hundred miles for an Episcopal clergyman to administer the sacrament
and baptize his children; but the spirit could not linger for the “slow
arrival,” and had already gone to sit at the heavenly table of Him on
whom her hopes of everlasting life were fixed. Her last resting place
is near the great Mississippi.
Mrs. Geer’s name was Charlotte Clark. She was the sister of Rev.
William A. Clark, D.D., Rector of All Saints’ Church, New York, Rev.
Orin Clark, D.D., formerly Rector at Geneva, New York, and Rev. John A.
Clark, D.D., of Philadelphia. Mrs. William A. Clark should be numbered
among the Western female pioneers. When a young and gay girl, she
removed with her godparents, Mr. and Mrs. TenEyck, and the Vredenburghs
to Skeneateles, then almost a wilderness. At the time of her marriage,
Mr. Clark was one of the first missionaries of the Episcopal church in
Western New York; and to him she proved a true co-worker in his duties,
conforming cheerfully to the circumstances in which she was placed,
and giving up her own inclinations at all times. She became the mother
of nine children. The family removed to Buffalo about 1817, and to
Michigan in the spring of 1837, after which Mrs. Clark suffered every
year from the fevers of the country, which undermined a constitution
naturally strong. She is retiring in manner and domestic in her habits,
yet fond of society at home, and charming all who approach her. The
habit acquired through years of self-denial of sacrificing her own
inclinations, has caused her to think less of the merely ornamental
than the useful in life. In the first year after her marriage, she was
accustomed to wear white muslin dresses; but “some of the congregation”
in the country village where her husband officiated, decided that she
was “too much dressed,” and finding that the matter was commented on,
she laid aside the obnoxious garments and never afterwards wore white.
The corner stone of the first Episcopal church in Buffalo was laid by
Mr. Clark. He lived but three years after leaving the city of New York
for Michigan, and lies buried in a beautiful opening near the village
of Brighton, Livingston County. His children owe the cultivation of
their talents, and their usefulness in life, to the judicious training
of their parents, and most affectionately do they acknowledge the
obligation. They have truly risen up to call their mother blessed. Two
of them, Chloe and Mary H. Clark, now reside in Ann Arbor, Michigan,
and one is a minister of an Episcopal church in Cincinnati.
XXI.
SARAH BRYAN.
In the severe labors peculiar to pioneers in a new country, the trials
and privations they were compelled to encounter from day to day, Mrs.
Bryan was as conspicuous as any of the early settlers of Michigan.
She came with John Bryan her husband, to Ypsilanti, taking up their
residence on a small farm at what is now called “Woodruff’s Grove.”
Her journal says: “We left Geneseo October 7th, 1823, for our new
home--arrived in Detroit in ten days; put up at the Widow Hubbard’s,
who kept a sort of boarding house, and deposited our goods in the
cellar till my husband could go out to the “Grove” (as the settlement
was then called) and procure a team to move us through. He returned
in three days with a man, two yoke of oxen, and a wagon, which we
found was not sufficient to contain all our goods and the family. This
consisted of five children, besides myself and husband. Fortunately
for us, however, we found a young man who was going out with but half
a load, and persuaded him to take the remainder of ours. After a
wearisome and almost indescribable journey of four days through thick
woods, my husband cutting the road before us with an axe, we came,
the night of October 23rd, to the beautiful Huron shore. We had the
privilege of staying in a log cabin till we could build one of our own,
which we moved into the last day of December. Eight weeks after this,
February 27th, 1824, Alpha was born; we called him Alpha Washtenaw
the latter name being given in honor of the county, and the former
on account of his being the first white child born in the county.”
Allen and Ramsay, the first settlers of Ann Arbor, agreed to mark the
auspicious event by presenting the infant with a lot of land at the
county seat.
“It was amusing that first fall and winter to hear the corn mills in
operation every morning before daylight. There were but two in the
settlement, made by burning a hole in the top of a sound oak stump,
large enough to hold a peck or more. After scraping the coal clean from
the stump, one end of a stick, some six feet long and eight inches in
diameter, was rounded, and it was suspended from a spring-pole so that
the rounded end would clear the stump when hanging loosely. A hole was
bored through this pestle and a stick driven through projecting on each
side for handles, and the mill was finished. One man would pound a
peck of dry corn in half an hour so that half of it would pass through
a sieve for bread; the coarser part being either ground again or
boiled for hominy. Very little bread of any other kind was used in the
settlement for the first two years. But as regards my own experience,
the autumn of 1824 was the most trying. Thus far we had encountered few
more inconveniences than we anticipated in the wilderness, and I was
prepared for them, prepared to bear all without a murmur. In October
Mr. Bryan accepted an offer to finish a building at Maumee city, and
shipped his tools at Detroit, where he had been doing an eight months’
job. He came home and stayed a few days to provide some wood, and told
me if he was likely to be more than three weeks absent, he would return
at the end of that time and put up more provisions, as our small stock
would be then exhausted. No person had then attempted to penetrate
the forest from our place to Monroe, but rather than go round by
Brownstown, he determined to take the risk of finding his way through
the woods alone. My heart sank within me to think of what would be my
fate and that of my six children, if any evil should befal him alone
in the forest; I however summoned my fortitude and resolved not to be
faint-hearted.”
An attack of illness followed. “The three weeks passed; a good supply
of potatoes was nearly all the provisions we had left, and I began
to look with great anxiety for my husband. A felon on my right hand
deprived me entirely of the use of it for more than three weeks. With
the pain, fatigue, and want of sleep I was ready to despair, but for
my children’s sake I kept up my resolution; still no tidings came from
Mr. Bryan, and my fears for his safety became more and more painful.
Two months passed, and brought cold December for me and my little ones,
but brought no news from him whose duty it was to provide for us. My
sufferings became extreme. I tried to get some one to go in search of
him, and ascertain at least if he ever got through the woods alive, but
I had no money even to bear expenses, and all told me they ‘guessed’
he was safe and would soon return. How myself and babes were to live
meanwhile I knew not. We had eaten nothing but potatoes for several
weeks; the neighbors were nearly as destitute and had nothing to lend,
even if I could have borrowed when I could not expect to pay again. For
a temporary change in diet from potatoes alone, I ventured to borrow
a few ears of corn, promising to pay if Mr. Bryan ever returned; this
I shelled and boiled to jelly, which we relished very much while it
lasted.
“It was now the 23d of December; I had been all day trying to induce
some one to go to Maumee for tidings, and had succeeded in obtaining
a promise from a young man that he would go in two or three days if I
would get a horse. Alas! horses were as scarce as bread, and I knew
it would be impossible to procure one. I returned home and stood in
our log cabin door, thinking what to do next, when my husband rode
up, and put an end to my fears. He had written several letters, which
were delayed in Detroit, and never reached me. Finding wages high, and
the roads very bad, he had concluded to remain, supposing I was well
provided for. Our sufferings for five or six years after this were
even greater, if possible, than before, but it would take a volume to
describe them.”
These difficulties passed over. Mr. and Mrs. Bryan had what served
for a competence in those days, and were of excellent character and
industrious habits; being of respectable stock, and training up their
children to become useful members of the community. Their care and
efforts were required for a large family; and those who live within
reach of all the advantages of civilization, can hardly understand
the difficulties in the way of improvement which existed in a pioneer
settlement. There were no public schools, no churches, nor did there
seem to be any Sabbaths, judging from observation of the habits of some
of the backwoodsmen. The first Sabbath school gathered together in
this place, was in the summer of 1828. That same year a small school
was kept in a log room some twelve or fourteen feet square, by a young
woman whose education hardly fitted her for the employment. Mrs. Bryan,
with a few other women of the settlement, took a great interest in the
Sunday school, and some other efficient plans for benevolent effort
were set on foot through her active agency and coöperation. She was
directress of the first benevolent society in that part of the country.
The new emigrants at that time suffered much from sickness peculiar to
the region, and often whole families were prostrated at once by the
fever of the country. Mrs. Bryan did not spare herself when her aid
or nursing was required by her neighbors; day and night found her at
the bedside of the suffering, or in the shanties of the poor, and many
an invalid who had no comfortable shelter has been taken to her own
home, provided with everything requisite, and waited upon with all the
tenderness and care of a mother.
As the children grew older, the want of a good school was more sensibly
felt; and as there was none in the vicinity, Mrs. Bryan appropriated
to the purpose the best room in her house, and engaged a young man of
good education, who was in want of a comfortable home, to teach her
children, with others in the village who were permitted to join them.
Thus was a good foundation laid for the advantages afterwards enjoyed,
and each member of their large family received a substantial English
education. Some of them have since attained to distinguished excellence
in the higher departments of literature. The eldest daughter, now
residing in Illinois, was equalled by few scholars of the time in
various branches of study, particularly mathematics; and the second
daughter is now Mrs. Lois B. Adams, with whose high reputation as a
poet and prose writer many American readers are acquainted. Her first
poetical effusions appeared in the Kalamazoo Telegraph, in which paper
Mr. Adams had an interest at the time of her marriage. She now resides
in the southern part of Kentucky, where she has charge of a female
seminary.
In 1835 or ’6 Mr. and Mrs. Bryan removed from Ypsilanti, and at
present are living in Constantine, Michigan. They had eight children
at the time of their removal, and all have grown up to respectability
and usefulness, having in early life had the judicious training of
a religious mother, who watched over them in love, guiding them by
precept and example, and by her affectionate and cheerful spirit
diffusing perpetual sunshine in her home.
A lady whose family lived in Livingston county, one of the most
recently settled in Michigan, and inhabited generally by poor people,
says their range of what might be called society was limited to less
than half a dozen families, the nearest distant about four miles,
and some ten or more from each other. They had left a large circle
of friends in the city of New York, and as it may be supposed, felt
the change to the wild country; yet were they contented and cheerful,
pining only when prevented by inclement weather from wandering through
the woods or fields in summer, plucking the wild flowers which grow in
such profusion and beauty in the openings. The annual fires kindled by
the Indians and first settlers to destroy the old grass, and prepare
for an early and abundant crop in spring, are said to have produced
many of the openings, the flames extending often beyond the marshes or
prairies. The farmers were in the habit of ploughing trenches round
the outside of their fences to ensure their safety; yet sometimes the
fire did serious damage among haystacks, wheat or barns, to which the
wind carried it. In consequence of this danger, severe legal penalties
were attached to the act of setting fire to marshes, yet it continued
to be practised for years till they became private property, sadly
marring the beauty of the view, destroying the trees, and preventing
the growth of the young oaks. The bushes which sprang in a season from
their roots, called “oak-grubs,” are difficult to remove from the
soil. A poor man whose means just sufficed to remove his family, and
perhaps keep one cow, had often to work out many days before he could
afford to hire a “breaking up team,” which was a plough constructed for
the purpose, and from five to seven yoke of oxen. The wife picked and
dried berries in the fall, often in marshes so wet that she was obliged
to wear her husband’s boots. By the sale of cranberries, she furnished
herself with many little comforts she could not otherwise have
procured. Flour could always be had at the mills in exchange for this
article. By such industry and patient perseverance was the way prepared
for the occupation of those lands by an intelligent, enterprising, and
now prosperous people. Not the least of the sufferings of the primitive
settlers arose from sickness, whole families having to pass through
the terrible acclimating, often at the same time, and the ravages
of disease sometimes leaving desolate the widow and the orphan, far
distant from kindred or early friends. At such time the sympathy and
kind offices of neighbors were never withheld, even though they might
also be suffering and almost destitute. Physicians were few and far
apart in the inland counties, and even when their attendance could be
had, their want of knowledge of the local fevers was often the source
of mischief rather than good.
A change has now passed over the face of the country. How progressive
has been the expression “the far West!” Many years since it might have
meant the western part of New York, as a resident of its metropolis
once said she had been “out west” to visit her sister, who lived at
Pennyan, in Yates County! A young woman of Skeneateles was engaged many
years--her friends being unwilling to let her marry and go so far away
as the Ohio; and when finally the knot was tied, she remained three
years under the parental roof before she could be permitted to take so
long and perilous a journey. From the Ohio the foot of emigration bore
“the far West” farther; it settled for a while in Indiana, Illinois
and Michigan, then passed to Iowa and Wisconsin, and now is wavering
beyond the Mississippi in Minnesota, with the cry for Oregon and
California. And not long since, we noticed a jocular proposition to
erect a tollgate at the boundary of the domain of the United States, in
the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
* * * * *
Sylvia Chapin, the wife of Dr. Cyrenius Chapin, was the oldest pioneer
among the first settlers of Buffalo. In all the vicissitudes she
experienced, she well and faithfully discharged the duties that lay
before her, as wife, mother, neighbor, and Christian woman; exhibiting,
with the high qualities of firmness and energy, a quiet dignity,
gentleness and kindliness which won the affection of those who knew
her best, as well as commanded the respect of her acquaintances. Her
“patient continuance in well doing,” has met its reward in the comfort
and respectability of her advanced age, passed among her children and
descendants.
Dr. Chapin came to Buffalo with his family in 1805. It is stated in
Turner’s “Pioneer History of the Holland Purchase of Western New York,
etc.,” that in 1806 there were but sixteen houses in the place, and
those located on what is now called Main Street. It will be remembered
that in December 1813 the town was burnt by the British, who had
crossed near Black Rock. On hearing their firing, Chapin, who commanded
a portion of the citizen soldiery, went to meet the enemy, and holding
up his cane, with a white handkerchief fastened to the end, obtained
a parley, and finally a promise that the town should be spared. Mrs.
Chapin at this period of anxiety was compelled to leave home to assist
in the care of her daughter’s sick husband, but before her departure
instructed her two other little girls to sleep always with a bundle of
necessary clothing under their heads, and in case of alarm, to go off
with the rest of the citizens if necessary. The agreement not to molest
the town was violated. Dr. Chapin was on duty, and of course unable
to attend to his children. Louisa related how they were waked at dead
of night with the noise and confusion in the streets, hurriedly made
their simple preparations, and stepped out of doors to join the crowd.
In the darkness, amid the severity of winter, women and children took
up their doleful march. The first glimmering of day mingled with the
lurid glare from their burning dwellings, and at almost every step
those who fled from their homes encountered the wounded and fugitives
from the action below. In the pressure and confusion of the crowd
hurrying onward, mothers were separated from their children, and lost
sight of each other, being in many cases for days ignorant of the
fate of their beloved relatives. On, on our fugitives went through
the dark deep woods, continually within hearing of the savage yells
around them, and trembling with fear, for they could not tell where the
Indians were, and they seemed to be coming upon them. Finally, after
a travel of some hours, the little girls halted with the rest, and
were refreshed with a drink of milk at a farmhouse. In the mean time,
while this was going on in the neighborhood of Buffalo, Mrs. Chapin was
overwhelmed with anxiety about her husband and children. The sick man
she nursed had died, and she was for weeks uncertain of the fate of her
children, and for some days of that of her husband, for she knew there
had been an engagement.
One woman of masculine bearing, Mrs. St. John, persisted
notwithstanding the general alarm, in staying with her young daughters
to protect their property, and succeeded in obtaining the favor of
having the house she occupied exempted from destruction. It was the
only building saved except the stone jail, which resisted the efforts
to set it on fire. The house was afterwards presented to Mrs. St. John
by the authorities. A neighbor on the opposite side of the street, a
Mrs. Lovejoy, was less fortunate. It was supposed that fear had driven
her into temporary insanity; she made no attempt to solicit mercy or
protection, but barricaded her doors and windows, and thus awaited the
intruders. For a while she was unmolested, till an Indian, bent on
plunder, effected his entrance; then, instead of submitting to what was
inevitable, the loss of her goods, Mrs. Lovejoy attempted to rescue
them, and defended herself with a large carving knife. In a contest for
a red merino long shawl she wounded the savage, nearly severing his
thumb from his hand. The Indian ran across the way to Mrs. St. John,
whom he ordered to bind it up; then hurried back, she knew too well for
the purpose of vengeance. The next thing she heard was a scream, and
presently the savage appeared again, a scalp with a woman’s long hair
hanging from his belt.
Mrs. Chapin preserved several pieces of plate which were at that
time in her possession. A silver pitcher in her house bears the
inscription:--“Presented by the citizens of Buffalo to Colonel Cyrenius
Chapin, the brave soldier, the good citizen, the honest man.”
Tradition says that Tecumseh often caused much annoyance to one lady in
Detroit, by cutting the air with his tomahawk close to her daughters’
heads; also that her ingenuity devised a scheme of revenge on one
occasion, when her children had the measles, and the chief had laid
himself on her floor to sleep. She gave him the pillow from under the
heads of the sick ones, hoping he would take the disease and lose his
life by following the Indian practice of jumping into the water in
case of fever. There was no time to test the success of her plan, for
shortly after this occurred the battle of the Thames, in which Tecumseh
lost his life.
A woman in one of the remote counties of Michigan told one of her
neighbors, that after her removal to her new house, when the few
provisions they had been able to bring were exhausted, and the roads
so wretched through the heavily timbered land that it was scarcely
possible to bring supplies from Detroit, her family had lived on potato
tops, boiled with a little salt, till something better could be raised.
In the early settlement of Wayne county a family having succeeded in
getting a pig, penned it up and began to fatten it for slaughter,
when the matron one day, at home alone with her children, was alarmed
by the sight of a huge bear helping himself without ceremony at her
out-of-door larder. Fortunately, she was acquainted with the use of a
rifle, and having wounded, succeeded in driving away the bear; he was
afterwards tracked by the men, and his thieving career ended with his
life.
The story of Lucy Chapin--no relative of those mentioned--is mentioned
among the reminiscences of this period. A New England family, sensible,
well-educated, and accustomed to all the advantages found in long
established communities, from a flaw in the deed securing their farm,
found themselves suddenly homeless. One of the brothers, who had
learned the carpenter’s trade, went with his sister Lucy to Hamburg,
near Buffalo, and purchased land, which he set about clearing to make
a home for his mother and the rest of the family. He built a rough
log hut, which was for some time without a window, the opening being
closed when it was cold or stormy, and the room left in darkness. The
brother was obliged to work out at his trade, for means to carry on
improvements at his own place, and meanwhile the sister was often left
alone for three weeks at a time. She became so nervously sensitive,
that the slightest noise would alarm her, and but for a determined
spirit, and her brother’s cheerful temperament, she thought her reason
would have given way. On one occasion, a weary old man called at the
house to ask for a cup of water; Lucy, terrified she knew not at what,
ran off, and was found by her brother on his return after one of his
long absences, sitting on a stump weeping. He encouraged her, and both
returned home, where they found the stranger waiting quietly. Their
neighbors lived at a considerable distance, and were all poor and
illiterate; they found no congenial society, avoided all association
with others except what necessity and civility required, and led a
life of hermit-like seclusion, Lucy assisting to provide necessaries
by sewing whenever she could get any work to do. It was not long
before a family by the name of Russell, agreeable, intelligent, and
kind-hearted, came to live in their vicinity; they had been banished
by change of fortune from their early home, but were cultivated, and
had books, and their arrival was joyfully welcomed by the emigrants.
Miss Chapin afterwards kept house in Buffalo for her brother Roswell,
who was engaged in the practice of law, and many anecdotes are told
of her economy, industry, and ingenuity. She described, among her
experiences in the backwoods, her sufferings during an illness when
the snow-wreaths often lay upon the coverlet of her bed; their only
security for the door, till it could be hung, being to push the
wash-tub against it. She would never allow her friends at home in New
England to know the trials she endured. “They can never know the half,”
she used to say. The loneliness, anxieties, and hardships she suffered
so long, seriously impaired her health in after life.