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Major Roger Alden, who is mentioned as
an adjoiner on the South of Patrick McGill in place of John Fredebaugh, the
original occupant of the jungle, was a man highly esteemed in military,
social and financial circles. He was connected with the Army—had been a
soldier of some renown in the Revolution and had served on the staff of
General Washington and General Greene, and filled several responsible
positions in the war. His career had been distinguished and honorable. He
was the first Agent of the Holland Land Company in this county and acquired
local celebrity by being one of the principals in the only duel ever fought,
according to the code, in the county.
He acquired possession of the
Fredebaugh lands with a view to the erection of mills at this point, which
was, and is, the best mill site on French Creek. The natural place for a dam
was just south of the Patrick McGill line. The east bank below the
intersection of this line with the river fell away and the adjacent
territory was liable to overflow in high water times, and would become more
liable after the building of the dam. Alden therefore, for the successful
operation of the proposed improvement, wanted more and higher land in its
vicinity, and the land exactly suited to the
purpose belonged to Patrick McGill. Now the
erection of mills was a prime necessity to the success of the settlement,
and in consideration of this and a liberal price paid in cash, Patrick sold
his park to Major Alden and lived to see it converted into a log yard. The
amount of land sold was two hundred acres and the transfer took place in
1802. This left Patrick three hundred and fifty acres including the vacant
strip heretofore mentioned and was a good transaction for the pioneer. The
mills were built in good shape and the value of the remaining tract was
increased four-fold.
The locality had heretofore
been known as the "McGill Settlement," but the name was now very properly
changed to "Alden's Mills," and as such it was known all over Western
Pennsylvania and beyond. In very dry times people came from afar and camped
around, waiting for the grinding of their grain.
Major Alden was a good friend of
the McGills and they esteemed him highly.
It was not far from this time
(1802) that Patrick McGill's house burned down. The loss was considerable,
not on account of the value of the goods destroyed, but by reason of the
difficulty of replacing them and it was thus that the first house erected on
the present site of the borough of Saegerstown went out of existence.
Another house, however, was immediately built and is still standing, the
most ancient dwelling in the historic valley of French Creek.
This second house was of hewn
logs of uniform size, dove-tailed at the corners and was a good story and a
half high. The chimney was in the center of the building with a fireplace
opening into each room large enough to take in four-foot wood. This stone
stack with center back wall was carried up square to the top of the first
story where the back wall or partition was discontinued, and from thence one
flue of smaller dimensions built of brick gave vent to both furnaces below.
Great stone hearths were laid even with the floors and iron cranes, secured
in the masonry, swung back and forth laden with hooks, kettles and pots. On
each side of the chimney there was a passage way, the one being utilized for
an abrupt stairway leading to the rooms in the upper story, and the other
for the ordinary purpose of passing from one room to the other. The space
under the stairs was partitioned off for a closet in which stood sundry
utensils for culinary purposes. The floors were laid with wide matched pine
flooring, which I suppose was of the earliest product of the mill. Now it so
happened that the boards contained many sound pine knots and as the pine
knot is eternal and the surrounding wood is soft and pliable, readily
yielding to rough shod tread, and the wear and tear of scrub-broom and
brush, the knots, in the course of time, became prominent in the floors of
our ancestral halls.
To the north side a cellar
was built, over which was a lien one story high and wide enough to furnish a
kitchen and bedroom. On the front, facing south, was a porch extending the
whole length of the building.
With pioneers, the spring is
always a ruling factor in locating the dwelling. We have seen how the great
spring lured Arthur to the site of his castle, and a spring was not wanting
in the case of Patrick. It bubbled up strong and pure from the bank of the
creek, and at the building of the dam was protected from pollution by a
sycamore gum. When this ceased to be effective a well was dug in front of
the porch, and walled with flat stones, a curb constructed and a sweep
mounted on a fork from which dangled "the old oaken bucket." This in turn
gave way to the great pump-log, with ponderous iron handle and nicely
rounded cap all painted red-a thing of beauty to youthful eyes, but the
remorseless march of progress would not spare even the beautiful red pump
and it had to give way to the clatter of the chain device, and it to the
force pump, all in front of that old porch, covering a period of more than
one hundred years. The porch I know is still there, but what has become of
all those pumps I do not know.
My earliest recollection of the inclosure is of a strong
rail fence with a stile over which youth and beauty vaulted with nimble
feet, but the rails decayed and became food for the outdoor oven. Then the
ground was graded smooth and a high close board fence was built that shut
from outside view the beauties enclosed, and hid from the sight of boys and
men the large ripe apples that strewed the ground, but the winds beat hard
against this wooden barrier and it became warped and twisted and anything
but attractive in appearance, and finally toppled over and also went to the
bake oven. Then a very fair open barred board fence, with swinging gate and
spring steel latch was substituted that outlived the age of gates and then
went out of existence, leaving an open lawn.
About fifty years ago, or more, it became necessary to
grade for a sidewalk in front of the premises and in making the necessary
excavations the ashes and burned stone foundations of the original cabin
built in 1796 were unearthed, fixing the exact location which was directly
in front of the present old building.
The original barns and outbuildings on the premises were
of the roughest and crudest kind, constructed of great round logs, built up
in cribs with a view to shelter only, and placed where most convenient,
without any regard to harmony of proportions or astronomical bearings; and
it could not well be otherwise when we consider that necessity was the
architect and master builder, and want of means financed the job. They were,
however, large, commodious and filled the bill, but one can well imagine
their uncouth appearance and the singular view the group presented to
traveler or tourist passing that way. Those old structures are long since
gone, torn down, destroyed-yes, forgotten; for there are very few men living
now who were cotemporaneous with the last days of the old log barn.
At an early date the old house was weather boarded and
painted and has undergone many changes and repairs, but being built of sound
timber on solid foundations it has withstood the ravages of time, and
although out of fashion still presents a respectable appearance. Its quaint
gables and scanty verge tell tales of the passing years, but they do not
grumble or shrink from the appointed task of affording shelter to the
generations of men. Few people would suspect that those heavy walls were
built of solid oak. I know of no building of greater age in the French Creek
valley, and there was certainly no private dwelling of greater local
celebrity than this in the early years of the last century. During
grandfather's lifetime it was the home of hospitality, that did not give but
shared the good things of life with friend and wayfarer alike. There was
always plenty around the board flavored with the good will of the host.
True, there was no money in sight and markets were far away, but the earth
yielded of its abundance and the larder was rich from the forest and stream
and no cry of want ever went up from the hospitable roof, nor was the door
ever closed to the wayfarer, be he white, black or red.
After the war the tide of
immigration was renewed from the old Antrim-land, and many came and "tarried
a bit wid Paddy McGill," while they looked up a suitable location on which
to establish the home, and among them were men who in after years became
prominent in local affairs, and some of their descendants have been heard
from in matters of importance to the state and nation.
Another line of population
came in from other portions of the Green Isle representing a different class
of Celts. These were the Catholic Irish, who, near the beginning of the
Nineteenth century settled on the upper Cussewago - near the great divide,
some eight or ten miles northwest of the McGill settlement. What good genius
guided their wandering footsteps to this beautifully secluded vale we will
probably never know, but they came and made good their claims to land
against the rapacity of Foreign Land Thieves, and this one fact sufficiently
explains why their history has never been written or their names inscribed
on the maps published under the auspices of the representatives of the Dutch
Despoilers. These predatory cabals had no use for such men as they. They
were poor - they were Irish - they were Catholics! These three reasons were
sufficient for the fake historians hired by the representatives of the old
gang of thieves to consign them to oblivion. But they made good their lands,
and their descendants, now widely peopling this and adjoining counties, will
have something to say as to who shall pose as the great benefactor of the
people they robbed or tried to rob.
These men came straggling in
as they could, just as all our old Celtic ancestors did, and their road to
the divide was by the door of our old ancestral home, and many a weary Celt
was rested, fed and warmed and sent rejoicing on his way to the "beyant."
The rites of hospitality were sacred within those old walls as long as the
old pioneer lived.
And the old place is
memorable for other reasons - great men have been born beneath that
hospitable roof - men known to history, and from thence descendants have
gone out to the Atlantic shores and others dwell far away on the great
Pacific Strand - a strong, proud, prolific race have spread out across the
continent, each working out his destiny as God has appointed him to do all
looking back to the old house by the placid little river as the starting
point of our people in this great New World.
Venerable eyes of past
generations have been forever closed, as well as those of youth and beauty
under this ancient roof - tree - joys and sorrows have been blended - and
within its old walls prayers have been said - songs sung - the cheery
laughter of merry childhood heard, and bitter tears shed. Men and women have
been born, lived their allotted time and died, but the old house remains a
monument to the crude handicraft of a dead century. |
