My father was a shifty trader and very ventur-some. He often had trouble
with the people in these parts, who were Dutch and were jealous of him.
He had a violent temper and was not easily bent from his purpose by
opporsition. His men had a deal of fear of him and good cause enough in
the bargain, for I once saw him discipline a half-negro man who was one
of his boat-men for stealing his private jug of liquor from his private
pack. He clinched with the negro and soon had him on the ground, where
the man struggled manfully but to no purpose, for your grandfather soon
had him at his mercy. "Now," said he, "give me the jug or take the
consequences." The other boat paddlers wanted to rescue him, but I
menaced them with my fusil and the matter ended by the return of the
jug.
In 1753 he met his end at the hands of western Indians in the French
interest, who shot him as he was helping to carry a battoe, and he was
burried in the wilderness. My mother then returned to her home in
Massassachusetts, journeying with a party of traders but I staid with
the Dutch on these frontiers because I had learned the indian trade and
liked the country. Not having any chances, I had little book learning in
my youth, having to this day a regret concerning it. I read a few books,
but fear I had a narrow knowledge of things outside the Dutch
settlements. On the frontiers, for that matter, few people had much
skill with the pen, nor was much needed.
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