time when I first emigrated here. The spot where now stand your
prettiest towns and villages, was then a howling wilderness. Instead of
the tinkling of the cow-bells and the merry whistle of the farmer-boy as
he calls his herd to the fold, might be heard the wild cry of the
panther, the howl of the wolf; and the equally appalling yell of the
aborigines. These were "times to try men's souls;" and it was then the
heart of oak and the sinews of iron which commanded respect. Let me
describe to you some scenes in which such men were the actors; scenes
which called forth all the energy of man's nature; and in the depths of
this western wilderness, many hundreds of Alexanders and Cæsars, who
have never been heard of. At the time I emigrated to Ohio the deadly
hatred of the red men toward the whites had reached its acme. The rifle,
the tomahawk and the scalping knife were daily at work; and men, women
and children daily fell victims to this sanguinary spirit. In this state
I found things when I reached the small village opposite the month of
Licking river, and now the great city of Cincinnati. Here in this great
temple of nature man has taken up his abode, and all that he could wish
responds to his touch. The fields and meadows yield their produce, and
unmolested by the red man whom he had usurped, he enjoys the bounties of
a beneficent Creator. And where is the red man? Where is he! Like wax
before the flame he has melted away from before the white man, leaving
him no legacy save that courageous daring which will live in song long
after their last remnant shall have passed away. At the time when I
first stepped upon these grounds the red man still grasped the sceptre
which has since been wrenched from his hand. They saw the throne of
their fathers beginning to totter. Their realm had attracted the
cupidity of a race of strangers, and with maddening despair, they
grasped their falling power; and daily grew more desperate as they
became more endangered. I among the rest had now a view of this
exuberant west, this great valley of the Hesperides; and I determined to
assist in extirpating the red man, and to usurp the land of his fathers.
Among the men who were at the village, I found one who for magnanimity
and undaunted courage merits a wreath which should hang high in the
temple of fame, and yet like hundreds of others, he has passed away
unhonored, unsung. His name was Ralph Watts, a sturdy Virginian, with a
heart surpassing all which has been said of Virginia's sons, in those
qualities, which ennoble the man; and possessing a courage indomitable,
and a frame calculated in every way to fulfil whatever his daring spirit
suggested. Such was Ralph Watts. I had only been in the town a few days,
when Ralph and I contracted an intimacy which ended only with his death.
I was passing the small inn of the town, when a tall man, with a hunting
shirt and leggins on stepped out and laying his hand on my shoulder
said: "Stranger, they say you have just come among us, and that you are
poor; come along. I have got just five dollars, no man shall ever say
that Ralph Watts passed a moneyless man, without sharing with him the
contents of his pocket--come along." Ralph and I soon became inseparable
friends. His joys as well as his sorrows were mine; in a word, we shared
each others sympathies; and this leads me to the scene of the log
cabin. We often hunted together, and while on our last expedition, took
an oath of friendship which should end only with death--and how soon was
it to end. We left the infant Cincinnati one summer morning at the
rising of the sun, and with our guns on our shoulders, and our pouches
well supplied with ammunition, we struck into the deep wilderness,
trusting to our own stout hearts, and woodscraft for our food and
safety. We journeyed merrily along, whiling away the hours in recounting
to each other those trivial incidents of our lives which might be
interesting, or in singing snatches of song and listening to its solemn
echo as it reverberated among the tall trees of the forest. Towards
evening we reached our first camping ground--a spot near where the town
of Sharon now stands. Here we pitched our tent, built our fire, cooked
our suppers, and prepared to pass away the evening as comfortably as two
hunters possibly could. All at once the deep stillness which reigned
around us was broken by a low cry similar to that of a panther. We both
ceased speaking and listened attentively, when the cry was repeated
still nearer, as if the arrival was rapidly advancing upon us; and thus
the cry was repeated, again and again, till its shrillness seemed not
more than a hundred yards distant, when the voice changed to that of a
yell, whose tones were so familiar to the ear of my companion as to
exert quite a visible effect upon his actions. We both sprang to our
feet and seizing our guns, stood ready to fire at a moment's warning,
"Halloo!" cried a deep voice, just outside our camp, but instead of
answering it we nerved ourselves for a desperate encounter, feeling
assured that several Indians were lurking outside our tent. "Halloo!
white brudder, come out," cried the same voice in broken English. We
consulted for a moment and finally decided to trust, for once, to Indian
faith. Ralph first stepped forth and demanded in no very amiable voice;
"what was wanting." "Come out white brudder," was the answer. After
assuring ourselves that there was but one person near we walked forward
and found a large Indian sitting by the fire, both hands spread before
the flame to protect his eyes from the light, that his keen gaze might
rest unmolested upon us. As soon as he saw us a writhing grin spread
over his painted features, and rising he offered us each his hand in a
very friendly manner. The Indian drew from his belt a large pipe,
gaudily painted, and from which depended a profusion of wampum, beads,
and eagles' feathers. He lighted the pipe, and after taking a whiff,
passed it to Ralph, who following his example passed it to me. After
taking a puff I handed it to the Indian, who replaced it in his belt.
This very important ceremony being finished, the Indian made known his
business. After bestowing a thousand anathemas upon his red brethren, he
informed us that he had left the red man forever, and was willing to
join his white brothers, and to wage an exterminating warfare against
his own kindred. We strove to extort from him the cause of this
ebullition of passion, but he only shook his head in reply to our
questions, and uttered a guttural "ough," We at first suspected him of
some treacherous plot; but there was such an air of candor and
earnestness in the communication he now made, that we threw aside all
suspicion and confided in him. He stated that there was a large party of
Indians in our rear, who had been tracking us for several hours; and
that it was their intention early in the morning to surround us, and
take us prisoners for victims at the stake, "but," said he, "if my white
brudder will follow his red brudder he will lead him safe." We instantly
signified our willingness to trust ourselves to his guidance, and
shouldering our blankets and guns, we left our camp, and followed our
guide due north at a rapid gait. For several miles we strode through the
thick woods, every moment scratching our faces and tearing our clothing,
with the thick tangled brush through which we had to pass, but
considering this of minor importance we hurried on in silence, save when
we intruded too near the nest of the nocturnal king of the forest, when
a wild hoot made us start and involuntarily grasp our rifles. "Sit on
this log and eat," said our red guide. Finding our appetites sharpened
by vigorous exercise, we sat on the log and commenced our repast, when
our guide suddenly sprang from his seat, and with a hideous yell bolted
into the forest and was soon lost to our sight. This conduct instantly
roused our fear; and with one accord we sprang to our feet. We gazed
around. Turn which way we would, the grim visage of a painted warrior
met our terrified gaze, with his tomahawk in one hand, and his rifle in
the other. "Perfidious villain," exclaimed Ralph, "and this is an
Indian's faith." An Indian of gigantic size, dressed in all the gaudy
trappings of a chief, now strode, towards us. Ralph raised his gun, and
closed his eye as the sight of the weapon sought the warrior's breast.
"Don't shoot, and you will be treated friendly," cried the savage in
good English. "So long as I live," said Ralph, "I'll never put faith
again in an Indian's word." The gun went off, and the savage, with an
unearthly cry, bounded high in the air, and fell upon his face a corpse.
A scream as if ten thousand furies had been suddenly turned loose upon
the earth, rang around us; and ere we could start ten steps on our
flight, we were seized by our savage foes, and like the light barque
when, borne on the surface of the angry waves, were we borne equally
endangered upon the shoulders of these maddened men. We were thrown upon
the earth, our hands and feet were bound till the cords were almost
hidden in the flesh; and then with the fury of madmen they commenced
beating us with clubs, when another chief, who appeared to be of higher
standing than the one who had just lost his life, rushed into the
crowd, hurling the excited warriors to the right and left in his
progress, and mounting upon a log he harangued them for a few moments
with a loud voice. They at once desisted, perhaps reconciled by the
prospect of soon seeing us burnt at the stake. We were carried to their
encampment, where we were still left bound, with two sentinels stationed
to guard us. In this painful state we remained all day, when towards
evening another company of warriors arrived, and then vigorous
preparations were made for burning us. A stake was planted in the
ground, and painted a variety of fantastic colors; the brush was piled
around it at a proper distance; and every other necessary arrangement
made; while we sat looking on, subject to the continual epithets of an
old squaw, whose most consoling remarks were: "How will white man like
to eat fire," and then she would break out into a screeching laugh,
which sounded perfectly hideous. A cold chill pervaded my frame as I
gazed upon these ominous signs of death; but how often is our misery but
the prelude of joy. At the moment that these horrid preparations were
finished, a bright flash of lightning shattered a tall hickory, nearby;
and then the earth was deluged with rain. The Indians sought the
shelter, but left us beneath the fury of the storm, where we remained
for several hours; but seeing that it increased rather than diminished,
they forced us into a small log hut and leaving a man to guard us,
bolted the door firmly and left us for the night. What were our
reflections when left alone? Your imagination must supply an answer. But
we did not entirely gave way to despondency. We were young and robust,
and our spirits were not easily subdued. Instead of becoming
disheartened our approaching fate emboldened us, and by looks, whose
expression made known our minds to each other, we resolved to effect our
escape or be slain in striving for it. Anything was preferable to the
fiery torture which awaited us. Our guard proved just the man we wanted,
for, having during the evening indulged rather freely in drinking
whiskey, he soon sank into a profound slumber. Long and anxiously had we
watched the man, and now our wishes were consummated. I contrived with
much exertion to draw my knife from my pocket, and commenced sawing at
the tough thong which confined my wrist. My heart beat high with joy,
and already we felt that we were free, when the guard sneezed, opened
his eyes, rolled them round the room, and discovered that he had been
asleep. I slipped the knife into my pocket without his notice, and he
discovered nothing to rouse his suspicions, although he regarded us
closely for a long time. He finally sat down, lit his pipe and commenced
smoking. After puffing away for half an hour, which seemed to drag by
with the tediousness of a week, he laid his tomahawk (which contains
the pipe) by his side, and after nodding for some time he again
stretched himself upon the rough floor, and soon his deep snoring fell
upon our ears. O! what music was that sound to us. I again drew the
knife from my pocket, and with desperation freed my hands, and in one
minute more Ralph stood like myself a free man. With the stealthy tread
of a cat we reached the door, softly slid back the bolt, and once more
we stood in the open air. The rain had ceased, the clouds had swept by,
and the full moon pale and high in the heavens threw her light upon the
tree tops, bathing them in liquid silver. Silently but rapidly we
bounded through the forest, our fears of pursuit urging us onward; and
by daylight were within twelve miles of the log cabin whose history I am
telling. At that time there dwelt in that cabin, with his family, a
trapper by the name of Daniel Roe. When we reached there we found Roe at
home, to whom we recounted our adventure. He only laughed at our fears
that the Indians might track us thus far, and we finally listened to his
laughing remarks and concluded to rest in his cabin for several days. We
heaped folly upon folly; for instead of putting the house in a state of
defence, and preserving as much silence as possible we commenced trying
our skill by shooting at a mark. We continued this exercise through the
afternoon, partook of a hearty supper, chatted till bed-time, and then
retired. Ralph soon fell sound asleep, but I could not; I felt a
presentiment of approaching danger; still there were no visible signs of
it, yet I could not shake off a peculiar nervousness which agitated me.
I lay still for some time listening to the deep and regular breathing of
Ralph, and ever and anon as an owl screamed I would start, despite the
familiarity of the cry. Just as I turned in my bed, and was trying to
compose myself for sleep, I heard a cry very similar to the hoot of an
owl; still there was something about the sound which did not sound
right. My heart commenced beating rapidly and a sweat started from my
brow. I rose softly and looked through the chinks of the logs, but there
was nothing to be seen. I listened attentively for at least an hour; but
heard no sound to confirm my fears; and finally ashamed of my own
nervousness, I could not call it _cowardice_, I slipped into bed,
determined to sleep if possible. But soon I heard that same sound on the
still air. I rose, dressed myself, but still I could see no form like
that of an Indian. Just as I was on the point of abandoning my fears as
idle and childish, I cast my eyes through an aperture between the logs;
and saw the dusky forms of several Indians moving about the yard. I
sprang to the bedside and awoke Ralph, and in a few moments more, Roe,
Ralph and myself, stood with ready guns, waiting for a chance to shoot.
A shot passing through one of the savages, told the rest they were
discovered; and now a regular firing began. The Indians simultaneously
uttered a fiendish shout, such as no person can imagine who has not
heard the Indian war-scream; and then brandishing their tomahawks rushed
upon the house and began hewing at the door. In a moment we were all
down stairs, and our fire became so fatal they were forced to retire
several times; but with desperate courage they returned to the attack. I
never experienced the feeling of utter despair but once in my life; and
that was then. Roe came running down stairs (whither he had gone for
more ammunition) and with a face white from terror, informed us that the
ammunition was expended. Here we were, surrounded by a host of savages,
fastened in a small house, with nothing to defend ourselves, and the
helpless women and children under the roof. "Let us open the door, and
decide the contest hand to hand," said Ralph Watts. 'O! my family, my
wife and children,' groaned Daniel Roe, 'let us defend the house to the
last.' And with nerves strung like iron, and hearts swelled to
desperation, we waited in silence for the savages to hew their way
through the door. The work was soon over, the savages uttered one
deafening yell as the door gave way; and clubbing our guns we wielded
them with giant energy. The dark forms of the savages crowded the
door-way, their eyes glared madly at us, and their painted features
working into a hundred malignant and fiendish expressions, which,
together with their horrid yells, and the more heart-rending cries of
women and children, all formed a scene of the most harrowing
description. The battle was soon over. By some mishap I was hurled head
foremost out of the door; but so intent were the savages upon the battle
within, that they did not once notice me, as they rushed forward to the
scene of action. Seeing that all was lost, and that to remain would only
be throwing away my life uselessly, I sprang to my feet and slipping
around the corner of the house I made my way over the old
fortification[2] and soon left the noise far behind me. Much has been
written and said of grief, but how little do we know of its poignant
nature, till we suffer the loss of some dear friend. 'Tis when we behold
an object of deep affection lying passive and dead--but a thing of clay
unconscious of the pain it gives, that we feel _that_ sorrow, which
language is too feeble to express. I found it so, when upon returning to
the cabin a few hours afterward, I found the dead bodies of all my
friends mutilated and weltering in their blood. Around the body of poor
Ralph lay six Indians, with their skulls beat in; his gun furnishing
evidence, by its mutilated state, of the force with which he had used
it. My story is soon finished. As the tears streamed from my eyes, I
dug a grave where I deposited the remains of my friends, and after
placing a large stone above their resting-place, I departed, wishing
never to return to the spot again, and I never have."
FOOTNOTES:
[1] I lately came across this sketch in an old Magazine, bearing the
date of 1842, and thinking others might be as much interested by it as I
was myself, I transcribed it in an abridged form to the pages of this
volume.
[2] Near the spot where the cabin stands are the remains of immense
works, but by whom and when built will forever remain hidden.
HAZEL-BROOK FARM.
Robert Ainslie, with his family, emigrated from Scotland about the year
of 1843, and settled upon a new farm in the backwoods, in the township
of R. in Eastern Canada. I can say but little regarding his early life,
but have been informed that he was the eldest of quite a large family of
sons and daughters; and also that he was a dutiful son as well as a kind
and affectionate brother. It seems that he married quite early in life,
and at that period he tended a small farm adjoining the one occupied by
his father. The utmost harmony existed between the two families, and
they lived in the daily interchange of those little offices of love and
kindness which render friends so dear to each other. Several years
glided by in this happy manner, but reverses at length came; and Robert
formed the plan of emigrating to America. But when he saw how much his
parents were grieved by the thought of his seeking a home on the other
side of the Atlantic, he forbore to talk further of the matter, and
decided to remain at home for another year at least. That year however
proved a very unfortunate one; his crops were scanty; and toward the
spring he met with some severe losses, by a distemper which broke out
among his farm stock. As the season advanced, he became so disheartened
by his gloomy prospects, that he decided to carry out his former plan of
emigrating to Canada; where he hoped by persevering industry to secure a
comfortable home for himself, and those dear to him. He had little
difficulty in persuading his wife to accompany him, as her parents, with
her two brothers and one sister, had emigrated some two years previous.
It was more difficult however for him to persuade his father and mother
that his decision was a wise one. "If ye maun leave us," said his
mother, "can ye no seek anither hame nearer han' an' no gang awa across
the water to yon' wild place they ca' Canada?" "We maun try to be
reasonable, woman," said his father, "but I canna deny that the thought
o' our first born son gaun sae far awa gie's me a sair heart." It was
equally hard for the son to bid farewell to the land of his birth, and
of a thousand endearing ties; but prudence whispered that now was his
time to go, while he had youth and health, to meet the hardships that
often fall to the lot of the emigrant. When his parents saw how much his
mind was set upon it they ceased to oppose his wishes, and with his wife
and children, he soon joined the large numbers who, at that period, were
leaving the British, for the Canadian shores.
As may be readily supposed, the parting between the two families was a
very sad one; but the last adieus were finally exchanged, and the poor
emigrants were borne away on the billows of the Atlantic. During the
first few days of their voyage they all, with the exception of their
youngest child, suffered much from sea-sickness. This child was a little
girl about three years old; and it seemed singular to them, that she
should escape the sickness, from which nearly all the passengers
suffered, more or less. They soon recovered; the weather was fine, and
many of their fellow passengers were very agreeable companions, and they
began really to enjoy the voyage. But this happy state of things was but
of short duration. Their little girl, wee Susie, as they called her, was
seized with illness. They felt but little anxiety at the first, thinking
it but as light indisposition from which she would soon recover; but
when day after day passed away with no visible change for the better
they became alarmed, and summoned the physician, who pronounced her
disease a kind of slow fever, which he said often attacked those who
escaped the sea-sickness. He told the anxious parents not to be alarmed,
as he hoped soon to succeed in checking the disease. But with all the
physician's skill, aided by the unceasing attention of her fond parents,
the sad truth that wee Susie was to die soon became evident. When the
sorrowing parents became sensible that their child must die, they
prayed earnestly that her life might be prolonged till they should
reach the land. But for some wise reason their prayer was not granted;
and when their voyage was but little more than half accomplished she
died, and they were forced to consign her loved form to a watery grave.
The lovely prattling child had been a general favourite with all on
board, and her sudden death cast a gloom over the minds of all. Words
would fail me to describe the grief of the parents and the two
affectionate little brothers when they realised that "wee Susie" was
indeed gone, and that they could never enjoy even the melancholy
satisfaction of beholding her resting-place. Mr. Ainslie's domestic
affections were very strong, and to him the blow was terrible. He now
deeply regretted removing his family from their Scottish home,
entertaining the idea, that had they not undertaken this journey their
child might have been spared; and he wrote bitter things against himself
for the step he had taken. Deep as was the mother's grief, she was
forced to place a restraint upon it that she might comfort her almost
heart broken husband. Upon one occasion, in reply to some of his self
upbraidings, she said, "I think, Robert, you're owre hard on yoursel'
now, when ye tak the blame o' puir Susie's death; ye surely canna think
itherwise than the dear bairn's time had come; an' had we bided at hame
it would ha' been a' the same; for we dinna leeve an' dee by chance, and
the bounds o' our lives are set by Him who kens a' things." These
consoling words from his sympathising wife tended to lighten, in some
measure, the burden of sorrow which oppressed his heart. The weather
during the latter part of their voyage was stormy and uncomfortable, and
they were truly glad when they at length reached the Canadian port. At
the city of Montreal they parted with all those who had been their
fellow passengers, as all except themselves were bound for the Upper
Province, while they intended joining their friends in Lower Canada.