several families in our neighborhood who were well educated and
refined, and we formed lasting friendships among them. It may be that,
if Missouri had been a free State, we might have made our home there,
but slavery, even as exhibited here in its mildest form, was an
insuperable objection, and when my husband, having faithfully
discharged his trust, felt that his sister's affairs were in such a
state that she no longer required his aid, we bade farewell to our
beloved relatives, to our dear friend Richard Garnett and others, and
returned to Michigan, which had been our first home after leaving the
army. Here we remained for many years, much of the time in Ann Arbor,
where we were engaged in teaching, and where we formed many warm
friendships, and became much attached to the beautiful city, which has
taken so high a rank as an educational center. Our school was large,
and comprised a male and female department, in the former of which a
number of young men were prepared for the university. Among them was
James Watson, who became so famous as an astronomer, and who from the
first astonished all by his wonderful facility in all branches of
mathematics. We meet now and then some of our old pupils, middle-aged
men and women, and are proud to see them filling their places in the
world as good wives and mothers or useful, earnest men. We watched the
growth of the University of Michigan from its infancy, and rejoiced
when Chancellor Tappan took it in hand and gave it an impetus which
changed its status from an academy to a vigorous go-ahead college,
with wonderful possibilities. He was a grand man. It was a pleasure
and an honor to know him, and Michigan owes much to his wise and
skillful management, which brought her university up to the high
position it occupies to-day.
We loved Michigan, and would fain have lived there always, but several
of our family became much enfeebled by the malarial influences so
prevalent at that time in the beautiful peninsula, and we felt that a
complete change of climate was imperatively necessary. So, bidding a
reluctant good-bye to home and friends, we turned our faces towards
Minnesota, in the hope that that far-famed atmosphere would drive away
all tendency to intermittent fevers and invigorate our shattered
constitutions.
[Illustration]
_CHAPTER XVII._
In the autumn of 1856 our family removed to Long Prairie, Todd county,
Minnesota, as the nucleus of a colony which was to settle and develop
a large tract of land, purchased from government by a company, some
members of which were our friends and relatives.
The weather was very pleasant when we left our Michigan home, but at
the Mississippi river the _squaw winter_, immediately preceding
_Indian summer_, came upon us with unusual sharpness, and lasted
through the remainder of our journey. We were to cross the river at a
little hamlet called "Swan River," and our plan was to hire
conveyances there which should take us the remaining distance. But on
arriving at this point we found a young friend who had come West for
his health, and was acting as agent for my brother, one of the owners
of the purchase. He was on a business errand and not well prepared to
take us back with him, but as we learned that it would be impossible
to procure transportation for two or three days, and were extremely
anxious to reach the end of our journey, he decided to make the
attempt. We made the transit in small skiffs amidst huge cakes of
floating ice, which threatened to swamp us before we reached the
western shore, and our fears well nigh got the better of some of us,
but taking a lesson from the implicit confidence our dear children
reposed in us, we rested in our Heavenly Father's love and care, and
so passed safely and trustingly over. At 4 P. M., we struck out into
the wilderness, but, the roads being rough and our load heavy, we made
very slow progress. By 9 o'clock we had not reached the half-way mark,
but by way of encouragement to the horses, and in consideration of the
tired, hungry children, we came to a halt and improvised a nocturnal
picnic. It was cold, very cold, there was no shelter, no light but the
camp-fire, and yet there was an attempt at cheerfulness, and the
entertainment passed off with some degree of merriment.
After an hour's rest we resumed our journey, and, although our
conveyance was an open wagon, so crowded as to be very uncomfortable,
especially for the children, yet we did the best we could, and the
little emigrants bore the journey bravely for some hours longer. But
when within six miles of our destination, just beside a deserted
Indian encampment, our horses fairly gave out and would not pull
another inch. So a large camp-fire was made; a sort of shelter
constructed of branches of trees; a Buffalo robe laid on the ground,
and the weary travelers found a temporary resting place, while our
young friend, above alluded to, started with the used-up team to bring
us help, if he could reach the prairie. I had chosen to pass the hours
of waiting in the wagon, feeling that I could better protect my dear
little baby in this way. So when all the tired ones were still, and
the silence only broken by the crackling of the burning fagots, the
occasional falling of a dry twig or branch from the bare, ghostly
looking trees about us, the hooting of an owl, the dismal howlings of
the wolves in the forest, I sat there looking at the weary forms so
illy protected from the cold, thinking of the little white beds in
which my dear ones were wont to slumber peacefully and comfortably,
the friends whom we had left, who might even now be dreaming of us, of
some of the farewell tea drinkings by cheerful firesides in dear old
Ann Arbor, where tender words had been spoken, and our prospects in a
far western home been discussed over delicate, tempting viands,
prepared by loving hands; and these thoughts kept my _heart_ warmed
and comforted, albeit I shivered with external cold; but hugging my
baby closer, and committing all to the care of Him who never slumbers
nor sleeps, I was just sinking into unconsciousness when a voice, not
heard for a year and a half, broke the deep stillness with: "How!
Nitchie!" and there by the flickering light of the fire, I saw our
eldest son, who had left us, for a trip with his uncle to the Rocky
Mountains a mere boy, and now stood before us in size a man. As his
father rose to his feet, he exclaimed in an agony of joy: "Oh! father,
is it you?" and he fell upon his father's neck and wept, and his
father wept upon his neck. Then, as in a dream, I heard, "Where's
mother?" in an instant he stood beside me, and I was sobbing in the
arms of my first-born, my well-beloved son.
Our messenger had told him that the horses had given out just beside
an Indian encampment, and that, unless all haste was made, the load
might be carried off. So the boy, without a moment's delay, took his
horses and came at full speed to save the goods. Hence his first
salutation, greeting, as he supposed, a party of Chippewas.
The little camp was all alive with surprise and joyful excitement, and
with a hearty appreciation of this very good practical joke, we were
soon in motion again, wending our way, with lightened hearts, to our
journey's end, which we reached without further let or hindrance.
After a brief, but much needed rest, we opened our eyes on a calm fair
Sabbath morning, and our new home, in the soft hazy light of an Indian
summer sunrise was very lovely. It required no very vivid imagination
to fancy ourselves in the happy valley of "Rasselas, Prince of
Abyssinia," and it seemed to me impossible that any one could ever
desire, like that discontented youth, to leave so charming a spot. The
term prairie is a misnomer in this case; instead we found a beautiful
fruitful valley lying between two low ranges of hills, interspersed
with groves of trees and picturesque lakes, and watered by a river
winding gracefully through its whole length. It had been the seat of
the Winnebago Agency, and there were, still standing, in pretty good
order, a large number of houses. These buildings, empty though they
were, gave the idea of a settlement, dispelling every thing like a
feeling of loneliness or isolation. On our way to our new home, we
had purchased, at Dubuque, ample supplies for a year, but, (the
steamboats at that season being much crowded), were obliged to leave
them with our household goods to follow, as we were assured in the
next boat. Resting in this assurance and being supplied for the
present, we had no anxiety for the future; we knew not what was before
us. God tenderly "shaded our eyes," and we were very happy and full of
hope. Prairie hens and pheasants were abundant beyond belief. Our
boys, standing in the kitchen door, could frequently shoot as many as
we needed from the trees in the dooryard, while the numerous lakes in
the vicinity afforded us most excellent fish, such as an epicure might
have envied us. Some of our family, enfeebled by malarial fevers, and
the ills resulting from them, imbibed fresh draughts of health and
life with every breath, the weak lungs and tender irritable throats
healed rapidly in the kindly strengthening atmosphere, and hearts that
had been sore at parting with dear friends and a beloved home, were
filled with gratitude to Him who had led us to so fair and lovely a
resting place, and we mark that time with a white stone in memory of
His loving kindness in thus preparing us for what was to come.
Early in December, winter came upon us in earnest; snow fell to such a
depth that we were fairly shut out from the whole world, and so
suddenly as to find us unprepared. It was difficult and almost
impossible, on account of the deep snow, to procure wood sufficient
to keep up the constant fires necessary on account of the intense
cold. We had no mail, no telegraph, no news from our supplies. Yet we
hoped and made the best of our situation. Our children, who had read
"Robinson Crusoe" and "Swiss Family Robinson," thoroughly enjoyed this
entirely new experience, and, every day explored the various empty
houses, returning from their expeditions with different household
articles left by the former occupants as worthless, but which served
us a purpose in furnishing our table and kitchen. But day by day our
temporary supplies lessened, and with all the faith we could call to
our aid, we could not but feel somewhat anxious. A crop of wheat
raised on the place the preceding summer had been stored, unthreshed,
in some of the empty buildings, and this, at last, came to be our only
dependence. The mill on the property had, of course, been frozen up,
and only after hours of hard work, could my husband and boys so far
clear it of ice, as to succeed in making flour, and such flour! I have
always regretted that we did not preserve a specimen for exhibition
and chemical analysis, for verily the like was never seen before, and
I defy any one of our great Minneapolis mills to produce an imitation
of it. The wheat was very smutty, and having no machinery to remedy
this evil, all efforts to cleanse it proved unsatisfactory, but the
compound prepared from it which we called _bread_, was so rarely
obtainable, as to be looked upon as a luxury. Our daily "staff of
life" was unground wheat.
A large number of Chippewa Indians were encamped about us most of the
time, and not being able to hunt successfully, on account of the very
deep snow, were driven to great extremity, and sometimes, acting on
the well established principle, that "self-preservation is the first
law of nature," broke in the windows of our extemporized granaries,
and helped themselves to grain. They were welcome to it under the
circumstances, but in obtaining it they had broken in the windows, and
had mixed glass with it to such an extent that it was unsafe for food
until we had picked it all over, grain by grain. This process was our
daily occupation and amusement. I distinctly recall the scene in our
dining-room, when all the available members of the family were seated
around a long pine table, with a little pile of wheat before each,
replenished from time to time from the large heap in the center,
working away industriously, conversing cheerfully, telling interesting
and amusing stories, singing songs, never complaining, but all
manifesting a feeling of gratitude that we still saw before us what
would support life, for, at least, a while longer; and taking heart
and strength to endure, in the hope that before this, our last
resource was exhausted, we should receive our long expected supplies,
which were somewhere on the way to us. This wheat was boiled, and
eaten with salt, the only seasoning of any kind we had; no butter, no
milk, no meat, nothing, and yet we never can forget the intense relish
with which our children partook of it, one of them remarking, on one
occasion, "Mother, how good this wheat is; I wish you would write to
Ann Arbor and tell the boys there of it; I don't believe they know." A
little child was teaching us, and the amount of strength and comfort
imparted to us by such a manifestation of perfect contentment,
gratitude and trust can never be computed in words. We realized in
those days, as never before, the full force and beauty of the
Icelandic custom: living in the midst of dangers seen and unseen,
these people, we are told, every morning open the outer door, and
looking reverently up to Heaven, thank God they are still alive. So
when with each returning day we saw our children safe and well, our
first feeling was, gratitude that the Eternal God, who was our only
refuge, had not removed from underneath us His everlasting arms.
The nearest settlement of any kind was "Swan River," on the
Mississippi, but we were so completely blockaded with snow, that no
team could possibly get through. Two or three times during that
memorable winter, our oldest son, a boy of eighteen years, made the
trip on snow-shoes, at the risk of his life, to get our mail, and
learn, if possible, something from our supplies. The round trip was a
three days' journey, and there being no stopping place or house of any
kind on the route, he, of course, was obliged to camp out one night.
Our anxiety during his absence was terrible, and we remember vividly
our overpowering sense of relief, when, at the close of the third day,
long before his form was discernible, some familiar song in his clear
ringing tones, broke on the still night air, to assure the dear home
folks he was safe and well. Like the man whose business was so urgent
he could not stop to rest, but now and then picked up a stone and
carried it some distance, then threw it down, and went on relieved and
encouraged, so we, when we laid down this burden of anxiety felt
rested and better able to bear our daily trials.
It is due to our only neighbors, the Indians, to say that they were by
no means troublesome, that our intercourse with them was pleasant, and
to some of them we became much attached. A great chief's wife was a
frequent visitor at our house, her little son, of perhaps eight
winters being her invariable attendant. On one occasion having missed
a small case-knife of rather peculiar formation, which was in daily
use, I ventured to ask her if the little lad had taken it to their
wigwam, it occurred to me he might have done so, innocently to show to
some of his family, in whose honesty I had implicit faith. The old
woman drew herself up to her full height, and with a grace and dignity
which would have done honor to the mother of the Gracchi, said, in all
the expressiveness of her native tongue: "_The son of Ne-ba-quum
cannot steal!_" In real admiration and reverent contrition, I laid my
hand on the injured mother's shoulder, and explained my meaning. She
accepted my apology fully and graciously, giving me her hand, in token
that my error was condoned, and you will readily believe it was never
repeated. Through all the years of our residence at Long Prairie she
and her family were always welcome guests at our house, when in their
wanderings they came that way, and when, during our late war, her
brave, loyal husband's offers to assist us in our struggle, were
contemptuously scorned by one of our Generals, and the mortified,
broken-hearted old chieftain, unable to bear up under such an insult,
went to the "happy hunting grounds," we sincerely mourned the loss of
our staunch and honored friend, Ne-ba-quum.
Some time in January, our five year old boy was very suddenly seized
with pleurisy in its most violent form, and for hours he seemed in
mortal agony. We had no efficient remedies, no doctor within thirty,
perhaps fifty miles, and to complicate matters, I had lain down sick
for the first time, thoroughly vanquished by fatigue and unusual
exposure. But that sickness of mine had to be postponed, and we fought
all that night with the fearful disease, using vigorously all the
external remedies within our reach, cupping the dear child with
inexperienced hands, but prayerful hearts, leaning entirely upon God,
who, when we cried unto Him in our distress, heard and mercifully
regarded our cries. The acute and agonizing symptoms of the attack
were subdued, but lung fever supervened, and for four weeks our dear
boy lay very near death. His form wasted, his hands, through extreme
attenuation, became almost translucent, and we could only watch and
pray, and use all the means in our power to alleviate his sufferings.
I recall the seasons of family worship around that sick bed, when we
were drawn so near the All-pitying Father that we could talk with Him,
as a man talketh with his friend, when the loving Savior made us feel
that He was near us to sympathize with us, and the Blessed Comforter
brooded over us, and spoke peace to our sorrowing hearts, so that we
could say, "Thy will be done," and from our hearts could sing:
"_Ill_ that God blesses is our _good_,
And unblest _good_ is ill;
And all is right, that seems most wrong,
If it be His dear will.
"When obstacles and trials seem
Like prison walls to be;
We'll do the little we can do,
And leave the rest to Thee."
During this trying time, our stock of candles was nearly exhausted,
and our weary watchings were only lighted by a sense of God's
presence. So with our hand on the dear sufferer, and our ear attentive
to his breathing, his father and I sat beside him, lighting our candle
only when absolutely necessary, and felt as none can feel until they
have tested it, the sustaining grace and Infinite love of the Blessed
Watcher, who never slumbers nor sleeps. He granted us sweet thoughts
of His love and precious promises, which were to us as songs in the
night, and under the shadow of His wings, our hearts were kept in
perfect peace. Thanks to the Great Healer, a change for the better
came, and then occurred a strange thing, that has always seemed to me
directly Providential.
During a bitter wind and blinding snow storm, some snow birds took
refuge in our wood-shed and were caught by the Indian boys. At the
suggestion of our oldest son, who had read somewhere the story of a
sick child and her Canaries, these little refugees were brought into
the nursery and soon became perfectly tame, flying all about the sick
boy's head, lighting on his hands, and amusing and resting him
wonderfully. For several days the storm continued, and we sheltered
the little creatures, our invalid growing better so rapidly as to
excite our surprise. But at last there came a mild bright day, and we
turned them out to find their companions. Why was it that they flew
only a few rods and then fell dead? To us it seemed that these little
winged messengers had been driven to us in our extremity by the fury
of the storm as healing agents, and had given their lives for our
child's. The question now arose, where shall we find suitable food for
our convalescent? There seemed no possible help for us, but we
believed it would come. One morning as I sat wondering how this would
be brought about, my dear brother came in, and handing me a fresh laid
egg, said: "I did not know there was a fowl on the place, but it
seems that an old superannuated hen, who doubtless has lived in the
wheat all winter has suddenly been aroused to a sense of her duty, and
this is the result." Had the golden egg, famous in fable, been
presented in his other hand for my choice, it would have been to me no
better than a chip, but the treasure he brought me was of priceless
value, and I received it gratefully as a gift from God. It furnished a
whole day's nourishment for our exhausted, feeble little boy, and for
three days he was supplied in the same way; then, just as he was more
hungry than ever, and when it was evident he never could regain his
strength without nourishment, the supply ceased. We waited and
trusted, and in a day or two our son found a fine pheasant, which had
evidently lost its way, sitting in the snow, wondering, perhaps, where
all its companions were, and why the berries were all gone. Where it
came from we never knew, but we do know that there never was so
delicious a bird eaten. It was reserved for the sick child, but a
small piece was given to each of the other children, and not one of
them will ever forget the taste of that precious morsel. By the time
this nutritious supply was exhausted, our invalid was so much better
as to be able to do his share of picking over wheat, and of eating
this simple but very healthful diet.
Soon after this the wheat ran low, the long hard winter had told upon
us all, and we seemed to need more substantial food as we had never
needed it before. Day after day we managed to prepare something that
sustained life, but I had a nursing child, and supporting myself and
him too, almost solely upon a wheat diet, had been hard on me and I
was much exhausted. We did not lose faith; the spirit was willing, but
the flesh was growing weak. I sat one morning after our simple
breakfast, with my precious baby in my lap, wondering on what I should
feed the dear ones at noon, as scarcely anything remained. The
children were full of glee in their unconscious ignorance, and I must
not, by a word of repining, shake their sweet trust and faith. Our
eldest son sat near me, reading my thoughts, but saying nothing, only
conveying by a loving look his sympathy, when, suddenly, a shadow
darkened the window; he looked up quickly, and said: "Mother, look
there!" I looked, and directly at our door were two sleds heavily
laden with our long-looked for supplies! Then came the first tears I
had shed that winter. I could not speak, but my over-wrought feelings
found most salutary relief in those blessed, grateful tears. There was
danger that the powerful reaction would overcome me entirely, but very
soon every member of the little colony knew that relief had come, and
the work of unloading the sleds, opening boxes, and unheading barrels,
was carried on with such ardor, as to leave no chance for such a
result, especially as we learned that the teamsters had had no
breakfast, that they had been three days coming 28 miles; had been
obliged to shovel their way through great drifts, a few rods at a
time, and had reached us thoroughly worn out and exhausted. Then came
the preparation of that wonderful breakfast. No need that a priest
should burn frankincense and myrrh, sending up our orisons in the
smoke thereof. The odor of that frying pork, the aroma of that
delicious coffee, the perfume of that fragrant tea went up to heaven,
full freighted with thanksgiving and praise. No need that a President
or Governor should proclaim a day when we should return thanks in view
of God's great goodness; it proclaimed itself, and every human being
within our reach was bidden to our thanksgiving feast.
Our supplies were ample and varied, and 3 o'clock found a large
company seated around a table loaded with excellent, well-cooked food,
of which all partook with a gusto most flattering and gratifying to
the cook, who was glad to retire to her room with her baby, when the
meal was over and rest on her laurels, while the young people danced
and made merry in very gladness of heart.
Night closed around a little settlement of thoroughly grateful, happy
human beings. What if it was still cold, and there must yet be many
stormy days? No fear of suffering or starvation. God had not forgotten
us, and we should never cease to trust Him. I could not sleep for very
joy, and the delicious sense of relief from anxiety on the score of
providing for the daily meals. I seemed to see in the darkness, in
illuminated letters, "Jehovah _Jireh_," and felt He had abundantly
verified his blessed promise.[B]