Recollections of A Busy Life

(Transcribed by Peggy Barriskill Perazzo, December 2005)

"Recollections of A Busy Life,"
By Eli Fayette Ruggles

H. L. Ruggles & Co., Publishers, (published circa 1904)

Chapter XI.

Brother Freman.

Freman lived to bachelorhood in his carpenter work, then went into the
forest two miles southwest of our home and built a water sawmill. Freman
generally felt well and would enjoy a joke or laugh heartily. And yet his
life was one of toil. But he knew something of the secret of a happy life
by taking enjoyment in labor.

The mill was sawing logs, and it was all work, work, work. The farm was
chopped and cleared by work, work.. The roads were built by hard work. The
log house was replaced by a new and good frame house by work - hard work.
How, where or when I cannot tell at present, but he met a good, smart,
sensible woman, a school teacher.

They were married at her father's David Woodman, just east of Paw Paw. The
Woodmans consist of several families in that vicinity, and among the most
prominent families in VanBuren County. Have held most of the prominent
offices in the county and some in the state. J. J. Woodman represented the
Agricultural department of the State of Michigan at the great Chicago
Exposition. Fremont took his bride to his new house, where they lived many
years, till they sold out and moved, with the addition to his family of one
son and three daughters, to Hartford Centre.

Martin and the War.

The war is being waged in terrible fury. Fathers, sons and brothers are
being shot down on battlefields that never before had their equal. Neighbor
is estranged from neighbor, for one is Union, the other is at heart
disunion, though he dare not say so. I have stated that after Martin's
barns were burned that he was elected County Clerk. Then he moved to Paw
Paw, the county-seat.

As the war progresses he is called upon to make all sorts of legal papers
outside of his regular office work, and he keeps so closely applied to his
desk that he is failing in health. He has served one term of three years
and has been elected again for another three years. He is now in his fourth
year of doing, as some have said, two men's work. But it is killing him.
Instead of stopping to recuperate - pride and ambition led him on - and to
keep going he has his tea strengthened and chews more tobacco, till
finally, when compelled to stop writing, his system was so filled and
poisoned by the strong tea and stronger tobacco that medicine could not
have its natural effect. Then he moved back to his farm and as often as
once or twice a week he rode over to our house to visit the old folks. One
day he asked if I would go with him on a trip on the lakes - said the dry,
hot atmosphere was killing him here. In a few days I went with him to St.
Joe, took boat to Chicago, then stopped to see Uncle William. Uncle wanted
his doctor to see Martin; then the doctor was called, and said that if
Martin would stop here about four days he might then go on the lakes and be
benefited. So we stopped there. At the end of four days Martin was placed
in a coffin, and alone with my dead brother I sadly returned. Sent
telegraph message to meet us at Dowagiac. It was a large and sad funeral,
for Martin's friends were numbered by thousands. The minister stated in his
sermon that Martin Ruggles, at the age of 41 years, had virtually lived
longer than most men at double that age, for he had accomplished much.
Martin is buried just west of the village of Hartford.

A Birthday Party.

One day there was a few women gathered at our house. Well, you say, but
that is not unusual. Very true; usually I keep right on at my work (just
the same). But this time I was interested as never before in a visit of
neighbors. They did not remain so very long, but when they left for home
they left more than joy with us, for unto us a daughter was born, and the
doctor said that all was well. Of course, there was never baby like that
one. Soon after her Uncle Seth named her Minnie Alice. Not many months
after I was going to a neighbor's with horses and wagon, and wife says,
"Can't I go, too, and call at such a house till you return?" "Certainly be
glad to have you." Soon after starting a fierce wind and rain sprang up,
and in raising the umbrella I slacked on the reins; the wind caught the
umbrella and away went the horses at full speed. I regained the lines, but
the horses were large and felt gay, and I pulled their mouths close to
their breasts, but still they ran with vengeance. Ahead was the home of the
little preacher. He had built a heavy gate with large square posts. That
was my only chance to stop them. You must stop at that gate or have broken
head, thought I. Wife and Minnie were sitting on the bottom of the wagon
box, the wagon bounding like pop-corn, but the gate stopped the runaways.

Finding a Waif.

I was driving with horses and sleigh north and east of Hartford Centre and
overtook a lad and said, "Jump in and have a ride. What's your name?"
"Henry," he said. "Where do you live?" "Don't live nowhere," Where is your
father?" "Haven't got none." "Where is your mother?" "Mother's dead." Where
do you stop to-night?" "Just ahead, in that little house." I called and
questioned about the boy. They were caring for him as a matter of mercy,
and they were not able to care for him. "Do you want to go home with me, my
lad?" Yes, I believe I'd like to mighty well." So his very poor belongings
were put in the sleigh and I divided blanket with him and on the way found
him to be of Irish descent, witty, clever, small of his age, rather bright
withal. At home he was made quite welcome, as there was no boy around, and
after an evening spent in scrubbing him, burning up some things he brought,
making over some clothing, in a day or two he looked very different,
although the freckles on his face showed plainer than before. He lived with
us some three years.

Sold the Old Farm.

It occurred to Viola and I that we might sell and buy again nearer a
railroad, for we had tired of going fourteen to twenty-one miles to get to
town. We sold and bought in Hamilton Township, four mile east of Keeler and
six northwest of Decatur. Here a baby boy came to be company for his sister
Minnie. He was a good specimen of a healthy fellow, too. I took no little
pride in improving the farm, for all my neighbors were passing, in going to
Decatur. Set a new orchard in addition to the old, set pine trees in front
of the house and made it look like a different farm.

The Going Home of Minnie.

Minnie was now nearly three years of age, a fine, healthy girl, and usually
lively and happy. I often took her with me on the farm wherever and
whenever I could. The last time outdoors for her I took her in the wagon
when drawing wheat, and when the load was on I took her up on the load and
she wanted to drive, which I allowed her to think she was doing till we
reached the barn.

Then there was a call to supper, and, going to the house, she done as she
had often done before, ran ahead of me, laughing and saying, "Minnie beatie
pa pa, Minnie beatie pa pa." Bloody flux was then very prevalent and very
fatal. The doctor was called (for a good doctor lived but a short distance
away, one-fourth of a mile. He said, "No danger, no danger; she will soon
be all right." He came for three days and was then taken with the same
disease, and very nearly died. When came a doctor from Decatur, saying,
"Only be diligent; she will soon be well." That pleading look and pleading
call still rings in our ears. "Some water, ma, ma, please, ma ma a little
water." But she is still now, and we close those lovely eyes and once more
curl those ringlets of hair that come to her shoulders, and on a beautiful
Sabbath day we lay her to rest in the Hamilton Cemetery, where later we
erected a tablet to Minnie. September 10, 1864, date of Minnie's death.

Last Wednesday Henry was taken with the same disease, and on Sunday, one
week after we buried Minnie, I thought he was dying. He lay on the lounge
by the window and I was sitting in the middle of the room, when Henry
raised up quick, as if to go. I quickly got to him and said, "Where are you
going Henry?" "Oh, just out there a little ways, to play with those boys."
His eyes were then very large and looked wild. I picked him up and laid him
back on the lounge. His eyes closed, could discover no breath, could feel
no pulse; guess he is dead; no, no, he opens his eyes, but the wild, large
eye is changed to a mild, soft, happy expression. "Oh, what a beautiful
place that is," he said. "Where, Henry?" "Just a little way up there; can't
you see it? Oh, there is mother, and she wants me to come." "Where is your
ma ma, Henry?" "Oh, she is out there, a little to one side, and she is
talking with some others, and she has on white, loose clothes. Oh, such
beautiful winding walks! Oh, what a pretty place that is! Oh, there is
little Minnie." "Where is she?" Ah, she is out yonder farther, playing with
a lot of little girls, and she has something queer on her. Oh, yes, she has
got little wings." "How is she clothed, Henry?" "In white; they are all in
white." Then there was a tremor or starting again of life forces and Henry
was natural again; but he did not know then of what had just passed. Seemed
but spirit.

Abraham Lincoln is Shot.

It came as an electric shock. Can it be possible that any specimen of
humanity can be found to shoot so noble a man? I was working in my garden
by the road when a neighbor halted on horseback and told me the terrible news.

Next day a man rode on horseback into Decatur and there learned that
Lincoln was shot. "Good! said he, "I've got five dollars in my pocket that
I would like to burn in powder to celebrate that event. A soldier heard his
remark and quickly turned, walking fast down the street, muttering between
his teeth, "I'll get my Winchester and, and - but the rest was not heard.
The fire in the rear man, as such were then called, noticed the soldier
just as he started and heard him muttering something, and said to a
bystander, "What was that bluecoat grunting about?" "He said something
about his Winchester, and he will put a bullet through you if - there he
comes now with his gun in his hands. That fellow lost no time in mounting
his horse, and he hat fell off, but he did not stop for hat, but with hair
flying in the wind away he galloped at a John Gilpin speed. "Is that man
riding yonder the fellow that wanted to celebrate the shooting of Lincoln?
"Yes, that's the fellow. Well, his action is much wiser than his words. You
must be cowardly men here or no man would dare to make such a speech as
that. I'd just as soon shot a rebel here as down South - in fact, I have
more respect for an open enemy than for a sly, sneaking enemy, that puts on
the garb of a friend.

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