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 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE. 
 
 The Passing of the Stall =fed Ox and the Farm Boy. 
 
 BY GEORGE SHELDON. 
 
 [Read at the annual meeting of the Pocumtuck Valley Memorial Association at Deerfiekl, Feb. 2:2, 1898.] 
 
 In giving this paper a title I have fol- 
 lowed the Wizard of the North so far 
 as to say '"Tis sixty years since," but 
 for obvious reasons I shall follow him 
 no farther. Instead of his poetic and ro- 
 mantic flights of imagination, I shall 
 perforce abide in the region of the most 
 prosaic and every-day prose. 
 
 I may be presumptuous, but my ob- 
 servation has led me to believe that peo- 
 ple nowadays are interested in the small" 
 est details of local customs and local oc- 
 cupations which have gone into the do- 
 main of history. In the sketch of the 
 artist, while the period may be selected 
 at will, the objects presented in the fore- 
 ground, the middle and the extreme dis- 
 tance must all be on a contemporaneous 
 plane, or the composition lacks harmony. 
 The same is true of an historical sketch, 
 but in a lesser degree, and while my 
 middle ground may be sixty years since, 
 and the perspective show considerable 
 variation, I trust harmony will be pre- 
 served, while the principal features of 
 one of the lost arts of Deerfield are given 
 in detail. 
 
 Among all the industries of our town 
 none has been, more productive or made 
 her more famous than stall-feeding oxen 
 for the Boston and New York markets. 
 In this business Deerfield had rivals in 
 a few down-river towns, but no beef 
 brought higher prices on the foot than 
 that driven from the barnyards of old 
 Deerfield Street. In my boyhood every 
 
 farmer was engaged in that calling and 
 the capacious barns and sheds still re- 
 maining testify to their generous equip- 
 ments for conducting the business. 
 
 Stall feeding- in Deerfield began at a 
 very early period and flourished until 
 the advent of railroads. These brought 
 Western competition and ruin to the 
 business in the East. Railroads were 
 bread and meat to the Buckeye, the 
 Sucker and the Hoosier, but poison to 
 the Yankee farmer. In vain the sweat 
 of our brows and the acquired skill of 
 generations, when pitted against the 
 virgin soil of the broad prairies, with 
 limitless reaches of pasturage and land 
 which needed only to be tickled with a 
 plow to laugh corn and oats. The West- 
 erners soon undersold us in our own 
 markets. With the great meat staples 
 to be had almost for the asking and the 
 iron horse feeding on fire and water at 
 command, the unequal contest was a 
 short one — the king of the valley was 
 dethroned. 
 
 In early days it was an unheard of 
 thing for oxen to be "sent to market" 
 which had not been through a course of 
 stall feeding in someof the valley towns. 
 In the fall of each year the feeders 
 scoured the hill towns on the west and 
 north and picked up the best speciments 
 of oxhood to be found in the rich pas- 
 tures or under the easy yokes of the farm- 
 ers who reared them for their own needs 
 and ultimately for a market in the valley 
 
The Root of the Whole Matter. 
 
 towns. To the care and comfort of these 
 the winter was devoted, and our farmers 
 grew rich — as riches were then counted 
 — in the process. Stall feeding grew to 
 be an exact science, or perhaps one of 
 the fine arts. Being practically a thing 
 of the past, it will be assumed that a 
 particular description of its more salient 
 features may be of interest; at best. 
 however, it must seem dry and com- 
 monplace, for it is not possible to infuse 
 my notes with the all-pervading spirit of 
 the times. 
 
 I have said that the winter was de- 
 voted to the care of the stock. This 
 word was used advisedly and it ex- 
 presses the fact. It was a devotion al- 
 most akin to worship. Nothing was al- 
 lowed to interfere with the regvilar pro- 
 gramme of the day. It was a cardinal 
 doctrine of the feeders tliat the more 
 comfortable and happy the animals were 
 made the better the results. Nothing 
 could be more ti'ue, and would that this 
 fact were better understood by those 
 now having the care of domestic ani- 
 inals. In this, humanity and profit are 
 in full accord. 
 
 Leaving generalities we will now go 
 to the root of the whole matter. One 
 spring when hard times had ruled and 
 tlie season had been an unprofitable one 
 for feeders, the Hatfield farmer de- 
 clared: "Well! all I have got to show 
 for my year's work is a swearing pile of 
 naanure!" Now, whatever the feeders 
 got or failed to get, tliey always got 
 that — a barnyard knee deep with drop- 
 pings and litter, and solid pyramids of 
 excremental matter under the stable 
 windows which were the prime requisites 
 for raising Indian corn and peas-and- 
 oats. These were the deposits upon 
 which the farmers drew for future opera- 
 tions, and these grains, mixed half and 
 half, and called provender, were the 
 staple feed for fattening oxen. The win- 
 ter opened with the cornhouse stuffed to 
 overflowing — one big bay in the barn 
 filled to the peak with hay and the other 
 crammed with "peas'noats" in the straw. 
 
 The latter crop , peas and oats , sown broad- 
 cast together and cut with the scythe, 
 was very bulky and stringent measures 
 were necessary to * 'tread down the mow" 
 within a reasonable compass. Man 
 power and horse power were both used. 
 As a boy I have been many a time up to 
 tlie ' "greatbeams" on horse back in the op- 
 ei'ation. This was fun for the boy, but a 
 hard road to travel for the beast who 
 would be half buried in the straw. 
 
 There were no power-threshing ma- 
 chines, or coi'n-shellers sixty years since. 
 All this grain, and the rye for the fam- 
 ily bread was pounded out by the flail 
 in the strong liands of the farmer dur- 
 ing the intervals not occupied in car- 
 ing for the stock. The "peas'noats" 
 straw in the bulk, softened down by 
 the flail, and the rye straw in the bun- 
 dle was stored in the lofts of the cattle 
 sheds, to be dealt out by the boys, as 
 we shall see. The cobs from the corn- 
 house were cax'ried in baskets to the cob 
 bin, which was usually in the chamber 
 over the kitchen. From this reservoir, 
 it was one of the after school chores of 
 the boys to carry great basketfuls for 
 evening use in the big fire-place of the 
 kitchen, which was always the center of 
 the family circle. After a generous pile 
 of cobs had been poured out in front of 
 the forestick, the children were never 
 tired of waiting and watching for the 
 crisis when the smoking mass would 
 finally flash into a sudden blaze, each 
 event a new surprise and delight. 
 
 Fanning up "peas'noats" was a dis- 
 agreeable process even to the dust-laden 
 thresher, and the pile shoved up to one 
 side of the barn floor was allowed to ac- 
 cumulate until there was a brisk wind 
 from the right quarter to carry off the 
 chaff and dust, or until the provender 
 bins grew lean and like Oliver called for 
 more. In either case the "peas'noats" 
 were duly fanned and taken in two-bushel 
 bags to the cornhouse. The corncobs 
 now bare and broken into small pieces 
 under the persistent flail were raked out 
 from the golden grain and the cereals 
 
Getting into Winter Quarters. 
 
 carefully mixed. Half a bushel of corn 
 was spread on the floor and a half bushel 
 of "peas'noats" spread over it, and the 
 process was repeated until the pile grew 
 to be a grist. The constituents were 
 then still further mixetl by shoveling over 
 the mass from side to side and then into 
 the half bushel measure; from this it was 
 poured into the home-made meal bag of 
 linen or tow, two bushels to eacli. A 
 grist was five or six bags for the cutter, or 
 from twenty-five to fifty for the ox sled, 
 and the morethriftythe farmer the better 
 stocked in advance were the capacious 
 provender bins. The grist was carried 
 to the Meadow mill two miles away, 
 where every day the busy stones con- 
 verted hundreds of bushels of this mix- 
 ture into provender. The miller was 
 held to a strict account to keep his mill- 
 stones sharp and so adjusted that the 
 provender should come out in exactly 
 the right condition for easy digestion, 
 not too coarse and not too fine. This 
 condition was determined by the trained 
 ear of the nriller noting the pitch of the 
 groaning mill-stones, or the feel by the 
 ti-ained fingers of the hot stream of meal 
 spurting from the spout, and woe to the 
 miller if the oats were not well cut, or, 
 on the other hand, the corn was ground 
 into flour. 
 
 We see that the winter was not, as the 
 poets sing, altogether a holiday time to 
 the Deerfield farmers, especiallj^ when 
 we add to the barn work the felling, 
 hauling and preparing fuel fire of 
 twenty or thirty cords of firewood 
 each season. In all matters here treated 
 I know whereof I affirm, being in them 
 and of them. 
 
 In November the oxen purchased of 
 the hill farmers were brought in small 
 lots, or pair by pair as most convenient, 
 from ten, twenty or even forty miles 
 away. In due time came an operation 
 which required all the skill and patience 
 available. Oxen differ as much in dis- 
 position and temper as men; handling 
 them in ignorance of their character, 
 while under the excitement of their new 
 
 surroundings would be dangerous and 
 might be fatal. Hence the ability to 
 discern their moods on short acquaint- 
 ance was a prime requisite, and farm 
 boys were early put to school in this 
 study, for such knowledge came only 
 with years of close observation. This 
 operation was the arrangement of the 
 miscellaneous herd into the necessary 
 harmonious relations for their winter 
 quarters. This proceeding was not un- 
 aptly called by "Uncle Ralph." "seating 
 the meetinghouse." It may not be 
 known to all that in every lierd of 'horned 
 cattle, whether it be large or small, there 
 is always an absolute grading of rank for 
 each member. With them might makes 
 right, brute force being the only law. 
 The rank is based on strength or skill — 
 in short on the fighting qualities of each. 
 The leader is an absolute monarch. His 
 right once established none dare to dis- 
 pute. The second in rank is the one that 
 ■•beats" all below the chief and so down 
 to the weakest which must humbly 
 make way for all the others. The mon- 
 arch is often a despot; that depends 
 upon his character. In any event if he 
 have occasion, or makes one, to cross the 
 barnyard he takes a bee line regardless 
 how many of his felloAvs may be in his 
 path; the others do the same so far as 
 their rank warrants. The element of 
 coiirtesy seems to be entirely wanting. 
 We must, however, except from this 
 charge the relation of yoke-fellows to- 
 wards each other where this quality is 
 often very prominent. Mated when 
 young they are thenceforth, whether in 
 labor or leisure, under the yoke or taking 
 their food, literally always together, and 
 they usually feel and show a strong at- 
 tachment for each other. This latter 
 fact was always noted by the judicious 
 feeder when preparing for winter quar- 
 ters. 
 
 For a stable of ten stalls, five pairs of 
 cattle are selected and turned loose in 
 the barnyard. As strangers, the ques- 
 tion of rank must be settled at the first 
 meeting and lively times follow. Everj-^ 
 
Battling for Rank. 
 
 battle is watched with interest by the 
 owner. For the comfort of the oxen it 
 was desirable that mates should always 
 stand side by side in the stalls. When 
 one ox has prevailed in every encounter 
 and so settled his place as ruler, it was 
 best that his companion should beat all 
 the other eight that the pair be not sep- 
 arated, and when he had locked horns 
 with a rival for the second place, a little 
 judicious urging of the mate to his as- 
 sistance, or a sly divei'sion on the flank 
 or rear of the rival with a pitchfork, al- 
 ways in hand, usually made it seem ex- 
 pedient for the latter to retire from the 
 combat and give up beaten. A victorj^ 
 gained the first day, albeit sometimes in 
 this questionable manner, was rarely 
 again contested. This process continued 
 until the rank of each ox was established 
 and noted. It was generally a lively 
 time for the man as well as for the beast, 
 since two or three contests might be in 
 progress at the same time. Occasional- 
 ly some more intelligent animal having 
 faith in his own prowess, and realiz- 
 ing that he had been unfairly beaten, 
 would rise above the demoralizing effect 
 of defeat, watch an opportunitj^ when 
 his victor had nothing but his own pluck 
 and muscle to back him, and challenge 
 him to another combat. From the re- 
 sult of this contest there was never any 
 appeal. 
 
 The necessity of ascertaining the rank 
 of each ox will appear when the usual 
 manner of fastening them in the stalls 
 is understood. The stalls were about 
 three feet wide, separated only by studs 
 on the stable side of the manger. The 
 studs were boarded up some two and a- 
 half feet, and above at the height of the 
 oxen's neck, was pinned a stout manger- 
 pole running the whole length of the 
 stable, to keep the animals from step- 
 ping into the manger. The manger had 
 no partitions. Each ox was fastened by 
 a strong rope about his horns to the stud 
 next above him. He thus had liberty 
 to move his head freely in every direc- 
 tion but one; he could not reach the ox 
 
 below him and dared not molest the one 
 above him. It was no easy task, nor 
 one devoid of danger to break these ten 
 animals into their new quarters. They 
 were stra^ngers in a strange place, and 
 the stalls and the fastenings were en- 
 tirely different from those to which they 
 had been accustomed. One by one, the 
 autocrat first, the ten were inducted in- 
 to their respective stalls by such kind of 
 handling as their character seemed to 
 call for, the essential thing being to in- 
 spire them with confidence in their new 
 masters, and in their new surroundings. 
 By gentleness and patience each was at 
 length tied up in his own place, and the 
 "meeting-house was seated." Had the 
 dispositions of the new comers been as 
 well known as afterwards, the task 
 would have been mucli simpler. It be- 
 came easier at each repetition, and pei'- 
 haps within a week all trouble was over. 
 In a short time each ox knew his own 
 stall, and would pass by all the tempt- 
 ing fodder lying by his path to it, well 
 knowing when he would find his own 
 awaiting him. 
 
 As a rule mates were so courteous to 
 each other that it was often impossible 
 to find out which beat; but this kindness 
 could not be presumed upon when ar- 
 ranging them in the stalls; something 
 might occur to arouse the temper of the 
 ruler, when if misplaced, trouble would 
 follow; the buyer, therefore, always 
 asked the seller, '"which beats?" unless it 
 was apparent. 
 
 Attacks of home-sickness were not 
 uncommon among new comers, and in 
 such cases the most vigilant watch over 
 doors, gates and fences was necessary 
 to frustrate their persistent efforts to 
 escape. Once free, the exiles would 
 make tracks pointing straight towards 
 the home of their early oxhood, and 
 with a fair start would get there; 
 for the cow-boy and the lasso were not 
 of the Connecticut Valley, and the farm 
 horse was no match for the excited run- 
 aways. It may not be amiss to make 
 note of a single case. One day I had 
 
Homesickness. 
 
 turned into luy well fenced barn-j^ard a 
 large pair of oxen just down from Ver- 
 mont. Not long after I happened to see 
 one of the strangers, with a spring as 
 light as a deer, clear the top bar at a 
 bound. The mate did not feel equal to 
 this feat, but he proposed to show that 
 some things can be done as well as oth- 
 ers; so after giving one look round for a 
 vulnerable point, he walked vip to the 
 bars, bent his head deliberately down, 
 adjusted his horns carefully to the 
 rails and lifted both posts bodily out of 
 the ground, quietly laid the whole down 
 flat without misplacing a bar and 
 walked out over the prostrate structure. 
 But with all their active determination 
 and prodigious power they acknowl- 
 edged the mastersliip of man. I had no 
 difficulty in stopping them in a lane 
 leading to the highway, and so saving a 
 world of trouble to all concerned. On 
 this display of agility, ingenuity and 
 strength, the homesick pair were con- 
 demned to close confinement, and for 
 many weeks were not allowed tl'.e liber- 
 ty of the yard, it not being safe to as- 
 sume that this first break for liberty 
 would be the last. As a rule, however, 
 the strangers would soon settle down to 
 the new order of things, and make the 
 most of this, the happiest period of their 
 lives, having perfect rest and the best 
 food possible to repletion. In a short 
 time, when the stal)le door was opened, 
 all would march in like a file of soldiers 
 and take their places in regular order: 
 they always fovmd awaiting them a 
 measure of tlie sweetest provender, or 
 the most fragrant hay they ever ate. 
 Thenceforth for them, life ran in easy 
 channels, disturbed onlj^ when some of 
 their number were sold to tlie drover 
 and strangei's introduced in their places. 
 Tlien the scenes of the fall w9re gone 
 over again. In these cases the old 
 stock usually combined against the 
 new comers, forcing them into the 
 lowest ranks. Here a good deal of hu- 
 man nature came out. Those who had 
 so far found place at the foot of the 
 
 herd, backe'd by their fellows, would 
 revenge on the intruders their own pre- 
 vious humiliation, and the life of the 
 latter was made a burden, until the love 
 of ease in their tormentors outgrew 
 their love of domination. 
 
 The system of feeding here was uni- 
 form. The fattening oxen were never 
 kept in the stable except to be fed, always 
 sleeping in the open air, tlieir only pro- 
 tection being sheds opening to the 
 south. They were "put up" at daylight 
 and always fovmd a savory naess in the 
 manger. After the daily routine had 
 become settled, they were let into the 
 stable as fast as they could walk, and 
 were tied up from the front; thus they 
 were loose in their stalls for a minute or 
 two. At such times traits of character 
 were occasionally shown, which proved 
 that hoggislmess was not confined to 
 the sty or to the human race. There 
 being no partitions in the long manger, 
 the unscrupulous scamp, seizing this 
 momentary liberty, would stretch his 
 neck to reach the pile of the ox next be- 
 low him and would gobble up the big- 
 gest mouthful he could before touching 
 his own. and would goon the same errand 
 a second time if possible before he was 
 tied up. There being usually fast eaters 
 and slow eaters, when all were tied, the 
 boy with his broom kept each mess as 
 compact as possible, and each ox took 
 his time to finish it. safe from depreda- 
 tion. The boy's knuckles often suffered 
 from getting between the broom handle 
 and the horns of his impatient custom- 
 ers. The provender being disposed of, 
 hay from a narrow kench of the solid 
 mow, and well shaken up by hand, was 
 fed to the oxen little bj^ little until they 
 could eat no more. No j^itchfork was 
 allowed in this process, for fear the 
 cattle's noses might be pricked, or the 
 hay get into the manger in lumps, the 
 aim being that the hay should fall as 
 light as snowflakes on the sod, so, it 
 more easily reached its destination. The 
 pami^ered beasts were not allowed to 
 wait a moment between feeds; if their 
 
6 
 
 Midday Rest. 
 
 heads were seen above the manger, 
 breakfast bell would ring in vain until 
 they were all served with another batch 
 of hay. If it should chance that some 
 streak in the hay-mow was for any x-ea- 
 aon not quite up to standard, so that 
 the epicures turned up their noses at it, 
 it was not, ' 'take that or nothing;" on the 
 contrary, the manger was at once 
 cleared, the contents relegated to a. less 
 particular grade, and replaced by a sat- 
 isfactory quality. When stuffed to re- 
 pletion, the oxen were let out to drink, 
 one pair at a time, beginning of course 
 at the foot of the stable; they were 
 gently driven to the corner of the yard, 
 where stood the watering trough brim- 
 ming with Avater freshly drawn from 
 the warm deep well, with the old oaken 
 bucket. Here they were kept until 
 they understood they were expected to 
 take their fill. Under the new condi- 
 tion of things it was sometimes hard to 
 make it clear to the dull-witted ones 
 why they were thus held, and occasion- 
 ally a pair would not avail themselves 
 of the opportunity for a day or two. 
 Unpleasant experience, however, soon 
 brought them to terms, for as soon as 
 all who would had drunk, the trough 
 was cleared to prevent an accumula- 
 tion of ice; and in a few days it be- 
 came a matter of course for each pair 
 as they were turned out to go straight 
 to the trough and drink their fill. Mean- 
 while the stable was being cleared, and 
 the next pair was waiting without impa- 
 tience for their turn, as a matter of 
 routine. When the head pair had taken 
 their drink, they selected their camp- 
 ing jjlace for the day on the clean beds 
 of straw under the shed. If one earlier 
 out had ventured to lie down before his 
 betters had provided themselves, the 
 spot he had selected was usually want- 
 ed and he forced to vacate. This condi- 
 tion of things was soon understood, and 
 the weaker ones waited and watched 
 their chance for a bed. When all were 
 settled for their midday rest, the barn 
 yard became forbidden ground to chil- 
 
 dren and strangers. It was a grave of- 
 fence in anybody to "scare up the cat- 
 tle." Access to the barn was usually 
 through the cattle sheds, and after a 
 little, the feeder could thread his way 
 unnoticed, among the huge piles of beef, 
 chewing the cud in sweet and calm con- 
 tent. But let his wife or daughter at- 
 tempt to follow, their deference to the 
 sex was at once manifest; at the first 
 step inside the gate they M'ould rise to an 
 ox. At midday the barn was hardly 
 more a playhouse for the children than tlie 
 meetinghouse. There was no hunting 
 of hens' eggs or jumping from the 
 great beams on to the mow of "peas- 
 'noats" straw. 
 
 It was one of the morning chores for 
 the boys to rake up the walks, the va- 
 cant part of the bay and the barn floor, 
 and all the scattered hay found was put 
 with the orts and fed to a lower grade 
 of stock; the orts being anything left 
 in the manger when the epicures were 
 turned out. After the orts were taken 
 out the manger was swept as clean as 
 broom could make it. The barn was 
 kept about as orderly as the kitchen, 
 and the food well cared for. At no time 
 were the children allowed to play on the 
 hay mow, or indulge in the delight of 
 tumbling in the pile "thi-own down" for 
 immediate use. "How would you like to 
 have folks walk on your bread and but- 
 ter?" was the standard query, and the 
 keynote for all employed about the barn; 
 and that neatness which was true econ- 
 omy prevailed in every part of the prem- 
 ises. A slovenly barn was held to be a 
 disgrace to the profession, and clear ev- 
 idence of an unthrifty farmer; waste in 
 small matters inevitably leading to care- 
 lessness in the general management of 
 the farm. 
 
 When the hay was put into the mow 
 it was trodden down as solid as man and 
 boy power could do it, as many a wearied 
 pair of boys' legs could testify. "Mow- 
 ing away" was no sinecure work, and 
 upon its being faithfully done depended 
 largely the condition of the hay in the 
 
Two O'clock. 
 
 winter. The prime object was to keep the 
 mow level while the bay was being- 
 filled . that it should settle evenly and 
 firmly, the outside keeping pace with 
 the center — easy enough in theory, it 
 was difficult enough in practice. Success- 
 fully done the mow became an amalga- 
 mated mass, almost as solid as a bank of 
 earth, the hay cixring alike in every part: 
 wlieu fed out in the winter, the barn 
 was filled with its grateful fragrance. 
 The mow was cut down witli a sharp 
 hay knife in small square kenclies that 
 the exposure to the air be as little as 
 possible, and no more was "thrown 
 down" than was required for immediate 
 consumption. The fresher the hay tlie 
 better it was relished by the bovine 
 palate. tlie better relished ,the more eaten, 
 the more eaten, the more resultant fat — 
 the aim and end of the wliole process. 
 
 That the appetite should not be cloyed 
 by such abimdant richness, the oxen 
 were given, about once a week, a break- 
 fast of cornstalks, husks or "peas'noats" 
 straw, which was received with thanks. 
 It was a day of trouble to the feeder, 
 wlien as it sometimes happened, tlie ob- 
 jects of their care declined to eat the 
 good things set before them, owing to 
 unfavorable weatlier, or, it may be, to 
 overfeeding with provender, albeit a care- 
 ful watcli was always kept on the condi- 
 tion of their digestive organs. "Your 
 cattle eat well to-day?" was a common 
 (piery Avhen the feeders met on cliange in 
 "Dr. Charles' senate chamber," "No 
 trouble about tliat long's this weather 
 holds" was the usual response, on days 
 when the air was crisp and the frost keen. 
 
 It was this and kindred topics which 
 were discussed day after day at this com- 
 mon place of meeting, — the fine points of 
 each other's stock, the fattening quali- 
 ties, the estimated weight, the gain since 
 put Tip, and above all the prospective 
 price of beef as indicated in the w^eekly 
 reports of the Brighton and New York 
 markets; story telling was in order 
 often at the expense of some of the 
 hearers. It was considered a fair game 
 
 and a good joke, for one to cut in and 
 buy upon the sly, a pair of oxen which 
 a slower neighbor had spotted, and was 
 leisurely trying to get at a bargain. Old 
 straw was threshed over and over. The 
 big ox of Col. Asa Stebbins, which was 
 too fat to walk, and was drawn to 
 Brighton on an ox sled, was brought out, 
 and the Duke and Dime of Uncle Seth, 
 which were nearly in that condition, were 
 often canvassed; with all this, however, 
 was a judicious mixture of narratives, 
 sometimes ratlier highly seasoned, and 
 occasionally a jovial song from Uncle 
 Sid, — and nobody enjoyed or appreciated 
 a royal good time better than these 
 same hardworking farmers of Deerfield. 
 In due time. Dr. Charles' clock strikes 
 two. Why is it that not one of that 
 company is there to hear it? It is be- 
 cause that on the stroke of two, the cat- 
 tle must be "put up." None knew the 
 hour better than the cattle themselves, 
 and they would be surprised and dis- 
 turbed by a few minutes delay. They 
 did not, like Washington, make an al- 
 lowance of five minutes for the variation 
 of time-pieces. Fair weather or foul, a 
 few minutes before two, they would 
 rouse up, lazily stretch their full length 
 and after a series of prolonged and 
 satisfactory grunts, get up and take 
 their respective places in a line, with 
 the leader at the stable door. When 
 the door is opened the stately column 
 marches deliberately in, each to his 
 own stall, where he is tied in front, 
 and the gorging begins. Nothing was 
 allowed to interfere with piitting up 
 the cattle at the regular hour. A cur- 
 rent story will illustrate this point. 
 Of four brothers, prominent men of 
 Deerfield Street, the oldest one died. 
 There was a large gathering at the 
 Major's house for the funeral. To this fact 
 I can testify, for through my three-year- 
 old eyes. I saw fi-om a chamber window 
 the overflow in the door yard. I did not, 
 however, see or know about the hitch by 
 which the services were delayed for 
 a considerable time. When at length 
 
An Extreme Case. 
 
 the jji-ocession was ready to move to- 
 wards the old burying yard, the pointers 
 on the major's tall clock indicated the 
 near approach of two o'clock, and "Col. 
 Dick," one of the brothers, turned the 
 other way towards his home. "Uncle 
 Liff" joined the procession, but casting 
 his eye towards the sun, saw that the cat- 
 tle would be waiting at the stable door 
 before he could return from the burial, 
 so he left the line at his own gate. 
 "Uncle Sid.'' following the example of 
 his elder brothers, fell out as the proces- 
 sion passed his gate, within full sight of 
 the graveyard. In due time the rest 
 reached the open grave, into which the 
 body of the Revolutionary Major was 
 lowered: than came a pause for the 
 usual ceremony, when some near friend 
 of the deceased gave formal thanks to 
 the people for their assistance in burying 
 their dead. The pause was short. "Uncle 
 Hinsdale," who was the conductor of 
 the funeral advanced to the grave and 
 with his i^eculiar emphatic ahem! and 
 his accompanying kick with the heel of 
 his right foot, sent the earth rattling 
 down upon the coffin and exclaimed 
 shortly "Cover him up! Cover him up! 
 No friends here!" It is not clear whether 
 he was the more vexed at the absence of 
 the three brothers, or his own enforced 
 presence after two o'clock. 
 
 At nightfall the cattle having eaten 
 their fill weie turned out with the same 
 ceremony observed in the morning. It 
 should have been stated that when un- 
 tied in turn, the trained animals did not 
 like school boys, make their exit pell- 
 mell or hap-hazard; they were early 
 taught to back quietly out of the stall, 
 and turning to the right or left, as 
 the case might be, to take a prescribed 
 route at a dignified pace to the stable 
 door and so on to the watering-trough. 
 After drinking, they camped in the 
 sheds for the night. 
 
 It was one of the regular morning 
 chores of the boys to "straw the sheds" 
 or make up the beds of the oxen for the 
 day The dung was thrown out, the 
 
 old camping places stirred up and fresh 
 straw from the lofts above was strown 
 knee deep over all. And so each day 
 their loi'dships were furnished with a 
 clean and tempting bed, which, as we 
 have seen, they made the most of. 
 
 What I have described, was the regu- 
 lar routine, month in and month out, 
 until the feeders and the drovers agreed 
 that the cattle were fat enough for mar- 
 ket, and upon the terms on which they 
 should change hands. The drovers were 
 men who made it their business to buy 
 the fatted oxen of the feeders and drive 
 them to the great markets. The looker 
 on — provided he had the leisure — could 
 find abundant amusement in watching 
 the parties while making the bargain. 
 Hours would be spent in examining and 
 discussing the fine points, or the weak 
 points in each animal, adjourning back 
 and forth from one to another, in esti- 
 mating the comparative weight and 
 quality. If the drover found a lack in 
 one point, the feeder would call his at- 
 tention to a compensation in another. 
 If the brisket was fine and full, the 
 drover would think the flank too thin ; 
 if the barrel was shown to be round and 
 plump, the hips would be too narrow; 
 if an unusual length of the animal was 
 noted, the drover would see too much 
 daylight under hini. To offset the broad 
 shoulders and swelling ribs, he was found 
 too short to weigh well; if the skin was 
 found as soft as velvet, the rump was 
 not well filled, or if well filled it sloped 
 off too much. And so point by point 
 and inch by inch, each ox was examined, 
 handled and discussed. The subjects 
 looked on curiously or went to their 
 sti'aw wondering what all this unwonted 
 disturbance meant; often they were ob- 
 liged to rise again that some material 
 point might be settled; while the talk 
 went on about the weight on the hoof or 
 on the hook; the probable rise or fall of 
 prices on the next market day, with in- 
 terludes of cider drinking and story tell- 
 ing. Many a straw was chewed to paper 
 stock, and many a stick whittled to a 
 
Bargaining. 
 
 9 
 
 point, many a turning of backs and 
 facing round again, many an apparent 
 last word and final getting into the cut- 
 ter on the one side, and movement 
 towards the barn on the other, before a 
 bargain was made or a settled disagree- 
 ment reached. Sometimes the appear- 
 ance of a rival drover, looming in the 
 distance, would add interest to the scene 
 and hasten conclusions. 
 
 The oxen were sold at a lump price per 
 head, or at a fixed price per hundred, 
 dressed weight; in the latter case a set- 
 tlement was made on the bill of weight 
 brought back from the butcher. If no 
 price could be agreed upon on the hoof or 
 hook, the oxen were sometimes sent ''on 
 drift" at so much a head, the drover tak- 
 ing them to market and selling them as 
 best he could on the feeders' account. 
 
 Occasionally the owner himself, be- 
 came drover and salesman in the market. 
 If he could not hold his own with the 
 butcher on the final field of action, 
 he might come back a wiser and a poor- 
 er man. The butcher preferred to deal 
 with the middlemen, and the drovers 
 were apt to feel their field of operations 
 was encroached upon, so the two might 
 combine on occasion to "roast" the in- 
 truder, both for sport and profit. Ex- 
 perience is knowledge at first hand, and 
 the writer learned that this roasting 
 process was not in every individual case 
 a success. Moved by reasons he thought 
 good he took his own to market. He 
 found a townsman had been victimized 
 the week before, and overhearing some 
 conversation behind the yard fence be- 
 tween the drover, with whom he had 
 failed to trade at home and a market 
 butcher, learned that he also was 
 marked for game. His blood Avas up 
 and hot; forewarned, he called his wits 
 to the front, watched each move 
 and made his own with apparent un- 
 concern, but in real torture and real ug- 
 liness. 
 
 Their plan was to combine and play 
 the bear, decry my stock, declare the 
 market glutted, that prices were falling; 
 
 and each butcher that came into the 
 yard, would make a lower offer than his 
 predecessor. Before noon, however, the 
 roastee had scored a success. He had 
 struck a man not in the ring, and sold 
 one pair of oxen for eight dollars more 
 than his first asking price. At sunset the 
 clouds had passed, the unsophisticated 
 farmer went about smiling serenely, and 
 when he had beaten the whole crowd of 
 drovers and butchers in "laying" the 
 weight of a remarkable bull, his ego- 
 tism knew no bounds; he went to bed 
 counting himself the richer by a trying 
 experience, and half a dozen unexpected 
 ten dollar bills in his pocket, and an 
 added confidence in himself. The aim 
 and end of all the care and pains of stall 
 feeding being the net cash proceeds at 
 market, this story egotistic as it is, may 
 fairly be considered as part of the his- 
 tory in hand. 
 
 But to return; whoever took the drove 
 to market, certain preliminaries were 
 always necessary — preliminary steps lit- 
 erally. The first thing was to "walk the 
 cattle." They had been so closely con- 
 fined, with almost no exercise, that 
 without this process the excitement at- 
 tendant upon being turned loose on the 
 road, and the unwonted fatigvie of the 
 first day's journey would be sure to 
 break them down, rendering them un- 
 fit for the week's travel. To make them 
 more way wise they were "walked" for a 
 mile or more out and back for three or 
 four successive daj^s before the event. 
 "Walking" was the term, but not the 
 fact. Rejoicing at their freedom, the 
 animals always started off on a gal- 
 lop, raced back and forth, dancing, pranc- 
 ing and cutting up all manner of capers, 
 to the great delight of the children 
 watching and waiting at the windows. 
 The subjects grew more calm at each 
 exercise, until by Sunday night they 
 generally took it for a matter of course, 
 as being a new phase m the daily rou- 
 tine. 
 
 Monday morning was always starting 
 time for the journey to Brighton, and it 
 
10 
 
 Transit. 
 
 was a stirring scene on the street while 
 the drover was mustering his oxen for 
 the line of march, from the several barn 
 yards where he had bought or engaged 
 them. The windows were filled with 
 the faces of women and children, and 
 the street with a promiscuous stir-up of 
 men, boys and beef cattle. As each 
 new lot joined the drove, the scenes in 
 the barn yard the fall before were re- 
 peated, only there was no interference 
 in the combats, for no one cared which 
 beat. Skirmishing and fighting for rank 
 was the business in hand, until after 
 much locking of horns, desperate push- 
 ing and tearing up of turf, all questions 
 of precedence were settled and all faces 
 were set towards Cheapside bridge. The 
 street and roads in those days were lined 
 with fences and gates. The first day's 
 marcli ended at Grout's Corner, and a 
 tired lot was man and boy and beast on 
 arrival. The route was more quiet on 
 Tuesday, and after that tlie victims 
 marched as steady as gTenadiers to 
 Brighton and their destiny. 
 
 In our day wlien crowded passenger 
 cars by the dozen make four trips a day 
 between Boston and the Connecticut 
 Valley, and freight cars deliver oxen at 
 Brighton in half a day. it is hard to real- 
 ize that sixty years since two stage lines 
 each sending three coaches a week on a 
 round trip to Boston, supplied all the 
 demand for travel between this section 
 of the Connecticut Valley and the Hub, 
 and that a few stray white-topped bag- 
 gage wagons were ample accommoda- 
 tions for the freight. But there was 
 next to nothing in the M^ay of travel- 
 ing for pleasure then, summer vacations 
 were unknown, and the day of the 
 prolific drummer had not dawned. The 
 passengers were generally store keepers 
 going twice a year to Boston to buy a 
 six months' stock of goods, ministers 
 traveling on half-fare to convention or 
 on exchanges, political stump .speakers 
 in their season, and rarely sisters, aunts 
 or cousins going to visit sick relatives in 
 city or country. Parties in sable going 
 
 to funerals, so common in the cars to- 
 day, were not seen in the stage coach. 
 There was no harnessed lightning to 
 give notice of death, and no steam to 
 carry friends in response. People were 
 buried where they died, and the fxmeral 
 was attended by a sympathizing neigh- 
 borhood. When it was all over tlie slow 
 mail carried the sad news to the strick- 
 en hearts of the bereaved. 
 
 But however slow this transit, it has 
 carried us away from the fat ox and 
 his exit. We will return to again see 
 him off from the valley on his final 
 journey, and consider in connection 
 therewith a matter not hitherto touclied 
 upon. Behind all the Monday morning 
 stir and bustle in starting a drove of fat 
 oxen to market, there was often a wrench 
 in the heart of the mother at the first 
 long parting from an ambitiovis son. 
 With tearful eyes she watched him dis- 
 appear round the turn of the road, run- 
 ning and shouting, whip in hand about 
 the excited oxen, he no less excited than 
 they, and feeling his consequence as 
 never before. For it was frequently on 
 occasions like this that the boys of the 
 farms took their first look into the out- 
 side world. With little or no pay be-v 
 yond their expenses on the road, and 
 perliaps a little guidance in seeing the 
 elepliant in the great cities they would 
 go with the drover as his assistants; 
 thus day by day. footing their bills, and 
 their way to the metropolis. Their bag- 
 gage, if any was thought neciessary, 
 was carried in leather portmanteaus, 
 strapped behind the horns of some of 
 the leaders of the drove, so, it was 
 safe from molestation. Wonderful 
 were the stories with which the travel- 
 ers regaled the ears of their envious 
 companions on their return in state by 
 stage coach. These narratives generally 
 bore fruit the next spring in new hatch- 
 es of pilgrims; and, incidentally, these 
 trips to the city often led to ambitious 
 aspirations, to permanent migi-ations, 
 and a resultant loss to the valley. 
 
 Since among other changes in this 
 
The Farm Boy. 
 
 11 
 
 changing era it has come to pass and 
 been established, that the "chief end of 
 man" is not to "Glorify God and enjoy 
 him forever,'" but to get riches or die in 
 the attempt, this emigration to the great 
 centers, which began about sixty years 
 since, has become a prominent factor in 
 the history of the Valley towns. The 
 ultimate consequences of this movement 
 we cannot as yet discern. Time alone 
 can determine tliat. Some grounds for 
 conjecture there may be in the fact that 
 the one man, of the many score of ad- 
 venturers, who succeeds in the terrible 
 war of competition, is often turning his 
 thoughts and his footsteps towards the 
 home of his boyhood, for an old age of 
 quiet enjoyment away from ; the striv- 
 ings and the turmoils of the city; or per- 
 haps more often giving of his wealth to 
 endow libraries or otherwise enriching 
 the social or educational life of his na- 
 tive town. Who can gauge the result 
 of this reflux, or say whether it be not 
 in the line of the great law of compen- 
 sation; of one thing, however, we may 
 be certain; much will depend upon the 
 character of the returning tide. 
 
 But look upon this as we may, the 
 old-fashioned farming and the old fash- 
 ioned farmer are gone. The stall-fed 
 ox has gone, and the old-fashioned boy 
 literally followed him to the metropolis. 
 
 The boy was essentially a part and 
 parcel of the old farm life, sixty years 
 since, but his multifarious occupations 
 each in its season are now nearly obso- 
 lete. In winter, as we have said, it was 
 his duty to straw the sJieds, clear out the 
 watering trough, rake up the barn floors, 
 sweep up the meal, tend half-bushel in 
 fanning up, make hay tea and feed the 
 calves, feed the pigs corn in the ear, 
 but never from the swill pail; none but 
 the owner himself could be trusted in 
 preparing the chief meals of the fatten- 
 ing swine. He was called upon to milk 
 the family cow, to get in wood and cobs 
 for the evening fire, and kindlings for the 
 morning, to draw cider for the three 
 meals and the evening visitor. With the 
 
 opening spring to fill up the odd hours, he 
 was set to work on the huge piles of sled 
 length fuel in the wood yard, the boun- 
 tiful result of the winter's sledding. I 
 can testify in one case when the boy 
 not being big enougli for the axe an axe 
 was made to matcli. the boy. The sled 
 wood was from two inches to two feet 
 in diameter, the length usually nine or 
 twelve feet, and the firewood three feet. 
 No measure was used, but the eye was 
 trained to cut exact lengths, and the arm 
 trained to the knack of sending the chips 
 a-flying and leaving a clean cut calf 
 just half through the log. The wood 
 saw was then unknown. 
 
 The earliest meadow work for the boy 
 was to knock dung, clear off the flood 
 trash, pile and burn the corn stalks. 
 There was usually fun enough in the 
 last two employments to disguise the 
 work, the bonfires being often an even- 
 ing's sport. Then came "driving plow," 
 which had no redeeming feature for the 
 tired boy slowly plodding up and down 
 the long furrows, lazily urging the slow- 
 oxen with sleepy voice and fish-pole-llke 
 whip which he could not even crack. 
 At each bout he looked longingly up to 
 the hot sun which seemed to stand still 
 in the heavens. Oh, the monotony and 
 weariness of it! Even the night brought 
 no relief. 
 
 "In dreams he trode the field again. 
 In dreams across the burning plaiii 
 His lagging legions urged amain." 
 
 The team was usually two pairs of 
 oxen led by the family horse; often, 
 however, three pairs of oxen and occa- 
 sionally four; each addition making it 
 easier for the beasts and harder for the 
 boy. It was a welcome change when 
 (tailed to ride horse to harrow in peas 
 and oats, or prepare the land for holing- 
 out. The boy must drive the team when 
 dunging out, cover dung for the plant- 
 er, cut dock on the grass land, plant 
 wliite beans among the corn. Watch- 
 ing the cornfield to keep off depredators 
 was a different thing. In this if the boy 
 was allowed the old gun and powder 
 horn, he found a congenial occupation in 
 
12 
 
 WorJc and Play. 
 
 a contest with the wily crow, his cousin 
 the crow blackbird and the chipmuck, 
 all of which loved the sprouting grain. 
 When cornfields were near together the 
 boys could congregate or watch turn 
 by turn at will. The most vigilant 
 watch was called for at early dawn or 
 early twilight. If a fish-pond was near 
 by, woe to the pickerel as he lay sun- 
 ning himself near the surface. T]ie boy 
 reasoned well that the crow would be 
 scared liy the same shot which killed 
 the fish. Trapping woodchucks also 
 blended in harmoniously. Too soon 
 came riding horse to harrow for the first 
 hoeing and harrowing alone for the sec- 
 ond and third hoeing. 
 
 Then it was driving cows to and from 
 pasture before and after the day's work. 
 In the season of berries these were often 
 slow journeys, and many a string of 
 black-caps on the long stems of herds 
 grass were carried home to flavor the 
 bread and milk; turning grindstone 
 for the mowers, turning swaths after 
 them, raking after and trimming up the 
 hay-cocks, raking after cart, lugging 
 jugs of water from the spring to the 
 dinner tree; no ice was then used. 
 
 About the house the boy M^as always 
 in demand — piling up the fuel in the wood 
 shed, picking up baskets of chips for the 
 dinner pot, taking a turn at the cliurn 
 dasher, hoeing in the garden, weeding 
 out the long beds of beets, onions, par- 
 snips, etc., and as he was caught, set to 
 picking cucumbers and beans, digging 
 potatoes, and picking up apples, running 
 of errands to the neighbors or the store. 
 It was the boy's business to look after 
 the poultry, gather the eggs, care for 
 the setting hens, make the coops, and 
 feed the chickens. With all this it 
 would seem that the old-time boy could 
 have small chance for fun or recreation; 
 but by hook or by crook this same tough 
 little animal found a good deal of time 
 for amusement. Fishing and hunting; 
 trapping or sJiooting woodchucks and 
 muskrats, crows, blue jays and chip- 
 mucks; hunting crows" nests; making 
 
 willow whistles; shajiing and playing 
 five stones and mumble the peg; going 
 in swimming, making and flying kites; 
 making and using bows and arrows and 
 darts and slings — it was a great thing to 
 be able to send the cat tail arrow up out 
 of sight — plaj'ing soldier with red flan- 
 nel belts and shingle swords, in one case 
 the son of a king being a fellow officer; 
 playing tag and prisoners base, hide and 
 coop, playing ball with home-made ma- 
 terial; wicket, round ball, one and two 
 old cat, being the favorite games. What 
 fun on a September evening, in roasting 
 ears of corn on the ends of flexible sticks 
 at a burning stump or over the glowing 
 coals in the bed of a btmfire of drift 
 wood, or in favored places, at tlie ai'ch 
 of a burning brick kiln. No corn ever 
 did or ever will taste like that. In winter, 
 sliding down hill on sleds whittled out 
 evenings by the kitchen fire. Making 
 skates, the jackknife and gimlet of the 
 boy could not compass. To raise monej' to 
 buy them.the boy would occasionally get 
 a job of some neighbor at 25 cents a day, 
 or gather nuts and glean corn, which were 
 sold to the store keeper. Some of the 
 other games and sports have been hand- 
 ed down to the pi-esent generation. 
 
 Tlie boy wore in winter stont cow- 
 hide shoes, misfitting spencer and trous- 
 ers of homespun, cut and made by some 
 Aunt Sophy or Aunt Orra. usually a world 
 too wide, which if jiot things of beauty, 
 were warm, and allowed free action of 
 liml) a7id lung; with a long woolen com- 
 foi-ter wound about his neck and thick 
 mother-knit mittens, he would exult in 
 defying tlie weather and felt as much 
 at home on the snow and ice as any po- 
 lar bear. Tlie overcoat and overshoes 
 were unknown. 
 
 Of his summer rig the b(>y wore hardly 
 enough on which to hang a description. 
 Bare footed, with a shirt of coarse cot- 
 ton, short trousers of tow cloth held up 
 by a pair of gallows of his own knit- 
 ting, one of which was usually missing; 
 a straw hat minus a brim or a crown; 
 and the toilet of the lad was complete 
 
Now and The^i. 
 
 13 
 
 and satisfactory. If we add a sore fin- 
 ger tied up in a rag, a limp cansed by 
 stone bruise or a thorn, a freckeled face, 
 a sturdy frame, an honest eye and a re- 
 spectful demeanor to the aged, we have 
 a fair delineation of our trusted, hard- 
 worked, happy subject. 
 
 The youth of to-day, with his pale 
 face, his spindle shanks, his tooth-pick 
 
 shoes, his store clothes, fancy col- 
 ored shirt and necktie, his show of 
 jewelry, his latin grammar and grown- 
 up air, would not be recognized as a 
 boy and a brother, by the boy of sixty 
 years since. 
 
 So endeth this record of the passing 
 of the stall-fed ox and the old-fashioned 
 farm boy. 
 
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