In the year of 1853, on the 7th day of June, in Danville, Pennsylvania, the writer, Philip FRANCIS, was born.  His parents came from Caerphilly, Glamorgan, South Wales.  They arrived in America in the year 1851.  Their destination was Danville where my father was to work in an iron mill, as there was considerable demand in America for workers in the iron mills.

Wales at that time was well advertised for that class of labor. Many thousands of the Welsh left Wales with their families and located where there were state quarries and iron works in operation.  It was natural for America to look to Wales for that class of labor as there were many skilled iron workers and coal miners there.  These skilled laborers were needed in Pennsylvania.

My grandfather's name was Richard FRANCIS.  He lived on a farm by the name of Evalt Farm near Caerphilly, Glamorgan, South Wales.  I have never visited Wales and cannot give a description of the farms, but when I was about ten years of age, I received a letter from him stating that he would like for me and my sister, Margaret, who was then about 12 years old, to come to Wales and live with him; to take care of the horses and to do other work that was necessary on the farm.  I did not know where my sister was as she had been separated from me years before.  He also stated in his letter that I was the nearest heir to the property.  Having no one to advise me, as my parents were dead, I stayed in Pennsylvania.

My father died when I was only two months old, at Danville.  I was informed that he was sick only a few days.  My mother then came to Minersville; from there to St. Clair; from there to East Delaware or East Norwegian.  This last place mentioned is the first place that I can remember in my childhood days.  It was there in a very old frame house, with leaky roof and cheerless surroundings, that mother died.  Two years ago, I visited the old house, still there, but almost ready to fall down.  Part of it had been removed and I was told it would all be torn down soon.  My mother must have had a very hard time, with two small children to take care of.  the years 1857-58 were desperate in the coal fields.  Just on the verge of civil war between the North and South.

During these years my mind was just beginning to realize the many things that were going on about me.  When I would hear some one speak of the colored man, or slave, it was difficult for me to understand.  There were no colored people in that part of Pennsylvania near my old home.

There was a small hill called Peacock Hill in East Delaware.  Men and women would gather there and listen to some man, who was a good reader, read from a newspaper at the evening hour, the latest news from Washington.  I can remember that many of them would become greatly excited when the reader would emphasize certain passages.  This reading continued when the war was going on.  At that time newspapers were scarce.

I can vividly remember when the Government called for men to join the Union Army.  Some men would hide from the Government officers, sent to bring them.  I have seen them run through fields and woods with officers after them.  There was no let up until they were caught; then they must go to the front or else find a substitute to take their place.