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(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 VIII.

The Little Preacher.

About the year 1849 the teacher told us to tell our parents that there
would be preaching at this school house to-night at 7 o'clock. Very seldom
was such a notice given out, and we did not forget. Old and young, big and
little, were there at the hour. A little fellow entered the door, took off
his overcoat with vim, walked briskly into or behind the desk and gave out
a hymn, and we tried to sing, but we had to giggle - he was such a little
chap and every move was energy, as though there was a small steam power
somewhere propelling him to action. He began to preach, and as he advanced
in argument and earnestness and warmed with his thoughts and rapid flow of
words he pulled off his coat, laid it on a chair, not stopping a moment in
his flow of words. Then, as he farther advanced, off came his necktie and
collar, and wicked as it was, we had to giggle in our sleeves. But evening
after evening his earnest presenting of Gospel truth to us was so
convincing that we forgot to notice his being little, and expected to see
coat, collar and sometimes vest, laid aside as he talked to us of sin, of
righteousness and judgment to come.

Yes, he was little, but he was big enough to hold up Christ before us, and
through him, as in a mirror, many of us saw ourselves as God saw us - lost
unless redeemed. I cannot answer for another's experience in seeking
forgiveness for sin, any more than I can answer for another at the judgment
bar. I can only say that I wanted to know that I was an accepted child of
God, and know what it was to be redeemed. On my way to and from school,
following the winding path among the great, grand trees, many were the time
I knelt in solitude and asked God to forgive a sinner like me. I was never
more in earnest, and for two weeks did I plead and all nature never seemed
so sad. The woods seemed only to moan and mock me. Many others were being
converted and so happy, while I was most miserable. One night I determined
not to go to the penitent's bench, but first I knew I was on my feet, going
forward. We were kneeling in deep contrition, while earnest prayers were
offered to the good Savior who had said he would hear the prayer of the
penitent. Suddenly, it seems, that a great load lifted from my shoulders
and joy unspeakable and full of glory filled all my being. I leaped, I
shouted, I praised God with all my being. I could then sing. Jesus all the
day long is my joy and my song. In my nature I am not demonstrative - far
from it - rather bashful or timid, but never put myself forward. But now
joy was on the throne and love was supreme, and I but obeyed the voice of
my God. Soon there was a Freewill Baptist Society formed there.

In the spring time the question arose where could the right of baptism be
administered? There was no lake nearer than seven miles and with Baptists
there is but one method, immersion. Meetings had been held at Hartford and
some converts. A temporary dam was built across Pine Creek, one and
one-half miles west of Hartford, and one Sabbath there gathered on each
bank the people from the whole surrounding country.

Brother Eastman, our little minister, was too small, and Elder George
Fellows (a former teacher of Lyman's at Niles) took some fifteen of us, one
at a time, into the stream and there, in the name of the Father, baptized
us in that faith, saying, "Ye are buried with Christ in baptism." Three
brothers and two sisters were of that happy number.

Sixty-eight years have now been allotted to me, and my hair is white, and
many a time have I been on the mountain top and too oft in the valley, but
when I have looked back to that anxious bench, and if temptation besets my
way I say, with authority, begone, for I knew my Savior met me there on my
knees and redeemed me, and spake peace to my soul. It has been my
lighthouse since in time of storm.

More of Brother Martin.

Martin has been carpenter, boss builder of bridges and mills, several terms
of school, studied law at home, and is often called on in that line. But we
now see him on his farm one and one-half or two miles west of Hartford
Center, on the Watervliet road, at a three corners. House on north, barn on
the southeast and school house on the southwest corner. He has three boys
and one girl, namely: Abina, Wells, Lyman (or Lima, so-called), Lillian,
the daughter. Martin taught this school several winters. Mr. Norton
Hubbard's boy was so very disobedient that Martin punished him. Hubbard was
mad and looked ugly.

Soon after this, one Sunday evening about 9 P. M., as people were going
home from church by sleigh-loads, they saw a bright light that increased
fast, and everybody came to the fire crying, "Fire, fire!" But it was a sad
sight to see, - two oxen, three cows, two young cattle burning alive;
wagon, all farming tools, all gone. It was noticed, and very emphatic, that
Hubbard was not there, and yet the house was in plain sight, and the fire
must have made his rooms light as day. Later Hubbard was arrested on
circumstantial evidence, but released, though even the judge knew he was
guilty. That spring Martin was elected county clerk by an overwhelming
majority. About this time the War of the Rebellion began. That I will
mention later.

Fernando and Lyman and the Gold.

You went with me once to see Fernando breaking up the oak openings with the
big plow and the long string of oxen. But the gold fever is raging and
Fernando reasons to himself, why should I toil so hard for a meager living,
when there is in California gold to be had so easily? He decided to go.
Lyman was teaching school in that neighborhood. Fernando was school
director, and his oldest son was in his a, b, ab's. Lyman thought he would
go, then concluded not to go. One day at home he stood at the bureau
writing; turned quickly around and said, "Mother, I am going to
California." That was not joyful news, for that meant the going away of
another son where she might never see him again. That meant six months on
the road passing through the Indian's dominions, and already we had heard
of many horrible murders by the Indians and Mormonites. But the wagon was
covered, the oxen and cows hitched to the wagon, the stove, cooking
utensils and eatables, and, lastly, the wife and children helped in, and
away they go at the crack of the whip, and a harrah for California, but
this levity was to keep back the tears that would well up in spite of all.
To all this I was witness, as I drove there the night before with mother to
say good-bye and help them off. I hurried home, for we were just having the
great run of sap, and the fires must be kept going all night, as well as
all day.

Excepting one visit, that is the last we ever saw of Lyman and Fernando.
They guarded against Indians as best they could, and then the Indians got
one ox.

Cousin Joel R. Jackson went with them to California. They were successful
in digging gold, and Lyman was to go home in Michigan. As they were going
out they came to some miners in quartz rock who convinced them that they
could make a much larger pile than they then had by investing there. They
invested, and it is invested yet. Not satisfied to return home without his
pile, Lyman and Fernando took farms - Lyman one and one-half miles
southeast of Woodland, Fernando the same distance northwest of Woodland.

Father a Prophet.

Father, being blind, did not prevent his talking. We read to him all the
principal events that were transpiring in this country, and he was a good
listener. Being blind, his mind was intent on what he heard. Well do I
remember an election day at the polling or voting place; he had Martin
write him a ticket that was then in use in Massachusetts, but not yet in
the far west. Mr. Olney was supervisor. Reaching out his ticket and feeling
some hand, he asked: "Is this Mr. Olney?" "Yes, sir." "I want to say to
you, Mr. Olney, that I suppose that is the only ticket of that kind that
will go into that ballot box to-day, but mark my word, the principles
contained in that ballot will yet govern this nation."

That was at the beginning of the anti-slavery agitation which resulted in
the freeing of every slave in America by a pen wielded by the hand of
Abraham Lincoln.

Another instance where father was first to advocate a great principle, but
was then thought by many to be unjust. Schools had so far been supported by
the men who sent children to school. At the end of each term of school the
pay-roll was made out. The man who sent five children paid, say fifteen
dollars, the man sending one paid five dollars. One man might be rich, have
no children and no payment for schools, and yet his property is made
valuable and salable because of schools.

Father claimed that all real estate and other property should be taxed,
because all property was equally benefited by schools. The strife between
neighbors was most bitter, for the matter was to be settled by vote in the
school district. Our school house was filled and before the vote was taken
both sides of the question had been freely aired. Adrian Manley said he
would like to tie Mr. Ruggles to a tree and let him stay there till the
woodpeckers pecked his blind eyes out of his head. Another said, "I had
just as soon have a man put his hand in my pocket and steal my money as to
steal it in this way." The vote was taken and the tax carried the day. From
that day to this schools have been supported mainly by tax. You may read
this little episode and enjoy a government, not half slave, but all free,
and schools comparatively free, can hardly realize what free schools and
free government have cost.

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