1202 
October 7, 1022 
Across the lake from ns. on a wooded 
point of land, we found au old Indian 
graveyard. The trees, some of them a 
foot or more in diameter, must have 
grown since the place was abandoned. 
The graves are marked by rough stones, 
most of them broken, but the boys found 
one stone with a carving of rude letters 
which they translated as best«rhey could: 
Moi?e.s • H 
I/K "Ulfl- 
It was Sunday and the quiet of a lonely 
New England neighborhood spread about 
us like a gentle spell. The sun broke in 
through the trees and sent long splinters 
of light over these deserted graves. I 
though of Whittier's poem, “The Grave 
by the Lake": 
•‘Where Uhe Great Lake’s sunny smiles 
Dimple round its hundred miles 
And the mountain’s granite ledge 
♦ 'leaves the water like a wedge.” 
Hut what is the use in lingering beside 
these deserted graves when you have been 
sent down the lake to buy milk and veg¬ 
etables for dinnerV But in the afternoon 
the children and 1 climbed far up over the 
hill back of us, to find another great In¬ 
dian graveyard. 
“There are thousands of them buried 
there,” said the white man who told us 
about it. „ , . 
I think it likely that some of those who 
rest on this quiet, wind-swept hill, may 
have been killed in the great slaughter 
which occurred when John Mason broke 
the l'equot power forever. The place has 
grown Up to brush and briars now. but 
innumerable little stones show where the 
graves were made. And I saw a strange 
tiling there. Bight in the midst of these 
dead Indians, apparently, was a little en¬ 
closure with a neat white fence around 
it and a white gravestone inside. It 
must have stood there for years, because 
trees and brush of good size were growing 
inside the little yard so thickly that they 
obscured the grave. It seemed to be the 
grave of some white man : perhaps Ins 
relatives had buried him there with the 
thought that the fence and the White 
stone would separate him from the In¬ 
dians. In a few years more that fence 
will fall and no one will then be 
able to tell wlmre the superior hones of 
the white man decay. And in Heaven, 
or “The Happy Hunting Grounds.’ as 
white or red regard it. the color line has 
long been wiped out. . 
In Id.'lT the l’equot nation terrorized 
nil of Connecticut, and the whites organ¬ 
ized against them. Gen. John Mason 
marched with 77 Englishmen and at¬ 
tacked 700 Pequots in a fort near Mystic. 
The Indians made the military mistake of 
building round or circular forts, with 
only two narrow entrances. The Lng- 
lisli i-aptunul these two doors, and Mason 
and a few soldiers entered. As bis men 
did not kill the Indians fast enough, 
Mason set the dry wigwams on fire. The 
result was that out of 700 Pequots only 
live gut away with their lives! Others 
made a stand on Lantern Hill, but were 
bunted out and mostly killed. The tew 
survivors were distributed among Indian 
tribes which were more or less friendly 
to the whites. It was au awful slaughter, 
and the New England historians justify it 
as necessary. We went up the bill above 
Mystic where the old Pequot fort stood. 
There is now a great monument, erected 
In the State of Connecticut, in honor of 
John Mason, “the savior <>f the State. 
It is a fine mominiept. and the white peo- 
nli 1 rvid^ntlv believe that Masons sin Ugh- 
rer and burning was a great patriotic act. 
\k usual, I wanted to hell' both sides, 
and so we asked the talkative wife of our 
Indian fanner what she. had to say. Here 
it is. her version, in hey own words: 
•‘Tin* entire 1 IVquot tr?bc. nr most of it- 
was killed down near Mystic in a tight. 
Thev fought hard, but there was a mean 
old general they called “Johnny Mason, 
and be was the meanest old man ! ' 
Well, there you have Tne result nt 
straining the facts of history down 
through nine generations of ml or white 
mental strainers. One says ‘•General 
John Mason. Hie savior of Connect’cut. 
The other reports. “Johnny Mason, the 
meanest old man!” Can it lie that both 
contain germs of truth? What-is history, 
anvwav. but a collection of facts more 
.,]• Vss obscured bv opinion? These facts 
may be dressed like the Goddess of I.ib- 
erty or like a collector of rare curios, as 
human prejudice determines. 
a**** 
\nil very likely one may say much the 
same regarding the history of our simple 
The RURAL NEW-YORKER 
vacation. I know people whose idea of a 
vacation is to go off to some great resort 
where they may show their fine feathers 
and pass the time alternating between 
pride and envy as they outshine their 
companions or are dimmed by their su¬ 
perior radiance. Others want to go on 
what they call a “tear.” They drink 
quantities of liquor, smoke too much to¬ 
bacco and are up to all sorts of disrepu¬ 
table tricks, on the theory that “excite¬ 
ment" is what they need. It seems to me 
that these so-called “he men” are poor 
victims of social habits which have be¬ 
come fastened to them, grafted in as se¬ 
curely as the traditions and prejudices 
of these Indians, who, on their little 
farms, live through their narrow range 
of life and thought. Our folks have dif¬ 
ferent ideas of a “vacation." There is 
excitement enough (of a kind) in the life 
of a “fairly prosperous farmer” with 21 
in the family, aud to its a vacation means 
a change, a rest from work and worry 
and a life about as close to nature as 
one can get and be comfortable. When 
the bottom dropped out of the market 
this year .we gave up all thought of au 
expensive trip. Thru one day our folks 
saw an advertisement in a city paper 
offering a camp for rent. They wrote 
and got the particulars, and the more 
they read about it the better they liked 
the idea.; So they engaged the camp 
“sight unseen." for half the fun of such 
an adventure comes in trying to imagine 
what you are to find at the end of the 
journey. My daughter and three of the 
children started ahead in the car. with an 
outfit of clothing and implements. Mother 
and three more children went by train, 
and the Japanese boy and I came later. 
It was quite a thrilling moment when our 
party turned off the main road and en¬ 
tered the woods along a rough path which 
bounced and jumped our old car until it 
protested. It evidently wanted to go back 
to New Jersey, where the smooth high¬ 
ways never took such liberties. Finally, 
up a little stony bill and around a curve, 
where they least expected it. our folks 
same upon a small, low buildings, squat¬ 
ting right at the edge of the lake. 
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There is a steep bank at this place, 
and the little house stands with its back 
end oil the hill and its front perched on 
high posts, so that we may sit on the 
porch and look down directly into the 
water. As we approach the house from 
the lake it makes me think of some short, 
squatty, long-legged man siring on the 
bank with his feet in the water and his 
knees up nearly to t he level of his shoul¬ 
ders. There is a little wharf in front, 
with a canoe and a Hat-bottomed boat 
ready for the fishermen. 1 suppose that 
many years ago this lake or pond marked 
the place where some lit lie river ran 
down between ranges of high hills. In 
some way the lower part of the valley 
closed and the water slowly backed up 
until we have this big pond. One of the 
first things our children did was to get 
into their bathing suits and try the water. 
They found if so deep at the end of fhe 
litrle wharf that they can safely dive in. 
and twice a day, rain or shine, there is a 
great splashing as these vigorous young 
humans churn up the water. The boys 
were out in the boats as soon as they 
could get a fishing license. You may see 
them floating around the bunches of lily 
pads, casting for bass and pickerel. They 
bought bait of a man with the suggestive 
name of Ketchum! The fish seem to be 
either wise or well supplied with food, 
for they are not eager to rise to the bait. 
However, we get fish enough to know 
how they tasie. The children pass most 
of these dreamy, quiet days, either on 
the water or swimming through it. There 
are no near neighbors, no telephone, few 
passer shy—just a quiet, shady place, with 
the thick woods at our back and the 
bright, smiling water in front. Here we 
surely have the bread of life served to 
us in the form of a perfect loaf, well but¬ 
tered with contentment. 
* * $ :N * 
No doubt this will be au old story to 
many of you, but someone asks: “How 
do you live, what do you ear, and what 
do you do on such an expedition?” Sup¬ 
pose we take an average day in camp. 
If we fell tin* true story it will seem like 
a confession of laziness to many of you. 
1 am ratlmr ashamed to say where tlie 
hands on the little clock stood when 1 
finally turned over and saw the sunlight 
pouring into the little room. The three 
boys had slept on the porch. They had 
been up for some time, and wove out on 
the lake, hoping to play the part of early 
bird with Home helmed pickerel. About 
the only real duty that faced me that day 
was to gel up and give the girls a chance 
to come in and dress. For it nnW be 
said that we are closely packed here, with 
two sleeping rooms and a^ porch Co ac¬ 
commodate H> people. Tlie boys can 
"take the air” on the porch, blit there 
are three girls and little Bose in the next 
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