A SERMON
Chicago was not, at the period of my first visit, the cheerful, happy
place it had once been. The death of Dr. Wolcott, of Lieut. Furman, and
of a promising young son of Mr. Beaubien, all within a few weeks of
each other, had thrown a gloom over all the different branches of the
social circle.
The weather, too, was inclement and stormy, beyond anything that had
been known before. Only twice, during a period of two months, did the
sun shine out through the entire day. So late as the second week in
April, when my husband had left to return to Fort Winnebago, the storms
were so severe that he and his men were obliged to lie by two or three
days in an Indian lodge.
Robert Kinzie, Medard Beaubien, and Billy Caldwell had gone at the same
time to the Calumet to hunt, and as they did not make their appearance
for many days, we were persuaded they had perished with cold. They
returned at length, however, to our infinite joy, having only escaped
freezing by the forethought of Robert and Caldwell, in carrying each
two blankets instead of one.
Our only recreation was an occasional ride on horseback when the
weather would permit, through the woods on the north side of the river,
or across the prairie, along the lake shore on the south.
When we went in the former direction, a little bridle-path took us
along what is now Rush street. The thick boughs of the trees arched
over our heads, and we were often compelled, as we rode, to break away
the projecting branches of the shrubs which impeded our path. The
little prairie west of Wright's Woods was the usual termination of our
ride in this direction.
When we chose the path across the prairie towards the south, we
generally passed Dr. Harmon, superintending the construction of a _sod
fence_, at a spot he had chosen, near the shore of the lake. In this
inclosure he occupied himself, as the season advanced, in planting
fruit stones of all descriptions, to make ready a garden and orchard
for future enjoyment.
We usually stopped to have a little chat. The two favorite themes of
the Doctor were horticulture, and the certain future importance of
Chicago. That it was destined to be a great city, was his unalterable
conviction; and indeed, by this time, all forest and prairie as it was,
we half began to believe it ourselves.
On the pleasant afternoons which we occasionally enjoyed as the season
advanced, we found no small amusement in practising pistol-firing. The
place appropriated to this sport was outside the pickets, the mark
being placed on a panel in one of the bastions. The gentlemen must not
be offended if I record that, in process of time, the ladies acquired
a degree of skill that enabled them, as a general thing, to come off
triumphant. One of the ladies was a great shot, having brought down her
grouse on the wing, to the no small delight of Captain Scott[73]--with
regard to the others I am afraid it was more politeness than want of
skill, which induced the gentlemen to yield the palm to them.
Now and then there was a little excitement within the fort, aroused by
the discovery that _a settler_ had been engaged in selling milk-punch,
instead of milk, to the soldiers, thereby interfering in no small
degree with the regularity and perfect discipline of the service.
The first step was to "drum out" the offender with all the honors
of war--that is, with a party-colored dress, and the Rogue's March
played behind him. The next, to place all the victims of this piece
of deception in the guard-house, where the Commanding Officer's lady
supplied them bountifully with coffee and hot cakes, by way of opening
their eyes to the enormity of their offence. It was not to be wondered
at that the officers sometimes complained of its being more of a strife
with the soldiers who should get into the guard-house, than who should
keep out of it. The poor fellows knew when they were well off.
Once, upon a Sunday, we were rowed up to "the point" to attend a
religious service, conducted by Father S----, as he was called.
We saw a tall, slender man, dressed in a green frock coat, from the
sleeves of which dangled a pair of hands giving abundant evidence,
together with the rest of his dress, that he placed small faith in the
axiom--"cleanliness is a part of holiness."
He stepped briskly upon a little platform behind a table, and commenced
his discourse. His subject was, "The fear of God."
"There was a kind of fear," he told us, "that was very nearly
a_lee_-a-nated to love: so nearly, that it was not worth while
splitting hairs for the difference." He then went on to describe this
kind of fear. He grew more and more involved as he proceeded with
his description, until at length, quite bewildered, he paused and
exclaimed, "Come, let's stop a little while, and clear away the brush."
He unravelled, as well as he was able, the tangled thread of his
ideas, and went on with his subject. But soon again losing his way, he
came to a second halt. "Now," said he, wiping the perspiration from
his forehead with a red cotton handkerchief many degrees from clean,
"now, suppose we drive back a little piece." Thus he recapitulated
what he wished to impress upon us, of the necessity of cherishing a
fear that maketh wise unto salvation, "which fear," said he, "may we
all enjoy, that together we may soar away, on the rolling clouds of
æther, to a boundless and happy eternity, which is the wish of your
humble servant." And, flourishing abroad his hands, with the best of
dancing-school bows, he took seat.
It will be readily imagined that we felt our own religious exercises
at home to be more edifying than such as this, and that we confined
ourselves to them for the future.
The return of our brother, Robert Kinzie, from Palestine (not the Holy
Land, but the seat of the Land Office), with the certificate of the
title of the family to that portion of Chicago since known as "Kinzie's
Addition," was looked upon as establishing a home for us at some future
day, if the glorious dreams of good Dr. Harmon, and a few others,
should come to be realized. One little incident will show how moderate
were, in fact, the anticipations of most persons at that period.
The certificate, which was issued in Robert's name, he representing
the family in making the application, described only a fractional
quarter section of one hundred and two acres, instead of one hundred
and sixty acres, the river and Lake Michigan cutting off fifty-eight
acres on the southern and eastern lines of the quarter. The applicants
had liberty to select their complement of fifty-eight acres out of any
unappropriated land that suited them.
"Now, my son," said his mother, to Robert, "lay your claim on the
cornfield at Wolf Point. It is fine land, and will always be valuable
for cultivation--besides, as it faces down the main river, the
situation will always be a convenient one."
The answer was a hearty laugh. "Hear mother," said Robert. "We have
just got a hundred and two acres--more than we shall ever want, or know
what to do with, and now she would have me go and claim fifty-eight
acres more!"
"Take my advice, my boy," repeated his mother, "or you may live one day
to regret it."
"Well, I cannot see how I can ever regret not getting more than we can
possibly make use of." And so the matter ended. The fifty-eight acres
were never claimed, and there was, I think, a very general impression
that asking for our just rights in the case would have a very grasping,
covetous look. How much wiser five and twenty years have made us!
* * * * *
During my sojourn of two months at Chicago, our mother often
entertained me with stories of her early life and adventures. The
following is her history of her captivity among the Senecas, which
I have put in the form of a tale, although without the slightest
variation from the facts as I received them from her lips, and those
of her sister, Mrs. William Forsyth, of Sandwich (C. W.), the little
Maggie of the story.