SOME one has said that if any man would faithfully write his
autobiography, giving truly his own history and experiences, the
ills and joys, the haps and mishaps that had fallen to his lot, he
could not fail to make an interesting story; and Disraeli makes
Sidonia say that there is romance in every life. How much romance,
as well as sad reality, there is in the life of a man who, among
other experiences, has married seven wives, and has been seven times
in prison-solely on account of the seven wives, may be learned from
the pages that follow.
I was born in the town of Chatham, Columbia County, New York, in
September, 1813. My father was a New Englander, who married three
times, and I was the eldest son of his third wife, a woman of Dutch
descent, or, as she would have boosted if she had been rich, one of
the old Knickerbockers of New York. My parents were simply honest,
hard-working, worthy people, who earned a good livelihood, brought
up their children to work, behaved themselves, and were respected by
their neighbors. They had a homestead and a small farm of thirty
acres, and on the place was a blacksmith shop in which my father
worked daily, shoeing horses and cattle for farmers and others who
came to the shop from miles around.
There were three young boys of us at home, and we had a chance to go
to school in the winter, while during the summer we worked on the
little farm and did the "chores" about the house and barn. But by
the time I was twelve years old I began to blow and strike in the
blacksmith shop, and when I was sixteen years old I could shoe
horses well, and considered myself master of the trade.
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