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By Ernest G. Cook
Theresa, Sept. 12: While there is much romance in the life of Robert Sixberry, probably the first white man to roam through the forests of northern Jefferson county, there is also much of mystery, for little has ever been recorded of his early life. Indeed, there are none to tell when and where he was born or the exact date when he first came into the wilderness of the north.
"You had better see "Tall Charlie Sixberry", was the advice of Charles E. Ward, as he talked about the early days of Robert Sixberry. "When 'Tall Charlie' was a boy," said Mr. Ward "He used to be much with his great grand-father, Robert and I suppose that he has heard more stories direct from the old man than any other living person. He is the last person living who spent days and days with the old man. If any one can tell you facts it will be "Tall Charlie." And 'Tall Charlie' has a good memory and will omit very little of the stories told by the aged pioneer who lived to be 112 years old."
So the writer went down to Evans Mills to search out "Tall Charlie" and have a visit with him.
"He isn't working, for he is just out of the hospital.", said the party of whom we enquired about Mr. Sixberry, "and you will probably find him at the club rooms."
Near the club room two men were talking, one rather tall and heavily built. The writer guessed the tall one to be Charlie and went up and addressed him as Mr. Sixberry and got a cherry reponse from a man probably between 60 and 70 years of age. When Mr. Sixberry was told that we wanted to visit a little about his great-grandfather, Tall Charlie reached down into the deep pocket of his pants, drew forth a key, unlocked the club room door and we went in and comfortably seated ourselves.
Charles E. Ward was right. Mr. Sixberry has a good memory and is perfectly free to tell the story of his aged great-grandfather. Hearing the stories many times from the aged man, he has them well planted in his memory.
"You see," said Mr. Sixberry, "they call me Tall Charlie, because there is another Charlie Sixberry here in Evans Mills and he is short. So for years it has been 'Tall Charlie' and 'Short Charlie' with the people here and we got used to our names long ago. I am a stone mason by trade and have worked at it many years. When a boy of from eight to twelve years, I used to be with my great-grandfather a lot. I almost lived in his cabin and used to practice shooting with him. I have asked him hundreds of questions about his early life. I only wish I had put some of his early history down on paper. But most of the important events he told me have remained with me all the years. You go ahead and ask me what you want to know and I'll try and answer. They may not be absolutely true as to dates, but as near as I can get them. You can build up your story from such facts as I can give you."
The very first days of Robert Sixberry are lost in the haze of the long ago. The fact that he was farmed out when a mere baby and brought up by another who gave him but little attention, as to the time and place of his birth prevent any exact dates being given. From the impressions Robert Sixberry got when he was young, he was born on board a vessel bound to America. He thought one of his parents died about the time the boat landed, or very shortly thereafter. He rather thought his other parent died shortly after he was a year old, for when he was just under two years, so he has been told, he was placed in the care of a family who lived on a farm in the Catskill mountains, near the Hudson river. The family were very devout Catholics and for fear he had not been baptized, took him to the church when he was two and had him christened in the Catholic faith. Tall Charlie said the parish records had been searched and they found where a Robert Sixberry was christened in 1765 at about the age of two years.
The woman to whom young Sixberry was farmed out must have forgotten that there was another part to the saying of "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy". She only knew the "All work" and no play part. The fact that there were no relatives of Sixberry to see how he fared or to put up a protest at his having too much work, made the youth about as near a slave in the household as one could be. The man was kinder and was more gentle with the child. But the wife was a driver, it is said.
As soon as young Sixberry was able he was set at work and had to toll long hours. His only hours off was when he went to church and the fact that he hated the woman caused him at that time to turn against her church. After working hard all day he got only a slight fare at the table, the older ones getting first choice. At night he tumbled into a ragged bunk of a bed up in the loft. But in that loft in the dark of the night he did some thinking. He tried to think of a plan to escape and leave forever the land of such treatment as he was receiving. But escape seemed to be impossible, for he could hardly get very far away before they would follow after and overtake him and his last treatment would be much harder than the first, if that was possible. So he toiled on. But always, in the back of his mind, there was the thought of escape if ever an opportunity offered.
As he grew older, the young Sixberry began to map out how he would escape. Night after night, after he had dropped into his bunk in the loft, he laid plans and again more plans. About this time there began to come into the farm home stories of what might be a conflict between the people living in the colonies in America and land accross the sea called England. Maybe that would afford a means of escape. If he could only be a drummer boy the whole problem would be solved. But he thought out that a drummer boy could not get far enough away to get lost from the slave-driving woman he had for a mistress.
Always, after going over his many plans for escape, he would come back to the one of where he would get away and live with the Indians far, far away from any white people. He would hunt and fish with them and lived as they lived, a care-free and happy life. Just where he would go to find such a spot he was not sure, but he had heard older people say, as they discussed the country with each other, that there was a section above the Mohawk river in which the white man had not entered and where lived the Indians as they did ages ago. That would be the place he would try to reach.
The spring he was probably 13, or maybe 14, he thought it time to put into action his long deferred plans. In different hiding places he would secrete such things as he might need. With his supplies all stored, he could strike out quickly when the right moment came. He would want a gun and plenty of shot and powder. The The gun he could leave hanging on the wall until the time he started, but the shot and powder he hid away. At last there came a Saturday early in June when it looked line fine weather ahead. If Sunday should prove to be a good day, he would slip out while the family were at church and get as far enough up the Hudson river as to be fairly safe. Maybe he could not remain at home from church, as the rules were very strict about his going. He would do his best.
Sunday dawned a beautiful day. Birds were calling from every tree and the perfume of clover was in the air. The family were astir early, but Robert failed to appear. He called down that he was very sick, but thought he would be better after a little. Convinced that he was too sick to work at the chores and also not able to ride to church, the family dressed in their best and drove away to the early meeting.
Quietly, after their departure, Robert was astir. He gathered up such supplies as he had hid away, including some things to eat. Got his shot and powderand took down the best gun. Quietly, he went out the back door into the warmth of the bright June day. As he hurried away he hoped he would never see the place again. Feeling that it was a case of now or never, he headed north up the Hudson river, keeping mostly in the woods as he traveled.
(To be continued.) |
