Copyright USGenNet Inc., 2013, All Rights Reserved U.S. Data Repository Please read U.S. Data Repository Copyright Statement on this page: Transcribed and submitted by Linda Talbott for the US Data Repository http://www.us-data.org/ ========================================================================= U.S. Data Repository NOTICE: These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced in any format for profit or presentation by any other organization. Non-commercial organizations desiring to use this material must obtain the consent of the transcriber prior to use. Individuals desiring to use this material in their own research may do so. ========================================================================= Formatted by U.S. Data Repository Chief Archivist, Linda Talbott All of the above information must remain when copied or downloaded. =========================================================================== A Memoir of the Late William Hodge, Sen. Bigelow Bros., Buffalo, N.Y. - 1885 (90-94) PERILS AND ESCAPES -------- Born in Exeter, Otsego Co., N. Y., December 20, 1804, I was an infant, less than six months old, when, June 16, 1805, we came to Buffalo. My earliest recollection is of living in the double log house already mentioned and described, on farm lot No. 35, —which was my home till I was eight years old. How plain in my remembrance is the scene! the road so lately cut through, full of stumps, logs and brush; many of the native forest trees being still standing round about. As I return in memory to those days, many things bring to mind that trustful, child-like hymn beginning "When in the slippery paths of youth With heedless steps I ran; Thine arm, unseen, conveyed me safe, And led me up, to man." On the bare floor of that log house I was once, a little creeping, toddling boy, discovered by my mother munching a "thousand-legged worm," with infantile satisfaction; my mouth filled, and face smeared, with its vile, poisonous substance. My mother had reason to fear that I had already swallowed enough of this to cause my death. How quickly she endeavored to remove the dangerous stuff, and cleanse my mouth, — to save her child! And he was saved, surviving the accident, and suffering only the damage of a very sore mouth, swollen lips, with a decided yet safe disrelish, lasting quite a while, for all animal food, especially of the worm species. But the mother! how constantly, with all her other cares, she has that of her children's health and life, and, in a new and scattered settlement, without the comfort of a physician near, ready, on call, to help! At another time, two years later, I was playing, with a sister two years older than myself, in the road in front of "the log house." We were having a happy time, out there bareheaded, bare-footed, in the dirt, making mud pies and dirt houses; and the mother within was thus for the time relieved of some of her cares while she was attending to other domestic duties. But, hark! suddenly she hears a noise down the road. She hastens to the door to listen (for every new noise in such a place excites at least attention and curiosity), when the cry "Mad dog! mad dog!" falls distinctly on her ear. And there, in the very direction of the nearing cry, are her two children in the middle of the road, all unconscious of any danger. How quickly she rushes out, runs to them, seizes hold of them, catching one in each hand, and hurries them into the friendly house and shuts the door upon the frightful danger. And then going to the window, she realizes from what she has been permitted to snatch her loved ones. There, just where her children were playing, is a large yellow dog, with pro- truding tongue, frothing at the mouth, a death-threatening mad dog. And there, too, among that cherished flock of geese, the creature is seen quickly venting his madness by seizing, shaking and biting one of the fowls till he is satisfied, when he drops it, and trots on towards the village; on the road to which he is pursued, overtaken and killed. Yes, how incessant and severe are the toils and anxieties of the pio- neer mother! How needful to her, the support of a real trust in One who ever orders all things for the best! And later, when other children had been added to the family, to one of these came a strange, and in her case fatal, injury. This was occasioned by the attack of a vicious fowl, which pierced her head with his strong, sharp spur. But this it was beyond the skill of any except trained physicians, yes, even beyond their skill, to treat successfully. Drs. DANIEL CHAPIN, CYRENIUS CHAPIN, EBENEZER JOHNSON and JOSIAH TROWBRIDGE, were all called to meet in council. They cut from the little head a circular piece of bone, three-quarters of an inch in diameter; they finished the work of trepanning the wound; but they could not save the child. She died, and was carried for burial to the Village Cemetery which then was where now, in "Franklin Square," is the great City and County Building. Yet, again, fifteen years had passed. The family home was no longer the log house, but it was the large brick house, on the rise of ground near by the old place. My sister and myself had grown up and become a young woman and a young man, when I had an adventure, calculated to remind me forcibly of the rescue by my mother in my infant days, and of the care of One more watchful even than a mother, that is over each from day to day, at every period of our life. Belonging to the family was a dog, a pet of the whole household, named Prince, but affectionately called by the more endearing name of Pinny. He was knowing and active, full of fun and frolic, and ready whenever the children saw fit to give him a chance, to play with them. His usual place, in warm weather, was on the floor of a porch which covered the side door of the house. One day I was passing across the porch, when Pinny, who was lying in his usual place, jumped up and seized me with his teeth by the leg, tearing my pantaloons, and leav- ing a deep mark, the print of his teeth, upon my flesh, —but not so deep as to draw blood. So vexed was I that the trusted and loved pet should, unprovoked, thus attack one of the family, that I instantly turned to give the creature a kick, which he dodged, a process re- peated several times, —he snarling and snapping at each charge. I then, failing to hit the dog, left him still snarling and snapping, and entered the house. I did not think much about the occurrence that day, but in the night the dog was heard barking, and proved to be worrying a cow. In the morning, however, he was found in his usual place on the porch floor, but appearing very dull, dejected, and indeed, sick. When the cow was examined, her nose was found to be lacerated. She had defended herself with her horns, yet there was not a space which a finger would cover, that had not been bitten by the dog. And the decision was that Pinny was mad, and must be killed. I took my rifle, and loaded it, and called Pinny to follow me, which he readily did, I going out the back way, through the garden, crossing several lots and fields, until I came down by the side of a piece of woods. How badly I felt, then, as I realized that I was about to take the life of the creature we had so loved. But the thought came to me of ABRAHAM required to sacrifice even his own son, and it helped me to think that it was comparatively a small duty to take a dog's life, and that too, when it was so plainly necessary. So I hissed Pinny past me, and as he ran forward put a ball through the back of his head, and he fell dead, never knowing what had killed him. But the cow became a source of danger. She had been kept in the yard, with her calf, and after some days she became raving mad, broke out of the yard, and ran up and down the road, with her head raised high and making the most awful bellowing I ever heard. Men and neigh- bors turned out, with clubs and pitchforks; and with much anxiety and fear, we succeeded in getting the rabid creature into the barnyard, where she was despatched. Her body was drawn off into the woods and buried. When, now, I look back, not only at these, but many other, perils of the way, and think of the little girl, my sister, who with me was snatched from what was almost certain to be a deadly danger, as growing up to be seventy years of age ere she died and was buried in our beautiful Forest Lawn, —and of myself, the infant, the boy, the venturesome youth, now when these words are published, having reached and passed my four-score years of life,—what reason I have to say, in the words of the last verse of the hymn I have quoted: "By thy hand restored, defended Safe through life thus far I've come; Safe, O Lord, when life is ended. Bring me to my heavenly home." ===========================================================================