enough to link thought with plan, but on the suggestion that if we
proceeded on our journey to the Grand River country, I must suffer
myself to be paddled across the Thornapple river by an Indian, alone
with him in his canoe, while our horses should swim under the guidance
of my husband, I decided that it was not possible, and soon after got
ready to retrace our steps. To avoid the re-crossing of the marsh,
and the discomforts of the evening before, the Indian trader, at our
suggestion, indeed solicitation, promised to be our guide by a more
circuitous route. To be our companion it was necessary to catch one of
the many Indian ponies that were feeding in a drove not far from the
hut. The process amazed me much. A rope was fastened to the side of the
house, some four feet from the ground, and two or three of the Indians
held the line firmly at the other end, while others drove the horses
up towards the house, and when sufficiently near, quietly enclosed
them with the circling cord, which as soon as the horses perceived,
they yielded quietly, and the one selected even bowed his head to the
halter. Experience had evidently taught them that resistance was vain.
* * * * *
“Late on Saturday afternoon we arrived at the village of ----, where we
proposed spending the Sabbath. Externally the inn promised well, as it
was large, well ventilated, and apparently comfortably furnished. We
soon tested the truth of the ever applicable maxim, that ‘appearances
often deceive.’ Our supper was one of the worst prepared and most
uncomfortable meals that had been offered in all our journey. The
utter want of cleanliness was absolutely disgusting, and no part of
the house seemed in its arrangement to recognize the fact that human
comfort and health required as indispensable the use of fresh water
and soap. I was shown with some parade into my room, which was a large
one, furnished barely with the things required, and soon retired after
a serious conflict between weariness and the revulsion of feeling
occasioned by the appearance of the bed. However, fatigue triumphed;
and protecting myself from contact with sheets and pillow-cases as best
I might, I threw myself upon the bed. Almost immediately after I was
informed in a sort of apologetic way, that my room was the thoroughfare
of the sleeping loft above; and as there was no other ingress or
egress, I was compelled to acquiesce in the arrangement, as if it were
a matter of course. Some twenty men passed thus to their repose; but as
they were sad laggards on the beautiful Sabbath, I was able to get up,
and take such time as I pleased for my toilet, without fear of being
disturbed.
“The evening before I had asked the little handmaid of the inn to
bring me in the morning a basin of water and a towel, having provided
myself with the latter article in case of need on my journey, but not
thinking of using my own in a large inn, and that in one of the chief
villages in Michigan. In the morning I again demanded of the girl the
indispensable convenience, which she speedily brought in the form of
an earthen _pint_ bowl of water, and a coarse towel, not quite half a
yard square. I however received it gratefully, and determined to make
the best of it until I could find pump, cistern, or spring, when to my
amazement and amusement too, in a few moments the girl returned with
the request that I would _lend_ my towel to the Judge (the Circuit
Court was holding a session there), and she would _return_ it in a few
moments.
“After a breakfast which was but a slight improvement upon the
evening meal, we asked if there was any religious service held in the
place, and were told that there was, at the usual hour, in a certain
school-house to which we were directed, and which we reached after
a disagreeable walk across a marsh. The school-house resembled in
proportions a ten-pin alley, rude and incomplete in construction, and
exhibited marks (such as broken windows, etc.) of physical energy
ill directed, rather than the practical effects of any mental skill.
When we reached the house about a dozen were assembled, which number
increased in about twenty-five minutes to as many persons. I became
weary and impatient, but the audience contented themselves while
awaiting the arrival of their minister who was regularly employed to
preach twice on the Sabbath, with conversation one with another. After
a while, when the delay even to the villagers seemed unreasonable and
unaccountable, and possibly the ‘on dits’ of the past week had been
thoroughly gone over, there was a visible stir in the congregation, and
as if with one consent they evinced a disposition to inquire into the
matter. At last one man arose, observed that there must be something
the matter with their minister, and inquired if any one present
had heard of his having left town. No one seemed to know anything
respecting him, and then a proposition was made to disperse. A hymn was
given out by some one who commenced without delay in a powerful and
rather pleasant voice, and sang manfully through six verses of a hymn
unknown I presume to the rest of the audience, and which was entirely
inappropriate to both time and circumstances.
“Before this was quite ended the people began to go out, and at
its close there was a general movement. Suddenly this seemed to be
arrested, and we all stopped at the whisper, ‘He has come--he is here!’
We again took our seats, and the clergyman walked in and up to the desk
with calm unruffled mien, as if the ordinary hour for his duty had but
just arrived. After sitting a moment, with due solemnity he arose, and
instead of offering prayer, or any religious sentiment, said coolly,
‘My friends, I did not hear the bell when it was rung this morning,
and forgot to look at my watch; I was waiting for the bell when one
of the young men came up for me. As there are so few left here of the
congregation, I think we will wait for service until the afternoon.’
And then, without a prayer, benediction, or reminder of any sort that
this was holy time, we were allowed to depart.
“That afternoon my husband and myself preferred to worship in the
glorious temple of the adjoining forest, where we found
“‘’Neath cloistered boughs the floral bell that swingeth,
And tolls its perfume on the passing air.
Makes Sabbath in the woods, and ever ringeth
A call to prayer.’”
* * * * *
A few extracts from another journal of a lady residing in Michigan,
whose family removed thither in 1837, and as usual occupied a log cabin
till their house was ready, will further illustrate our subject.
“The house stood on a plain which had once been covered with beautiful
trees, of which now remained only the stumps--for every thing like a
tree which could possibly cast its longest shadow within range of the
dwelling had been hewn down; and there, as an old woman said to me,
‘the sun could shine in nicely all day long, looking so _improvement_
like;’ and there the tenement stood, not with bare walls, for the
native bark had not left the logs. A small door gave entrance to its
one room, eighteen or twenty feet square; one little window with four
panes of glass made darkness, dust, and cobwebs visible; a huge ‘Dutch
chimney’ occupied the opposite side, and as time had been busy with
its untempered clay, having broken away one half its hearth and left
many of its ribs bare, added greatly to the dust and litter covering
the black oaken boards of the floor. These boards had been laid down
without planing or nailing to the beams on which they rested, and
it behoved one to step daintily in approaching their extremities. I
giddily wished to be first to set foot within our new home, and had
jumped from the carriage and rushed to the latch-string, exclaiming
‘now on your patron lady call,’ when I found myself landed in the
cellar. Fortunately it was not very deep, and on my ascension, mamma’s
rueful face warned me to make merry of it all. New rough boards
were laid about half way across the beams overhead, and these our
‘landlord’ called the ‘chamber floor.’ The ascent was by a ladder of
most primitive construction.” * * *
“We have knelt together in prayer for the first time in our new home,
and have gathered around the family board to our first ‘meal in our own
wilderness. This family board was two boards resting at either end on
barrels, and we sat on our trunks, as we have no chairs; our furniture
cannot be brought from Detroit until the mud assuages and the dry land
begins to appear. Seventeen of us sat down, and my dear father looked
quite patriarchal, dispensing food to such a multitude. Such artificial
distinctions as servant and master not eating together, are not to be
known among us.” * *
“We have tacked sheets against the edges of the boards constituting
the ‘chamber floor,’ which are to be drawn up during the day, and at
night let down to form a sleeping room for what our helps call the
‘females.’ We have made a bedstead for papa and mamma, by putting
together six large trunks, which during the daytime serve us for seats,
and fortunately we brought a feather bed in the baggage-wagon. For the
rest we have filled straw ticks with the sweet smelling marsh hay.
“_May 24th._--Last night just as sleep had pressed his heaviest seal
upon our eyelids, the fearful cry of ‘fire,’ dispelled his poppy charm.
We waked to a startling consciousness of danger, at the red glare and
roaring crackling flames. Then dash went the cold water, darkness
followed, and then came running little rivulets of the extinguishing
element, making deposits around our beds upon the floor. We were half
frozen for the rest of the night, and this morning they are building a
new chimney. The logs are sawn out, and large cobble stones piled one
upon another--the chinks filled in with clay--then from among the trees
of the forest are sought out a couple of bent boughs with exactly the
right curve--these are the jams, and are fastened--the upper ends from
ten to twelve feet apart--in the beams that support the second floor.
They are set from five to six feet from the logs of the house side,
into which their lower ends are securely fastened. A quantity of green
wood is then split up into slats, nailed across these and also laid up
above them as children build pens with corn cobs, gradually lessening
as they approach the roof, from which they rise some two feet; the
whole is finally plastered over with new clay, and the chimney is now
ready for use; the blue smoke begins to curl from its top; and there
will be no danger of this one’s taking fire for some years; being made
of such green materials. It was a good thing that mamma with her New
York notions about fires, refused to go to sleep last night without two
pails of water in the house, although the men had to go a quarter of a
mile to the creek for it. This perseverance in an old habit saved us
our present home, as the fire never could have been extinguished if the
water had not been on the spot.
“Our carpenter is making us some seats and a table. The latter consists
of two wooden horses with a moveable top, made of four boards nicely
planed and joined together: the seats are slabs about four feet long,
with four sticks driven for legs. They are one and all to go out of
doors at nights, to let the beds come in--the latter take day board on
the fence. Some wooden pins have been driven into the logs on one side
of the house, and boards placed upon them for shelves, and on these
must repose the milk-pans, dishes, &c. When we would go into the cellar
we take up an entire board and jump down about four feet. But what
are a few trifling inconveniences in the midst of a world so robed in
beauty, so garlanded with flowers!
“_May 25th._--Papa inquired yesterday at dinner of our landlord if he
could find us a washerwoman. His characteristic reply was, that he
presumed the widow Lewis would willingly come and help us wash, if she
was sure of being ‘treated like a human.’ ‘And how shall that be?’
asked papa. ‘Oh, if the young ladies will call on her. You know the
folks round here think you are all so proud.’ Papa looked at me, and I
said I would call if it was not too far. ‘Oh they live just over the
hill, not more than half a mile. Mrs. Lewis is the daughter of old Mr.
Dean, who was here this morning--she has five children--there are two
married sons with their wives and two children each, also living with
them in the house, and then there is another daughter, Jenny Deans, as
they call her, quite an old girl.’ My ideas brightened at the charmed
name of ‘Jenny Deans,’ and I began to fancy it would be pleasant to
call--and so call we did--but the Deans were all gone for the cows.
We went in and had a little chat with old Mrs. Deans, whose pale grey
hair neatly folded beneath the plain cap, looked quite beautiful. It
was a very comfortable new log house, with its clean and stationary
floor--its two doors opening opposite each other--its large sash
window, home-made chairs and bedsteads too. ‘Your house is much better
than Mr. B--’s,’ observed I, in reply to some inquiry of the old dame,
as to how we liked living in a log house. ‘Ah yes,’ said she, ‘but
it will do you good to learn how poor people live.’ It seems to give
the people here indescribable happiness to know we are worse off than
themselves.
“About an hour after our return, the whole missing population of the
Dean mansion returned our call. We arranged with them the preliminaries
for ‘the great wash,’ which is to come off to-morrow. Mamma could not
coax them to take it to themselves although, because of the scarcity
of water in our own immediate neighborhood, the clothes are all to be
taken to their own washing ground on the banks of a beautiful lake, a
little back from their house. The widow Lewis would have one of us to
help her, although offered double the amount to do it alone. And so
I shall attend upon her ladyship to-morrow, although mamma will not
believe that I know anything about washing. Papa came to our aid with
the observation, ‘the children must all learn to work, and the sooner
they begin the better.’
“_May 27th._--Yesterday was one of those glorious days when earth, sky
and sunshine, seem to have met in gala mood to celebrate the carnival
of time. At an early hour the requisites for the grand washing were
placed in our oxen chariot, and the children, who looked upon the whole
as a fine frolic, mounted on top of the load. How beautiful looked
the world as we slowly wended our way beneath those stately old oaks
which, shading the flowery lawns, deserve the name of oak orchards.
The birds were singing and the sun was shining, and not yet were the
dewdrops exhaled. Those pert little children of spring, the anemones
and violets, were everywhere opening their blue eyes. On one side of
a growing wheatfield, a soft green sward sloped gently to the shore
of a little gem of a lake, bordered by a stately growth of park-like
trees on all sides but one, where a heavy growth of tamarack cast a
deep shadow, beautiful from the contrast of cheerful light. In the
most picturesque spot on the borders of this lake was built our gipsy
fire--and around it were gathered such a group! The beau of the morning
was the man who owns our log tenement, and acts in the double capacity
of landlord and laborer; beside him sat upon the same log Jenny Deans.
Oh, with what a broken pinion came fancy from her dreamland flight--and
yet she seems a character in her way--dressed in a gown of many
colors, from the oft application of a new piece to the old garment.
Her ugliness, however, faded to a thing of naught beside the Lewis
family--the whole of whom, six in number, were present with us for the
entire day. * * * *
“Mamma is beginning to look almost worn out with her many cares, and
constant watching and anxiety about papa, who suffers continually. It
seems as if those who sit beside the sick and suffering endure half
their agony, feel every pain that racks the anguished nerves, and
almost lose their identity in the strong sympathy that hour after hour
binds frail woman to the side of the weary couch, through long nights
suspending every breath and motion of the tired frame, longing to hush
the very beatings of her heart, lest she disturb the light half slumber
of the invalid. Ah, these are the hours that take large drafts from
life, that dim the flush of youth, that drink the dew of the morning.
But they give the soul its beauty and perfection, and therefore should
we rejoice that they are woman’s allotted task.” * *
“_May 29th._--Mrs. B---- was telling us to-day that many people lived
for weeks last winter on boiled acorns. It is almost impossible to get
seed for planting--potatoes after the eyes were cut out, it is said,
have sold for ten dollars a bushel.”
“_June 1st._--A barrel of white fish is spoiled to-day. The field mice
have got into the milk pans and committed suicide.”
“_June 2nd._--Returning with little Jessie from a visit, as the
twilight was beginning to grow shadowy, we crossed the desert marsh
and came in sight of a lonely house on its verge. On the height that
overlooked our way, stood a woman looking weird as any Meg Merrilies
that ever haunted “Ellengowan.” Her form was tall, straight and very
lank, a closely clinging, scanty garment of a gloomy gray material
added, if possible, to her height; her head was covered with a red
bandanna, pinned cornerwise beneath her chin, in her hand she held an
oaken stick, and just as we came near she was lifting up her voice to
cry aloud. The shriek formed itself into the words, “have you seen
Mary? have you seen Mary or the cow?” I had not seen Mary or the cow,
and went on my way wondering. It seems the tall woman is no common
person. According to the heraldry of the wild woods the Winchel’s are
quite a distinguished family. Such distinction would have suited the
leader of a bandit horde in the dark forests of old Germany, or have
given renown to one of the fierce barons of feudal times. Uncle Jake,
as the head of the house is called, inhabits the lonely log cabin by
the marsh-side, and exercises his taste for cruelty at the expense of
his cattle instead of the lives of his fellow creatures, so we call him
an old savage, and probably his name will die with him, as die yearly
many of his flocks and herds from the effects of his blows. Strange to
say, however, this rude, fierce man, with all his uncurbed passions and
taste for club discipline, has never been known to ill-treat his wife.
It is said she commands his respect in an extraordinary degree by her
quiet dignity of manner and womanly reserve, never noticing his violent
outbursts of rage, nor interfering in the least with his proceedings,
though he has during the few years of their sojourn here, beaten two
cows to death and several oxen. Their food is of the coarsest kind, but
she asks no luxuries; the social tea-kettle finds no place on their
hearth, no chicken scratches in the desolate barnyard, no soft-furred
pussy purrs beside the door, no dog could live upon the premises; corn,
bread, potatoes, and milk when the cow gets leave to live, constitute
their bill of fare the year round. Only one child and that a daughter
has come to the desolate home of these people, the Mary who was missing
to-night.
“_June 3rd._--We had another visitor this afternoon, A pleasant, kind
looking man, of a most excellent countenance, rode up to the door and
claimed papa as a cousin, and was recognised at once though they had
not met for twenty years. He has a house full of daughters with whom
we are to be excellent friends, although they live some fifteen miles
hence, and he promises us some chickens and a kitten, a necessary kind
of domestics that we have not yet seen in the region round about. A
good old woman, too, has sent for the washing, which she will perform
at her own house, without any of us acting as laundry maids. The drove
of calves is increasing, and they begin to talk about sacrificing the
two oldest, but Liney and Niagara shall not want for petitioners before
the house of Lords.”
“_June 10th._--Rain! rain! rain! For three days the windows of heaven
have been opened, and torrents of water have fallen over the earth, and
some few cataracts have found their way through our roof, which, by the
way, is not shielded by shingles, but covered with long slabs held down
by poles of tamarack or willow.
“When the door is open the rain beats in, and when it is closed the
chimney smokes. The cattle, on social thoughts intent, have gathered
round the house, from which no fence excludes them, and thus increase
the mud every body is bringing in on their feet. The beds are piled up
in one corner; the table seems more huge than ever; the topheavy slab
seats are continually tumbling over; papa’s rheumatism is horrible; the
baby cries because of the smoke; the men, under shadow of the ladder,
are mending nets and making hoe handles, ox bows, and whip stocks,
and of course increasing the general litter with their whittling;
the children are building play-houses under the table, and of course
greatly facilitating the motion of the pen essaying to write above. The
four little panes of glass just make darkness visible, and around them
those who would read or write congregate--a solemn looking assemblage,
and as ruminating as those chewing the cud without. But the children
are coming from under the table asking for a story; the babe consents
to go to sleep; the shavings are swept into the fire, which therefore
concludes to blaze more and smoke less; our good father is falling into
a doze, and so the owl’s eyes shall be laid aside with madam goose’s
fragment, and pleasant fairydom come with its gorgeous dreams at the
juvenile bidding. It will not take much imagination after this week’s
experience for them to believe that whole nations of people could live
in a nut-shell, or more magnificent still, inhabit gorgeous palaces
within the cup of the lily.”
XXV.
ELIZABETH KENTON.[40]
The name of Simon Kenton has a conspicuous place in the annals of the
early pioneers, second only to that of the renowned woodsman, Daniel
Boone. One of the counties of Kentucky is named after him, and the
incidents of his life are related in the history of that State and
in many biographical sketches, forming a narrative more thrilling in
interest than any romance ever written. Such instances of desperate
and mortal encounter, such hairbreadth escapes from imminent peril,
such hours of fearful suspense and sudden alternations from hope to
despair, from the very grasp of death to unexpected deliverance, were
surely never pictured by pure imagination. Born in Virginia, he was
involved when scarcely grown to manhood in a romantic adventure growing
out of rivalry in love, which came near to having a fatal termination,
and launched him into life with no protection but a resolute spirit
and a robust frame. Leaving his home, he plunged into the wilderness
of the Alleghany mountains, and joining parties of explorers and
traders, spent two or three years in hunting and trapping in the
neighbourhood of the Kanawha river, till the breaking out of the war
between the Indian tribes and the colonies in 1774, in which campaign
he did service as a spy. With two companions he afterwards penetrated
the wilds of Kentucky and built a cabin on the spot where now stands
the town of Washington, aiding the other settlers in their struggles
with the Indians, and meeting with many adventures. The most remarkable
of these--unparalleled in the history of the West--is the succession
of incidents that followed his capture by the Indians when carrying
off some of their horses. For weeks his fate vibrated between life and
death, the gleams of sunshine quickly followed by deepest gloom, no
efforts or wisdom of his own availing aught to save him at any time,
but the changes in his fortune wrought by seeming accidents. He was
tied, Mazeppa-like, on the back of an unbroken horse; was eight times
exposed to the gauntlet, and three times bound to the stake, with no
prospect of rescue from a terrible death. Once he was saved by the
interference of Simon Girty, who, learning his name, discovered in him
an old companion and friend; once the celebrated Mingo chief, Logan,
interceded in his behalf, and he was rescued by an Indian agent. These
experiences, and his after services with Gen. George Rogers Clarke,
and in other campaigns to the close of Wayne’s decisive one, are fully
related in recent biographies.
The first wife of Gen. Kenton was Martha Dowden, to whom he was
married about 1785, in Mason County, Kentucky. They lived together ten
years, when she died, leaving him four children, all of whom lived to
maturity. The only survivor among them is the wife of John McCord, of
Urbana, Ohio.