XVII

"The fourth day roll'd along, and with the night

Came storm and darkness in their mingling might.

Loud sung the wind above; and doubly loud

Shook o'er his turret-cell the thunder-cloud."

_The Corsair._

"These

The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful,

For which the speech of England has no name--

The prairies."

BRYANT.

Whoever will take upon himself the trouble to run his eye over the

"Tourist's Pocket Map of Illinois," will perceive, stretching along

the western border of the state, parallel with the river, a broad

carriage highway, in a direction nearly north, to a little village

called Carlinville; if then he glances to the east, he may trace

a narrow pathway striking off at right angles to that section of

the state. Well, it is here, upon this pathway, just on the margin

of a beautiful prairie, sweeping away towards the town of

Hillsborough,[137] that I find myself at the close of the day, after a

long and fatiguing ride. The afternoon has been one of those dreary,

drizzly, disagreeable seasons which relax the nerves and ride like an

incubus upon the spirits; and my route has conducted me over a

broad-spread, desolate plain; for, lovely as may appear the prairie

when its bright flowerets and its tall grass-tops {187} are nodding in

the sunlight, it is a melancholy place when the sky is beclouded and

the rain is falling. There is a certain indescribable sensation of

loneliness, which steals over the mind of the solitary traveller when

he finds himself alone in the heart of these boundless plains, which

he cannot away with; and the approach to a forest is hailed with

pleasure, as serving to quiet, with the vague idea of _society_, this

sense of dreariness and desertion. Especially is this the case when

rack and mist are hovering along the border, veiling from the view

those picturesque woodland-points and promontories, and those green

island-groves which, when the sky is clear, swell out upon every side

into the bosom of the plain. Then all is fresh and joyous to the eye

as a vision: change the scene, and the grand, gloomy, misty

magnificence of old ocean presents itself on every side. The relief to

the picture afforded by the discovery of man's habitation can hardly

be described.

It was near nightfall, when, wearied by the fatigue of riding and

drenched with mist, I reached the log-cabin of an old pioneer from

Virginia, beneath whose lowly roof-tree I am seated at this present

writing; and though hardly the most sumptuous edifice of which it has

been my lot to be an inmate, yet with no unenviable anticipations am I

looking forward to hearty refreshment and to sound slumber upon the

couch by my side. There are few objects to be met with in the

backwoods of the West more unique and picturesque than the dwelling of

the emigrant. After selecting an elevated spot as {188} a site for

building, a cabin or a log-house--which is somewhat of an improvement

upon the first--is erected in the following manner. A sufficient

number of straight trees, of a size convenient for removing, are

felled, slightly hewn upon the opposite sides, and the extremities

notched or mortised with the axe. They are then piled upon each other

so that the extremities lock together; and a single or double edifice

is constructed, agreeable to the taste or ability of the builder.

Ordinarily the cabin consists of two quadrangular apartments,

separated by a broad area between, connected by a common floor, and

covered by a common roof, presenting a parallelogram triple the length

of its width. The better of these apartments is usually appropriated

to the entertainment of the casual guest, and is furnished with

several beds and some articles of rude furniture to correspond. The

open area constitutes the ordinary sitting and eating apartment of the

family in fine weather; and, from its coolness, affords a delightful

retreat. The intervals between the logs are stuffed with fragments of

wood or stone, and plastered with mud or mortar, and the chimney is

constructed much in the same manner. The roof is covered with thin

clapboards of oak or ash, and, in lieu of nails, transverse pieces of

timber retain them in their places. Thousands of cabins are thus

constructed, without a particle of iron or even a common plank. The

rough clapboards give to the roof almost the shaggy aspect of thatch

at a little distance, but they render it impermeable to even the

heaviest and {189} most protracted rain-storms. A rude gallery often

extends along one or both sides of the building, adding much to its

coolness in summer and to its warmth in winter by the protection

afforded from sun and snow. The floor is constructed of short, thick

planks, technically termed "puncheons," which are confined by wooden

pins; and, though hardly smooth enough for a ballroom, yet well answer

every purpose for a dwelling, and effectually resist moisture and

cold. The apertures are usually cut with a view to free ventilation,

and the chimneys stand at the extremities, outside the walls of the

cabin. A few pounds of nails, a few boxes of glass, a few hundred feet

of lumber, and a few days' assistance of a house-carpenter, would, of

course, contribute not a little to the comfort of the _shieling_; but

neither of these are indispensable. In rear of the premises rise the

outbuildings; stables, corn-crib, meat-house, &c., all of them quite

as perfect in structure as the dwelling itself, and quite as

comfortable for residence. If to all this we add a well, walled up

with a section of a hollow cotton-wood, a cellar or cave in the earth

for a pantry, a zigzag rail fence enclosing the whole clearing, a

dozen acres of Indian corn bristling up beyond, a small garden and

orchard, and a host of swine, cattle, poultry, and naked children

about the door, and the _tout ensemble_ of a backwoods farmhouse is

complete. Minor circumstances vary, of course, with the peculiarities

of the country and the origin of the settlers; but the principal

features of the picture everywhere prevail. The present mode of

cultivation {190} sweeps off vast quantities of timber; but it must

soon be superseded. Houses of brick and stone will take the place of

log-cabins; hedge-rows will supply that of rail enclosures, while coal

for fuel will be a substitute for wood.

At Upper Alton my visit was not a protracted one. In a few hours,

having gathered up my _fixens_ and mounted my _creetur_, I was

threading a narrow pathway through the forest. The trees, most of them

lofty elms, in many places for miles locked together their giant

branches over the road, forming a delightful screen from the sunbeams;

but it was found by no means the easiest imaginable task, after once

entering upon the direct route, to continue upon it. This is a

peculiarity of Western roads. The commencement may be uniform enough,

but the traveller soon finds his path diverging all at once in several

different directions, like the radii of a circle, with no assignable

cause therefor, and not the slightest reason presenting itself why he

should select one of them in preference to half a dozen others,

equally good or bad. And the sequel often shows him that there in

reality existed no more cause of preference than was apparent; for,

after a few tortuosities through the forest, for variety's sake, the

paths all terminate in the same route. The obstacle of a tree, a

stump, a decaying log, or a sand-bank often splits the path as if it

were a flowing stream; and then the traveller takes upon him to

exercise the reserved right of radiating to any point of the compass

he {191} may think proper, provided always that he succeeds in

clearing the obstruction.

Passing many log-cabins, such as I have described, with their

extensive maize-fields, the rude dwelling of a sturdy old emigrant

from the far East sheltered me during the heat of noon; and having

luxuriated upon an excellent dinner, prepared and served up in right

New-England fashion, I again betook myself to my solitary route. But I

little anticipated to have met, in the distant prairies of Illinois,

the habitation of one who had passed his life in my own native state,

almost in my own native village. Yet I know not why the occurrence

should be a cause of surprise. Such emigrations are of constant

occurrence. The farmer had been a resident eight years in the West;

his farm was under that high cultivation characteristic of the

Northern emigrant, and peace and plenty seemed smiling around. Yet was

the emigrant satisfied? So far from it, he acknowledged himself a

disappointed man, and sighed for his native northern home, with its

bleak winds and barren hillsides.

The region through which, for most of the day, I journeyed was that,

of very extensive application in the West, styled "Barrens," by no

means implying unproductiveness of soil, but a species of surface of

heterogeneous character, uniting prairie with _timber_ or forest, and

usually a description of land as fertile, healthy, and well-watered as

may be found. The misnomer is said to have derived its origin from

the early settlers of that section of Kentucky south of Green River,

which, presenting {192} only a scanty, dwarfish growth of timber, was

deemed of necessity _barren_, in the true acceptation of the

term.[138] This soil there and elsewhere is now considered better

adapted to every variety of produce and the vicissitudes of climate

than even the deep mould of the prairies and river-bottoms. The

rapidity with which a young forest springs forward, when the annual

fires have once been stopped in this species of land, is said to be

astonishing; and the first appearance of timber upon the prairies

gives it the character, to some extent, of barrens. Beneath the trees

is spread out a mossy turf, free from thickets, but variegated by the

gaudy petals of the heliotrope, and the bright crimson buds of the

dwarf-sumach in the hollows. Indeed, some of the most lovely scenery

of the West is beheld in the landscapes of these barrens or "oak

openings," as they are more appropriately styled. For miles the

traveller wanders on, through a magnificence of park scenery on every

side, with all the diversity of the slope, and swell, and meadow of

human taste and skill. Interminable avenues stretch away farther than

the eye can reach, while at intervals through the foliage flashes out

the unruffled surface of a pellucid lake. There are many of these

circular lakes or "sinkholes," as they are termed in Western dialect,

which, as they possess no inlet, seem supplied by subterraneous

springs or from the clouds. The outline is that of an inverted cone,

as if formed by the action of whirling waters; and, as sinkholes exist

in great numbers in the vicinity of the rivers, and possess an outlet

{193} at the bottom through a substratum of porous limestone, the idea

is abundantly confirmed. In the State of Missouri these peculiar

springs are also observed. Some of them in Greene county burst forth

from the earth and the fissures of the rocks with sufficient force to

whirl a _run_ of heavy buhrstones, and the power of the fountains

seems unaffected by the vicissitudes of rain or drought. These same

sinkholes, circular ponds, and gushing springs are said to constitute

one of the most remarkable and interesting features of the peninsula

of Florida. There, as here, the substratum is porous limestone; and it

is the subsidence of the layers which gives birth to the springs. The

volume of water thrown up by these boiling fountains is said to be

astonishingly great; many large ones, also, are known to exist in the

beds of lakes and rivers. From the circumstance of the existence of

these numerous springs originated, doubtless, the tradition which

Spanish chroniclers aver to have existed among the Indians of Porto

Rico and Cuba, that somewhere among the Lucayo Islands or in the

interior of Florida there existed a fountain whose waters had the

property of imparting _rejuvenescence_ and perpetuating perennial

youth. Only twenty years after the discoveries of Columbus, and more

than three centuries since, did the romantic Juan Ponce de Leon, an

associate of the Genoese and subsequent governor of Porto Rico,

explore the peninsula of Florida in search of this traditionary

fountain; of the success of the enterprise we have no account. Among

the other poetic founts of the "Land of {194} Flowers," we are _told_

of one situated but a few miles from Fort Gaines, called "Sappho's

Fount,"[139] from the idea which prevails that its waters impart the

power of producing sweet sounds to the voices of those who partake of

them.

It was near evening, when, emerging from the shades of the _barrens_,

which, like everything else, however beautiful, had, by continuous

succession, begun to become somewhat monotonous, my path issued rather

unexpectedly upon the margin of a wide, undulating prairie. I was

struck, as is every traveller at first view of these vast plains, with

the grandeur, and novelty, and loveliness of the scene before me. For

some moments I remained stationary, looking out upon the boundless

landscape before me. The tall grass-tops waving in the billowy beauty

in the breeze; the narrow pathway winding off like a serpent over the

rolling surface, disappearing and reappearing till lost in the

luxuriant herbage; the shadowy, cloud-like aspect of the far-off

trees, looming up, here and there, in isolated masses along the

horizon, like the pyramidal canvass of ships at sea; the deep-green

groves besprinkled among the vegetation, like islets in the waters;

the crimson-died prairie-flower flashing in the sun--these features of

inanimate nature seemed strangely beautiful to one born and bred amid

the bold mountain scenery of the North, and who now gazed upon them

"for the first."

"The prairies! I behold them for the first,

And my heart swells, while the dilated sight

Takes in the encircling vastness."

{195} As I rode leisurely along upon the prairie's edge, I passed many

noble farms, with their log-cabins couched in a corner beneath the

forest; and, verily, would a farmer of Yankee-land "stare and gasp" to

behold the prairie cornfield of the Western emigrant; and yet more

would he be amazed to witness the rank, rustling luxuriance of the

vegetable itself. Descending a swell of the prairie near one of these

farms, a buck with his doe leaped out from a thicket beside my path,

and away, away bounded the "happy pair" over the grass-tops, free as

the wind. They are often shot upon the prairies, I was informed by an

old hunter, at whose cabin, in the middle of the plain, I drew up at

twilight, and with whom I passed the night. He was a pioneer from _the

dark and bloody ground_, and many a time had followed the wild buck

through those aged forests, where Boone, and Whitley, and Kenton once

roved.[140] Only fifty years ago, and for the first time were the

beautiful fields of Kentucky turned up by the ploughshare of the

Virginia emigrant; yet their very descendants of the first generation

we behold plunging deeper into the wilderness West. How would the

worthy old Governor Spotswood stand astounded, could he now rear his

venerable bones from their long resting-place, and look forth upon

this lovely land, far away beyond the Blue Ridge of the Alleghany

hills, the very passage of which he had deemed not unworthy "the

horseshoe of gold" and "the order tramontane." "_Sic juvat

transcendere montes._" Twenty years before Daniel Boone, "backwoodsman

of Kentucky," was {196} born, Alexander Spotswood, governor of

Virginia, undertook, with great preparation, a passage of the

Alleghany ridge. For this expedition were provided a large number of

horseshoes, an article not common in some sections of the "Old

Dominion;" and from this circumstance, upon their return, though

without a glimpse of the Western Valley, was instituted the

"_Tramontane Order_, or _Knights of the Golden Horseshoe_," with the

motto above. The badge of distinction for having made a passage of the

Blue Ridge was a golden horseshoe worn upon the breast. Could the

young man of that day have protracted the limits of life but a few

years beyond his threescore and ten, what astonishment would not have

filled him to behold _now_, as "the broad, the bright, the glorious

West," the region _then_ regarded as the unknown and howling

_wilderness beyond the mountains_! Yet even thus it is.[141]

A long ride over a dusty road, beneath a sultry sun, made me not

unwilling to retire to an early rest. But in a few hours my slumbers

were broken in upon by the glare of lightning and the crash of

thunder. For nearly five weeks had the prairies been refreshed by not

a solitary shower; and the withered crops and the parched soil, baked

to the consistency of stone or ground up to powder, betrayed alarming

evidence of the consequence. Day had succeeded day. The scorching sun

had gone up in the firmament, blazed from his meridian throne, and in

lurid sultriness descended to his rest. The subtle fluid had been

gathering and concentrating in the skies; and, early on the night of

{197} which I speak, an inky cloud had been perceived rolling slowly

up from the western horizon, until the whole heavens were enveloped in

blackness. Then the tempest burst forth. Peal upon peal the hoarse

thunder came booming over the prairies; and the red lightning would

glare, and stream, and almost hiss along the midnight sky, like

Ossian's storm-spirit riding on the blast. At length there was a hush

of elements, and all was still--"still as the spirit's silence;" then

came one prolonged, deafening, terrible crash and rattle, as if the

concave of the firmament had been rent asunder, and the splintered

fragments, hurled abroad, were flying through the boundlessness of

space; the next moment, and the torrents came weltering through the

darkness. I have witnessed thunder-storms on the deep, and many a one

among the cliffs of my native hills; but a midnight thunder-gust upon

the broad prairie-plains of the West is more terrible than they. A

more sublimely magnificent spectacle have I never beheld than that,

when one of these broad-sheeted masses of purple light would blaze

along the black bosom of the cloud, quiver for an instant over the

prairie miles in extent, flinging around the scene a garment of flame,

and then go out in darkness.

"Oh night,

And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,

Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light

Of a dark eye in woman!"

"Most glorious night!

Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be

A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,

A portion of the tempest and of thee!"

{198} And a sharer in the tempest surely was "a certain weary pilgrim,

in an upper chamber" of a certain log-cabin of the prairie. Unhappily

for his repose or quiet, had he desired either, the worthy host, in

laudable zeal for a window when erecting his hut, had thought proper

to neglect or to forget one of the indispensables for such a

convenience in shape of sundry panes of glass. Wherefore, as is easy

to perceive, said aperture commanding the right flank of the pilgrim's

dormitory, the warring elements without found abundant entrance for a

by-skirmish within. Sad to relate, the pilgrim was routed, "horse,

foot, and dragoons;" whereupon, agreeable to Falstaff's

_discretionary_ views of valour, seizing upon personal effects, he

beat a retreat to more hospitable realms.

_Greene County, Ill._