Sketch XXXVI
A Young Mother's Grave
In a lonely spot on the bank of Young's Creek, about a mile and a half north-west of Vittoria,[1] may be seen the grave of a young mother that has been whitened by the snows of a hundred winters. The old mossy tombstone bears the following inscription:
Jemima Fairchild,
Wife of Duncan McCall,
Died October 3rd, 1798,
Aged 29 Years.”
This young mother[2] left two infant children¾Daniel, who became prominent in after life; and Margaret, who became the wife of Aquila M. Walsh. The following lines are inscribed on the old slate, and are still quite legible:
“Weep not for me my children dear,
I am not dead, but sleeping here,
My days are past, my tomb you see,
Prepare for death, and follow me.”
These "children dear" grew up to man's and woman's estate in the new settlement; married, raised families of their own, and then followed their mother to the silent abode of the dead. These grandchildren married, raised families of their own, and they, too have mostly gone to join the mighty host swallowed up by death. And yet, this girl mother is not dead, “but sleeping here.” Ah, yes; some sweet day she shall awake and meet her children, and all her children’s children, who have given heed to the words of admonition inscribed on this old marble slab: “Prepare for death, and follow me.”
What mighty changes have taken place since this old grave was dug in the forest! Why, it is said that Daniel, her first-born child after coming into the Long Point wilderness, was the first white child born in the township of Charlotteville. George Washington died comparatively a young man, and yet he was alive when this old grave was new.[3] More than a hundred years ago this young mother came into the Norfolk wilderness with her brother’s family and the family of her husband’s parents, young, brave and inspired with fond and glowing hopes for the new home that was to be erected in the new country; but in two short years and about four months her pioneer life ended, and she was laid to rest.
The brush-entangled enclosure that contains this old grave is the old McCall-Fairchild family burying ground. The last burial in this old ground occurred in 1858, when Martha McCall, relict of the original John McCall, was laid to rest, having reached the ripe old age of ninety years.[4] As one gazes at the grave of Jemima Fairchild McCall, he is forcibly reminded by the prostrate trunk of a pine tree lying partially within the enclosure, of the many years that have come and gone since the grave was dug. This tree is about eighteen inches in diameter, and grew, no doubt, from a seed which took root in the mound directly above the breast of the sleeper. There it grew until it reached the size mentioned, when, owing to a disease of the heart, it became too weak to withstand the winds of adversity, and it fell to the earth. Its roots had penetrated the mould at the bottom of the grave, and now it must yield up its own mould to nourish other forms of life. There it lies, but how long it was after the grave was dug before that little seed germinated, no one knows. What a suitable place for serious meditation! At the foot of the wooded bank the clear, cool waters of the stream flow past as they did a hundred years ago. Beyond this lies the valley with its low-lying fields, and skirted on its opposite side by the railroad track. Off yonder are the church spires which mark the spot where staid, picturesque old Vittoria nestles among the trees; and adjoining, in the rear, are old fields which have been tilled by many generations of the same family. All about are substantial homes provided with comforts and conveniences never dreamed of by our old pioneer forefathers when this old grave was new.
But let us give the rein to our imagination, and call up the scene enacted on this spot a hundred years ago. It is a warm, hazy October day, and all nature is hushed. The grave has been dug and is ready to receive its dead. The pioneer who performed the task has gone home, and there is no one near except two or three Indians, who are sitting under the trees in idle but circumspect curiousity. We approach the grave and look in. The sides are uneven and irregular, and the mass of earth thrown out is mixed with chips and fragments of roots. While we wait the coming of the burial party, we look around us. The murmur of the stream is louder and its volume greater. The valley beyond is covered with forest, and we look over the tree-tops into the dark line of forest trees that crowns the ridge beyond. It is forest in every direction, and the trees have a grander and more vigorous look. There are settlers here and there, and “slashings” varying in extent, but we cannot see any of them. The only signs of human habitations seen anywhere are two or three faint columns of smoke rising above the tree-tops. The dropping of chestnuts, the saucy chatter of squirrels in the overhanging branches, and the distant “click” of a settler’s axe, are the only familiar sounds we hear. But, hark! What jolting, rattling sound is that? It is the jolting of a linch-pin wagon and one or two carts over the newly laid corduroy down on the flat. A span of horses is attached to the wagon, on which rests a rude coffin guarded by four settlers, who are walking, two on either side. The carts are drawn by oxen, and they are laden with women and children, some of whom have come a long distance through the woods. In the rear of the carts a small company of settlers follow on foot, and behind all are a few solemn-visaged Indians. The men converse in low tones, and the stillness of death, hovers over the tree-tops. The click of the axe is hushed, and the handful of settlers have all come to the burial. It is the first time the grim messenger of death has taken a wife and mother from the settlement, and they all feel a personal bereavement. But they have reached the hill, and while the coffin is being taken from the wagon and carried to the grave, we will take a cursory glance at the individual members of this little company of pioneers. The younger women are clad in calico frocks and sunbonnets, while some of the older ones have donned their home-made flannel frocks and home-knit woollen hoods. Some of these frocks have been worn two or three winters, and are good for two or three more winters. The flannel that many of them are made of was woven in the “Jerseys.” We see more than one young fellow barefooted, but the most of them, of both sexes, wear tan-colored cowhide shoes made of home-tanned skins. The older men wear clothes that, evidently, have seen better days, and more than one home-made coon-skin cap is seen. The young men wear “hickory” shirts, and many of them are in their shirt-sleeves; and the old men wear shirts made of the same “Jarsey” flannel that the women’s frocks are made of. We see no collars and cuffs in that assembly. But we cannot pursue our observation further, for they have formed a circle around the open grave, and we will join them and bow our heads in reverence while the Church of England beautiful burial service is being read.[5] And now the grave is filled, the little group of pioneers have dispersed, and the last one has disappeared among the trees¾and we are alone again.
But we have been dreaming! A hundred years have come and gone since this scene was enacted, and yet how real it has seemed! But the ever-living Present is ours to improve to-day, and so we climb over the old rail fence, leaving the dead and buried past behind us; but, somehow, we cannot quite shake off the words we have just heard: “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
[1] The McCall-Fairchild Cemetery is located on the west side of the East Quarter Line of Charlotteville Township north of the Vittoria Sideroad just west of the village. Surveyed as Lot 18, Concession 4, Charlotteville Township, this was the original Donald McCall homestead. The west half, which includes the cemetery, passed down to Donald’s descendant Simpson McCall.
[2] Jemima Fairchild, born at Mendham, Somerset County, New Jersey on January 25, 1769, became a communicant in the Presbyterian Church at nearby Morristown on April 28, 1785. Source: History of the First Presbyterian Church, Morristown, NJ, Part 2, combined Registers from 1742-1885.
Jemima married in New Jersey to Duncan McCall (son of Donald and Elsie (Simpson) McCall), born at Basking Ridge, Somerset County on November 18, 1769, died at York (Toronto), Upper Canada on November 25, 1832 aged 63y 7d according to his gravestone in the McCall-Fairchild Cemetery. Following Jemima’s death, Duncan remarried and later served as the Member of the Legislature for Norfolk County, and died while in that capacity.
[3] George Washington, Patriot General during the American Revolution and first President of the United States, was born in Westmoreland County, Virginia on February 22, 1732 and died at Mount Vernon on December 14, 1799 at the age of 67 years.
[4] There were several more burials following Martha’s, Daniel McCall Miller in 1863, the infant son of Margaret Elizabeth McCall and William N. Miller, who himself was buried there in 1868, followed in 1873 by Hugh McCall the youngest son of old Donald who brought his family to Norfolk. Last to be buried was a child Mabel Ann, daughter of Henry and Hannah (McCall) Gifford in 1880.
[5] The McCall and Fairchild families actually belonged to the Presbyterian Church in New Jersey and Upper Canada. Jemima was a communicant in the church at Mendaham, New Jersey and from 1769 to 1796 the McCall family held pew number twenty in Basking Ridge Presbyterian Church in New Jersey. On October 14, 1800 Jemima’s brothers-in-law Daniel and John McCall appeared before the London District Court to acknowledge Jabez Collver to be their Presbyterian minister. In 1803, Duncan and his second wife, back in New Jersey, had their children baptized in the Presbyterian Church at Basking Ridge. Sources: Alexander Fraser, “Minutes of the Court of Quarter Sessions” in Twenty-Second Report of the Department of Public Records and Archives of Ontario (King’s Printer, Toronto, ON: 1934), p. 8; Nettie Allen, “Pew Holders of Basking Ridge Presbyterian Church 1769-1776) in Genealogy Magazine of New Jersey, Vol. 5 (1929), p. 97