REMINISCENSES BY SOPHRONIA YOUNG KINNE
In the little village, now DeWitt, where, on the first day of
1818 I first saw the light, there may have been fifteen residences
eight of which were occupied by my Grandfather, John Young, his
six sons and one daughter, seven of his nine children.
He was one of the first settlers, had taken a half-section
and given to each of his boys 30 acres whereon to build a house.
Five of them had built on the main street which was the old turn-
pike running from Albany to Buffalo, and one had settled a half
mile away on the southeast corner of the lot.
Here within a radius of a mile and a half over fifty grand-
children were born to the old gentleman and the place was named
Youngsville in his honor. All save one who went west, reared
their families in their primitive homes. I was a frequent
visitor to Uncle John's on the hill and could tell many a pleas-
ing story of the garden of flowers where we were allowed to pick
our aprons full of grass pinks, string them with a needle and
thread, then wind them into a roll with a sprig of camomile in
the center. This, with a little care, would last a week to carry
to school. We were allowed to draw our finger through the dripping
honey and make gloves by plunging our hands into the cooling wax.
An Indian burying ground within a few hundred yards of the
house contained much of interest. On a ridge of land of so ancient
date that, at the time of which I write, it had a growth of good
sized forest trees. A portion of the land had been cleared, and
there, many graves had been dug into where human bones, evidently
those of Indians, with some implements of warfare and the inevi-
table pot of beans were exhumed. There too was the mysterious
"Indian Star" which appeared at certain seasons of the year which
so awed and intimidated the people that not even the boldest or
any number of men or boys were courageous enough to investiage
the matter. It was at the close of a bright autumnal day. The
twilight had given place to a clear crisp evening. The Heavens
were studded with innumerable stars. Among them was one larger
and far more brilliant and of a peculiar color. While we were
gazing, it began slowly to descend until within five or six feet
of the earth it changed its movement passing back and forth among
the trees several times, then wavering a moment, settled out of
sight. No explanation was attempted and it remained shrouded in
mystery and to the ignorant and superstitious it was an evil omen.
Years afterward it became evident to enquiring minds that there
must be a natural cause for the display of such erratic foreworks
when a survey of the premises disclosed a stagnant pool at the
opposite base of the ridge whence may have arisen the Ignis Fatuus
or "Jack" with the lantern. A few years later I went over the
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ridge and beyond it was a stagnant frog pond and on a log in that
pond I saw what I believed to be an exhausted Indian Star or Will
o' the Wisp. A mass of jelly, perhaps a half teacup full, looked
as if dropped onto the log breaking into fragments. Perhaps I was
the more ready to believe that theory as I had heard of similar
phenomena. That it was an Ignis Fatuus there could be no doubt
and a few years later, one of those dark Autumn days when the mist
clouds seemed to lie along the earth, I saw one moving slowly from
the upland towards the swamp; a distance of half a mile. It looked
like a ball of fire larger than a two-quart measure. These appear-
ances were more frequent when the country was first settled than
since the forests have been cut off subjecting the ponds to the
sun's rays.
Another incident which occurred in my childhood and of which I
may here speak, was one which never could be accounted for. My
mother, with a young acquaintance had gone to a neighbor's to attend
a prayer meeting. When the evening was about half gone, a thunder
storm came looming up the western sky. The meeting was hastily
closed and all started for their homes. But the storm, with re-
doubled fury, overtook them, heralded as it seemed by human voices
uttering such wails of woe as sent the blood curdling in their veins.
Other people heard it until the storm and the sound passed away in
the distance. This was thought to be an evil omen but none could
trace any warning of the death of the young lady which occurred the
next season in those wild orgies of the storm-king. Though these
things impressed me I don't think they influenced me in the least.
My father was strongly incredulous as to ghosts or spirits
appearing or warnings of any kind coming from the dead to the living.
Everything of the sort was discountenanced in his family. Conse-
quentl^we were not afraid to go anywhere that duty called in a
starless night even tho the way led through the burying ground
when one couldn't see the tombstones for the darkness.
As children we had a large range and every nook and corner of
the old farm was familiar. We knew where the wild violets blossomed
earliest and vhere the lichens grew a perfect mat and one of our
Spring excursions was to gather the wild flowers and dig ground
nuts and crinkle-root. These were in the swamp pasture where the
kine were driven mornings and brought home at night. Here too were
cowslips in large patches with their attractive yellow blossoms
but often in such marshy places as to be beyond our reach. What
child has not gathered the wild violets, blue and white, and
ruthlessly snapped off their heads in an unequal contest for
superiority of strength, calling them hens and roosters? it
has always been and still is a mystery^who first gave them their
names.
^It was not difficult to originate fables or spin long yarns
which would occupy the whole of a summer's evening for the
edification of the younger children. Our auditorium was generally
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a moonlit corner of the fence with a carpet of green and the air
laden with the perfume of roses which we were conveniently near
and not infrequently did I ask for a rose to be brought to me that
I might pluck the petals as the narrative progressed.
Child as I then was, too young to know or even to have heard
of the mysteries of love and with no knowledge of the world
beyond my native village, — yet the land of oranges and gyoves
of perennial verdure with palaces adorned with gold and silver
hangings, crystal fountains in gardens of spices, with lovers
walking arm in arm, were dwelt on at length and found eager
listeners. How often have I wished that a reporter had trans-
mitted to paper those stories as they were delivered, — not
for their wisdom but for the gratification of seeing how a
child's fancy can create and people castles in the air,
The people in primitive times were very superstitious. There
were signs of approaching trouble in the heavens, warnings of
death by noises or lights. Whatever out of the ordinary course
occurred, somebody had been warned of it. My grandmother's death
was forewarned (altho she was very ill and expected to die at any
time) by a luminous cross appearing over the meeting house and
then passing to the graveyard where she was to be buried.
In my childhood there were frequently strange appearances in
the heavens which sent a thrill thru my young frame. At times
the Aurora Borealis would be only a belt in the north with rays
of light streaming to the zenith passing and repassing like troops
on parade. At other times the sky would be covered with flame-
like clouds or columns all verging toward the zenith with a
rushing noise like a wind from above us and forming a nucleus
which strongly resembled the American eagle. This was a sure
presage of war, so said my aged grandfather who had passed
through the Revolution and said there were such signs given
before that. In the winter of 1835-36, the whole heavens were
red as flame one evening and the snow was dyed like blood. I
was in the students' prayer meeting at Cazenovia. The sound of
hurrying feet attracted our attention with frequent ejaculations
of Oh: Oh; and a view from the window revealed the snow as red as
if there was a conflagration. Some of the ladies were greatly
frightened. One came to my room and crouched down by the stove,
hid her face in her hands trembling with fear. Upon being told
that such phenomena had been witnessed before, at length she
became calm and laughed at her fears. While at Cazenovia I
made the acquaintenance of Mary, daughter of George Lane, then
one of the editors of the Christian Advocate. She died within
a year after leaving. Samantha Brightman also passed early away.
George Peck was Principal, Nelson Rounde one of the professors.
I speak of these, as their history was connected with the church
while they lived.