Polly Tidd
On one of the roads leading from Pecksville to Stormville, in Dutchess county, there is yet standing an unpretentious dwelling-house in which, many years ago, lived a family whose history is associated with a startling tragedy. The incidents are but faintly outlined in the memories of even the oldest inhabitants of the neighborhood; still there are a few who have a distinct recollection of hearing the older settlers tell of the lonely life and eccentricities of Polly Tidd, the last survivor of this unfortunate family.
In this house, some years prior to the Revolution, there lived a well-to-do farmer by the name of Solomon Tidd. His family consisted of a wife, two daughters nearly grown, and an only son about ten years of age. One day in early autumn, Solomon and his wife drove down to Fishkill village to dispose of some farm produce, and to make some necessary purchases for the family, leaving the boy and his sisters at home. On their return from the village, while passing through a piece of woods about a mile from the house, their old horse, “Roan,” began to prick up his ears, and to accelerate his pace in a way that he had not been known to do in years. “Some painter or bear, likely, snooping in the bushes, for there can't be no Ingins about,” said Solomon, by way of accounting for the strange behavior of their family horse.
Solomon Tidd. His family consisted of a wife, two daughters nearly grown, and an only son about ten years of age. One day in early autumn, Solomon and his wife drove down to Fishkill village to dispose of some farm produce, and to make some necessary purchases for the family, leaving the boy and his sisters at home. On their return from the village, while passing through a piece of woods about a mile from the house, their old horse, “Roan,” began to prick up his ears, and to accelerate his pace in a way that he had not been known to do in years. “Some painter or bear, likely, snooping in the bushes, for there can't be no Ingins about,” said Solomon, by way of accounting for the strange behavior of their family horse. “Hark, did not some one call?” cried out Mrs. Tidd, who was not a little frightened at the idea of the possible proximity of a panther or bear.
“Seems to me I did hear sumthin,” answered Solomon, “but guess I must have been mistaken. Old Roan thinks there's some varmint around that he don't like, though, and I don't care how soon we get out of this. So do your best, Roan, continued the old man to his usually sedate roadster, who had quickened his pace into a gallop.
“Where are the children,” cried Mrs. Tidd in alarm as she entered the door, breathless from her breakneck ride, only to find the house empty, and no one within call. “Could it be they'd be foolish enough to come down the road to meet us, and got caught by a painter?” And the good old lady shuddered at the thought.
“No, I guess not,” said her husband, yet there was a tremor in his voice that showed he, too, had misgivings.
“And Harry was so anxious for his new shoes and the girls for their plaid frocks! I wonder why they're not here,” soliloquized Mrs. Tidd. And then glancing at the table, “Well I declare if they haven't eat up all my fruit-cake, and broke open my best jar of preserves! 'Pears like as though they'd had the whole neighborhood to dinner. But where on 'arth are they gone to? They wouldn't have started for wintergreens up in the back pasture, would they?” But the father was too much absorbed in his own thoughts to give heed to her queries.
As hour after hour passed, and the missing ones were not found, the parents became seriously alarmed. Word was sent to their neighbors, none of whom had seen the children, and the whole settlement volunteered to search for them. Night closed in, but no tidings. Torches were now procured, and their gleaming could be seen along the mountain side borne in the hands of sympathizing friends, whose voices sounded strangely upon the night air as they hallooed the names of the wanderers, and shouted to one another as they prosecuted their search. Morning came and the news spread far and wide. Men and boys of neighboring towns assembled, and that day hundreds were engaged in beating the woods for miles in every direction. But all was of no avail; it became evident that further search was useless.
The mother became almost frantic at her loss. Indeed it seemed for awhile that her reason would be dethroned; but in time the more violent paroxysms of her grief wore away, and she fell into a state of settled melancholy. Years passed, and Solomon Tidd and his wife were laid to rest in the graveyard on the mountain side, in utter ignorance to the last of the nature of the calamity that had rendered them childless.
When Solomon and his wife had been gone from home about an hour on the day of the children's disappearance, a gentle tap was heard at the door. Polly, the elder of the girls, was about to open it, when her sister Esther stopped her, and asked Who's there?” “A friend,” was the response. Esther quickly detected a peculiar accent in the voice, and would have bolted the door; but her purpose was diverted by the more persistent Polly, when they were confronted by two Indians. The latter entered and asked for food; when the frightened children set before them the best the house afforded. While eating, the savages enquired in broken English where their father and mother were; and the girls, unused to the arts of diplomacy, gave honest answers to their questions. At this the Indians were observed to exchange significant glances; and as they rose to go, informed the children that they were to accompany them. The lad, terrified beyond measure, set up a cry; when he received a blow from the larger Indian that sent him reeling to the floor. The savage then brandished a knife and said, “Me kill, if you don't stop noise!”
Esther stopped her, and asked Who's there?” “A friend,” was the response. Esther quickly detected a peculiar accent in the voice, and would have bolted the door; but her purpose was diverted by the more persistent Polly, when they were confronted by two Indians. The latter entered and asked for food; when the frightened children set before them the best the house afforded. While eating, the savages enquired in broken English where their father and mother were; and the girls, unused to the arts of diplomacy, gave honest answers to their questions. At this the Indians were observed to exchange significant glances; and as they rose to go, informed the children that they were to accompany them. The lad, terrified beyond measure, set up a cry; when he received a blow from the larger Indian that sent him reeling to the floor. The savage then brandished a knife and said, “Me kill, if you don't stop noise!”Table of Contents