Families of the early settlers
And the Narragansett children
From the cabin in the forest,
Home of Molly and James Chaugham.

Samuel married Green of Sharon,
Mercy married Isaac Jacklin.
Polly married William Wilson,
Mary Chaugham married Webster,
Hannah married Reuben Barber,
(Barber's parents came from Canton),
Solomon and Hayes were married
In the Ragged Mountain cabin
On the lonely mountain-side.

Two there were that died unmarried,—
Sally died in early childhood
And Elizabeth, unmarried,
Lingered in her father's cabin,
Lingered to the age of eighty,
Died at eighty, still unmarried,
Died in eighteen four and fifty.

24. OLD SOL WEBSTER, BASKET MAKER.

And to Gum Webster and his wife,
Daughter of fair Molly Barber,
Was born a son known through his life
As "Sol Webster, Basket Maker."

Mary Chaugham married Webster,
Later known as "Old Gum Webster,'
Built a cabin on the hill-side,
Lived and died beside the Tunxis,
And their bones are in the graveyard,
In the graveyard on the hill-side
in the shelter of the forest;
None to guard their final slumber.

Solomon, the son of Webster
And his wife, fair Mary Chaugham,
Married Mary Niles of Riverton,
Lived by making brooms and baskets
Lasting for a generation;
Sold them on the streets of Winsted,
Kept a garden, worked for farmers,
Died when he was two and ninety,
In the month of January,
In the year of nineteen hundred.

Even now in conversation
On the busy streets of Winsted,
In the valley of the Tunxis,
People speak of "Old Sol Webster"
And the baskets that he fashioned.

25. WILLIAM WILSON BUILT A LOG HOUSE

Soon Polly Wilson's house was built
On the side of Ragged Mountain
And Wilson preached 'gainst sin and guilt
In the meeting house in Colebrook.

Polly Chaugham married Wilson,
William Wilson, preacher, soldier
Wounded in the fray at Monmouth,
Fighting in the Revolution;,
Lying; wounded near the cannon,
Molly Pitcher gave him water,
Dressed his wounded side and ankle,
Knowing; not the Light House story,
Saw him only as a soldier,
Bravely fighting for his country.

For her deeds that day in battle,
Molly Pitcher's name was honored;
Soldiers called her "Major Molly,"
Congress made her "Sergeant Molly."

William Wilson built a log house
On the side of Ragged Mountain,
In the Little Light House Village,
With a fireplace strong and ample—
Wood was plenty for the cutting.

Often 'till the midnight hour
Gleamed the fire light through the side-walls
Of his airy mountain cabin,
Light House for the weary travelers
Toiling on the Tunxis pathway.

Held in high esteem was Wilson,
Many years he was a preacher,
Limping slowly to the service,
Where the people gathered weekly,
Eager for his righteous sermons
And the sight of Polly Wilson
With her dozen restless children,
Scrubbed and polished for the solemn
Sunday prayer and lengthy sermon
By their father in the pulpit,
In a meeting house in Colebrook,
Hemlock Meeting House in Colebrook.

Fallen now that house of worship,
Baptist Meeting House in Colebrook,
Built in five and eighteen hundred.
Gone the pulpit and the altar,
And the names of those who worshipped
Now are written on the tombstones
In the Hemlock Cemetery.

Buried, too, the Hemlock pastors,
Bellows, Talmage, Morse and Dory,
Atwell, Garvin, Wilson, Watrous.

All their toil and preaching ended;
All their sermons are forgotten,
But the good they did is living
On in present generations.

26. BUILT NEW CABINS IN THE FOREST.

The Tunxis, as it rolled along,
Saw new cabins on the hill-side,
And heard the children's twilight song,
Ere they closed their eyes in slumber.

Two of Molly Barber's children
Dug new cellars on the hill-side,
'Neath the pine trees ever sighing,
Built new cabins in the forest—
Tiger lilies grew beside them.
Fragrance from the purple lilacs
Floated through the air at spring-time.

Ever busy were the people,
On the hill-side in the cabins
And along the winding river.
Oft they hunted through the forest
For the rabbit and the squirrel.
Oft they labored by the river
Building swift canoes for sailing.
Often in the shallow water,
Spearing eels and trout and suckers,
Food for hungry, growing children,
In the cabins in the village—
Light House children, more descendants,
Children playing on the hill-side,
Children playing by the river,
Children swimming in the river,
In the pleasant days of summer.
Children playing by the cabins,
"Bar-wa-see" they said at sunset,
To the sun beyond the hill-top,
Western hill across the river.
To the moon, "Nu-garti-an-a"
As it rose o'er Ragged Mountain.
Thus they spoke in Indian accents.

Oft the children sang at twilight,
Sang in accents soft and plaintive,
Ere they closed their eyes in slumber,
Sang a prayer that Molly taught them,
Sang it softly in the twilight—

"Evil spirits are around us,
Keep us, Lord, all through the darkness.
By the stream a loon is calling,
Keep us, Lord, all through the darkness.
On the hill a fox is barking,
Keep us, Lord, all through the darkness.
In the village while we're sleeping,
Keep us, Lord, all through the darkness.
Da-wa-hee-gen, da wa-hee-gen."

27. THIRTY CABINS ON THE HILL-SIDE.

The village on the hill-side grew,
Thirty cabins on the hill-side,

And all worked hard to feed the crew,
Hunting, fishing, weaving baskets.

Dwelling here within the forest,
In the sunshine and the shadow,
While the years were rolling onward,
Other children came and other
Cabins rose beside the river
In the shadow of the forest,
Till the cabins made a village—
Thirty cabins on the hill-side.

Through this little Indian village,
Ran a wood-land stream a-winding
Down the side of Ragged Mountain,
Small and scarcely seen in summer,
"Mud-pie Place" for Indian children,

Playing on the mountain side—
Mighty in the early spring time,
When the winter snows were melting;
Mighty in the sultry summer
Midst the flashing of the lightning,
Midst the rolling of the thunder,
Midst the heavy driven showers
On the mountain and the valley.

Many children in the village,
Children playing on the island,
On the island in the river,
Playing 'round their mimic wigwams,
Thinking they were mighty hunters
Seeking game among the bushes.

Children climbing to the tree-tops,
Children roosting on the branches,
Playing they were sleepy chickens,
Roosting out of reach of foxes.

Many little voices crying,
Many little feet to cover
When the winter snows were falling.

Many baskets to be woven