children, three sons and five daughters; and thus Col. Sevier was the
father of eighteen children, all of whom maintained good characters,
were “given to hospitality,” and lived comfortably and usefully,
although none of them acquired great wealth. Mrs. Sevier was often left
alone to manage domestic affairs, not only within doors, but without.
The life of the Colonel was one of incessant action, adventure, and
contest. The calls of his fellow-citizens, and the necessities of the
times, withdrew him frequently from home. The history of the Indian
wars of East Tennessee, of the settlement of the country, and of the
organization of the State Government, is the record of the deeds of
his life. No commander was more frequently engaged in conflicts with
the Indians with equal success and such small loss of his men. And
yet it is a notable fact that he enjoyed, to a remarkable extent,
the respect of the tribes and chiefs with whom he contended. It is a
known historical fact that in 1781 he had taken to his own home, on
the Chucka, a number of Indian prisoners, it is said thirty, where
they were treated with so much kindness by his wife and family that
several of them remained for years, although they performed very little
work, and this wholly at their option. The influence of Mrs. Sevier
was intentionally and happily exerted upon these captives, that it
might tell, as it did, upon their friends within “the nation;” and the
family, no doubt, enjoyed more protection than otherwise they could
have expected.
Col. Sevier acquired a sobriquet among the Indians, which was some
evidence of their familiarity with and attachment to him, and probably
of advantage. As long as he lived they called him “Chucka Jack.” He was
afterwards called the “Treaty-maker.” They had a name for Mrs. Sevier
also, which is now not remembered. The tories were the worst enemies,
and perpetrated more damage to Col. Sevier’s property than did ever the
Indians; and from them Mrs. Sevier had repeatedly to hide most of her
small stock of household articles. She usually remained at the farm,
and never would consent to be shut up in a blockhouse, always saying--
“The wife of John Sevier
Knows no fear.”
“I neither skulk from duty nor from danger.”
And we believe this was emphatically true. We have seen her in
advanced age--tall in stature, erect in person, stately in walk, with
small, piercing blue eyes, raven locks, a Roman nose, and firmness
unmistakable in her mouth and every feature. She was able to teach
her children in the exercises conducive to health and usefulness, to
strength of nerve and to action. None could, with equal grace and
facility, placing the hand upon the mane of a spirited horse, and
standing by his side, seat herself upon his back or in the saddle. She
had the appearance and used the language of independence, haughtiness,
and authority, and she never entirely laid these aside. Yet was not
her pride offensive, nor her words or demeanor intended heedlessly
to wound. It could be said of her without any question, that she
“reverenced her husband,” and she instilled the same Scriptural
sentiment into the minds of his children. The very high respect and
deference which one of her dignified appearance ever paid to him, no
doubt had a favorable influence upon others; for though he was a man
of remarkable elegance of person, air and address, and of popular
attraction, yet it must be confessed that she contributed much to all
these traits, and to his usefulness and zeal in public service. She
relieved him of his cares at home, and applauded his devotion to the
service of the people.
Her reply to those who urged her “to fort,” or to take protection in
one of the stations, was, “I would as soon die by the tomahawk and
scalping-knife as by famine! I put my trust in that Power who rules the
armies of Heaven, and among men on the earth. I know my husband has an
eye and an arm for the Indians and the tories who would harm us, and
though he is gone often, and for weeks at a time, he comes home when I
least expect him, and always covered with laurels. * * If God protects
him whom duty calls into danger, so will He those who trust in him and
stand at their post. * * Who would stay out if his family forted?”
This was the spirit of the heroine--this was the spirit of Catharine
Sevier. Neither she nor her husband seemed to think there could be
danger or loss when they could encourage or aid others to daring, to
duty, and to usefulness. Col. Sevier at one time advised her to go into
the fort, but yielded to her respectful remonstrance. At one time the
tories came to her house and demanded her husband’s whereabouts, and
finally avowed that their intention was to hang him on the highest tree
in front of his house; but that if she would tell them where he was,
she and her children should be safe. Of course she refused to give them
the information. One man drew a pistol and threatened to blow out her
brains if she did not tell or at least give up all the money she had.
“Shoot! shoot!” was her answer. “I am not afraid to die! But remember,
while there is a Sevier on the earth, my blood will not be unavenged!”
He dared not--he did not shoot. The leader of the gang told the man to
put up his pistols, saying, “such a woman is too brave to die.” She
knew some of the party, and that they were noted thieves and tories.
At another time they came to her smokehouse to carry off meat. She took
down the gun, which her husband always left with her in good order,
and said to them: “The first one who takes down a piece of meat is a
dead man!” They could not mistake her resolution. Her tone, manner, and
appearance avowed clearly enough that she uttered no vain warning; that
she knew her rights and dared maintain them. They left without taking
anything. In the fall of 1780, a noted loyalist by the name of Dykes
planned the seizure of Sevier, but the plot was discovered to Mrs.
Sevier by his wife, as she stood by the smokehouse with her apron held
out to receive meal and a slice of meat from the Colonel’s lady.[4]
Some of their negroes were stolen and never all recovered, being
taken into the Indian nation by the tories, and thence to Savannah
or Charleston while in possession of the British. There was a mortal
enmity between some of the active tories and the Seviers, resulting
in the hanging of some of the former on two occasions. It fell to
the lot of Mrs. Sevier to do acts of hospitality and kindness to some
of this set and their descendants many years after the war. And these
kindnesses she performed, although she acknowledged that she felt at
the same time the spirit of revenge rankling in her bosom. “Some of
them,” she would say “and perhaps all their children, may make worthy
people and good citizens if they are not kept continually ashamed and
mortified by being reminded of their bad conduct or of their tory
origin.”
The sick and wounded soldier ever found a welcome and nursing at
the home of Sevier. The supplies for many of the Colonel’s Indian
expeditions were from his own private means. His wife, sons, and
servants were remarkably successful in raising corn and hogs, and
cheerfully were these given to the furtherance of the great objects in
hand.[5]
All her life long was Mrs. Sevier distinguished for her kindness and
liberality to the poor. Towards children she was gentle, though she
had an appearance and manner which prevented them from giving that
annoyance they are apt to do to the aged. It was usual with her to keep
a supply of maple-sugar and cinnamon-bark in her spice-box, from which
she would gratify them, and then wave them kindly away. This motion of
her hand was expressive, and easily understood.
In 1784 occurred the scenes of the “State of Frankland.” The people of
East Tennessee, becoming dissatisfied with the condition of affairs
under North Carolina, and impelled, as they urged, by the necessity
of self-protection, organized a separate and independent government,
giving that name to the new State. John Sevier was its first and last
Governor. The establishment of this little republic was declared by
the Governor of North Carolina to be no less than revolt, and all
concerned in it were commanded to return to their duty and allegiance,
and to refuse obedience to any self-created authority, unsanctioned by
the legislature of North Carolina. Notwithstanding this remonstrance,
the new government proceeded in the exercise of sovereignty. In the
conflict of authorities and the civil and personal contests which grew
out of this state of things in the revolted territory, the prudent and
judicious conduct of Mrs. Sevier added to her husband’s reputation
as well as her own. His house became the place of general resort.
It was proclaimed open and free to all the friends of the rights of
self-defence and independence, and the impressive dignity and noble
bearing of Mrs. Sevier made a deep and lasting impression upon all who
resorted to that home for counsel, aid, or hospitality.
The supporters of the new State were obliged in time, however, to
enter into measures of adjustment. When the Governor was seized by
its enemies and spirited away into the interior of North Carolina,
Mrs. Sevier, with the promptness, energy, and daring which qualify for
any occasion of utmost moment, aroused his friends, and would have
gone, as a fearless leader, “to conquer or to die.” But seeing that
her relatives, his relatives, sons and friends were resolved upon his
release and restoration, she little doubted his speedy return, and she
was not disappointed.
And when a returning sense of justice, and the revulsion of public
sentiment and power of popular gratitude, produced a repeal of “the
odious acts of exclusion” of North Carolina, placing him “in lone
conspicuity,” and the people called him, by unanimous voice, again
and again, and yet again, to preside as Governor of Tennessee, and
to a Seat in Congress of the United States, then did her great heart
swell with thankfulness to God and her fellow-citizens. Then did she
acknowledge that her husband had not endured peril, toil, and sacrifice
in vain, though far short of the reward to which she thought him justly
entitled. And we doubt not posterity will coincide in this judgment.
During the twelve years in which he officiated as Governor of
Tennessee, his wife made his home delightful to him and his children.
It was the rest of the weary, the asylum of the afflicted, well
known as “the hospitable mansion of the first Governor, the people’s
favorite.”
The education of Mrs. Sevier, in respect of literature and the
embellishments of dress and music, was such as she acquired chiefly
from reading the Bible, hearing the wild birds sing, and the Indians’
pow-wow. “I picked up a good deal,” she was accustomed to say, “from
observation of men and their acts--for that was a business with us in
the early settlements--and we examined the works of nature to some
advantage; but as to school education, we had precious little of that
except at our mothers’ knees.”
She embraced the religious sentiments of the Presbyterians, and her
life throughout was exemplary and useful. In this faith she lived
and died. A favorite expression of hers was: “I always trust in
Providence.” And she taught her children that “trust in God, with a
pure heart, is to be rich enough; if you are lazy, your blood will
stagnate in your veins, and your trust die.” She would never be idle.
Knitting often engaged her fingers, while her mind and tongue were
occupied in thought and conversation. She always wore at her side a
bunch of very bright keys.
After the death of Gov. Sevier on the Tallapoosa, in 1815, where he had
gone to cement peace and establish the boundary with the Creek Indians,
Mrs. Sevier removed to Overton County, in Middle Tennessee, where most
of her children resided. She selected a most romantic and secluded spot
for her own retired residence. It was upon a high _bench_, or spur of
one of the mountains of that county, a few miles from Obeds River,
with higher mountains on either side. There were some ten or fifteen
acres of tillable land, and a bold never-failing spring issuing from
near the surface of the level tract, which cast its pure cold waters
down the side of the mountain hundreds of feet into the narrow valley.
In a dense wood near that spring, and miles distant from any other
habitation, did her sons erect her log cabins for bedroom, dining-room,
and kitchen, and others for stable and crib. She resided for years
at “The Dale,” with the General’s aged body-servant, Toby (who had
accompanied him in all his Indian campaigns), his wife, Rachel, and
a favorite female servant and boy. Seldom did she come down from her
eyrie in the mountain. The aged eagle had lost her mate. She made her
nest among the lofty oaks upon the mountain heights, where she breathed
the air and drank the water untainted and undisturbed, fresh and pure,
and nearest to the heavens.
We have visited her in that chosen spot. “The Governor’s widow” could
never be looked upon as an ordinary countrywoman. Whoever saw her
could not be satisfied with a single glance--he must look again. And
if she stood erect, and her penetrating eye caught the beholder’s, he
judged at once there was in that mind a consciousness of worth and an
acquaintance with notable events. He would wish to converse with her.
She used language of much expressiveness and point. She never forgot
that she was the widow of Gov. and Gen. Sevier; that he had given
forty years of his life to the service of his country, and in the most
arduous and perilous exposure, contributing from his own means far
more than he ever received from the public treasury; and yet he never
reproached that country for injustice, neither would she murmur nor
repine.
At times she was disposed to sociable cheerfulness and humor, as one
in youthful days, and then would she relate interesting anecdotes
and incidents of the early settlement of the country, the manners
and habits of the people, of the “barefoot and moccasin dance” and
“spice-wood tea-parties.” Her woman’s pride, or some other feminine
feeling, induced her to preserve with the utmost care an imported or
bought carpet, of about twelve by fifteen feet in size, which had been
presented to her as the “first Governor’s wife,” and as the first
article of the kind ever laid upon a “puncheon,” or split-log floor
west of the Alleghany Mountains. Whenever she expected company upon
her own invitation, or persons of character to pay their respects to
her, the Scotch carpet was sure to be spread out, about the size of a
modern bedquilt. But as soon as company departed, the ever-present and
faithful servants, Suzy and Jeff, incontinently commenced dusting and
folding, and it was soon again boxed up. Three times were we permitted
the honorable privilege of placing our well cleaned boots upon this
dear relic from the household of the first Governor of Tennessee, and
of admiring the pair of ancient and decrepit branch-candlesticks as
they stood on the board over the fireplace.
The bucket of cool water was ever on the shelf at the batten-door,
which stood wide open, swung back upon its wooden hinges; and there
hung the sweet water-gourd; and from very love of everything around,
we repeatedly helped ourselves. The floors, the doors, the chairs, the
dishes on the shelves--yea, everything seemed to have been scoured.
There was a lovely cleanness and order, and we believe, “godliness with
contentment.”
She was remarkably neat in her person, tidy, and particular, and
uniform in her dress, which might be called half-mourning--a white cap
with black trimmings. She had a hearth-rug, the accompaniment of the
favorite carpet, which was usually laid before the fire-place in her
own room, and there she commonly was seated, erect as a statue--no
stooping of the figure, so often acquired by indolence and careless
habit, or from infirm old age--but with her feet placed upon her rug,
her work-stand near her side, the Bible ever thereon or in her lap, the
Governor’s hat upon the wall--such were the striking features of that
mountain hermitage.
There was resignation and good cheer--there was hospitality and worth
in that plain cottage; and had not the prospect of better fortune, and
attachment to children married and settled at a distance, induced her
own sons to remove from her vicinity, she ought never to have been
urged to come down from that “lodge in the wilderness.” But her last
son having resolved to remove to Alabama, she consented to go with him
and pass her few remaining days in his family.
She departed this life on the 2d October, 1836, at Russelville, in the
State of Alabama, aged about eighty-two.
III.
REBECCA BOONE.
In the rural cemetery near Frankfort, upon a hill overlooking the
river, under the shadow of protecting trees, are two green mounds,
unmarked by slab or stone informing the stranger that the remains
of two honored pioneers--Daniel Boone and his wife, rest beneath.
The beauty of the locality is unrivalled, and it is not far from the
magnificent monument erected by Kentucky to her brave officers fallen
on the field of battle; the splendid shaft inscribed with their names,
and surmounted by a figure of Victory holding crowns in her hands. It
is hoped that ere long the State will do justice to the memory of those
whose arduous efforts won a victory not less glorious over the untamed
wilderness, and opened the way to others as bold and persevering.
It will be remembered that the father of Daniel Boone had his residence
on the borders of the Yadkin in North Carolina, at no great distance
from the eastern slope of the Alleghanies; then a frontier country,
and the greater part of it unbroken forest. Near the farm here opened,
was another owned by Mr. Bryan, comprising about a hundred acres
beautifully situated on a gentle swell of ground; the eminence crested
with laurels and yellow poplars, which half concealed the farmer’s
dwelling. A wild mountain stream ran along the base of the hill. This
Joseph Bryan was the oldest son of Morgan Bryan, of Virginia, the head
of a very respectable family. His daughter, Rebecca, was born near
Winchester, in Virginia.
Flint’s “Life of Boone,” contains the following account of his first
meeting with his future wife, referred to as authentic by other
biographers:
“Young Boone was one night engaged in a fire hunt with a young friend.
Their course led them to the deeply timbered bottom which skirted
the stream that wound round Bryan’s pleasant plantation. That the
reader may have an idea what sort of a pursuit it was that young Boone
was engaged in, during an event so decisive of his future fortunes,
we present a brief sketch of a night fire hunt. Two persons are
indispensable to it. The horseman that precedes, bears on his shoulder
what is called a _fire pan_, full of blazing pine knots, which casts a
bright and flickering glare far through the forest. The second follows
at some distance with his rifle prepared for action. No spectacle is
more impressive than this of pairs of hunters thus kindling the forest
into a glare. The deer, reposing quietly in his thicket, is awakened by
the approaching cavalcade, and instead of flying from the portentous
brilliance, remains stupidly gazing upon it, as if charmed to the spot.
The animal is betrayed to its doom by the gleaming of its fixed and
innocent eyes. This cruel mode of securing a fatal shot is called in
hunters’ phrase--_shining the eyes_.
“The two young men reached a corner of the farmer’s field at an early
hour in the evening. Young Boone gave the customary signal to his
mounted companion preceding him, to stop; an indication that he had
_shined the eyes_ of a deer. Boone dismounted and fastened his horse to
a tree. Ascertaining that his rifle was in order he advanced cautiously
behind a covert of bushes, to rest the right distance for a shot. The
deer is remarkable for the beauty of its eyes when thus shined. The
mild brilliance of the two orbs was distinctly visible. Whether warned
by a presentiment, or arrested by a palpitation and strange feelings
within, at noting a new expression in the blue and dewy lights that
gleamed to his heart, we say not. But the unerring rifle fell, and a
rustling told him the game had fled. Something whispered him it was not
a deer; and yet the fleet step, as the game bounded away, might easily
be mistaken for that of the light-footed animal. A second thought
impelled him to pursue the rapidly retreating game; and he sprang
away in the direction of the sound, leaving his companion to occupy
himself as he might. The fugitive had the advantage of a considerable
advance of him, and apparently a better knowledge of the localities of
the place. But the hunter was perfect in all his field exercises, and
scarcely less fleet-footed than a deer, and he gained rapidly on the
object of his pursuit, which advanced a little distance parallel with
the field fence, and then, as if endowed with the utmost accomplishment
of gymnastics, cleared the fence at a leap. The hunter, embarrassed
with his rifle and accoutrements, was driven to the slow and
humiliating expedient of climbing it. But an outline of the form of the
fugitive, fleeting through the shades in the direction of the house,
assured him that he had mistaken the species of the game. His heart
throbbed from an hundred sensations, and among them an apprehension
of the consequences of what would have resulted from discharging his
rifle, when he had first shined those liquid blue eyes. Seeing that
the fleet game made straight in the direction of the house, he said to
himself: ‘I will see the pet deer in its lair,’ and he directed his
steps to the same place. Half a score of dogs opened their barking
upon him as he approached the house, and advertised the master that a
stranger was approaching. Having hushed the dogs, and learned the name
of his visitant, he introduced him to his family as the son of their
neighbor Boone.
“Scarce had the first words of introduction been uttered, before the
opposite door opened, and a boy apparently of seven, and a girl of
sixteen, rushed in, panting for breath, and seeming in affright.
“‘Sister went down to the river and a _painter_ chased her, and she is
almost scared to death,’ exclaimed the boy.
“The ruddy, flaxen-haired girl stood full in view of her terrible
pursuer, leaning upon his rifle, and surveying her with the most
eager admiration. ‘Rebecca, this is young Boone, son of our neighbor,’
was the laconic introduction. Both were young, beautiful, and at the
period when the affections exercise their most energetic influence. The
circumstances of the introduction were favorable to the result, and
the young hunter felt that the eyes had _shined_ his bosom as fatally
as his rifle shot had ever the innocent deer of the thickets. She too,
when she saw the light, open, bold forehead, the clear, keen, yet
gentle and affectionate eye, the firm front, and the visible impress
of decision and fearlessness of the hunter--when she interpreted a
look which said as distinctly as looks could say it, ‘how terrible it
would have been to have fired!’ can hardly be supposed to have regarded
him with indifference. Nor can it be wondered at that she saw in him
her beau ideal of excellence and beauty. The inhabitants of cities,
who live in mansions, and read novels stored with unreal pictures of
life and the heart, are apt to imagine that love, with all its golden
illusions, is reserved exclusively for them. It is a most egregious
mistake. A model of ideal beauty and perfection is woven in almost
every youthful heart, of the brightest and most brilliant threads that
compose the web of existence. It may not be said that this forest
maiden was deeply and foolishly smitten at first sight. All reasonable
time and space were granted to the claims of maidenly modesty. As for
Boone, he was remarkable for the backwoods attribute of never being
beaten out of his track, and he ceased not to woo, until he gained the
heart of Rebecca Bryan. In a word, he courted her successfully, and
they were married.”