of pioneer life furnished by individuals whose recollections are
entirely reliable. Although these may involve occasional repetition,
they will enable us to perceive any difference of habits or manners
in different parts of the country, and to appreciate more fully the
spirit of enterprise and power of endurance which made the way so much
easier to those who succeeded the early colonists. The densely wooded
mountain ranges were a formidable barrier at that period between the
old States and the new territories. The difficulties attending any
communication can hardly be imagined by those who enjoy the facilities
of travelling now, and made the work of the pioneer more arduous and
hazardous than in more recent settlements, where the emigrant has the
advantage of public conveyances, at least part of the way, and may find
the necessaries of life within a distance readily accessible. It was no
small undertaking to penetrate the unbroken forest, ascend or descend
rivers that had never before been navigated, and carry to a home in the
wilderness supplies for a household in a few chests. These usually held
the clothing of the pioneer’s family, while a few cooking utensils were
added to the stock, and occasionally a table or bureau; though for such
articles of furniture, as well as chairs and bedsteads, the settlers
generally depended on the rough manufacture of the country. Shelves
hewn by the axe supplied the place of bureaus and wardrobes, and two
poles fastened in a corner of the cabin, the outer corner supported by
a prop, answered the purpose of a bedstead, until better could be had.
The pioneer’s cabin was indeed a complete example of domestic economy.
It was built of unhewn logs, sometimes in a single day, by the owner
and eight or ten of the neighbors, who never refused their assistance.
The floor was made of split slabs or puncheons, as they were called,
dubbed with an adze, or where the resident was over nice, smoothed
with the broad-axe on the upper side. The doors were made of boards
riven from a tree of the proper length and thickness, and smoothed
with a drawing-knife. The windows, in the earliest settlements, were
made by cutting away the under and upper portions of two of the logs
of the house, forming thus a square opening of suitable size, in which
sometimes upright sticks were placed, covered with white paper, oiled
with hog’s fat or bear’s oil, to admit the light in place of glass, a
luxury not then to be procured. The fire-place was usually very large,
built up on three sides six or eight feet with stone, and then topped
with “cat and clay,” as it was termed. The cabin completed, the next
thing was to clear a piece of ground for a cornpatch. A shovel-plow
was generally used, as most convenient among the roots. The harness
consisted mostly of leatherwood bark, except the collar, which was made
of husks of corn plaited and sewed together.
Rough and uncouth in appearance as were these primitive cabins, they
could be made very comfortable, and for health seemed preferable to
many more civilized dwellings. One of them, sometimes containing but
a single room, with a rude loft reached by a ladder, was the happy
home of a numerous household; the children raised there growing up to
usefulness and eminence among their fellow citizens. The children thus
raised were generally of powerful frame, and possessed great physical
strength; their height and proportions, it is said, being known, as
a rule, to surpass those born after the erection of frame and brick
dwellings. Sickness also was rare among them.
It is true that these rude habitations had some inconveniences, which
might now be considered too formidable to contend with; and it may
be thought strange how a female of cultivation and refinement could
bring herself to live in one of them. Yet it is certain, that among
the early pioneers who came to the Miami country, were some ladies of
the highest consideration in New York and New Jersey; and it is no
less certain that they readily and cheerfully accommodated themselves
to the condition of things around them. The dressing-room and
ornamental toilette were lacking; but they were dispensed with for such
accommodations as necessity suggested. Each cabin usually contained two
beds in the lower room, and these were separated from each other by
full and flowing curtains around one at least, answering the purpose of
a partition and dressing apartment.
The women of those times, it has been often observed, were of a
sturdier nature than at the present day, and encountered both
hardships and dangers with a philosophy and a grace which can now be
hardly understood. Most of them undertook the labor of the household
unassisted, requiring no help except when children were born, till the
older ones grew old enough to be useful. There were but few single
young women in the early settlement; if any came with friends from the
east, they were very soon married and had their own household affairs
to attend to. In the summer, besides the ordinary housework, the wife
of the pioneer spun the wool which formed the winter’s clothing for
the male part of the family, as well as flannel for herself and the
girls; in the winter was spun the flax of which clothing was made the
ensuing summer. The buzz of the wheel, therefore, was heard at all
seasons in the cabins of the early settlers, and often in the winter
until the approach of midnight. Yet, with all these laborious duties,
which were regularly and faithfully performed, the pioneer mothers
found time to arrange their houses with the most scrupulous order and
neatness, and were not without their social enjoyments. The afternoons
of the long summer’s day were frequently spent in visiting or receiving
visits from neighbors within a few miles’ distance. No motive could
exist for a profession of friendship where the reality was not felt;
and distress in any family never failed to elicit the sympathy and
command the aid, so far as it could be rendered, of all the neighbors.
Social intercourse was intimate, and the interchange of expressions
of good feeling, sincere and constant; and never could one familiar
with these associations forget the smooth winding foot paths which led
through the deep forest and tall grass or underbrush from the house of
one pioneer to that of another, traversed daily on errands of business
or friendship, so that every family was kept acquainted with all the
occurrences of the day throughout the settlement. If a fat bear or
deer was killed by one it was generally divided, and the portions sent
round as a token of kindly regard. Game was abundant, and the turkeys,
venison and bear’s meat which so frequently loaded the rustic tables,
might well have been prized by the most fastidious epicures of advanced
civilization.
On the whole the life of the pioneer, though one of hardship and
danger, was one of stir and excitement, and a perfect freedom so
agreeable to the enterprising rover, that it may be questioned
whether it were not, for him at least, the happiest state of society.
There was freshness and novelty in the scenery around him and in the
adventurous experience of every day; the keen invigorating air of the
wildwood, and the constant exercise required, gave energy and activity
to body and mind, and sustained and exhilarated the spirits; no forms
or ceremonious customs constrained or chilled social manners, and no
jealousy or bitterness could arise out of difference in circumstances,
distinctions growing out of condition being entirely unknown in those
primitive communities. Good faith and honesty in business transactions
were taken for granted on both sides, and the lack of them would have
been punished by social outlawry. The general prevalence of good health
was promoted by the constant exposure which hardened the pioneers
to the sudden changes incident to a severe climate, and by their
simplicity of diet. The cakes and preserves which nowadays take up so
much of the attention of housekeepers in preparing, and are regarded as
essential articles of provision in genteel houses, were almost unknown.
The Kentucky “hoecake,” or the “johnny” or “journey cake,” of the Miami
Valley, formed the favorite winter bread, and was used during a great
part of the spring season. The corn was ground, before mills were
erected, in a hand-mill, or pounded in a hominy-block, made by burning
a hole in one end of a block of wood, the corn being pounded with a
pestle made by driving an iron wedge into a stick of suitable size.
When sufficiently pounded, it was sifted, and the finer portion made
into bread and mush, the coarser being boiled for hominy. The meat was
bear, venison, and wild turkey, as it was difficult to raise hogs or
sheep on account of the wolves and bears.
The amusements of the men were such as developed physical strength
and animated to cheerfulness. The chase, the principal one, served
the purpose of an exciting and healthy exercise, while it furnished
provision for the family. The women of course took no active part in
this sport, except when the bear hunt roused the whole neighborhood,
young and old, male and female, to partake in it with intense interest.
A bear chase was usually commenced by the sounding of a peculiar note
on the horn, which reverberated wildly among the hills and woods.
Presently the distant howl of the hunter’s dogs gave notice that the
hunters were in pursuit of the enemy. Every man now seized his rifle
and mounted his horse to join the chase, while those who could not do
this, ran to see what was done. Sometimes the pursuit would continue
all day, but generally it happened that in a few hours the bear was
compelled to “tree,” as it was called. As soon as the hunted animal
had thus taken refuge, the hunter who chanced to be nearest the spot,
summoned the others by a different note on his horn, and a few rifle
shots usually either brought down the fugitive dead, or forced him
to descend to escape the shower of bullets. When the bear found it
necessary to leave his retreat, his practice generally was to roll
himself into a ball-like shape by placing his head between his hind
legs, and throw himself from the height. On striking the ground he
would rebound several feet, and the instant he touched the ground
again, his back was against the root of the tree, while, raising
himself on his hind legs, he stood in an attitude of defiance, ready to
do battle with the dogs who by that time were collected and eager for
the assault. First with one fore paw and then with the other the bear
would despatch the dogs as they rushed upon him. But though he could
hold his ground thus bravely, it was not usually long before the fatal
shot in the head from the hunter’s rifle would lay the victim low, and
end the chase for the day. The meat was then divided among the hunters,
and they returned to their homes, weary and hungry, and perhaps
wet with the falling rain or snow. At their cabins warm fires and
comfortable suppers awaited them, and the incidents of the day afforded
material for pleasant conversation during the evening. The excitement a
chase of this kind always caused throughout the neighborhood can only
be imagined by one who has witnessed such an occurrence.
The wolf made havoc with the few sheep introduced, and the wild deer;
the bear confined himself to hogs. His practice was to spring suddenly
upon his victim, grasp him in his fore legs with irresistible force,
erect himself upon his hind legs like a man, and make off in an
instant with his load; the piercing squeal of the hog being the first
warning to the owner. A large bear, meeting with no obstruction, would
make his way through the woods in this manner, with a hog of good size,
faster than a man on foot could follow.
The establishment of schools and places for stated religious meetings
was coeval with the formation of every settlement, or at least attended
to as soon as the pioneers had secured themselves from the savages
and provided their families with the means of daily subsistence. The
schoolhouses, like the primitive cabins, were roughly constructed, but
in some of them men whose mental endowments and ripe scholarship have
raised them to eminence in after life, received the first rudiments
of education. It happened in some neighborhoods, it is true, that no
schools were established; but the evil effects of such neglect were
discernible long afterwards, and in some instances the want of general
intelligence is still evident in those portions of the country. The
privilege of hearing the gospel preached regularly every Sabbath, could
not often be enjoyed, as different and distant neighborhoods had to be
supplied, and there were but few pastors; but service was held, and
sermons were read when no clergyman could attend, and the announcement
that there was to be preaching would bring the settlers together from
many miles around. The strength of their attachment to the Sabbath
services is shown by the fact that they were not prevented, even when
threatened with Indian incursions, from meeting in large numbers, to
hear the word preached whenever an opportunity presented itself. While
the danger was imminent it was usual for all the men to carry fire-arms
and ammunition, as the law among them required every one to do;
sentinels being placed on the watch while service was going on. It was
not till after the peace which followed Wayne’s treaty at Greenville
that the necessity for carrying arms to religious meetings no longer
existed, and in the outer settlements the custom was kept up for some
years after. It was not an unusual sight to see a file of riflemen
with their shot pouches, and arms at rest, stationed around the large
congregations which in warm weather were accustomed to assemble in
the woods for religious worship. When the necessity for this strict
guard became less apparent, and the Indians had removed to a greater
distance, these forest assemblages on the Sabbath were very large,
different neighborhoods gathering in one place. It was not in the least
uncommon for men and women to ride on horseback eight and ten miles
to meeting, and the doing so was far from being considered a task or
hardship.
One of the first schools established in the Northwestern Territory was
in the settlement where Mrs. Carpenter lived. The young man who took
charge of it, Francis Dunlevy, had served in many Indian campaigns,
having, at the early age of fourteen, offered himself for military
service, and been received in place of one of his neighbors who had
been drafted, but who had a family dependent on him for support, and
was unwilling to go. This was in 1777, and from that time to his coming
to Columbia, he had been on service in occasional excursions against
the savages. He served at the time of the disastrous defeat of Crawford
at the Sandusky Plains in 1782, and after that time had travelled over
those portions of the Northwest Territory which now constitute Ohio,
Western Virginia, and the northern part of Kentucky. He was not only
a man of great courage, spirit, and enterprise, but of such industry
and perseverance, that in the midst of the labors and vicissitudes
of numerous campaigns, and the privations to which he was subject in
a forest life, he employed the intervals of leisure from military
occupations in study, and acquired a classical education.
Having made up his mind to reside for the future in the Northwest
Territory, he came to Columbia as teacher of the school in the
latter part of the year 1792. He heard the story of Mrs. Carpenter’s
trials, and the fortitude with which she bore them; he sought her
acquaintance, and finding in her a kindred spirit, in due time offered
his hand and was accepted. They were married in January, 1793. Mr.
Dunlevy was afterwards a highly respected member of the legislature
of the North-west Territory, and of the convention which formed the
constitution of Ohio. He also occupied, for fourteen years, the station
of presiding judge in the Court of Common Pleas.
For many years after her removal, Mrs. Dunlevy heard not a word from
any member of her mother’s family. In 1804 she received a letter from
her brother, directed to her “in the Miami country,” by which she was
informed of her mother’s death, and that her brother had returned
to the United States, and was then living near Lake Champlain. In
1806, her sister and her husband came from Liverpool to New York for
the purpose of finding the scattered members of the family, but they
learned on their arrival that the brother had died the same year, and
that Mary was living in the “far west.” A correspondence was held
between the sisters, and a meeting appointed at Pittsburg, the elder
sister insisting that she could not venture to encounter the dangers of
entering an Indian country, as she considered Western Ohio; but before
she left New York to proceed that far, she was seized with yellow fever
and died.
The two children of Mrs. Dunlevy by her first marriage attained to
womanhood and were married. Besides these, she had three sons and three
daughters, all of whom lived to maturity. The mother’s affection for
her children was one which absorbed every faculty of her nature. With a
resolution that to the last would never give way before difficulties,
she was delicate and susceptible in all her feelings, gentle, retiring,
and affectionate, and clinging with absolute dependence to those in
whom her devoted affections were centred. The death of her eldest
daughter, therefore, though she had been married, and lived at a
distance for some six years, was a blow from which she never recovered.
Her life was afterwards secluded, and her social intercourse entirely
confined to her children. A second daughter in five years followed the
first to the grave, and four years afterwards, her youngest son having
been called to a distant part of the country, was attacked by sudden
illness and died far from home. Under these accumulated afflictions the
spirit which had never faltered in the presence of danger, nor shrunk
from trial in every other form, sank in the prostration of grief. Mrs.
Dunlevy’s health failed after the death of her eldest child, and slowly
declined till 1828, when, without any particular disease, but a gradual
failure of nervous energy, she departed this life, at Lebanon, Ohio,
in the sixty-third year of her age. Judge Dunlevy survived her nearly
twelve years, and was laid beside her in the burial-ground of the
Baptist church, of which they had both long been members.
* * * * *
The following sketch of life in the woods is extracted from an article
written by John S. Williams, the Editor of the American Pioneer:
“Emigrants poured in from different parts, cabins were put up in every
direction, and women, children and goods tumbled into them. Every thing
was bustle and confusion, and all at work that could work. Our cabin
had been raised, covered, part of the cracks chinked, and part of the
floor laid when we moved in, on Christmas day! We had intended an
inside chimney, for we thought the chimney ought to be in the house.
We had a log put across the whole width of the cabin for a mantel, but
when the floor was in we found it so low as not to answer, and removed
it. We got the rest of the floor laid in a very few days; the chinking
of the cracks went on slowly, but the daubing could not proceed till
weather more suitable, which happened in a few days; door-ways were
sawed out and steps made of the logs, and the back of the chimney was
raised up to the mantel, but the funnel of sticks and clay was delayed
until spring.
“In building our cabin it was set to front the north and south, my
brother using my father’s pocket compass on the occasion. We had no
idea of living in a house that did not stand square with the earth
itself. This argued our ignorance of the comforts and conveniences of a
pioneer life. The position of the house, end to the hill, necessarily
elevated the lower end, and the determination to have both a north and
south door, added much to the airiness of the domicile, particularly
after the green ash puncheons had shrunk so as to leave cracks in the
floor and doors from one to two inches wide. At both the doors we had
high, unsteady, and sometimes icy steps, made by piling up the logs cut
out of the wall. We had a window, if it could be called a _window_,
when perhaps it was the largest spot in the top, bottom or sides of the
cabin at which the wind _could not_ enter. It was made by sawing out
a log, placing sticks across; and by pasting an old newspaper over the
hole, and applying some hog’s lard, we had a kind of glazing which shed
a most beautiful and mellow light across the cabin when the sun shone
on it. All other light entered at the doors, cracks and chimney.
“Our cabin was twenty-four by eighteen. The west end was occupied by
two beds, the centre of each side by a door, and here our symmetry had
to stop, for opposite the window, made of clapboards supported on pins
driven into the logs, were our shelves. Upon these shelves my sister
displayed in order a host of pewter plates, basins, dishes, and spoons,
scoured and bright. A ladder of five rounds occupied the corner near
the window. By this, when we got a floor above, we could ascend. Our
chimney occupied most of the east end; pots and kettles were opposite
the window under the shelves, a gun on hooks over the north door, four
split-bottom chairs, three three-legged stools, and a small eight
by ten looking-glass sloped from the wall over a large towel and
combcase. These, with a clumsy shovel and a pair of tongs with one
shank straight, completed our furniture, except a spinning-wheel and
such things as were necessary to work with. It was absolutely necessary
to have _three-legged_ stools, as four legs of any thing could not all
touch the floor at the same time.
“The completion of our cabin went on slowly. The season was inclement,
and laborers were not to be had. We got our chimney up breast high as
soon as we could, and our cabin daubed as high as the joists outside.
It never was daubed on the inside, for my sister, who was very nice,
could not consent to ‘live right next to the mud.’ My impression now
is, that the window was not constructed till spring, for until the
sticks and clay were put on the chimney we could possibly have no need
of a window; the flood of light which always poured into the cabin from
the fireplace would have extinguished our paper window, and rendered
it as useless as the moon at noonday. We got a floor laid over head
as soon as possible, perhaps in a month; but when it _was_ laid, the
reader will readily conceive of its imperviousness to wind or weather,
when we mention that it was laid of loose clapboards split from a
red oak, so twisting that each board lay on two diagonally opposite
corners, and a cat might have shaken every board on our ceiling.
“The evenings of the first winter did not pass off as pleasantly as
evenings afterwards. We had no corn to shell, no turnips to scrape, no
tow to spin into rope-yarn, nor straw to plait for hats, and we had
come so late we could get but few walnuts to crack. We had, however,
the Bible, George Fox’s Journal, Barkley’s Apology, and to our stock
was soon after added a borrowed copy of the Pilgrim’s Progress, which
we read twice through without stopping. The first winter our living
was truly scanty and hard; but even this winter had its felicities. We
had part of a barrel of flour which we had brought from Fredericktown.
Besides this we had a part of a jar of hog’s lard brought from old
Carolina; not the tasteless stuff which now goes by that name, but pure
leaf lard taken from hogs raised on pine roots and fattened on sweet
potatoes, and into which, while trying, were immersed the boughs of the
fragrant bay tree, that imparted to the lard a rich flavor. Of that
flour, shortened with this lard, my sister every Sunday morning made
short biscuit for breakfast.
“The winter was open, but windy. While the wind was of great use in
driving the smoke and ashes out of our cabin, it shook terribly the
timber standing almost over us. We were sometimes much and needlessly
alarmed. We were surrounded by the tall giants of the forest, waving
their boughs and knitting their brows over us, as if in defiance of
our disturbing their repose, and usurping their long uncontested
pre-emption rights. The beech on the left often shook his bushy head
over us as if in absolute disapprobation of our settling there,
threatening to crush us if we did not pack up and start. The walnut
over the spring branch stood high and straight; no one could tell which
way it inclined, but all concluded that if it had a preference it was
in favor of quartering on our cabin. We got assistance to cut it down.