Morris Birkbeck was an Englishman who came to the United States and
settled in southeastern Illinois where he founded the town of Albion.
His account of the people and life in Illinois in 1817, just before it
became a state, is good reporting. He has a sharp eye for detail, and
because he was fresh from Europe, he sees and records the contrasts
between the Midwestern backwoods and the Old World. The following
selection comes from his book, _Notes on a Journey in America, from the
Coast of Virginia to the Territory of Illinois_.
_August 1._ Dagley’s, twenty miles north of Shawnee Town. After
viewing several beautiful prairies, so beautiful with their
surrounding woods as to seem like the creation of fancy, gardens of
delight in a dreary wilderness, and after losing our horses and
spending two days in recovering them, we took a hunter as our guide
and proceeded across the Little Wabash to explore the country between
that river and the Skillet-fork.
Since we left the Fox settlement, about fifteen miles north of the Big
Prairie, cultivation has been very scanty, many miles intervening
between the little “clearings.” This may therefore be truly called a
new country.
These lonely settlers are poorly off—their bread corn must be ground
thirty miles off, requiring three days to carry to the mill and bring
back the small horse-load of three bushels. Articles of family
manufacture are very scanty, and what they purchase is of the meanest
quality and excessively dear: yet they are friendly and willing to
share their simple fare with you. It is surprising how comfortable
they seem, wanting everything. To struggle with privations has now
become the habit of their lives, most of them having made several
successive plunges into the wilderness, and they begin already to talk
of selling their “improvements” and getting still farther “back” on
finding that emigrants of another description are thickening about
them.
Our journey across the Little Wabash was a complete departure from all
mark of civilization. We saw no bears, as they are now buried in the
thickets, and seldom appear by day; but, at every few yards, we saw
recent marks of their doings, “wallowing” in the long grass or turning
over decayed logs in quest of beetles or worms, in which work the
strength of this animal is equal to that of four men. Wandering
without track, where even the sagacity of our hunter-guide had nearly
failed us, we at length arrived at the cabin of another hunter, where
we lodged.
This man and his family are remarkable instances of the effect on the
complexion produced by the perpetual incarceration [_imprisonment_] of
a thorough woodland life. Incarceration may seem to be a term less
applicable to the condition of a roving backwoodsman than to any
other, and especially unsuitable to the habits of this individual and
his family; for the cabin in which he entertained us is the third
dwelling he has built within the last twelve months, and a very
slender motive would place him in a fourth before the ensuing winter.
In his general habits the hunter ranges as freely as the beasts he
pursues; labouring under no restraint, his activity is only bounded by
his own physical powers: still he is incarcerated—“Shut from the
common air.” Buried in the depth of a boundless forest, the breeze of
health never reaches these poor wanderers; the bright prospect of
distant hills fading away into the semblance of clouds, never cheered
their sight. They are tall and pale, like vegetables that grow in a
vault, pining for light....
Our stock of provisions being nearly exhausted, we were anxious to
provide ourselves with a supper by means of our guns, but we could
meet with neither deer nor turkey; however, in our utmost need, we
shot three raccoons, an old one to be roasted for our dogs and the two
young ones to be stewed up daintily for ourselves. We soon lighted a
fire and cooked the old raccoon for the dogs; but famished as they
were, they would not touch it, and their squeamishness so far abated
our relish for the promised stew that we did not press our complaining
landlady to prepare it; and thus our supper consisted of the residue
of our “corn” bread and _no_ raccoon. However, we laid our bear skins
on the filthy earth (floor there was none), which they assured us was
“too damp for fleas,” and wrapped in our blankets slept soundly
enough; though the collops [_slices_] of venison hanging in comely
rows in the smoky fireplace and even the shoulders put by for the dogs
and which were suspended over our heads would have been an acceptable
prelude to our night’s rest, had we been invited to partake of them;
but our hunter and our host were too deeply engaged in conversation to
think of supper. In the morning the latter kindly invited us to cook
some of the collops, which we did by toasting them on a stick, and he
also divided some shoulders among the dogs; so we all fared
sumptuously.
The cabin, which may serve as a specimen of these rudiments of houses,
was formed of round logs with apertures of three or four inches
between. No chimney, but large intervals between the “clapboards” for
the escape of the smoke. The roof was, however, a more effectual
covering than we have generally experienced, as it protected us very
tolerably from a drenching night. Two bedsteads of unhewn logs and
cleft boards laid across; two chairs, one of them without a bottom,
and a low stool were all the furniture required by this numerous
family. A string of buffalo hide stretched across the hovel was a
wardrobe for their rags; and their utensils, consisting of a large
iron pot, some baskets, the effective rifle and two that were
superannuated [_too old to use_], stood about in corners, and the
fiddle, which was only silent when we were asleep, hung by them.