost word for
word as it was told by those who heard
it from his own lips; and so you know
already that his journey had a safe and
happy ending, even in this life.
The three Indians had allowed him
just to pass the bushes in which they
were crouching, and then sprung upon
him from behind, so suddenly that he
was deprived of all power to resist or
escape. One of the savages seized him
by the throat, another placed his hand
over his mouth, as an emphatic way of
telling him to keep silence, and the

THE CAPTURE. 3 I
third warned him against resistance by
the tomahawk lifted over his head. It
was all the work of a moment, and done,
as it had been planned, with wonderful
skill and cunning ; and this not only
because such surprises are, as you know,
a favourite plan in Indian warfare, but
because they knew that our hero, with
his great strength and activity, would
prove a formidable enemy even for them,
if they gave him any chance to defend
himself. In fact, they had carefully
watched their opportunity, as they after-
wards told him; they had been lurking
in the neighbourhood of the village for
several days, in hopes of taking some
captive, and so earning the reward
which as I told you, the French in Can-
ada paid them for every English prison-
er brought in. Even for the barbarous
trophy, the scalp, which proved that he
32 A LONG JOURNEY.
was killed, the savages were rewarded;
but a much higher price was given
them if he were brought in alive, be-
cause if he were a person of importance,
that is, of rank or wealth,” a large sum
could be demanded for his ransom. The
corn-husking of the last evening had
drawn them to George Hayes' house,
and as you may suppose, they were the
“cattle in the corn-field” which kept
Daniel's good dog and his master awake.
They had even heard him tell Mrs. Hol-
combe that he was going to Stony Hill
* Some of my young readers may wonder at hear-
ing of “persons of rank” in the early days of New
England. But these distinctions of rank were as
carefully observed in all the colonies as in Old Eng:
land. “Gentleman,” “Esquire,” “Mr.,” were not
terms of empty compliment, but expressed three
fixed degrees of social standing, all of them above
the plain “Goodman,” which was the only title
where any was thought necessary, for the ordinary
settler. The early Colonial Records are full of
curious instances of these distinctions.












MARCHING ON. 33
for his horse the next morning, and laid
their plans accordingly.
With the very bridle Daniel had taken
to secure his horse, the Indians bound
his hands, and thus helpless, he was
hurried on through the forest towards
the north. It was happy for the captive
that he had the strength and activity
to keep up with the Indians, who well
knew that they were sure to be pursued
by his friends, and would have killed
him at any time rather than let him es-
cape; but it was still better for him that
he had the good sense and resolution to
make the best of his hard fate, and to
exert himself to the utmost to go on
with them in their rapid flight.
So they went on, through the long,
long day. Many a time the poor captive
thought he heard the voices or the foot-
steps of his pursuing friends, - the
3

34 A LONG JOURNEY.
friends from whom he was compelled
to flee with all his speed,—and perhaps
he really did hear them; but no help
came, and when the sun had set, and the
darkness came upon them at the foot of
Sodom Mountain, the Indians felt that
their prisoner was secure from pursuit
for that night. They halted, therefore,
for a night's rest; but Daniel had a very
small share of it. The Indians laid him
on his back, and released his arms only
to fasten both hands and feet securely
to two young trees; and not content
with this, they placed across his body
long, slender sticks, on either end of
which one of them lay, so that if he
could even have released his hands,
he could not stir without awakening
them. Such was his bed each night
of his long journey. What sort of rest
he had on it is more than I can tell.

CROSSING THE RIVER, 35
Before dawn the next morning they
were again in rapid motion, and long
before night, passing, I have no doubt,
right over the spot where are now the
busy shops of West Springfield,” they
came to the banks of the Connecticut,
where it makes a great bend to the
west just below South Hadley. Neither
canoe nor raft were at hand, nor would
they have delayed their flight for such
helps, any more than they would have
stopped to build a bridge. Again re-
leasing their prisoner's hands, and keep-
ing him between them, the Indians
patiently waded through the shallow
places, and swam out boldly across the
deep and wide currents between them ;
and as Daniel had no resource but
to do his best in fording and swimming
* On one of those old roads which almost invaria-
bly followed the Indian trails.

36 A LONG JOURNEY.
with them, it was not long before they
were all safely landed on the east side,
and on their way towards Mount Hol-
yoke. At the foot of the great moun-
tain they again encamped, and again the
poor captive was bound to his hard bed
to gain what rest he could after the
weary day.
By this time, however, our hero was
beginning to find out the true value of
the health and strength which God had
given him, and the hardy, active life in
which he had grown. He found that
both in fleetness and endurance he was
more than equal to the best of the In-
dians who were hurrying him on ; and no
doubt he felt now, even like the great
Prophet whose name he bore, that his
God had “shut the lion's mouths” that
they should not hurt him. So he re-
solved, with God's help, that nothing

A FOOT-RACE. 37
should make him despair as long as
there was the least hope of life and free-
dom, however distant and uncertain the
prospect might be.
That very day an incident occurred
which gave him new encouragement,
though his captors meant it for just the
opposite purpose. Finding he could
keep up so well in their flight, they re-
solved to try his swiftness of foot still
further; and so releasing his arms, at a
place where he could not readily get out
of their sight, they pointed to the distant
hills, as much as to say, “Escape if you
can.” Wearied and sore as he was,
Daniel waited for no second signal, but
sprang off like a deer, the Indians chas-
ing him closely. He found almost in-
stantly that he was gaining on them.
He used to say afterwards that “if he
had only had his thoughts about him

38 A LONG JOURNEY.
then, he might have escaped.” But the
thought he did have, no doubt, was that
they would certainly shoot him if they
found him really escaping; and he had
yet too much hope in the future of his
journey to run such a desperate risk.
And so on and on, still to the north,
through deeper and wilder forests, over
loftier mountains, and across ravines and
torrents which seemed impassable, day
after day they followed on, drawing
near, but by a slow, winding, and most
toilsome course, to the borders of Can-
ada. I have often wondered, as I heard
the story, how it was possible for the
captive to endure that “long journey;”
each of its thirty days of toil and priva-
tion followed by a night both of severe
bondage, and of exposure to the chilling
winds of the winter now fast coming on.
What food the forests and rivers fur-

THE CANADA BORDER. 39
nished his captors, they, no doubt,
shared with him ; but it must have been
hard fare at the best. To me, it is one
of the most wonderful things in the
world, how our loving Father in Heaven
“fits the back to the burden;" how He
changes our very bodies from day to
day to adapt them to live on just what
His Providence is going to give us, and
to bear whatever kind of life, however
seemingly strange or hard, He may lead
us through.
A full fortnight had passed since the
last sight of his Connecticut home,
when Daniel saw, for the first time,
some faces besides those of his three
captors. And though they were only
the faces of savage enemies, the inhabi-
tants of an Indian “village” on the
Canada border, I have no doubt even
this change must have seemed a relief

4O A LONG JOURNEY.
for the moment. They halted several
days here, being now very far from any
English settlement, so that the Indians
felt quite secure from pursuit; and some
comparative rest was given to our hero.
His resolute courage, cheerfulness, and
apparent indifference to his fate, had
made the savages admire and re-
spect him after a fashion. No doubt
they thought that one so brave and
patient, as well as strong and active,
might even be worthy to be made an
Indian. And it seems they meant to
make one of him, after they had still
further tried his courage and endurance
in their cruel savage way. At times,
while they halted at the village, the
women and children were encouraged to
irritate and torment him; and one night,
after bearing resolutely for a long time
the teasing of the boys, who were tick-

INDIAN CHILDREN. 4 I
ling his feet as he lay bound before the
fire, his patience gave way, and with a
sudden exertion of strength he released
his feet, and kicked several of his tor-
mentors into the fire. The screams of
the children (who were, after all, more
frightened than hurt), and the uproar
that followed among the savages, men
and women both, left Daniel, for the
moment, no hope of life; but the cries
of “boon boon l’’ (their word for the
French Bom, “good!”) soon relieved
his fears, showing much to his surprise
that they thought his vigorous self-de-
fence and punishment of their children,
rather a good joke.

C H A P T E R IV.
AMONG THE INDIANS.
MONTH had gone by since that
fatal October morning which
made Daniel Hayes a prisoner, and the
first part of his long journey—the “out-
ward bound” part—had come to an end.
He was now in the great encampment
of the tribe to which his captors be-
longed; a sort of village of huts, or
wigwams, as they were called by the
English, grouped with some regularity
around a much larger building in the

THE COUNCIL. 43
centre, in which the Indians held their
tº talks” or councils. In these councils
all the tribe, both men and women, took
part, and were allowed to speak; but
they were conducted, at least among the
Iroquois or Five Nations, with great
order, and on the part of the chiefs with
much dignity of manner and language.
After three or four days of rest, which
even in an Indian hut, was a delightful
contrast to the fatigue and exposure of
the wilderness, Daniel was brought be-
fore the whole tribe, or as many of them
as could be gathered in the council
house. His story was told by his three
captors in their own fashion, and a long
discussion arose as to what should be
done with him. The Indians had no
idea of killing him, and thus losing all
chance of his being ransomed; but
strange as it seems to us, the very cour-

44 A LONG JOURNEY.
age and fortitude he had shown, and for
which they really respected and admired
him, were to them the strongest argu-
ments for subjecting him to new trials.
I have no doubt they thought they were
thus doing him special honour. The
more he could endure at their hands,
the braver and nobler he would prove
himself in their estimation. And so the
final result was that he was to “run the
gauntlet.” If he passed safely through
this trial, far more severe and cruel than
any he had yet undergone, his life was
to be spared for the present.
So the captive was stripped of what
little clothing his journey had left him,
and, oiled from head to foot, according
to their custom, was placed at the head
of two long lines of Indians, old and
young, armed with clubs and other
weapons. Between these he was to run,

RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 45
avoiding as best he could the blows
aimed at him, to a tall post painted in
bright colours at the further end. The
chances of death before reaching it
seemed innumerable to the one of safety
in the distance. Many a poor captive
has given up his hope of life or freedom
rather than run this horrible race. But
Daniel's heart did not fail him. He had
not lost anything of his strength and
speed, nor of his trust in God, who had
saved him thus far from all dangers.
With one earnest prayer for His help,
he ran as he never had before, and
gained a great part of his fearful course
with little harm; but he never reached
its goal. Breathless, faint and dizzy
with the heavy blows which his utmost
efforts could not avoid, he saw, as the
bright colours gleamed near and yet
nearer before his eyes, at the very end

46 A LONG JOURNEY.
of the line a gigantic warrior with up.
raised club to intercept his last hope of
triumph. Quick as thought, and hardly
knowing what he did, he dashed aside,
broke through the line, and fled with
redoubled efforts. The savage cries and
yells of the whole body of Indians in
fierce pursuit resounded in his ears but
for a moment, and then all sight and
sound failed, and he fell headlong to the
ground. -
“What saved him now 2 for he was
saved.” -
You may well ask, my dear children,
for I certainly never could have imag-
ined what really happened. Daniel had
fallen at the entrance of a wigwam be-
longing to an old squaw, the oldest
woman in the tribe, the widow of one of
its chiefs, and the mother of another,
both of whom had fallen in battle. Both

A SQUAW MOTHER. 47
for her great age and her family, she
was held in reverence by the Indians,
and her hut deemed a sacred place ; but
with all this, they could hardly be
brought to give up the captive who had
broken through their cruel customs, but
whom she thought was sent to her by
the “Great Spirit” in place of her son.
And little as the poor heathen knew of
the true God, she was certainly right in
thinking that His guidance had brought
the fugitive to her door, for her good as
well as his. He really became her son,
being “adopted '' by the Indians as one
of their tribe, and for five years from
that time, and till the end of the old
squaw's life, he remained in that place
and condition.
So our hero was saved this time, as
was the famous Captain John Smith of
Virginia, through the good offices of a

48 A LONG JOURNEY.
woman—though a woman as different
from Pocahontas as possible, in every-
thing except the spirit which would res-
cue the Englishman from death at the
risk of her own life. But you must not
suppose that his trials were over, by any
means, or his life an easy one. No
doubt he was treated better, after this,
than were most Indian captives; but
though the savages had adopted him,
they knew very well that nothing would
keep him among them if he once had a
chance to escape. They watched him
closely by day and by night, and would
have killed him at any moment to pre-
vent his getting out of their hands. As
months and years went on, and the hope
of ever seeing his New England home,
and the loved ones it contained, grew
fainter and fainter, it must have been
harder than ever to bear the dreary cap-

WIGWAM LIFE. 49
tivity which bound him as with a heavy
chain. But besides this, you can have
little idea, in your comfortable homes, of
the discomforts and privations of savage
life. It is a very different thing in real-
ity from what many Indian stories
would lead you to think. The wretch-
edness of days and nights with no other
protection from the cold and the storm
than the darkness, smoke and filth of a
wigwam, with no other fare than hardly
half-cleaned and half-cooked food, eaten
without any of the order or even de-
cency which belongs to Christian tables,
and with no other clothing than the
skins of beasts, even though dressed
with savage ingenuity-all these things
would be very hard for any civilized man
to “get used to.” Certainly Daniel
Hayes found it so, strong and well as he
was, and accustomed from childhood to
4.

5O A LONG JOURNEY.
the hardy outdoor life of a pioneer set.
tlement. And with the sense of captiv-
ity, and longing for home, his life seemed
sometimes intolerable. At night he
would awake from wild dreams of fruit-
less efforts to find his home, to form
desperate plans of escaping at all risks,
by killing the Indians by whom he was
watched, and trusting once more to his
strength and fleetness. But their vigi-
lance was unceasing, and a very little
thought was enough to show the hope-
lessness of any such attempt. And so
once more he would resolve by God's
help to keep his patience and cheerful-
ness to the last, though “the iron en-
tered into his soul,” until, as with Jo-
seph, “the time came that his cause
was known,” “the king sent and deliv-
ered him.”
The old squaw who had saved his

FILIAL SERVICE. 5 I
life from the fury of her tribe was well
rewarded by the service of her adopted
son. She was nearly helpless from age
and infirmity, and quite unable to walk,
so that she could not even leave her hut
without Daniel's help. In fact, he did
everything for her—supplied her food,
clothing, and fuel, such as they were,
providing for her as much as for him-
self, and with the kindest attention to
all her wants and even whims. And
though he did in all this no more than a
Christian man's duty, it was very much
to his credit, I think, considering the
wretchedness of his life in many things,
that he persevered to the end in doing
that duty faithfully. The Indians could
not comprehend this, and in their heath-
en ignorance, despised him for taking
such care of an old woman, even one for
whom they themselves had a certain

52 A LONG JOURNEY.
reverence as the widow and mother of
great chiefs, a reverence which, after
all, had not kept them from leaving her
almost to perish from destitution till
Daniel came to her help.
One, and by no means the lightest, of
his tasks, was to drag the old squaw
from place to place through the forests,
on a rude, heavy sled, of Indian con-
trivance, to attend various councils and
festivals, in which she was still interest-
ed, in spite of her age and helplessness.
The restlessness or roving spirit, which
is natural to Indian life, made this duty
a very frequent and irksome one, and
sometimes his strength and patience
were tried to the utmost. On one such
occasion, when he had dragged his load
by the greatest efforts nearly to the top
of a long and steep hill, his foot slipped,
and he fell, losing his hold of the sled,

FIVE YEARS. 53
which, with its occupant, went to the
bottom again much more rapidly than
was safe or agreeable for the poor old
squaw. She was thrown out and severe-
ly injured, and for a time Daniel feared
his own life would be the penalty of this
mishap, which the Indians doubtless
thought “an accident done on purpose.”
But he succeeded finally in convincing
them that he was not to blame, and
from this time, much to his joy, his
Indian mother lost very much of her
fondness for long journeys.
And this is all I can tell you of our
hero's five years among the Indians.
How he got home is another matter.

CHAPTER v.
HOME.
IVE long years—full of hardships
F and privation, with little to enjoy
or to hope for—even these came to an
end at last ; and then something hap-
pened to make a great change in the life
of the captive. This was the visit of a
missionary Priest from Montreal,—one
of many who went out from France to
convert the Indians of Canada to the
Christian faith. Numbers of the savages
were made Christians by them, and re-

THE MISSIONARY. 55
main so to this day; but the mission-
aries could do little with the more distant
tribes, who forgot their presence and
their lessons in the long intervals of
their visits. Even these far-off Indians,
however, held the “black-robes '' in rev-
erence, perhaps in superstitious fear;
and hardly dared, if they had wished, to
refuse the Priest's demand that the En-
glish captive, in whom he had taken a
great interest, should go with him back
to Montreal. They were paid, of course,
for their prisoner, and I think, too, that
his Indian mother must have died about
this time. At any rate, the missionary
gained his end. No doubt he pitied the
young man who had endured that dreary
life so long and so cheerfully, and per-
haps hoped to make him what he would
have called a Christian, that is, a Ro-
manist. So Daniel accompanied him to

56 A LONG JOURNEY.
Montreal, most joyfully, feeling that any
change was better than being bound
down to a savage life.
Can you imagine how he must have
felt, when for the first time in five years,
he passed out of the dark shadows and
repulsive scenes of savage life, into the
streets of a Christian town, and the de-
cent order and quiet of a civilized home 2
I suppose one could not really compre-
hend such a change, without going
through it one's self; and we should
hardly like to have the knowledge at
such a price. I have heard of, and seen
myself, those who, taken captive by the
Indians, had come in time to lose all
the habits and ideas of civilized life, and
all wish to return to it. But our hero
had come to no such wretched state as
this ; and while he thanked God with
all his heart for this lightening of his

A NEW MASTER. 57
captivity, a new hope sprang up that he
might yet see his own home.
The Priest, who had become more and
more interested in the young man as
they travelled together, soon found a
Frenchman glad to purchase him for a
servant or apprentice, and to make him
a good and kind master. Jacques Bon-
homme (so we will call him, but I don't
know his real name, I wish I did),
proved in the end much more than a
kind master, a true friend and bene-
factor. He too soon became so inter-
ested in the captive as to look round for
some employment for him by which he
could earn better wages; and finding
that he understood weaving, as it was
practised at that day (perhaps his father
had learned it in Scotland), he found
means to set him at work, to his own
advantage indeed, but also greatly to

58 A LONG JOURNEY.
Daniel's. For instead of keeping all
his servant's earnings, as he might have
done, Jacques Bonhomme soon allowed
him a fair share of them ; and Daniel
did his best in return, both for himself
and for his master.
Thus two years more passed away,+
two happy years, for though Daniel had
not lost the least bit of his longing for
home, and the ways of living in the
French frontier town of that day were
in many things very different from Eng-
lish and New England ways, still it
was a life of peace and comfort, and
above all, a life of hope. The joyful day
came at last, when he could offer his
master, from the earnings of his own
hands, all, and more than all, which had
been paid for him. If Jacques Bon-
homme had been a thoroughly selfish
man, he would undoubtedly have kept

FREE. 59
Daniel, as he might easily have done,
for a higher ransom. But he was good
and true, and Daniel could hardly be-
lieve the kind words which told him he
was FREE. Grateful as he was for his
master's kindness, he could not be con-
tented to become a Frenchman or a Ro-
manist; and he thought little of the long
days and nights in the wilderness which
lay between himself and his home.
But Jacques Bonhomme did not end
his kind offices here. He was not con-
tented till he found a trusty Indian guide,
who had often traversed the wilds of
Canada and Vermont, and knew, by
that strange and wonderful instinct, as
it seems, which these children of the
forest have, every step of the journey.
And with a good store of such provis-
ions as he could carry best, and with
many adieuw and blessings from his

6o A LONG JOURNEY.
good master, and from many others who
had learned to know and like the manly
young Englishman, he set out on anoth-
er stage of his ſong journey—but how
different from the first Through the
same wilderness indeed, with no other
eonveyance than the same sturdy, active
limbs which had borne him to Canada;
with nearly as many days of exposure
and danger; and yet as unlike his form-
er path as light from darkncss, for he
was free, and going home.
Even that homeward journey we can
hardly comprehend, who, seated in our
“parlour car,” with friends, and books,
and everything to make the short time
pass pleasantly, are borne in a few hours
through every one of the six New Eng-
land States, from Montreal to New
York. Twenty-five days and nights in
the wild woods is hard even to think of,

NOT A DREAM. 6 I
as a real thing ! But I am sure it was
not hard to the freed captive, whose
strong frame had grown hardier in his
forest life, and who had had seven years
in which to look forward to this journey
home.
A clear October morning was dawn-
ing when Daniel was roused from his
short night's rest at the foot of Mount
Holyoke, by his Indian guide, who
pointed in silence towards the South.
Far in the distance a thin wreath of
smoke rose on the blue sky,_the smoke
of the first New England cottage Dan-
iel rubbed his eyes to be sure that he
was indeed awake, and not in another
of the dreams of home which had come
to him so often, and then once more
“kneeled down and gave thanks to his
God as he did aforetime.” His joy was
too great to feel the parting from his

62 A LONG JOURNEY.
faithful guide, who left him here, with
cordial return of his “bon voyage,” and
with a good reward over and above what
he had been promised.
Shall I tell you about his coming to
his father's house in Salmon Brook, and
his meeting again those who had so long
mourned him as one dead, father,
mother, brothers, sisters, every one alive
and well, kept through those seven years
of sorrow to rejoice in his return ? I
cannot, possibly, my dear children; you
can imagine it all just as well as I can.
So, the first great joy over-Daniel
Hayes settled down in his home “to
make up,” as he said, “for lost time,"
by a life of new energy and usefulness.
But a few years from the end of his cap-
tivity, that is, from the autumn of 1714,
found him a prosperous farmer, with
home, and wife, and children of his own;

REDEEMING THE TIME. 63
a man honoured and respected, not only
for the fearful trials he had endured so
manfully, but for all which makes a good
citizen and a good neighbour; for hon-
esty and integrity, for kind words and
deeds, and for love of God's service. In
every good work in and around Salmon
Brook, he was sure to be a leader, and
the people gladly gave him every public
office which he would hold. The house
which I told you he built in 1720 became
the place of worship for the little village,
and was so occupied regularly on Sun-
days for years, until a church was built;
and he himself was called throughout
his life the “pillar" of the “Salmon
Brook Church.”
His capture was the last, I think, ever
made by the Indians in Simsbury. At
any rate the last alarm from them in all
that region was in 1724, ten years after

64 A LONG JOURNEY.
his return ; and then Simsbury sent out
a full company in pursuit.
His children and “children's children”
lived for five generations in the village
where his life was spent, and for three or
four, at least, the oldest son regularly
bore the name of Daniel. But the de-
scendants of George Hayes of Windsor
are now scattered all over the United
States, and a great many children among
them at this day probably never heard
of the “long journey" of his oldest son.
For them, chiefly, I have told once more
the simple story, out of which a skillful
writer might make quite a romance.
And I hope it may help them to honour
the good name which they bear, as those
of past generations have honoured it.

NOTE.
THE FAMILY OF GEORGE HAYES,
OF WINDSOR AND GRANBY.
I ADD the following note on the HAYES family,
more especially for the “children of a larger
growth,” who may be interested in its history.
Aour families of the name of Hayes are given in
Savage's great work, “The Genealogical Dictionary
of New England,” as having settled in New Eng-
land during the seventeenth century. These are,
1. THoMAS HAYES, at Milford, Ct., 1645.
2. NATHANIEL, at Norwalk, Ct., 1652.
3. John, at Dover, N. H., 1680.
4. GEORGE, at Windsor, Ct., 1682.
All these, it is said, are of the same stock, and
from Scotſ,AND.t. The latter is certainly true of
the families of Dover and Windsor.
Both the Dover and Windsor families have long
preserved a tradition in regard to their origin, which
really belongs to the far more distinguished family
of HAY, of Scotland. The story runs thus: “In
the reign of Kenneth III., of Scotland, A. D. 980,
the Danes, who had invaded Scotland, having pre-
vailed at the battle of Luncarty, near Perth, were
pursuing the flying Scots from the field, when a
countryman and his two sons appeared in a narrow
pass, through which the vanquished were hurrying,
and impeded for a moment their flight. “What,’
said the rustic, “had you rather be slaughtered by
your foes than die honourably in the field? Come,
*Vol. II. p. 387.
t Hon. Rutherford B. Hayes.

66 THE HAYES FAMILY
rally, rally ' ' And he headed the fugitives, brand-
ishing the yoke of his plough, and crying out that
help was at hand; the Danes, believing that a fresh
army was falling upon them, fled in confusion, and
the Scots thus recovered the laurels which they had
lost, and freed their country from servitude. The
battle being won, the old man, afterwards known by
the name of HAY, was brought to the king, who, as.
sembling a parliament at Scone, gave to the said
Hay and his sons, as a joint reward for their valour,
as much land on the River Tay, in the district of
Gowrie, as a falcon from a man’s hand flew over till
it settled, which, being six miles in length, was after-
wards callet, ERROL ; and the king, being desirous
to elevate Hay and his sons from their humble rank
in life, assigned them a coat of arms, which was ar-
gent, three escutcheons, gules, to intimate that the
father and two sons had been the three fortunate
shields of Scotland. The stone on which the falcon
lighted is still to be seen in the ‘Carse of Gowrie,
in a small village called Hawkstone.”*
The tradition, however embellished by time and
romance, has, undoubtedly, a foundation in truth;
and the lordly family of Hay have borne, for at least
eight huudred years, not only the “three escutcheons
gules,” but a broken ox-yoke as part of their crest,
two Danes in armour as their supporters (one of them
with a plough-staff, or plough-paddle, as the Scotch
call it), and the apt motto, “RENovaTE ANIMOs."f
There are several versions of the story besides the
above, but all agree that the name “Hay” or
*Burke, “Commoners of Great Britain,” I. 504.
+ Burke. See also the admirable articles on “Heraldry.”
in Miss Yonge’s “Monthly Packet,” Vol. XII., p. 290,
October, 1856. The motto above and a falcon crest are
borne by the Earls of Errol.

OF WINDSOR. 67
* Hayes” came from this incident, some adding that
it was part of the reward of valour; * why, we are
not told, nor what the word originally meant. One
of the best authenticated accounts gives the name of
the hero as john de Zuz.f
If the Hayeses of New England, who have so long
cherished this tradition, have really any claim upon
it, they must, of course, be of the same stock as their
more illustrious countrymen, and their name origi-
mally the same. Some of them claim to have docu-
mentary proof of this identity of origin; but this
proof I have not seen. It is certain, however, that
the surname of the Scotch family of Hay is found in
several different forms. For six generations from
William, to whom King William the Lion granted
the lands of Errol, and who died 1170, the name was
De Haya. In 1451 it first appears as Aſay; and in
the seventeenth century it is given (in the family of
Leys) as Hays. Again, the only English family of
the name of Hayes whose arms are recorded (of Ar-
borfield, Berks) have the “three escutcheons gules”
as the principal bearing, and the falcon crest. § But
among the Scotch arms emblazoned in the Hall at
ABBOTSFORD, are those of Rutherford (family of Sir
Walter Scott's mother) and HAYES, the latter a cross
between four stars, with the falcon crest, and motto,
“RECTE.” ||
GEORGE HAYES, the common ancestor of the
Windsor and Simsbury (or Granby) family, was
born in Scotland, somewhere about rô50; went from
º” by Geo. W. Noyes, in “Trowbridge Family,” 1872,
tº Heraldry,” in “Monthly Packet,” XII. 290
Burke, “Commoners,” I. 504-5.
§ Burke, “ Peerage,” 1847.
Copied by H. S. Noyes (g, s. Rutherford Hayes I.) at
Abbotsford, 1856. -

68 THE HAYES FAMILY
his home, about 1675, to Derbyshire, where, it is
said, he had an uncle, with whom he lived for a
time; * thence to London, to see the great capital,
and there, hearing of the new “land of promise ’’ in
the western world, embarked for New England.
He is first known at Windsor in 1682. He is said
to have married, several years earlier, his first wife,
SARAH (whose surname is illegible on the Windsor
record), and to have had by her three children; but
only one is recorded, George, born in Windsor, March
26, and died, April 3, 1683. His first wife died
Mar. 27, 1683, and he married, second, Aug. 29,
1683, ABIGAIL DIBBLE or DIBOL (as on early tomb-
stones), í daughter of Samuel (fourth son of Thomas,
from Dorchester, Mass.), born in Windsor, Jan. 19,
1666. Soon after 1697 he removed to Simsbury (the
part of the town now Granby), where he was taxed
in 17oo and afterwards, and is enrolled as freeman
from about that date. § He died there before 1734,
probably near 1730.
By his second wife he had ten children, four sons
and six daughters:
1. Abigail, b. Windsor, Aug. 31, 1684.
2. Daniel, b. -- April 26, 1686.
* Q. …
sº ſº
5. joanna, b. … Oct. 2, 1692.
6. George, b. -- March 9, 1695.
7. William, b. -- June 13, 1697.
*Ezekiel Hayes, of New Haven, great-grandson of
George, quoted in “Trowbrtdge Family;” p. 72, and “Life
of R. B. Hayes,” by W. D. Howells, p. 1.
+ Culien Hayes, of Granby, 1875.
# At Granby (Salmon Brook).
§ Phelps' Hist. Simsbury. Stiles, Ancient Windsor, 663.

OF WINDSOR. 69
8. i. . Simsbury, 6
. Thankful, b. -- 1699 to 1705.
order. 3. Dorothy, b. … 9 - 5
All these ten children of George Hayes married,
and the four sons, and probably all the daughters,
left families. The names of the ten, with the daugh-
ters' husbands, and signatures of all except Daniel,
are given in two deeds recorded in Simsbury; in
one of which, dated 1734 (March 22), the subscrib-
ers call themselves “brethren of Daniel Hayes,” tº
whom they convey a certain parcel of land in Sal-
mon Brook Street, next the house which Daniel
built in 1720. In the other they mention “our hon-
oured father, George Hayes,” then apparently de-
ceased. The six daughters married as follows:
ABIGAIL m. Paul Zomżins.
SARAH m. John Gosard (s. Nich, and Eliz.), b.
Windsor, 1682.
MARY m. William Rice. -
oANNA m. James Hil/yer, of Simsbury (s. James
(s. John) Hillyer and Mary Wakefield, widow of
Ebenezer Dibble), b. Windsor, Jan. 28, 1679, d.
after 1760. (See above, p. 21.)
THANKFUL m., Granby, Oct. 9, 1717, Nathaniel
Holcombe III., s. Nath. II. (s. Nath. I., s. Thos.,
from Dorchester, Eng., 1630) and Martha (dau.
Peter) Bue//, of Windsor.
DoRothy m. her cousin, Abraham ZXióðle (3d s. of
Thos. (and g. s. of Thos., of Dorchester) by his sec-
ond wife, Mary 7%acker), b. May 15, 1684.”
Of the four sons:
I, DANIEL, whose “Story” is told in the pre-
ceding pages, m. I, c. 1715, – — (name un-
known to me), and 2, Westfield, Mass, in 1723,
*Cullen Hayes, Stiles, Phelps.

70 THE HAYES FAMILY
SARAH LEE (prob, dau. of John (s. Walter) Lee
and Elizabeth Crampton, of Westfield), b. Westfield,
April 24, 1692, d. after 1735. He died at Salmon
Brook, Sept. 23, 1756. (See above, p. 15.)
By 1st mar, he had one son: Daniel II., b. Granby,
Dec. 27, 1716. By 20 mar. 3 s. 3 dau. : Ezekiel (b.
Granby, Oct. 21, 1724), Martha (Nov. 8, 1726), Joel,
(Oct. 2, 1728), Sabina (Nov. 11, 1731), Aaron
(Sept. 6, 1733), Zilpah, (Aug. 25, 1735).
A very brief notice of some of these is all the lim-
its of this sketch allow.
I. DANIEL II. m. ABIGAIL HAYEs, dau. of his
uncle Samuel I., and d. 1786. His s. DANIEL III.,
b. c. 1745 (m. Mary (dau. Thos.) Holcombe, b.
1753), and g. s. DANIEL IV., b. 1775, d. Aug. 18,
1859 (m. Desiah —, b. 1782, d. Dec. 15, 1853),
both lived in Granby.
2. EzekiEL (“Capt.”), the 2d s., removed to New
Haven, was a prominent citizen and large proprietor,
d. Oct. 17, 1807, aet. 83; m. 1, Dec. 26, 1749, RE-
BECCA RUSSELL (dau. of John of Branford (s. Rev.
Samuel of Deerfield, s. Rev. John of Hadley, s.
John of Cambridge, 1636), Dea., Col., Judge, Speak-
er of Assembly, and Sarah Zºrowbridge (dau. Thos.
(s. Thos. and Sarah Ā’utherford) and Mary Wins-
ton) of New Haven), b. Feb. 6, 1723, d. May 27,
1773. E. H. m. 2, May 5, 1774, Abigail, wid. John
Brown, of New Haven. By 1st mar. 2 s. 4 dau,
Rebecca (b. 1750), Ezekiel (b. 1753), Rutherford
(bap. Aug. 1, 1756), Sarah, Mary (b. 1761), Abigail
(b. 1764). By 20 mar, Abigail, Billy, Elizabeth,
Martha. Of the sons,
(1.) EZEKIEL II., of New Haven, “scythe-maker,”
d. Oct. 20, 1828; m. I, c. 1775, MARY HEMINGWAY
(1756–99); m: 2, 1800, WEALTHY TRow BRIDGE,
dau. Rutherford, and wid. Sam’l Barnes; m. 3, 1822
-

OF WINDSOR. 7I
REBEccA, wid. Archibald Rice. By 1st mar. 3 s. 8
dau, Mary, Sarah, Rebekah, Ezekiel, Lucretia, John,
Harriet (m. Henry Trowbridge of New Haven),
Nancy (m. Roswell Trowbridge), James Russell, Re-
becca Russell, and Mary Rebecca. By 20 mar, 2 s.,
Ezekiel Russell, and Samuel.
(2) RUTHERFoRD removed to Brattleboro, Vt.,
and there was Ensign of N. Y. S. Troops, 1782, and
had grant of land in New York for services and
losses by New Hampshire settlers; m. CHLor
SMITH, dau. Israel Smith, of Thetford, Justice, Rep-
resentative, etc., a man of high standing, and promi-
ment in the New York and New Hampshire contro-
versy in Vermont. They had 2 s. 5 dau, Mary (m.
Hon. John Noyes of Putney), Belinda (m. 1, John
Pease, 2, Samuel Elliot), Russell (Brattleboro),
Rutherford (II.), Clarissa (m. Azor Moody), Sarah
(m. Dyer Bancroft), and Abigail. The 2d son,
RUTHERFoRD II., m. 1817, SoPHIA BIRCHARD, of
Brattleboro, a descendant of Thomas, of Hartford
and Saybrook, 1635, and their 2d and only surviving
son is RUTHERFoRD BIRCHARD HAYEs, b. Dela-
ware, O., Oct. 4, 1822, Kenyon College, 1842, L.L. B.,
Harvard, 1845, Governor of Ohio, 1871–5.
Rutherford II. d. Delaware, O., 1822. -
3. JoEL, 3ds. Daniel I., Lieut. in the army of the
Revolution, d. May 27, 1800, leaving a s. CALVIN,
probably others. HoRACE and CURTIs Hayes, of
New York, are s. of Calvin.
II. GEORGE (II.), 2d son of George Hayes, m.
and left 2 s., JonATHAN, who removed to Rupert,
Vt, and left descendants unknown to me, except a
g, S., the Rev. PHILANDEE PERRY, of New York;
and BENJAMIN, who m. his cousin Rosa NNA, dau.
Samuel Hayes II., and had THADDEUs, ALPHEUs,
ELIZUR, and ALICE. Thaddeus and Alpheus m.

72 THE HAYES FAMILY
Eunice and Elizabeth Higley, of Granby, and left
descendants there.
III. WILLIAM, 3d S. of George Hayes I., m.
and left descendants entirely unknown to me.
IV. SAMUEL, the youngest son, m. c. 1729,
Lydi A WILCox (dau. of Samuel, s. “Sergt. Samu.
el,” of Meadow Plain, Simsbury, s. of William, of
Hartford, from London, c. 1635) or WILCoxson, as
the name appears in early records. They had 4 s.,
Samuel, Asahel, Andrew, and Silas, and 5 dau, Dor-
cas, Abigail, Elizabeth, Sarah, and Susanna. Of the
dau, DoRCAS m. her cousin Ephraim //o/combe, s.
Nath. III. and Thankful (Hayes), b. 1721. ABIGAIL
m. her cousin Daniel Hayes II., above. ELIZABETH
m. Joseph Gilleſt, of Granby, and left many descend-
ants there. SUSANNA. m. Reuben //o/combe, s. Da-
vid (a brother of Nath. III.) and Mehitabel Botolph,
of Granby. Dr. Wm. F. Holcombe, of New York,
the genealogist of the Holcombe family, is their g.
g. s. Of the sons,
1. SAMUEL II. (“Capt.” and “Dea.”), b. c. 1730,
d. Granby, Dec. 25, 1801 ; Representative, Select.
man, etc., a prominent citizen, of high character and
much respected; renowned in his day for strength
and athletic feats; m. c. 1750, Rosa NNA Holcombe,
dau. Judah (3d s. Nath. II. (s. Nath. I. and Mary,
dau. Nath. Bliss and Catharine (dau. Samuel and
Cicely) Chapin) and Martha Buel/) and Hannah
Botolph, b. Jan. 24, 1732, d. 1814. They had 7 s. 3
dau, Rosanna (b. c. º Seth (1753), Samuel III.
Levi, Pliny (June 6, 1766), Simeon (Feb. 17, 1768),
Joseph, Martin, Theodosia, and Temperance.
2. As AHEL m. MARTHA Holcom BE, dau. David
(2d s. Nath. II., and bro. of Nath. III. and Judah,
above) and Mehitabel Boffo/// (sister of Hannah,
above). Descendants not known to me. -

OF WINDSOR. 73
4. SILAs (“Capt.”) m. HANNAH Holcom BE, dau.
Judah, and sister of Rosanna, above, b. 1738, d. Jan.
23, 1823. He d. April 1, 1801. I have no record
of his descendants.
Of the three daus, of Samuel II., Rosa NNA. m. her
cousin BENJAMIN HAYEs, above; THEODoSIA m.
Gen. CHAUNCY PETTIBONE, of Granby; and TEM-
per ANCE m. LUTHER Foote, of Norfolk, Ct. All
left descendants. Of the sons,
(I.) SETH m. MEHITABEL TopPING, dau. Dr. Jo-
siah (Y. C. 1749), of Granby, b. Feb. 2, 1762, d. Oct.
13, 1846. He d. Jan. 23, 1839. Of their 6 children,
–Hilpah, Melissa, Mehitabel, Seth, Cullen, and
Ansel,-the only surviving son, CULLEN HAYES (b.
1794), of Bushy Hill, Granby, has done very much
to gather and preserve the history of the family.
(2.) SAMUEL III. m. ANNA PETTIBONE, removed
to Prattsburgh, N. Y., and there died. Children,
Cephas, Samuel, Kasson, Guernsey, Sarah, Nancy.
(3.) LEV1 m. RUHAMA PARSONs, and removed to
Granville, O. Children, Levi Loring, Orlin Parsons,
Ruhama, Rosanna, Byron.
(4.) PLINY m., Lyme, Nov. 14, 1787, LUCRETIA
JEWETT, dau. Joseph Jewett” and Lucretia
*Joseph JEWETT I., from Rowley, Yorkshire, º to
Dorchester and Rowley, Mass., 1638, Representative 1651–
60, d. 1661, m. 2, 1653, Anne, wid. Bezoan Allen, of Boston
(a noted merchant), and had 1s., Joseph II., b. 1656, who
m. Mary Hibbert (dau. Robert II., s. Robert I., of Salem).
Hiss. NATHAN, b. 1706, d. 1762, m. 1729, Deborah Lord,
dau, Lieut. Richard (s. William, s. Thos. of Hartford, from
London, 1635) and Elizabeth Hyde, dau. Samuel (s. Wil-
Ilam of Norwich, from England, 1633) and Jane Lee (dau.
Thos, from º: 1641), b. 1698, d. 1777. (“Madam
Hyde,” Deborah Lord’s mother, b. Norwich, 1660, 1st white
child, d. 1736. Richard Lord, her husband, was b. 1647, d.
1727, at Lyme.) Joseph JEWETT III., 1st s of Nathan
and Deborah, b. 1732, Capt. in Col. Huntington's Conn.
Regt, was k, in battle of Long Island, Aug. 31, 1776.

74 THE HAYES FAMILY
ROGERs, * of Lyme, b. April 24, 1767, d. Livonia, N.
Y., May 15, 1843. He removed, 1798, to Prattsburgh,
thence to Bristol, N. Y., and there d. Aug. 2,
1831. Children, Pliny II. (b. Dec. 5, 1788), Laura
(1790), Henry (1792), Emma Lucretia (1794), Har-
old (1796, father of Richmond, M. D., of Bloomfield,
and Pliny H., M. D., of Binghamton, N.Y.), Gunil.
da (1799), Mumford (1801), Hector (1804), Guy
(1806), Elizabeth Adelaide (1809). - -
(5.) SIMEON m. 1, 1790, ELIZABETH Holley,
dau. Rev. Israel of Granby, b. 1770, d. Sept. 6, 1801,
by whom he had Betsey Maria (b. 1794), Emily
*The Rev. John RogFRs, Rector of Dedham, Eng. (a
relative, but probably not descendant of the famous º
bendary and Martyr, d. g. v. Savage, and Chester's Memo-
rial), b. England, 1571, d. 1636, m. Elizabeth Gold. His 2d
s., the Rev. NATHANIEL, b. England, 1598, d. 1655, Rector
of Bocking and Assington, Eng., came to Boston and Ip-
swich, Mass., 1636, and was minister of Ipswich till his
death; m. Margaret, dau. Robert Crane, Gent., and Mary
Sparhawk, of Coggeshall, Essex, who d. 1656. Nathaniel's
5th s., EZEKIEL, b. 1640, d. 1674, H. U., 1659, m, 1662-3,
Margaret, dau. Wm. and Judith Hubbard gº 1635),
and wid. Thos. Scott, of Ipswich, d. 1678. Their 4th s.
(Capt.) EzRKIEL II., b. 1667, d. 1707, m. 1694, Lois Ivory,
dau. Thos. II. (s. Thos. I. and Anne of Lynn, from Eng-
land, 1638) and Mary Davis, and widow Samuel Bly,
1661, d. 171-. Their 2d s., (Dr.) THEoPHILUs Rogers, a
distinguished physician and citizen of Norwich, Ct., b. 1699,
1758, m. 1720, Elizabeth Hyde II. (niece of E. H. I.,
above), dau. of Wm. Hyde II, and Ann Bushnell, b. 1700,
d. 1753. (Ann Bushnell, b. 1674, was 1st dau. of Rich. II.
(s. Rich. I. and Mary, dau. Matthew and Elizabeth Marvyn)
and Elizabeth, dan. Thos. Adgate.) LUCRETIA, 4th dau.
of Dr. Theophilus Rogers, b. Norwich, May 4, 1740, m. her
second cousin, Capt. Joseph Jewett, May 1, 1758, and sur-
vived him nearly sixty years. In 1782 she m. 2, Capt. Ab-
ner Lee (also her second cousin), and d. at Lyme, Jan. 18,
1836, aet. neariy 96. Her sight and mental faculties re-
mained perfect to the last.

OF WINDSOR. 75
(1796), Simeon (1891). He m. 2, 1801, ELIZABETH
GILBERT (d. Buffalo, N. Y., 187-), and had George
(b. 1803, d. inf), George Edward (b. Nov. 7, 1894,
eminent for many years in dental surgery, at Buffalo,
N. Y.), Willis Gilbert (1807), Joseph Byron (1809,
father of Byron, M. D., of Canandaigua, N. Y.),
Henry Osmond (1815). He res. at Prattsburgh,
N. Y.
(6.) Joseph m. CLARISSA G.ILLETT, of Granby,
removed to Ohio, had Mary, William, Priscilla, and
Pliny.
º MARTIN m. MARY CAMP, and removed to
Erie, Pa. Children, Leicester, Alson, Martin, Mi-
randa, Roxa.
PLINY HAYES II., 1st s. Pliny I., b. 1788, teacher
1806, printer at Utica, New York, Philadelphia, and
Boston, 1807–11, studied medicine under Dr. John
C. Warren, of Boston, whose assistant he became ;
Acting Ass’t Surgeon, U. S. N., on the cruise of the
Constitution and Hornet, 1812–13; M. D. Harvard,
1815; practised in Boston, member of a number of
medical and literary societies there, and President
of several; removed, 1818, to Canandaigua, N. Y.,
there attained the first standing in medicine and sur-
gery (founding the first medical school in Western
New York), natural science (designing and building
the first railroad in New York, 1827), and music (a
self-taught organist, composer, and instructor, found-
er of the first Sacred Music Society in Western New
York); d. New York, July 28, 1831, aet. 42. He m.
Dec. 19, 1822, ELIZA Stout WELLs (dau. Richard
Wells, M. D., and Miriam Hayden, of Canandaigua),
b. 1800, d. Nov. 4, 1831. They left 2 s., Charles
Wells, b. Mar. 19, 1828, and Robert Pliny, b. Feb.
25, 1831.

76 THE HAYES FAMILY.
The foregoing note includes, of course, but a small
part even of such family records as have come into
my hands, and leaves wholly untouched a much
larger portion, unknown to me, which I hope some
member of the family may yet gather up and put in
fitting and permanent shape.






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J" Hayes Chartes tve16
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