The General Assembly of the new Commonwealth, made up of the delegates
of the Fifth Virginia Colonial Convention, met at Williamsburg, October
7, 1776.
To Donald McDonald and his friends, the most important pending
legislation involved the old religious contentions, this time waged by
Dissenters, who, finding themselves in the majority, demanded the
enactment of laws effectively severing church and state; and repealing
all existing revenue measures for the support of the Established Church.
Their fight was led by Jefferson, a member of the Established Church,
who was much more an advocate of severance of church and state than a
churchman. The opposition was led by Edmund Pendleton and John Page.
Donald McDonald, Lewis Craig and Charles Marshall were present as
Dissenter lobbyists; while several rich planters and a couple of bishops
argued and pleaded with the members and before committees that the
proposed measures were not only attacks upon the church but an
assailment of the Protestant faith.
As liberalism and equality were at the time in the saddle, the advocates
of severance were successful. Laws were passed removing all civil
disabilities because of religious belief; placing all sects upon the
same footing and taxing only Conformists for the support of Conformist
churches.
Emboldened by their successes, the advocates of equal rights introduced
bills abolishing entails and the existing statute of descent. Under the
English law of primogeniture, bolstered by local statutes since the
organization of the colony, the family plantation had descended to the
eldest son, the law prohibiting its sale or encumbrance. All such laws
were attacked and repealed, upon the ground that they established and
maintained an aristocracy.
As this legislative action placed all freeholders upon the same footing,
civil and religious, Donald McDonald's long continued labors in
Williamsburg were at an end and he and his fellow laborers returned
home.
There, he was made to feel that he was an old man. All able-bodied men
of the community were away; either in the new State militia or the
Continental Line service. He, however, was still able to preach, and
most effectively, to the women, the children and his more or less
afflicted comrades among the men.
Nothing was talked of but the war. Patriotism fired every heart. All at
home were making the supreme sacrifice; eating insufficient bread; going
with the minimum clothing; doing with the least bedding, and in other
ways denying themselves in order that those in the field might have
their share of the scanty store. Though each soldier had left home
properly equipped, as months went by this outfit became rags and the
army had no fresh supplies to issue. It rent the hearts of those at home
to hear that their soldiers were forced to march barefooted in the snow
and live for weeks on the scantiest allowance.
The sacrifice made by those at home, coupled with most material aid from
the French, enabled the Colonial armies finally to entrap and capture
the army of Lord Cornwallis; which surrendered on the 19th day of
October, 1781. The victory was decisive; it freed Virginia of all alien
forces and virtually ended the Revolutionary war.
Early in 1782 the old British Ministry was replaced by an anti-war
ministry headed by the Marquis of Rockingham; and orders were issued to
all British forces in America to discontinue hostilities. September 3,
1783, Great Britain, by treaty, recognized the independence of the
Thirteen Colonies.
For some unknown reason the forts of the Northwest Territory were not
surrendered until 1795. This retention aggravated the desultory warfare
between the settlers and the Indians in the Western Country. The
settlers claimed that the Indians were encouraged in their acts of
violence by the commanders of the forts.
The spring and summer after the battle of Yorktown were busy days on the
plantation. Colonel Campbell, who had resigned his commission,
supervised and helped with the work of clearing the briars and
undergrowth and putting in the spring crops. He was aided by Richard
Cameron and his son, John Calvin, who was now a husky lad of fifteen.
When extra help was needed they called on their neighbors; always having
refused to purchase slaves, though just now, because of the breaking up
of the great plantations they could be bought at bargain prices.
By the fall of 1782, the plantation was again in first class condition
and in balancing up, it was found had more than supported the family for
the year.
In the winter of 1782, Richard Cameron and Ruth were married. It was a
most happy match, approved by the neighborhood generally, though some of
the women said: "If Ruth were the kind of a girl to consider her ease
and comfort she would marry Carter Harrington," a rich young planter who
had moved to the Valley from the Tidewater Country.
At the request of Donald McDonald, who had grown very feeble, the
Jackson River Meeting House accepted his resignation and called Richard
Cameron as their pastor. He was installed in January, 1783.
The school in 1782 had been reorganized by Jeremiah Tyler, who was its
principal. There were more than a hundred children in attendance.
Assisting him as instructors were his daughter Judith and Mrs. Harris, a
widow, who the year before had taken the place of Mrs. McDonald. Mrs.
Harris was from Boston, where she had taught a girls' school for several
years. The school now enjoyed the reputation of being the best west of
Richmond; in fact, many contended it was the best in Virginia.
John Calvin was conceded champion in the spelling and quotation battles,
which continued the neighborhood attraction and the regular Friday
afternoon entertainment.
The Fairfax family, in 1782, moved from Greenaway Court to Jackson
River, where Captain Fairfax bought an extensive boundary on the edge of
the Valley between the Preston farm and the Campbell plantation. The
three families were inseparable and visited at all hours without the
slightest formality.
Captain Fairfax and his wife said that Dorothy had made them move to the
Valley and tried to tease her by telling John he was the attraction. The
two children treated the jest in the most matter-of-fact way, Dorothy
saying: "He is almost as dear to me as you and father are," and John,
that: "I am very glad that Dorothy lives so near, she is the best friend
I ever had." Theirs was a close friendship of more than ten years,
beginning almost in infancy with never a thought about the relations of
the future.
They were much together, frequently visiting John Calvin Rock, where
they would take their books and spend the whole afternoon. He would read
aloud or write for her what she called prose poems; little practical
essays on everyday things, yet possessed of a spirit of individual
mysticism and beauty of thought. Considering them her greatest treasures
they were carried home and locked up in a small cabinet of inlaid woods,
which had belonged to her distinguished and aristocratic uncle, Lord
Fairfax.
The two were as dissimilar in disposition and appearance as possible.
She was petite, inclined to be innocently giddy; quick with tears of
sympathy and capable of making one forget his sorrows by her chirpy
gladness; yet as John knew, a very sensible girl when confronted by
something of importance.
He was tall for his age with big hands and feet; and apparently, though
not in reality, clumsy. His light hair was always in wavy, riotous
disorder. He loved the solitudes of the mountain and the great forest
beyond, and spent much of his time climbing over the mountain and in
long tramps through the forest. He never carried a gun, refusing to kill
any wild thing, and wearing his girdle, had no fear of the Indians. He
told Dorothy that when alone he could almost touch the wild deer or walk
into the midst of a drove of turkeys; and if in his rambles he came upon
timber wolves or bear, they passed him without showing either concern or
friendliness.
He was uniformly courteous to every one; yet his only intimates were his
own family, including the servants of the household, Dorothy, the school
master and his daughter, the Clarks and a few silent Indian friends, who
whenever they passed through the settlement called at the Pinnacle and
talked with him.
When one of the tribe into which he had been adopted visited him he
always sent remembrances to Tecumseh and the Prophet, the woman who had
nursed him in his strange illness and the medicine man whose tattooing
probably had caused it; and to John Mason, who for eight years had been
a missionary with the Ohio tribes, he wrote long letters and sent a book
or two at every opportunity. Strange that this man so land hungry; so
possessed with the dominant Anglo-Saxon passion of land ownership, as to
have sold himself for five years in order that he might pay his passage
to America, expecting there to become a freeholder and a gentleman
farmer; at the expiration of his servitude had chosen to become a
missionary to the Indians and never, even to his intimates, mentioned
the dream of his earlier days.
The Indians marked the boundary of the Campbell plantation and the
mountain trail passing it with the Mingo sign of ownership and the sign
name and office of John Calvin, to protect it from Indian depredation.
Their friendliness while partly due to Mason's unselfish service and
because they were kind and respectfully received and entertained at the
plantation, in the main was a tribute to John Calvin, to whom they paid
reverence as a chief and as a member of the Mingo priesthood. He was
called in the Indian tongue, Chief Cross-Bearer, because of the tattooed
marks on his chest, which as he grew seemed to grow not only in size but
the more vividly manifest.
The Indians, deep students of nature and attributing to the Great Spirit
a closer fellowship with men than did the white men and possessing
therefore a more intimate or innate insight into the spiritual phases of
life, saw and appreciated that John Calvin felt yet deeper these
spiritual phases and was gifted with an inexplicable capacity, rarely
given man, for grasping the teachings and purposes of the Great Spirit;
though his scarcely definable gift was as yet unsuspected by him.
Even they did not know that when he came into a room where some one was
ill and raving in delirium, the ravings ceased; and that when he placed
his hands, which were cool and dry and pleasant to the touch, upon a
person suffering with pain or fever the pain or fever departed for the
time and the patient usually slept. This had first been noticed by his
mother and Dorothy, though neither mentioned it.
Once when the schoolmaster was ill the boy came in and sat with him and
when he spoke of the pain which felt like a great spike being driven
through his head, the boy in sympathy placed his hand upon his forehead
and stroked it several times. The touch was pleasant and soothing and in
a moment or two the pain was gone. The master said: "Boy, you are a
great nurse," and in a few moments was asleep.
As he slept he dreamed that an holy one of God went forth about the
earth, comforting the afflicted, ministering unto the needy and
unfortunate, lifting the weary, telling of God's love and in such a way
that it seemed but a part of his everyday life, not as a duty, not in
service, but as he slept and ate and performed such other functions as
were necessary to his being.
His path finally led to the palace of the King, and the King came out
and greeted him, saying: "Come, blessed of my father, inherit the
kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was an
hungered and you gave me meat; I was thirsty and you gave me drink; I
was a stranger and you took me in; naked and you clothed me; sick and
you visited me." And this holy one asked: "When did I all this?" And the
King answered: "Inasmuch as you did it unto one of the least of my
sheep, you did it for me, their shepherd."
It was thus rumor of the boy's attributed power started and spread
throughout the settlement. A few wise in their own conceit, explained it
by saying: "He is so good, so free of sin, so pure of heart that his
very presence is a tonic." And the boy, when he learned what was said,
hastened to his rock and prayed long and fervent prayers that he might
be kept from sin and fitted in some way to render service.
When some of the other boys asked: "How do you keep so good?" he would
answer: "Would that I were better and my life cleaner. If I am better
than some boys, mine is not the credit, because I am not tempted as they
are. It may be that the men of my mother's people have been so long in
the service of God and my father and his father are such good men, that
it is almost natural for me not to wish to do mean things."
In the summer of 1783, John Calvin completed the course in the Tyler
school. At his request, which was seconded by his mother, Colonel
Campbell arranged for their son to attend William and Mary's.
The boy's mother was very much concerned about his associations in
Williamsburg. She objected to the college dormitory, insisting that her
husband write his most trustworthy friend to find if possible the right
sort of family with whom their son might board.
He wrote Judge George Nicholas, a lawyer of prominence and an intimate
friend, asking that he act for him in line with his wife's wishes. Mr.
Campbell received a letter from Mrs. Nicholas, wherein she expressed her
sympathy with and an under standing of Mrs. Campbell's anxiety and
offered to take him into their family and look after him as her own son.
With no further understanding, as it was now time to leave, Colonel
Campbell took his son to Williamsburg. The night of their arrival they
were guests of Judge Nicholas. When the Colonel returned home, his
report of arrangements and particularly that her son was happily
domiciled with the Nicholas family, lessened the worry of his mother.
During the four years he was in college, their house was his home. Much
of the finished manner and scholarly way of expression for which he
became conspicuous, was acquired by association with this accomplished
family.
When he came home in the summer of 1787 he was so tall that his mother,
though she stood on tiptoe, was unable to kiss him, until he lifted her
up in his arms. For the first time as he and his father stood looking,
the one into the face of the other as they had a way of doing, he did
not look up but down. Colonel Campbell, who stood slightly over six feet
in his moccasins, said: "Well boy, you seem to have the best of me; you
have grown out of my class and are broad of shoulders and narrow of
loin, as a young man should be; but you are pale. It will do you good to
spend a few weeks in the wilderness. You might find it helpful to visit
your Indian friends. Mason is here and expects to return next week. How
would you like the trip?
"I am just home; it is too soon to think about leaving. Where is
Dorothy? Does she know I am here? She always met me before."
"Yes," and the father smiled, leaving his wife to answer the question.
"You would hardly expect Dorothy to call upon you; you are six feet two,
and one would think large enough to find your way to her." Which remark
caused him to blush and change the subject.
Richard Cameron and his wife were still a part of the family; and they
had two children, a little boy two years old, Archibald, and the baby,
Mary.
Mason, who had been a missionary with the Indians so long that their
tongue seemed the more familiar speech, when he greeted John,
unconsciously lapsed into the Mingo dialect. His life had given a new
expression to his face; not a sad, but a winsome and wistful one. If one
looked closely into his eyes, he felt a sense of peace and reverence.
They talked about their Indian friends and he told John that always when
he came to the Settlement they sent word that they wished to see their
chief, "The Cross-Bearer;" and John half promised to return with him.
In the late afternoon he climbed to the Pinnacle and watched the shadow
of the mountain extend itself until it covered the whole valley and the
clouds like great white ships sail with the wind on an inverted azure
ocean; then, as the sun sank, the shadow of the mountain reached upward
and transformed the white and fleecy clouds to deeper tints, then to
dark banks of fog, and the azure into a gray twilight sky.
All about were evidences of Dorothy's daily visits to the rock. In a
niche he found a book and the place mark was his last letter. About were
scattered almost an arm load of half wilted flowers. She had been there
that very morning and he wondered why she had not come in the afternoon.
He was still thinking of her when the plantation bell gave three tolls,
his call, and he hurried home. The family were around the table waiting
for him. When he had taken the old place at the right of his mother,
where he had sat since his high-chair days, his father as head of the
family asked the blessing and then helped all bountifully.
"Mother, have you seen Dorothy today? Is she well?"
"Yes, she is well; you better go down after supper and see Captain
Fairfax; she will likely be at home."
----
Dorothy lost little time in washing the supper dishes and tidying up a
bit. Then she placed the porch chairs to her satisfaction, blushing as
she did so. For five minutes she waited in restless anticipation
wondering what made John late; finally she feared he might not come. The
dog gave a bark of warning. A second or two later she heard a step upon
the road; and a tall man stood for a moment upon the stile. As he drew
near her heart gave little jumps of joy at the sound of each footstep.
She stood in the shadow until John reached the step; then they called,
"Dorothy"--"John"--and each held out both hands in greeting.
Captain Fairfax and his wife came out, as was the custom in those days,
instead of retiring to the back porch or going upstairs as now; and all
sat and talked; John of his college days and the news of Williamsburg
and the coast, and they of the news of the Valley and the frontier.
Conversation drifted to their childhood and the time of their captivity;
which led John to speak of his intended visit to the Mingo country. "I
shall go back with Mason and remain for several weeks. Father says I
look pale and need the outdoor life. I would be glad to have you go,
Captain."
"If it can be arranged I am sure I would enjoy the trip. It is more than
five years since I was on the Ohio."
"Father if you are going, there is no reason why I might not go too,
though Mr. Campbell has not asked me. I am a daughter of the tribe and
have been told to come with Chief Cross-Bearer."
"Well Dorothy, when did I get to be Mr. Campbell? You know how much I
wish you might go. There is no danger."
When he left for home is was tentatively arranged that Dorothy and her
father were to go and the young people were very happy.
Some days later, in the gray of early morning, Dorothy and her father
met the others on the trail near the plantation; and John, without
asking, added to his own pack all of the traps Dorothy carried except
her rifle.
All were dressed in Indian costume, not only for convenience but
protection; as their only real danger was in being taken for unfriendly
whites and ambushed before their identity should be discovered.
The trail through the gap and down the mountain side, centuries old, had
been made by the Indians and great herds of buffalo. After passing
through the gap to the western side one had a superb view down the deep
valley of the upper Kanawha and the opposite mountain range, which
seemed a twin to the one on which you stood. A virgin forest clothed its
side and great bald peaks and precipices peeped out in grayish, rugged
contrast. The trail threaded narrow coves, in which were great chestnut
and poplar trees, and wound in ever descending curves and spirals around
the base of great cliffs and from one natural terrace to a lower one.
The distance from the divide as the trail followed the river from its
head fountains to where Mason and his Indian friends had cached their
canoe was thirty miles, the usual first day's tramp; but as a concession
to Dorothy, though she said it was not necessary, they camped when
two-thirds of the distance had been covered.
While Dorothy, Mason and John made ready the camp and began supper;
Captain Fairfax and the Indians hunting in the cliffs, killed a yearling
bear, steaks from which were broiled for supper and breakfast.
By nine the next morning they made the willows, where the canoe was
concealed; and from there in four days and without unusual incident
paddled to Point Pleasant; and also in good time they completed their
voyage from the mouth of the Kanawha, down the Ohio and up the Scioto,
to Shauane-Town.
Word of their coming having preceded them they were met at the river by
the whole village. John Calvin was lodged with his brothers by adoption,
Tecumseh or the Crouching Panther and Oliuachica or the Prophet; the
others were taken to the guest lodge.
Their visit was made the occasion for several big hunts and festivals
which were enjoyed by all. Oliuachica and two braves returned to Jackson
River with them; not only as a guard for that journey but to act as
guides and to protect their party upon its contemplated emigration to
the District of Kentucky, by way of the Wilderness Road.
While they were away Donald McDonald died. Mrs. McDonald going from the
room wherein she was spinning to the adjoining one, found him sitting in
his old hickory split-bottom chair, with his Bible resting in his lap.
Though the door between the rooms had been open, she had heard no sound.
His death was not unexpected; he was quite feeble and in his
eighty-third year. They buried him in the kirkyard of the church where
he had preached for so many years.
Though his kindred a month or so later moved to Kentucky and never again
visited the old place, his grave was not neglected. Friends and members
of his flock, in testimony that his work was appreciated and his life
had not been in vain, trimmed the turf of the green mound and in season
strewed it with apple, laurel and rhododendron bloom.