Southwicks

I Lawrence, born Tenderton, County Kent, England, as were the Lombard ancestors. He migrated to Barnstable, Massachusetts in 1630 where he lived until 1659.

Cassandra - probably sister. Whittier called her Cassandra Southwick in his poem. These were Quakers fleeing from persecution.

1660 Lawrence moved to Shelter Island, New York.

II John,b. Lancaster, England, 1620, m. Sarah Flint, Hannah Flint, Sarah Burnet, D. October 25, 1672

III Sarah, first child of John, b. 1644

IV Samuel third child of Sarah. b. 1688; m. Mary Ross of Ipswich; d. 1709

V David, New Salem, Mass., b.1701; m. Thankful Doris Griggs; d. 1792 Member of Congregational Church, Williamstown, Mass.

VI Samuel, first child of David; b. Clinton County, N.Y., 1727; m.
Abigail Warner, 1755; m. Phoebe Southwick, fourth cousin; d. 1841

VII David, first child of Samuel; b. Adams, Mass., 1756 or 1757; m. Betsy Stacy, Benton, Vermont, 1783; d. 1841

VIII Ebenezer, b. 1784; m. Clarissa Williams

IX Milton, eight of twelve children; b. June 15, 1800; d. Feb 20, 1896; m. Harriet Chamberlain; b. 1803; d. 1865

X Franklin, youngest child of Milton
b. Wisconsin; d. California

My mother was born in Clinton County, N.Y., town of Moors near the Canadian border. Grandpa sold his produce in Canada. When Mother was seven (1845) the family moved to Wisconsin going by the Great Lakes. It was a stormy voyage and grandma nearly died. In 1851 Mother went to Minnesota to teach school and keep house for her brother (Eli) and her cousin David, brother to Fred. There she met Father. She received her education at Albion Academy and Milton (now a college). She worked in the home of the principal to earn her way. Mother was a wonderful storyteller. She made Bible incidents come alive. In later years when she when she found me an interested listener she told me stories of her girlhood. As I recall them, I'll send them on to you hoping I won't bore you. I long for a visit, face to face.

Grandma had a farm on Lake Kush-Kenaw (I am guessing at the spelling as I have never been able to locate it.) The main crop of the region was hops and the Indians came each year to pick - early migrants! One Sunday Mother was left in charge of the younger children while the family went to church. The Indians came and looted the house while Mother and the children hid in the corn field. The Indians had planned to be gone with their stolen goods before Grandpa returned but a sudden storm made that impossible. You remember Grandpa was small but he didn't know fear. In the night he and the boys brought all the canoes up to the house. Early next morning the chief appeared demanding their canoes. “Not until you return every single thing you stole.” The chief no savvy English so Grandpa repeated with force. “Sh--!" said the chief, "Oh, ho, I thought you couldn't understand English!" They brought back everything but a shell covered box that Mother treasured, her only pretty. To puritanical Grandpa it was a worthless bauble if not wicked. How I grieved for her loss, mother never knew. Pioneer children had so little beyond necessities and mother loved beauty in literature, music, flowers and just things.

Another time Grandpa was cutting wood in the forest when he heard a child crying in terror. He ran to investigate and found the drink crazed chief threatening the life of his son. Grandpa raised his ax and shouted, "You touch that boy and I'll brain you!" Did his pacifist Quaker forebearer turn in their graves? Some avaricious white man had sold the chief fire water. I wish Grandpa had had him at his mercy. Later a sober and very humble chief came to thank Grandpa for saving the son who was the apple of his eye.

In those pioneer days they depended on hunting and fishing for much of their meat. One day Grandpa shot and killed a bear but didn't wait quite long enough before he loaded the beast onto his shoulders. In its death throes it pressed its sharp claws into Grandpa's flesh. Did he drop it? Not Grandpa! That bear meant warm fur and meat for hungry mouths. Gritting his teeth he plodded on home where the boys pried the bear loose and Grandma dressed the cruel wounds.

A group called Millerites had set a day in 1044 for the return of our Lord. Grandpa belonged to this group so he and his family spent the night on a hill top to welcome him. Grandpa's faith -- if it was a faith -- was so deep he wanted to burn the home. Grandma had been raised a worldly minded (?) Presbyterian and refused. So they had a home to which to return and Grandpa could work again on the time when Christ should appear in the flesh. Later their home did burn and Grandma worked early and late making bedding and clothing. Erysipelas appeared and needing her hands, she applied something that drove the trouble in and caused her death in 1865. Later Grandpa married an outwardly very pious schemer who made life intolerable until he walked away coming, I think, to the home of his son Franklin where he was welcomed and cared for as long as he lived. He could never bear to talk of that experience. One story Mother told. The second wife was penurious. She served up nubbins of potatoes and sold the good ones. When Grandpa complained she said, "Better than none brother Southwick." That became a by-word in our home.

Grandpa mellowed with age and in 1895, the summer fourteen of us gathered in Lake Mills he opened his heart to mother. He told her much as he disapproved of her marriage he now considered Abram his choicest son-in-law. Mother treasured those words. You see gather's people were Methodists, Father wasn't even a church member. The family minister refused to marry them but when their love was unshaken he finally offered his services. They would have none of him and were married by a justice of the peace -- a thing I was ashamed of as a silly teenager. In this connection I recall a story to show that even in Mother's generation girls were girls. A widower who made his religion apparent to all comers wished to marry Mother and Grandpa approved, not mother. She told Grandma if that old billy goat proposed to her she would -- well, shock the family. He was a house guest and as he dressed sang in a loud voice, "Lord in the morning thou shalt hear" In the kitchen Mother joined in -- "The cow bell on the brindle steer." Lucky for her it was Grandma who heard her and who understood. He didn't propose. In her quiet way I suspect Grandma had authority.

As I said, the Southwicks were very puritanical but their children were human. No jewelry was allowed -- even had there been money for it --none of life's vanities. All the girls at school wore hoops but not the Southwick girls. In spite of starch their skirts flopped around their legs until ---- they made tucks in their petticoats, cut and peeled willow witches which they hid under a fence on their way to school. There they ran the witches into the tucks and entered school not freaks but just like other girls. I don't suppose they had heard the term conformist. Mother had a feeling Grandma suspected something but she never knew. Grandma had once been a girl, herself.

Aunt Emeline was the pretty one and she and mother were proud. Both appreciated good English and proper grammar -- it and. spelling were well taught in their country school. They were teased unmercifully by their brothers. If properly provoked the boys weren't above calling each other "mean little cusses." Aunt Emeline had beautiful, snapping brown eyes and a temper to match. One day the boys went too far with their teasing and she turned on them, "You mean little curse-ezs--you:" Perfect enunciation! Again I feel girls are girls in all generations. I'm strong for our teen-agers.

All the Milton Southwick family sang and loved music. Wasn't it Uncle Eli who made his own violin and taught his boys to play? Evenings the children gathered around the table -- at one time four boys and four girls old enough to sing -- sol-f a of course. Grandma could carry any part. If the tenor seemed weak she just took over. Two of the brothers conducted singing schools, a pleasure allowed along with spelling bees.
No organ in church but some one always had a tuning fork. Once at prayer meeting the minister asked Uncle Eli, perhaps, to start a less familiar hymn. Mother insisted he should first have hummed the sol-fa. He didn't; just began confidently, "My God!" and stalled. He tried again, "My God" no go. With the third try there were titters from the young fry and the preacher chose another hymn.

I have written down some of the stories I heard from mother -- often over the dish pan. The first page is from material I received from you but I am enclosing it.