presence of mind, is related of the housekeeper of Gen. Porter, at
Black Rock. Early one morning, before the General had risen, a party
of Indians in the British service, who had crossed from the Canada
side, came to the door, demanding to see him. The housekeeper, without
betraying the least surprise or alarm, informed them that the General
had just gone up to Buffalo, pointing to the road which led thither
by the most circuitous course. As the savages hurried away, in hopes
of overtaking the object of their pursuit, she gave the alarm to the
General, who lost no time in mounting his horse and riding by the
shortest way to the town, where he arrived in time to make preparation
for the enemy.
Mr. Turner relates a story of “a night with the wolves,” which is worth
mentioning as an incident of pioneer life. One of the early settlers
of Niagara County had just finished building a log hut--the door only
wanting--in the woods, for the occupancy of his family. It was so far
to go to mill, that when it was necessary to fetch a supply of flour,
he was always obliged to be a night away from home. One night, in his
absence, the wife heard wolves snarling just at the door, which was
only defended by a blanket. Terrified for the safety of her young
children, she forgot all fears for herself, and stood with axe in hand
at the opening, keeping guard during the long hours of that night, till
the howling died away in the distance, and she was satisfied the fierce
creatures would return no more.
“The early settlers in Farmershill, Cataraugus, drew up a code of rules
for their mutual advantage, from which the following curious section is
extracted: ‘If any single woman over fourteen years of age shall come
to reside in our village, and no one of this confederacy shall offer
her his company within a fortnight thereafter, then in such case our
board shall be called together, and some one shall be appointed to make
her a visit, whose duty it shall be to perform the same, or forfeit the
approbation of the company and pay a fine sufficiently large to buy the
lady thus neglected a new dress.’ Few towns,” continues Turner, “in
the Purchase have been more prosperous; and it is quite likely that
this early regulation aided essentially in the work of founding a new
settlement and speeding its progress.
As an offset to the above, the same writer gives an account of a
bachelor’s settlement in Orleans County, which, as might be expected,
turned out a failure. A cotemporary says: “They began in a year or two
to go east and get them wives.” This broke up the establishment, and
most of its bachelor founders became Benedicts and heads of families.
“By perseverance I succeeded early one morning in getting to the old
burial place of the Senecas. The Indian church--now used as a stable,
with hay protruding from the windows and manure heaps outside--arrested
my attention, and I stopped opposite the lane leading from the main
road to the spot I sought. At the end of this lane, leaping over a
broken rail fence, and following a little foot-path running by the side
of a potato patch, a few steps brought me to one of the most beautiful
and quiet nooks in the world; a pleasant opening, rather more elevated
than the rest of the field with which it was enclosed, and shaded here
and there by large oaks, the branches of which were now swaying in
the wind, and sighing a requiem to the memory of the red man. Graves
were thickly sown around--some marked by boards, others only by the
swelling of the turf. There were four marble slabs; two in a picketed
enclosure were monuments of white children; one of the daughter of a
clergyman, probably the local missionary. The most prominent, which
was not enclosed, bore the inscription, ‘In memory of the white woman,
Mary Jemison, daughter of Thomas Jemison and Jane Irwin, born on the
ocean between Ireland and Philadelphia in 1742 or ’3, taken captive
at Marsh Creek, Pa. in 1755, carried down the Ohio, adopted into an
Indian family in 1759, removed to Genesee River, naturalized in 1817,
removed to this place in 1831. Having survived two husbands and five
children, leaving three still alive, she died Sept. 19th, 1833, aged
about ninety-one years, having a few weeks before expressed a hope of
pardon, etc.’ A little beyond Mary Jemison’s grave, was that of Red
Jacket, the celebrated orator and chief.” The stone was much mutilated,
being broken off so as to deface the inscription.
* * * * *
Mrs. Anderson, whose house was visited by depredators, boldly faced
them for the protection of her property. Seating herself on a trunk
they were about to carry off, she told them they might shoot her,
but should never possess it while she lived. The Indians, with a
significant “ugh” left her, saying she was too much of a man to be
robbed. One of the early settlers in Plymouth, Wayne County, Michigan,
showed a more timid spirit and fared worse, it being her practice at
first to yield implicitly to their demands. Once she was compelled
to hand out of the oven the rolls she had just baked for supper.
One evening, her husband having gone to a neighbor’s a quarter of a
mile distant, her child lying asleep in the bed, and she occupied in
sewing, the door was softly opened, and an Indian entered, “with the
stealthy tread peculiar to the moccasined foot.” He made signs that he
wanted whiskey. After going around the house as if in search of the
article, followed by the savage, she took up her child, and making him
understand that it was to be had at the neighbor’s house, motioned him
to follow her, and walked the whole distance through the woods with him
to the place of safety, where she arrived breathless with terror and
agitation.
* * * * *
Eliza Bull, afterwards Mrs. Sinclair, visited the capital of Wisconsin
in 1846 or ’47, and describes the country as very new, and the
society extremely limited. The scenery of the locality was wild and
picturesque, and from the window of her room at the inn Mrs. Bull could
frequently see as many as thirty-six prairie fowls going to roost in a
single tree. Every evening in the winter the sound of men stunning fish
by striking on the ice was plainly to be heard. One large room in the
capitol was appropriated to public gatherings of all descriptions, and
in the course of a single week would be used for dancing assemblies,
public lectures, funeral services, and preaching by the Methodist
congregation. At the balls, the belle of the company was usually the
chambermaid of the tavern which was the place of entertainment, a
young lady of ash-colored complexion, and locks of similar hue, whose
fairy feet were graced with red morocco boots. The party was often
enlivened by the presence of members of the legislature. These, with a
respectable attendance of their constituents, shuffled around the room
with great energy, having cigars in their mouths, and for the most part
wearing their hats. If their boots or shoes were found inconvenient in
their Terpsichorean evolutions, they were kicked off without ceremony,
and the figures completed in stocking-feet. When supper was ready, the
company rushed pell-mell through a dark passage to the “provender,” on
which they fell to work without mincing.
Near Madison are four small lakes, beside one of which, on “Sauk
Prairie,” then quite removed from the neighborhood of civilized
residents, stood the dwelling of an Austrian named Harazthy. He was
said to be a count, and his wife’s manners indicated that they had been
accustomed to cultivated society. It was rumored that his voluntary
banishment from his country had been caused by political difficulties,
and that he wished to seclude himself from the sight and society of
men, having been made misanthropic by disappointed ambition. His
father--who was called a general, and always wore his military dress,
came out with the family. The elder Mrs. Harazthy did not long survive
her removal, but died of very home sickness. The younger used to relate
how many years before, a gipsey fortune-teller had foretold that they
would remove to a far country, and that the count’s mother would die in
their new home. Mrs. Sinclair described this foreigner as a fine, tall
and “rosy-faced” woman, with very pleasing manners, and conversation
made the more interesting by her foreign accent and imperfect command
of English. For months after her removal she refused to receive
visitors, but often at twilight would sit at her window looking out
upon the wild and strange scenery, watching sometimes whole droves of
wolves coming down to the lake to drink. Her family was once startled
in the night by piercing cries, and found at their door a poor woman
with a child in her arms; she had been terrified by what she took for
signs of a meditated Indian attack, and had run twelve miles barefoot
through the snow to seek protection, her husband being absent. Her
alarm proved groundless, but she had endured as much as if flying from
a troop of enemies. The Austrian mentioned kept a variety store for the
Indians and the few settlers who lived in that portion of country. His
log dwelling-house was picturesquely situated on the margin of the lake
and the forest.
XXII.
MARY ANN RUMSEY.
The perils and privations incident to the occupation of the lands
in Michigan by the first settlers were not, indeed, so terrible or
so romantic as those encountered at an earlier period, when the
adventurous few who penetrated the wilderness were exposed to the
fury of a savage foe, and assaults far more to be dreaded than those
of the wild beasts of the forest. Yet the later pioneers, if they
had not to dispute the possession of the soil at the risk of their
lives, had their trials and sufferings--their dangers too--not the
less difficult to endure because the narration is rather amusing than
thrilling. They had also to struggle with that feeling of isolation
and loneliness which presses heavily on those who have severed all
the endearing ties of home, where cluster those fond attachments only
formed in youth. Many a sad hour was passed in remembrance and regret
by the young wife in the absence of her husband, when she had no
sympathizing friend in whose bosom she could pour her griefs. Little
given to repining as she might be, faithful to her duties, and disposed
to make the best of everything, still thoughts of the loved ones from
whom she had parted for life would weigh on her spirits, and fill her
eyes with tears, brushed hastily away while she busied herself about
her household employments. A touching instance of the heart’s yearning
for companionship occurs to memory, mentioned by one of the female
pioneers, who had been three weeks in their new home without having
seen the face of another woman. “One Sunday,” she said, “I told my
husband that beyond the thick wood, just in the rear of our dwelling,
I could see from the upper window another log house. I wanted him to
go there with me; we went, and as we approached I saw the woman come
out, appearing to be busy about something at the back door. _That was
enough_; I did not care to go any further; we went home; I had seen
her, and that satisfied me.”
Ann Arbor is the county seat of Washtenaw County. The Indian name,
_Washtenong_, signifies “grand” or “beautiful,” and Grand River takes
its name from the same word. It was called “Arbor,” on account of
the noble aspect of the original site of the village, which was a
burr oak opening, resembling an arbor laid out and cultivated by the
hand of taste. For the prefix of “Ann,” it was indebted, according to
undeniable tradition, to two prominent women whose husbands were the
first purchasers and settlers in the vicinity. Some have maintained
that the place owed its entire name to them, from the fact that they
lived, until houses could be built, in a kind of rude arbor made by
poles covered with boughs. However that may be, it is certain that John
Allen and Walter Rumsey gave the name to the new settlement, afterwards
confirmed by State authority, and ever since retained. Their first
garden was the ground now occupied as the public square; and here
Allen, who had considerable skill in these matters, planted and raised
a fine stock of vegetables, enabling them to supply the neighbors
whom their persuasions had induced to join their little community.
The two leaders above mentioned came in February, 1824, Rumsey being
accompanied by his wife. This couple emigrated from some part of the
State of New York, which has furnished so many enterprising families
among the inhabitants of Michigan. Some of the New England stock, who
were a little proud of their land of the pilgrims, were accustomed to
say they “had _stopped_ some years in the State of New York on their
way to the West.”
The arbor, or tent, which formed the first shelter for this little
party, and served them as such for two weeks, was made of their
sleigh-box, with a rag carpet spread over boughs of trees, which were
of course denuded of leaves; for there grew not an evergreen within
miles, except a few cedars on a hill some two miles from the locality.
They had brought with them a few barrels of provisions; and as there
were no regular roads all the way to Detroit, and the travelling was
tedious and difficult, they lost no time in making a treaty with the
roving Indians, who agreed to furnish them with regular supplies of
corn and venison. On this they subsisted while they industriously
prepared the ground and planted grain and vegetables to serve them
for the coming summer and winter. “Ann Arbor” had been the favorite
dancing ground of the Pottawattomies, many families of whom lived in
the neighborhood. Their place of council was in the light “opening”
selected by Allen for his garden, on which at this time there was
scarcely a tree. Those that now adorn the square, have been since
planted; most of them more than ten years afterwards.
The visits of the Indians were peaceable enough, and generally
welcome, for they brought deer and wild turkeys to exchange for other
articles, game being then abundant in the woods. Sometimes, indeed,
when they found none but women at home, they showed themselves a little
disposed to encroach upon hospitality. Mrs. Rumsey confessed being
frightened at one time by their wild behavior; but assuming a stern
and commanding air, she bade them begone, flourishing a broom at the
same time; and though they could not have been said to be afraid of
her weapon, they did not hesitate to obey. All the cotemporaries of
Mrs. Rumsey agree in describing her as a woman of remarkable beauty
and distinguished appearance, and of energetic character, singularly
fitted to be a useful pioneer in a new country where difficulties and
discouragements must be met with unflinching courage, fortitude, and
patient perseverance. Her commanding aspect--whether natural or the
result of a habit of being foremost in enterprise--was well suited to
her qualities of determination and strength of purpose. Her cheerful
disposition, disregard of hardships, and resolute way of “making the
best of everything,” have often been mentioned with admiration. “When
we had been out land-hunting,” said Mr. Allen, “or otherwise engaged
through the day, so that we returned late and tired out, she was always
ready for us with good humor and _a good supper_.” By such aid and
encouragement is it that woman--a true help-meet--can hold up man’s
hands and strengthen his heart when disquieted by care and vexation.
To be enabled to appreciate the worth of such a household companion,
one must have spent a year at least in the backwoods. Experience
and necessity here furnished the best kind of education, fitting
for the endurance of every trial, and the thorough enjoyment of the
labor-bought pleasures which are relished most keenly when alternated
with privations.
In the course of a few months other families moved into the
neighborhood; and on the succeeding Fourth of July (1824), there was a
joyous celebration of the nation’s birthday. The anniversary falling on
a Sunday, it was kept on Monday, having been celebrated the Saturday
before at “Woodruff’s Grove,” near the site of the present village of
Ypsilanti. About forty guests, among whom were the women of course, sat
down to partake of the rustic dinner. It was either on this occasion,
or on the anniversary following, celebrated also at Ann Arbor, that
the family of Mr. White, one of the “neighbors,” were put to much
inconvenience by the escape of their oxen; which calamity imposed on
them the necessity of walking home in terror, for the distant howling
of wolves could be heard all the way. At the assemblage on the Fourth
of July, 1825, the white inhabitants of the county were present in
mass--forty or fifty in all.
The howling of wolves was a species of nocturnal music often listened
to by the pioneers of Michigan. A lady who removed there many years
later, says that on moonlight evenings they often stood to hear their
howling, some three miles distant, answered by the barking of their
dogs. The sound was distinct, and appeared to be much nearer. In the
early settlement of the country, a woman going one day to the spring
for water, saw, as she supposed, the dog belonging to the family
drinking, and finding that he did not get out of the way as she came
up, struck him with her pail, which she then filled and carried back
to the house. There she saw the dog lying quietly under the bed, and
a sudden flash of recollection convinced her that she had seen a wolf
at the spring. She roused the men, and the animal was pursued and
killed. Notwithstanding the cowardice of the gray wolf, it was always,
especially in packs, a terror to the women of the country. Other wild
beasts were disposed to dispute with man the possession of their forest
domain. A young woman in Livingston County, standing one day outside
her “shanty,” fancied she heard a crackling in the boughs of the tree
above her, and looking up, caught the eyes of a panther glaring upon
her, as the animal was preparing for a fatal spring. With a presence of
mind which the habit of looking danger in the face alone could give,
she stepped cautiously backward, still keeping her eyes steadily fixed
on the creature, and slipping behind the blanket which served for a
door, took down her husband’s rifle, which was kept loaded and ready
for use. Lifting a corner of the blanket, she deliberately took aim and
fired; the shot took effect, and the panther fell to the ground in the
death-struggle.
In the eyes of her neighbors, Mrs. Rumsey was a prominent female
member of the community; for such qualities of mind, in a primitive
state of society, never fail to exercise a controlling influence.
Something of romance, too, was added to the interest surrounding her.
It was said--though it might have been mere gossip--that her early
life had been clouded by unhappiness consequent upon an ill-assorted
marriage, and that she had little to regret in the years passed in
her former home. Little was known of her story, for she never showed
herself inclined to be communicative on the subject, and the intuitive
delicacy of her associates forbade their scrutiny into what plainly did
not concern them. Those were not the days withal when news travelled
on the wings of the wind, or with the flash of the lightning; and
if there had been aught in the experience of former years which she
did not wish to recall, Mrs. Rumsey was in no danger of having it
snatched from the friendly keeping of the past, and paraded before
the curious gaze of the public. So the mystery about her remained
unfathomed, as she did not choose to explain it. Her circumstances
at that time were comfortable, and happy in her round of duties, it
did not appear that she suffered her thoughts to dwell on the past,
though once, in a moment of great distress, on the occasion of the
sudden death of a beloved child, she let fall expressions which set
afloat the conjectures of her neighbors, and awakened curiosity which
was never fully satisfied. She was not, however, the less respected
on that account. In the first stages of society, when no artificial
distinctions are recognized, and social intercourse is unrestricted by
form, the standing of individuals is seldom questioned if they prove
useful and agreeable. Mr. Rumsey died at Ann Arbor, and his widow
afterwards married a Mr. Van Fossen, and removed to Indiana, where she
died.
The first sleighs used by these primitive settlers were made by bending
two poles, which served for runners, a crate for the box surmounting
them. The large double sleigh was an improvement pertaining to a more
advanced stage. Before grain could be raised it was often necessary,
notwithstanding the aid of their Indian allies, to go to Detroit to
procure flour--a journey which usually consumed a week. Whenever it
had to be performed, the labor of every man in the settlement was in
requisition to put the roads in order. In one case, when the head of a
family was detained two or three weeks by some accident at the mill,
the wife dug ground-nuts and picked up every other edible thing that
could furnish food for herself and children. Another woman who was
reduced to her last biscuit, declared laughingly that she would not
have it said they ever were out of bread in her western home, and had
the biscuit placed every day on the table for a fortnight, till new
supplies came. Game, particularly venison, was plenty in those days,
and some of the settlers, who were excellent hunters, killed enough for
the use of their families and for the demands of hospitality.
The second “Ann,” who gave the village of Ann Arbor its name, came
to Michigan in October, 1824, with the parents of her husband, and
his brother, James Turner Allen, who has ever since resided there
and raised a large family. The Allens were from Augusta county in
Virginia, and well to do in the world; they brought several horses and
other stock with them, a useful accession to the means of the little
settlement. The women performed nearly all the journey on horseback,
Ann Allen carrying her infant child in her arms. This child is now the
wife of Dr. Waddell, and is living in Virginia. Mrs. Allen entered
with a ready spirit of enterprise into the laborious duties required
of the wife of a settler. As the community increased, her husband was
called to fill official stations of importance. He was afterwards
twice elected Senator to the legislature, but the roving habits of his
early life, like those of Daniel Boone, were in the way of his living
contented in a settlement that could no longer be termed “wild,” when
lands further west were yet unexplored. He went to California when the
gold fever was at its height, and died there.
His widow returned to Virginia. Her bearing and manners were those of a
well-bred lady; uniformly gentle and quiet, and marked by the ease and
refinement which evince habitual acquaintance with good society. Her
maiden name was Barry; she was left an orphan at an early age, and sent
to Ireland to be reared under the care of a maiden aunt. Her education
was completed at Baltimore, under the charge of her maternal uncle, Mr.
Keim. She was quite an heiress, and was married first to Dr. McCue, of
Virginia. Her many admirable qualities and winning traits of character,
are remembered by all her former neighbors in the village.