Paths of life; Stories about people who migrated from slate quarry areas in North Wales.

Newspaper article from The Granville Sentinel, 13 August 1997, written by Janice Edwards, title; 'The Welsh Connection';

'Coming to our Slate Valley, 1853, an undated account by the late William Hughes of Fair Haven Vermont.

"I believe l should recall and preserve a little of the history of our coming to America-the impressions are very fresh in my memory of our journey, the events, and the circumstances, very striking to me as a child of seven and a half years. A better country with more advantages for living was sought by the Welsh when they turned to the West and turned their backs on the land of their fathers. And I believe that many of them were under providential leadership and influence when they came. Perhaps they did not realize this. They knew it would be necessary to suffer many hardships and face difficulties in the new country. And since they were of working class, in straitened circumstances for most part, and different in their tendencies and adventures, they were scattered and turned their abilities and talents to different directions, trades and tasks. But they were united in their despite for means of grace. Perhaps the long journey among the cruel waves of the Atlantic, the weariness and sleepless nights, and the storms raised fearing their hearts as the fishermen on the sea of Galilee of old. In this trouble everyone is inclined to raise their sight to ask for safety and help of the One who is able to quiet the storm and comfort their troubled hearts.

And having landed safely, they did not forget. They were longing for old customs. They had been lonely for weeks at sea, and after reaching land, their longing and desire for the pure sound of sacred music of the sanctuary, the choral singing, the pulpit sounds, the prayers meeting, and the Sabbath School increased, taking a prominent plac ein their thoughts.

‘Oh, here is a strange place,’ they said. ‘I would like to be in Bethesda today, listening to John Elias.’ ‘Tomorrow the Gymanfa is beginning in Bala.’ Oh, how old Robert Jones and John Hughes did pull the heavens down!,’ “Dear me, if you could hear the Bethania choir singing the Hallelujah chorus,” “I long to hear the Llan band playing.” “Dear me, be quiet,” said another, “ you are almost breaking my heart!” “Like this, with tears, they spoke their longing thoughts.

Everyone’s journey was something like this in that year; they crossed the Atlantic in sailing vessel, being on the sea for from five weeks to three months, rolling between the waves. Although steam ships had been crossing the Atlantic regularly since 1838, the emigrants were doubtful of their safety. Their passage were most costly. Thus, generally, emigration was an adventure in the old sailing vessels.

My family started with five of us children, from Cae Clyd, Blaenau Ffestiniog, early in April 1853, in a cart belonging to Shon Ifan, Congl-y-wal, Certmon, a big, blind man, father of the late Evan J. Evans and grandfather of Mrs. Annie Bolger. The rain was pouring down in ‘Stiniog that morning. I would have been glad to turn back to the house of my grandfather and grandmother, but that was not the plan. Our possessions and food (a barrel of oatmeal bread, herring, butter and cheese which had been prepared for the journey by our neighbors) were conveyed through Bangor to Portmadoc. I remember crossing the Menai Bridge to Liverpool on a ferryboat, dirty and ill-smelling. And from being too daring and inquisitive in the midst of wonders and uncommon sights, there came some upheaval from the pit of my stomach. Oh, but I was sick in a short time. Some Samaritan took pity on me and went with me to my parents.

My father was busy tending to my mother, since she and the others were in the same circumstances as myself. We came to ourselves swiftly after we landed. We were in Liverpool for two days or better preparing for the journey with the help and directions of Mr. Eleazer Jones (a lively man, full of business, with a hump on his back).

He was the founder of the Penrhyn Slate Company in Middle Granville, YN, and those who established the Calvanistic Methodist Church there. In the meantime our possessions and ourselves were loaded into the old ship, James Wright. There were several Welsh families traveling with us, namely, W.M.Job Williams(John Store he was known and father of Katie Mae). William Job was a brother of Rev. Morris Williams, formerly of Utica; Edward Lloyd and family, a son and two daughters; R.E Lloyd and the mother of Humphrey Roberts and Mary Edwrads and their aunt who is in the farwest if alive.; Griffith O. Williams, father of Mrs Jane Jones (Ap Ifor). High Street, and an uncle of mine, cousin of my father, (Hugh Hughes), who was called the Old Sir; and the Rev.Griffith Griffiths, brother of my mother, and several others.

We had a rough stormy sea journey for the greater part of the seven weeks we were on the waves. During the journey we had one Welsh sermon and one English sermon by the Rev. Griffith Griffiths. I don't know how many prayers were offered during that time. I believe that many got religion especially when the weather was rough. Very often we saw the Catholics counting their beads. It was said that there were over seven hundred souls aboard the ship, and the majority of them from Emerald Isle. The other were Welshmen, Scots and English.

There were five or six boys of the same age as, two of them English, and every one of them full of life and mischief. My uncle, the Old Sir, was our guardian, a lively man and good temper. He was like a bailiff, following us all day. He received much pleasure and grief from the guardship, because often it would be necessary for him to stand between us and our complainers. We were familiar with the ship and the sailors that we were in their company nearly every day, eating hard tack and brown sugar. It was a great pleasure for us to take the tail of the rope with them when they raised the sails, we were as much at home as if we had been born there, and when the giant waves were throwing and rolling the old ship, and occasionally seas breaking over it, we were as unmoved and without fear as though we were in our grandmother’s meadows. Nothing interrupted our play except the need to eat or sleep.

Having reached the part of New York, we were taken from the ship and kept in the city for two days. The Rev. Griffith remained there to minister to the 11th Street Church, and we came to Fair Haven, Vermont. We started in the afternoon and our journey, again in a boat, all through the night to Albany. And after that in the steam cares until we reached the Desired Haven at mid-day.

A great day, ever memorable to me, was the First day of June 1853. I remember well our descent as a family into the little, undistinguished station at Fair Haven. I could not, on account of my age, realized the circumstances perfectly, but I knew that I was in a new world, very different from the old world of Wales. The sky was clear blue, the sun at the height, and the weather wonderfully warm. I remember my happiness at getting to read on green grass and to breathe the healthful air and the sweet smell of flowers and the innumerable clover on the way from the depot to the home of my uncle Humphrey Griffith, the brother of my mother. He was living in the part of the house belonging to the late William Lloyd, on the site where Robert Morris lives, on River Street, as it is called now. Before we were settled down, my father began to work in Allen’s Quarry, then called Capen Ledge. There were three houses almost finished by Colonel Allen when we came to Fair Haven, which were called the Allen houses. And in one of the three, the furthest from the road, where Herb Locke lives now, we lived as a family for almost four years. My father and mother had bought their Church letters with them, and they joined the English Congregational Church (the white church), and they were members there until the establishment of the Welsh Union Church. In the meantime, there arose over us dark clouds, casting sorrow and tribulation weeks after our arrival. My little brother, about one year old died. He had been sickly at the journey from Wales.”

William Richard Hughes was born 28Dec 1845 Cae Clyd, North Wales, the son of Richard W. And Gwen (Evans) Hughes. He married 19 Dec 1870 to Ellen Sophia Kinney, who was born in Castelton, VT 25 July 1849, daughter of Charles and Sophia Kinney. William’s siblings and all their families dispersed throughout Fair Haven, Blissvile, Castelton, North Poultney, and Middle Granville. They were Elizabeth, Joseph, John, Griffith, Evan, Winfred, Hugh R, Evan R, Catherine Ann, and Elizabeth Mary Hughes; the First Elizabeth and Evan having died at very Young ages. William died 11 Dec. 1938 at the old home on Hydeville Road and joined many members of the family in West Street Cemetry. '