Three Rivers
Hudson~Mohawk~Schoharie
History From America's Most Famous Valleys

The Life and Adventures
of Nat Foster,
Trapper and Hunter of the Adirondacks
by A. L. Byron-Curtiss
Utica, N. Y.
Press of Thomas J. Griffiths,
131 Genesee Street, 1897

Chapter VI

In 1782, the war being about over, Mr. Foster decided to return to his home and fireside. I stop and lay down my pen as I attempt to describe that return to his home, and the reunion with his family

Seven years and ten months he had been absent, fighting for the freedom of that country he loved as his own life. During those years he had received no word from or about his family. Whether they were living or dead he knew not. What success or failure they had had in keeping together, and securing a living, he had no idea, save that if his faithful spouse was living, she was doing all possible to keep the family together. He knew his children must be grown beyond his recognition. But of the condition of each and all he was entirely ignorant.

During the long period he had been in the Continental army he had not slept in a bed or eaten a meal decently cooked. He stood the strain well. His huge frame and iron constitution seemed proof against the severe hardships he had been called upon to endure. But still it told on him towards the last. His form became bent, and his face furrowed. Early in 1782 he contracted a sever cold, which brought on inflammation of the eyes, and he was obliged to go to one of the army surgeons for treatment. At regular intervals attacks of ague also racked his gigantic frame. His friends and the surgeon attending him tired to persuade him to give up and go home. But no, he would not leave the army until England was whipped and his country free. So he continued in the field, suffering from sore eyes, and his body shaken with ague fits, until steps were taken to form the treaty of peace; then he consented to give up, and immediately set his face homeward.

The same state of ignorance and suspense was endured by his family during his protracted absence. As we had seen, they met, fairly and successfully, the trials of their situation. Fortune smile on Mrs. Foster and gave the children healthy bodies and willing hands to work and endure for the common interest.

Providence was remarkably kind to them in bestowing success upon their cultivation of the soil and pursuit of the chase. The all seeing and all powerful One had preserved and protected them. But year after year came and went, and no word was received from the absent husband and father. The children frequently spoke of him, and Nat and Elisha often expressed the wish that "Father might see the excellent shot," or the big game" brought home.

As time wore away, Mrs. Foster's face became more grave, and even sad. The children, sometimes noting it, asked the cause, but the noble woman seldom saddened their young hearts by telling them the real cause. Occasionally, however, she could not conceal her emotions. One day when Nat found her weeping, he guessed for the first time that she, fearing never to see his father again, had given him up as lost; and he, too, became thoughtful and sad for a time. But, boy-like, his exuberance of spirits soon made him cheerful and lively again.

His mother, as we can well imagine, was an untiring worker. She managed their little farm so well that in a few seasons it was in a superior state of cultivation for those times. The stock was increased; the three or four sheep they had when Mr. Foster went away had multiplied to a large flock. A half a dozen of milk cows and a yoke of oxen, which the boys had raised and broken from calves, were among their possessions. When we think of the work that was done then by hand in the home, which is now performed by machinery in mills and factories, we wonder that the good woman was able to keep up at all, with the countless demands upon her. But her hands were willing and her ingenuity a resourceful one; and she worked on, constantly and bravely.

Let us glance at some of her presumable numerous duties. In the summer she had the crops to look after, the cows to attend, with the working up of their products. Under he direction the wild and domestic meats must be corned and cured for winter's use. In the fall she must superintend the harvesting of the crops; the cutting, rotting, pounding and working up of the flax, from which a large part of their supply of cloth was obtained. This task of properly securing the flax was no small one. It was first pulled and allowed to remain in the fields until the outer shell or bark had rotted away, then it was gathered and beaten up with a "pounder." The inner texture was then obtained for the work of the hetchel, card, spinning wheel and loom. Those familiar with the old fashioned Herrick's Almanac, or who have been curious enough to examine the cuts that appear in that old free medical work, must have noticed a picture illustrating the process of pounding and working up of flax.

The carding of this beaten flax, together with the wool sheared from their sheep in the spring, must have occupied her attention well on into the winter. The she would set her spinning wheel to running, and spend the winter in spinning and weaving.

It was while engaged in this occupation of spinning one day in November that her thoughts reverted to her absent husband. He was alone in the cabin. Zilpha, now a healthy and vigorous girl of fourteen, was working some fall butter in a little cabin by the spring. The boys had built it for a "Milk house," but nowadays it would be dignified with the name of "creamery." The three younger children were in the woods gathering nuts.

There had been some very pleasant Indian summer days, which had greatly cheered this faithful woman. But this day the weather was of that bleak, autumnal character which prevails most frequently during the month of November. The wind roared and howled through the tree tops, and moaned and sighed in its careerings down the chimney. Fitful gusts set the ashes in the fireplace flying through the air; and handfuls of dead leaves beat against the panes of the little window of the cabin, which incessantly rattled and shook in its casement.

Her state of mind was in keeping with the moaning and sighing wind and the melancholy droning of her spinning wheel. She felt mournful and disconsolate. But two months more would some and go, ere eight years would have passed since she had seen her husband. Vivid in her mind now was the scene of his parting, as he kissed her and the children good-bye and started, gun in hand, for Boston, to fight for freedom. She had heard months ago of the surrender of Cornwallis, and of the probably speedy termination of the war. Already, she had heard, the patriots were returning to their homes and hearth stones. But would her husband return to her? Nay; she dare not hope that. Tears came to her eyes, but she resolutely dashed them away, and set her wheel to revolving more rapidly than ever. Soon came a knock. She stopped her wheel and going to the door, opened it. There stood before her a blear eyed man, his clothing in rags, his long hair matted and snarled, his face unshaven, and his body painfully bowed. He lifted his watery eyes to her with a longing and beseeching look in them; but he spoke no word. She, supposing him to be a poor wayfarer, said, "Come in, my good man, and warm yourself, and I will give you a bite to eat." She moved aside and he stepped into the cabin. Straightening himself with an effort, he spoke for the first time:

"Lydia," said he, "don't you know me?"

She halted, she hesitated an instant, and then with a heaving breast and tears welling to her eyes, she clasped her husband to her bosom. Together they wept like children. His body was weak from sickness, and, fatigued by his long journey, gave way under the excitement and strain. He would have fallen had not his wife supported him, and guiding him to a chair seated herself, taking him on her lap, as she would one of her children. It was many moments before either could speak. And then Mrs. Foster could only cry out between her sobs of joy, "Oh, Nathaniel, Nathaniel, my husband, my husband."

"Lydia," said Mr. Foster at last, rousing himself, our country is free. Where are the children."

The mention of the children reminded Mrs. Foster that here were others to share her joy. Going to the door, she took down the dinner horn, and blew a loud and long blast from its metallic throat. Its summons at that unusual hour, was heeded at once by those within its sound, and caused them to hasten homeward, with all the speed possible.

The first to arrive was Zilpha. She was a beautiful girl, already developing into womanhood. She came running in great haste, carrying the wooden butter ladle she had been using, and which, in her hurry, she had forgotten to leave.

"Your father has come," was the simple announcement of her mother, as she met he at the door. With a cry of joy the girl sprang to the door, and then hesitated, gazing timidly at the ragged, unkempt man seated by the fire. There she stood bare headed, her dark hair falling in ringlets about her shoulders, mantled with a simple dress of "Homespun," her black eyes flashing, and her cheeks flushed from her run from the milk house, a most beautiful and welcome picture to her father.

"Come, my daughter, come," said Mr. Foster, holding out his hands to her. She hesitated no longer, but throwing the butter ladle upon the floor, spring into the embracing arms of her poor father, and covered his weather beaten face with her sweet kisses.

The children now came trooping in with their bags and baskets of nuts. They too, approached their father slyly. All but Sybil. She only stopped to ask, "Is that my pa you told me about?" and upon being told by her mother that it was her "pa," she exclaimed, "Then I will go and kiss him," and running to him, she threw her chubby arms about his neck and again rejoiced his heart by her caresses.

The boys soon arrived, bearing between them, slug to a pole, a yearling deer they had shot. The strapping young fellows were more noisy and boisterous in their greetings of their father than were the other children. Nat particularly was very demonstrative: "Hurrah for father," he shouted, as he tossed up his hat, and rushed into the cabin. "Hurrah, father," he shouted as he grasped his parent's hand. "Did you whip the Crown?" he exclaimed, as he recollected the avowed object of his father's leaving home and which now seemed so many, many years ago. "Yes, yes, my lad," answered Mr. Foster, "we've fought the Crown, and beat him, too. Our country is now free, thank God."

The sight of his family grouped about him, with little Sybil on his knee, again moved Mr. Foster to tears of joy. Here they all were, safe and sound, well and healthy after his long absence from home.

The two oldes boys were strapping big fellows for their ages. Elisha was eighteen, and Nathaniel, though but sixteen, was fully as large as his elder brother. Zilpha was fourteen. The next, Ann was twelve. Solomon no longer considered himself little at the age of ten, though Sybil was content to be the baby of the family at eight.

Mr. Foster had gone unflinchingly through the dangers and hardships of war; he had participated in bloody battles, and seen with indifference loathsome acts of savagery. But these noble sons and daughters, standing before him, with their faithful mother, quite unnerved him, and he shed tears of gratitude and joy.

Regaining somewhat his composure, he blessed them all, as he had blessed them years before. The sense of strangeness which the children fist felt towards their father soon wore away, and the boys began to tell him of their adventures and experiences in hunting and trapping, in working and managing the farm, in trading and bartering. He listened with keen relish and appreciation. Rousing himself, he went out and inspected the deer they had brought in; and then looked over the farm and stock expressing great surprise and pleasure at the good and orderly appearance of everything. Returning to the house, they found the evening meal prepared, and with grateful hearts they gathered around the board, and bowed their heads as Mr. Foster--as them head of the household-invoked God's blessing on the meal. It was truly a happy family gathered around the table that night.

Supper being over, Mr. Foster again took Sybil on his knee and listened to the boys as they continued the accounts of their life during his absence. When pressed to tell his own experiences, he shook his head, and said:

"Not tonight, boys. Our country is free and you ought to be satisfied with that."

Not for weeks would Mr. Foster give his family any particular account of his years of wandering and fighting. He seemed so satisfied and thankful for his return home, and the finding of his family safe and sound, that he did not appear to care about mentioning any of his own experiences, but seemed contented and satisfied in listening to accounts of theirs, particularly those of the boys. He laughed long and loud as Solomon described Nat's nocturnal encounter with the bear, and the damage done to his tow shirt. He nodded his head approvingly when they told him of the capture, liberation, and subsequent shooting of Old Put. But he grew wrathy when they told him of the Indians' treatment of Nat in trying him to a tree. He at once fell to giving the boys some instruction and advice on Indian hating and Indian shooting. Advice and instruction they did not need to have impressed upon them so very much by reason of their own encounters and experiences with the savage men.

Under the benign influence of his home and its comforts. Mr. Foster rapidly regained, to a considerable degree, his former health, though it was not possible that it be fully restored after the long and severe strain on his constitution. He was afterwards always afflicted with rheumatism; and his eyes troubled him, until finally he became totally blind, from the effects of the inflammation in them while in the army. Within a few weeks after his return, however, he was sufficiently restored to walk about the town, bearing himself with pardonable pride, conscious, as he was, of his long an faithful service in fighting for the freedom of the Colonies.

About this time he began to talk more freely of his experiences and adventures while away to war. And in this connection there was one thing which seemed of particular interest to him; that was the Mohawk Valley, and the surrounding country of hills and mountains covered with dense forest. The time of his campaign in New York State was when the country was to be seen at its best. The noble hills and broad valley were luxuriant with their mantles of green. The Dutch settlements gave complete testimony of the fertility of the river meadows, while the forests of the adjacent hills and mountains abounded with game, which the patriot troops constantly bagged for food.

Mr. Foster so frequently spoke of the superiority of New York State to New Hampshire, that Nat surprised him one day, as he was drawing comparisons between the mountains of New York and of their own, by exclaiming, "Say father, let's go there and live." Mr. Foster looked at his swarthy son to see if he was in earnest, and being assured, he told the impulsive lad to be content where he was. That a bird in the hand was far better than two in the bush, and such like advice. Yet the suggestion of his son left its impression on his mind. Yes, why not go? Why not go west, as New York was then called? His family, which had been so mercifully preserved to him, were now at the time of vigorous youth, and demanded a better place for maturing than Hinsdale afforded. His farm, which they had kept up, was small, and the game, according to the boys' own testimony, was already beginning to disappear. Yes, why not go?

He broached the subject to the family, and the idea was hailed with delight by the boys. Only Mrs. Foster, with the characteristics of her sex, was loath to leave the old place. But the matter being fully discussed as the winter advanced, it was definitely settled that they should go in the spring. After all, Nat's suggestion prevailed. We shall see, as we follow his life, what an important bearing it had on his career.

And so now, after years of fighting and warring, the old patriot was to see a new home. As in the prime of life he had left Rhode Island and sought a home in New Hampshire, for that family that was to be born to him; so now, in his older years, he was to seek a more congenial place for the family to develop in, which would admit of their expansion. Already he felt the weight of years. His constitution, once as of iron, was now broken and shattered; and added to this was threatened blindness.

And here I would pause and relate a touching incident connected with the darkness of his last days, at the risk of being censured for interpolating. It happened many years after his emigration to New York State, 1826), when he was spending the quiet of his extreme old age with his son, Nat, at the later's home in Salisbury, Herkimer County, N. Y. A reunion of the Fosters was being held at Nat's home, and among the guests was a lad of seven years, a great-grandson of Mr. Foster.

The old man, in the weakness of his age, was lying on a bed in a room adjoining that in which the company were assembled. He heard them speaking of this boy in very flattering terms. They all regarded him as a child of great promise. Hearing them speak so much of the boy, he requested that he be brought to him. So, agreeably to his request, the lad was brought in to his bedside. The old man proceeded to give him such advice, in regard to his duty to his God, his country and his fellow man, as he, by reason of his ripe age and matured experience, was so well fitted to give. And then rising to a sitting posture, he stretched out his hands and laid them upon the boy's head, and raising his sightless eyes to heaven, like Jacob of old, gave the lad his patriarchal blessing.

It was a touching episode, and one which moved all of the witnesses as they were grouped around the blind and aged patriarch, and the fair young child. It left its lasting impression upon the heart of the lad. He still lives (1897) at an advanced age in one of the northern towns of Fulton County, N. Y. His life has been a fulfillment of the prophecies his relatives made of him that day, and impressed and emphasized by his grandsire's advice and blessing. And his own testimony is to the effect that that advice and blessing did much to mold and fashion his life into the one of virtue, honesty and devotion to God, which has characterized it.

The above incident will also suffice as a refutation of the story that is sometimes heard in the woods in connection with the life of Nat Foster, the son. It is to the effect that his father, mother, brother, and sisters were all massacred at one time by the Indians. The elder Foster died peacefully at the home of Nat, soon after the above incident.

The children were all eager to go into the new country. Nat was particularly anxious to go; for the advantages he was sure ti would afford him and Elisha for hunting and trapping.

"Are there any Injuns there dad?" he innocently asked his father one day, as they were talking over the plans of moving in the spring.

"Injun!" exclaimed his father, starting up, "Injuns, did you say? Yes, lots of 'em. And you'll have need to look out lad, if you go to hunting and trapping in the mountains north of the valley. The red devils will steal you blind, and then kill you in the bargain." And he continued giving his young son more advice and information about Indians and Indian fighting.

"I'll tell what, my lad," he said, "make shooting the red devils your life's work. But even then," he continued, "you can't repay 'em for half the hellish work I've seen 'em do right in that valley since I've been away. Never excite a quarrel with any of 'em," he went on, "or with any one, for that matter. Be kind and as peaceful as you can, for that's what our Maker intended us to be. But," he added, with a grim snapping of his jaws, "it's different with them cussed Injuns. You can't be peaceable with 'em no how."

Of all the experiences or accounts of his adventures he would give concerning his life in the war, he was most liberal with the accounts of Indian savagery, and Indian treachery, as he had seen it developed under the fostering care of British influence. And as he had often said he would ruing the war, he now taught his children to hate the unfortunate race.

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