The Story of the Toys

by Mary Harris Toy Dodge

My Aunt Sims had a cosy cottage at Carwinning, in the country, a few miles from Camborne; and it was one of my mother's chief pleasures to take her little children to this pleasant country home, where we were always cordially welcomed and treated to the best of Cornish cream and gooseberry pasties. It was a pleasant relief from her busy and confining life in the shop where she personally superintended her millinery business.

My father lived, for over five years after his marriage, in Camborne, holding the position of principal of the Lancastrian School, and making himself very useful as local preacher and class-leader in the Wesleyan church. Three children were born to them in these happy days of their early married life. I was the first-born, and was ushered into life October 31, 1834, at about 8 o'clock in the morning. I have often heard my father speak of the joy he felt when I was placed in his arms for the first time. The second was my brother Joseph, born July 23, 1836, a bright, active boy, who made life busy for those who had the care of him. Then came my sister Susan, born June 3, 1838. She was the household pet when we turned our faces from the dear old home to seek a new one in a land of strangers. This great change which now came into our family life was in connection with the introduction of the manufacture of safety fuses into America. The firm, having an established and lucrative business in England, naturally sought to enlarge and extend it, and America was considered an inviting field for the new industry.

About this time Mr. Richard Bacon of Simsbury, Connecticut, was travelling in England in the interest of copper-mining, which was then carried on at the old prison in East Granby, Connecticut, known as Newgate. He met with the firm of Bickford, Smith & Davey, and they determined to make an effort through him to introduce their business into America. The first attempt was accordingly made at the old prison, with some success. It had been transferred to Simsbury, and was in successful operation there, when, in the summer of 1839, my father, who was well and favorably known to the firm, and had been greatly encouraged and befriended by Mr. Smith and Mr. Davey, and in their employ, received from them an offer of a position as bookkeeper in the American establishment, which was known as Bacon, Bickford & Co., with what was for those days a good salary. The accounts of the new branch were confused and unsatisfactory, and the company desired to have accurate statements rendered. It was a fine opening for the future for my father, as was proved a few years later when he became a member of the firm of which he was afterwards the head.

This startling proposition brought a season of anxious thought and prayerful consideration into the little home. My mother was well established in her business; her mother and two sisters were with her; her love for her English home and friends was deep and true; and she shrank with all the force of her loving nature from the separation. The journey was long and trying. No ocean steamers made the voyage a pleasant pastime of a few days. Long weeks of tossing on the stormy ocean were to be followed by the search for a new home in a land of strangers. But with my mother the voice of duty was always the voice of God. The prospects of a wider field for her husband, and enlarged opportunities for her children, were not to be neglected. Her decision was made, and saying, as did Ruth, "Where thou goest, I will go," she bravely put away the arms of love which would have held her back, and set herself to the task of closing her business and arranging for her journey. At length the preparations were over. The last farewells were said to the dear little home, to the church they loved and had served so faithfully, and to the dear ones from whom it was so hard to part. The van laden with luggage for the voyage, with space reserved for the family, was ready to start; and amid the tears and prayers of those who loved them, the dear old home faded forever from the eyes of my father and mother.

The first stage of the journey was to Falmouth, my mother's early home, where we remained for a rest of a day or two with my mother's sister, Mrs. Williams. Pleasant days they were, of loving sisterly communion. The children, wild with the excitement of the new experience, were eagerly spying out the wonders of the city, in company with their cousins. My brother Joseph, a bold, adventurous little fellow of scarcely three, wandered off one day, to the great anxiety of his mother. He was found, after a long search, by my aunt, gazing intently into the mysteries of a rope-walk. Seeing his aunt, he exclaimed, eagerly, "Oh, here comes Aunt Philippa! Now we'll go through the gate!"

These pleasant days soon passed, and with renewed good-byes, we left for Portsmouth, from which port we were to sail. A vexatious delay of some days was experienced there, but at last the good ship spread her sails and stood off down the harbor. With tearful eyes they stood on deck and watched the receding shores of their dear native land fade from their sight. Then, with new devotion to each other and to the God who was leading them, they turned with hope and courage to the new life opening before them.

For six long weeks the vessel ploughed its way over the heaving sea. My father was almost immediately prostrated by sea-sickness, and for most of the passage was confined to the stateroom, unable to render any assistance in the care of the family. My mother bravely rose to the emergency, caring for her sick husband and the restless children, and bearing the weariness and discomfort of the voyage without a murmur. My brother Joseph, being of an inquiring mind and full of restless energy, was constantly wandering about the ship, exploring every new place, talking with the sailors, trying to climb the ropes, and requiring unceasing vigilance to keep him from harm. Little Susan, then just past her first birthday, learned to walk on board the ship, and one of her first exploits in climbing about was to upset a teapot of hot tea into her bosom, making a bad scald of which she carries the scars to this day, thus adding much to the care and anxiety of her mother.

At last the weary weeks wore away, and their eyes were gladdened by the sight of land. On the eighteenth of August, 1839, they made safe anchor in the harbor of New York. From there an easy sail by the Sound brought them to Hartford. Once more the luggage was mounted on a heavy wagon, with space reserved for the family, and they were off on the ten-mile drive over the mountains to Simsbury, their place of destination.

As the afternoon was wearing away, they came to the top of the high hill rising abruptly at the eastern end of the street of East Weatogue, where their journey was cut short by the breaking down of the wagon. The prospect which opened before them was beautiful indeed. The little village which was to be their home nestled at the foot of the mountain range, while fertile meadows stretched away in the distance, through which the Farmington river with its wooded banks wound its peaceful way, the horizon bounded by the range of mountains west of the town. It was a lovely picture, but the way-worn travellers could not realize its beauty, as they alighted from the broken wagon, and took their weary way down the hill to the village, leaving the driver to repair the wagon and follow later. My mother, walking on, came to a hospitable-looking home and ventured to ask a drink for the tired children. A pleasant-faced matron greeted them kindly, invited them in to rest, and offering my mother a cup of tea, proceeded to regale the hungry children with bread and molasses. This was their first welcome to their new home. My mother rejoiced to find that her new friend was from the dear home land, also that her husband was in the employ of the same firm. They became lifelong friends, and in sickness and in health it was their delight to show a sisterly kindness to each other. This good woman was "Auntie Whitehead," a warm friend of our family, who has since joined my mother in the heavenly home.

At last, as the evening shadows were falling, the heavy wagon came slowly down the mountain, and we were lodged in our first home in America. It was an old-fashioned New England house, with long sloping roof and lean-to running down behind. It is still standing and in fair repair, just opposite the Cornish house, which stood by the old schoolhouse in East Weatogue. One half the house was occupied by the family of Mr. Joseph Eales, who was a member of the firm. We remained there for a time, and afterwards removed to the house standing where Mr. Aman Latimer's house now stands. But, desiring a more permanent home, my father bought the farm owned by Mr. Roswell Phelps, lying just at the foot of the mountain. It is now owned by Mr. Henry Ensign. My mother rejoiced to feel that at last her wanderings were over and she was settled in a home of her own.