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FINLEY COLLECTION ON THE
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PRESENTED BY
EDWARD • CALDWELL
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2010 with funding from
CARLI: Consortium of Academic and Research Libraries in Illinois
http://www.archive.org/details/lifeinprairielanOOinfarn
LIFE
IN
PEAIEIE LAND.
BY
ELIZA W. FARNHAM.
" Dear Nature is the kindest mother still." — Childe Harold.
N E W-Y O R K :
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
82 CLIFF STREET.
18 46.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by
Harper & Brothers,
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New- York.
PREFACE.
The following work was commenced with
the intention of writing one or two brief sketches
descriptive of Life at the West. And until some
hundred and fifty pages were written, I never
contemplated the possibility of extending them
to a volume. At that point, I was so far from
having said all I felt, that I very willingly re-
signed myself to the current of my feelings and
wrote on.
To those who read the volume first, and after-
ward, in some idle moment, turn back to the
preface, I need not say that I have been impelled
in every step by love of my theme. That will
have been apparent enough to them, without
any such declaration. I have loved the West,
and it still claims my preference over all other
portions of the earth. Its magnitude, its fertili-
ty, the kindliness of its climate, the variety and
excellence of its productions are unrivaled in
our own country, if not on the globe.
In these characteristics, it presents itself to
my mind in the light of a strong and generous
parent, whose arms are spread to extend pro-
w?r
IV PREFACE.
tection, happiness, and life to throngs who seek
them from other and less friendly climes. Set-
ting a high value upon these resources, I rejoice
to hear of emigration to the country possessing
them — not alone because those who go will
find there abundance for the supply of their
natural wants, but because the influences with
which it will address their spiritual natures are
purifying, ennobling, and elevating. If nature
ever taught a lesson which the endwarfed, de-
based mind of man could study with profit, it is
in these regions of her benignest dispensations.
The burden of her teaching here, is too palpa-
ble to be wholly rejected by any. Even vulgar
minds do not altogether escape its influence.
Their perceptions become more vivid, their de-
sires more exalted, their feelings purer, and all
their intellectual action more expanded.
The magnificence, freedom, and beauty of the
country form, as it were, a common element, in
which all varieties of character, education, and
prejudice are resolved into simple and harmo-
nious relation. Living near to nature, artificial
distinctions lose much of their force. Human-
ity is valued mainly for its intrinsic worth — not
for its appurtenances or outward belongings.
It must not be forgotten, however, that a
large class of minds have no adaptation to the
PREFACE.
conditions of life in the West. This is more
especially true of my own sex. Very many
ladies are so unfortunate as to have had their
minds thoroughly distorted from all true and
natural modes of action by an artificial and per-
nicious course of education, or the influence of
a false social position. They cannot endure the
sudden and complete transition which is forced
upon them by emigration to the West. Hence
a class may always be found who dislike the
country ; who see and feel only its disadvan-
tages ; who endure the self-denial it imposes
without enjoying any of the freedom it confers ;
who' suffer the loss of artificial luxuries, but
never appreciate what is offered in exchange
for them. Persons so constituted ought never
to entertain for a moment the project of emi-
gration. They destroy their own happiness,
and materially diminish that of others. Their
discontent and pining are tolerated with much
impatience, because those who do not sympa-
thize* with them, see so much to enjoy and so
little to endure, that their griefs command little
or no respect.
I had no such experience, for I loved the
country, and when compelled to return to the
crowded and dusty marts of the East, I did so
with many and deep regrets; and these still
a2
VI PREFACE.
linger and mingle largely with the emotions of
my life. The writing of these sketches has,
therefore, been a labor of love. While engaged
upon them, I have lived again in the land of
my heart. I have seen the grasses wave, and
felt the winds, and listened to the birds, and
watched the springing flowers, and exulted in
something of the old sense of freedom which
these conferred upon me. Visions, prophetic of
the glory and greatness which are to be devel-
oped here, have dwelt in my mind and exalted
it above the narrow personal cares of life.
It is the enjoyment afforded by this kind of
emancipation which so endears the Western
country to those who have resided in it. It
steals upon the heart like what it is, the very
witchery of nature ; so that those who are sus-
ceptible to it, feel the charm but not the incon-
venience through which it is invoked. Such
persons delight in the perfection and beauty of
the natural, and these suffice them.
After what has been said, it would be super-
fluous to add that of this latter class I am an
humble member ; that no deprivation or suffer-
ing incident to the country could sever my
attachment to it, and that any portraiture of
its life which I should draw would, therefore,
abound in gay and cheerful colors. The som-
PREFACE. Vii
bre tints would not dwell in my heart, and I
cannot reproduce them. This may make my
picture appear to be a partial one, but to me
and those who are of like spirit it will be honest.
Conscious of the intent to make it so, I shall
dismiss it without care in that regard, and leave
it to tell its own story of the great and generous
land whose name it bears.
E. W. F.
Mount Pleasant, N. Y.
March, 1846.
CONTENTS.
Preface Page lii
Chap. I. — Embarkation for the Illinois — Western steamboats in general
— The Banner in particular — Her captain and crew — Hooshier bride and
bridegroom— A walk in St. Louis — A horrible tale of Lynching 13
Chap. II.— Departure from St. Louus— The first night on board the
Banner— The next morning— Speed of our boat— J unction of the Mis-
souri and Mississippi — Landing {U Alton — Unpardonable behavior of
the boat under trying circumstances — Disaster to the captain — A speci-
men of Hooshier indignation 22
Chap. III. — Leaving Alton we discover that Jersey is on board — A day
on an island — Who Jersey is — Some of his experience during his travels
— His political opinions— Peculiar style of expressing them— His notions
on travel 29
Chap. IV. — Another night on the Banner— A conversation with our
western bridegroom — His opinions on the woman question decidedly
anti-Wolstoncraft — His reasons for entering into matrimony— How he
would sympathize with his wife in sorrow, with a practical illustration
— Her story and disposition to lighten the darker shades of his doc-
trines 35
Chap. V.— Improved conduct of the boat— Politeness of her captain—
Our style of conversation pantomimic on my part— Landing— Pokerton
— Starting for our final destination— The country, the road, the slues —
Their peculiar character demonstrated— Woodland and its principal
inhabitants — Prairie Lodge — Our meeting 43
Chap. VI.— Sun-bonnets, veils, gloves, etc.— Environments of Prairie
Lodge— Its neighbors— A horticultural curiosity — Preparing for tea —
Partaking it— The evening — Who were present, and how we spent
it • 54
Chap. VH. — Prairie life begun — Rambles in the groves and over the prai-
ries — Visits on horseback — An afternoon with a neighbor three miles
distant — Amusing details of this visit, a fair specimen of the social
visiting of the country 59
Chap. VIII.— Commencement of Sucker life— Our next neighbor— The
mother Meg Merrllies— The house ; its architecture— The grounds ;
how laid out and adorned— The children ; their pastimes — The father ;
his political and social position— Another house ; the spirit which
reigned in it— Beauty of order and purity in domestic life . . 63
Chap. IX. — Spring around Prairie Lodge— Showers — Thunder-storms at
night — Their sublimity— Their effect on the landscape — Pleasures of
the season— Strawberry — Quail — Scene from his domestic life— Grouse ;
his habits — Spring morning in the prairies — Bob-o-link — Woodpecker —
Parroquet— Crow— Buzzard— Wild Turkey— Cattle on the prairie-
Hare— Deer— Whip-poor- Will 69
X CONTENTS.
Chap. X. — The tale of sorrow — Sickness of strangers on first arriving in
the country — Their claims to hospitality — The solitary man's settle-
ment in the west — His wife ; their love ; their progress and prospects
— A remarkable series of thunder-storms — The pestilence which fol-
lowed — The husband and wife both prostrated — The death of the wife
and infant — His grief— Their grave — The beauty of the spot — Reasons
for the attachment of the prairie settler to his home ... 81
Chap. XI. — A rare opportunity for seeing the natives of our region — The
menagerie ; getting to it — Style of locomotion — Tyler ; his peculiarities,
ill luck, gait, &c; his companion — Our arrival — Street dialogue — Dis-
cussion of the show — Entrance — Appearance of the crowd ; their motley
dress — A character ; his garb — Another ; her dress ; stature ; recognition
— Her sensibility and comments on the performances — Her description
of the male personage before introduced — His stories of the wars and
himself — An invitation — The departure for home — Discussion of per-
sons and things — Legal document — Close of the day — Delicate foot-
print 92
Chap. XII. — Leaving Prairie Lodge — Difficulty of finding another home
— What it proves when found — Its mistress — Her housekeeping — Com-
mittee on dress — A walk — What it decides — Resignation under des-
perate circumstances — A discovery — A cup of joy dashed before it is
partaken — First night in the Sucker home — Room mates, furniture,
&.c. — Pony — Rebellion ; how maintained 115
Chap. XIII.— Sabbath— Next day ; its deeds— The house ; its decorations
— The surprise anticipated — Comment of my neighbor — Settled — Toilet
apparatus — Difficulty of retaining it — A new proposition rejected with
some spirit at first — How acceded to final ly — Our host ; his origin, for-
tunes, opinions^ &c. — His daughter Sidney and her husband— Their
mode of life 126
Chap. XIV. — Sidney's household affairs — Her culinary arts — How she
was initiated into them — Fruit groves — Wanderings in them — Serpents
— Caught in Boots — Western housekeeping — Another visit — Temperate
meal — The consequence — Moonlight nights — Cceur de Lion and his
suite — Their nocturnal ramblings— Shamefully terminated — Cceur de
Lion's resignation. 134
Chap. XV. — Better quarters completed — Disappointment — Housekeeping
— Architecture of our dwelling — Grounds, &c, as described by Mr. F
— My own picture of them — Our neighborhood— Interior of the house
— The town — Our first night at home— Housekeeping — Purchases ; how
disposed of — Our family — Susannah — Pony ; her artlessness and pa-
tience — Deserved eulogium 143
Chap. XVI. — Our town ; its first settlement — Yankees as early settlers —
Character of our population — Political and religious faith — Mrs. Escu-
lapius; her remarkable gifts — Deacon Cantwyne ; his piety, charity,
&c 154
Chap. XVII.— Our village doctor; his wonderful gait — His partner Pomp
— How they did business — The doctor's musical efforts . . lt>3
Chap. XVIII.— Fire on the prairie— Wood parties — The orchard— The
parrighee of the moon — Sporting parties — Tragical termination of one
—The grocery next door to us— Horrible event .... 170
Chap. XIX.— Something more of my housekeeping— Making bread— My
purveyor — My first dinner— Cook, lamb, &c 133
CONTENTS. XI
Chap. XX. — Winter on the prairies — Sleigh rides — Cold houses— Fickle-
ness of the Climate — Deer-hunting in winter — Mode of building and
style of dwellings — Winter evenings — Navigation suspended — Treach-
erous ice 194
Chap. XXI. — Opening of spring — A spring night— Features and voice of
nature— Wild fowl— Steamboats — Magnitude of streams . . 202
Chap. XXII. — Speculation — New arrivals — Opening farms — Breaking
Prairie— Making fence — Planting trees 210
Chap. XXIII. — Removal — Return to Prairie Lodge — Painful apprehen-
sions — How dispelled — Their return ...... 217
Chap. XXIV. — Reminiscences of early life 227
Chap. XXV. — The progress of the destroyer — The final scene . 245
Chap. XXVI. — Another mission of death 252
Chap. XXVII. — Agonizing memories — Pestilence abroad — Drought —
Character of the illness caused by it — Gloom and grief — Dawn of new
light 256
PART II.
Chap. I. — Birds and animals of Prairie Land — The Gopher ; its curious
habits — Prairie fox — Prairie dog . 262
Chap. II.— Prairie w r olves — Red wolf harmless— Grey wolf ferocious —
Danger of unarmed travelers in former years — Incidents in later years —
Catamount and panther found in " bottom lands" — Grey wolf monarch
of the Prairie — Robs the tomb when famished .... 264
Chap. III. — The burning of the Prairie — A thrilling incident on the great
northern and southern road, passing near Peoria, Illinois — The country
around the spot — Its rare beauty — Account of an early settler here ;
his preparation for winter; journey to the nearest settlement for his
cow and for winter supplies — Mother and children left alone — Visit
from warrior Indians — Sleepless night and foreboding of evil — She
watches the Prairie — Faint light in the distance — Prairie on fire — Fear-
ful progress of the flames, and the sublimity of the scene — Her terror
and helplessness— Cabin in flames — The instinct of the dog saves the
lives of mother and children — They sleep without shelter, and sustain
life by a pittance of wild fruit 268
Chap. IV. — Desolation of the scene— A storm conies on — Children and
mother hover around the smouldering ruins of the cabin — The mother
sinks — Premature birth — The father arrives to hear from his wife the
terrible story, to witness her dying hour, and to bury mother and child
in one tomb — His bitter grief 276
Chap. V. — Progress of the settlers — Habits — Views of labor — A journev —
Love Ring 283
Chap. VI. — The next tavern — Amusing incidents— Court — Lawyers —
Dialogue with the driver 289
Chap. VII.— The stage-house— Hostess— The quandary— Indifference to
the comforts of life ; how induced 295
Xll CONTENTS.
Chap. VIE.— Dixonville, the Vicksburg of Illinois— Gang of thieves-
Incidents there 300
Chap. IX.— Crimes of these men— The landlord— The night. . 305
Chap. X.— Departure — Pleasant ride with the New England farmer —
Arrival among friends — Three guests in one cabin — Fun — " Smudging"
muskitos— Climate of the west 308
Chap. XI. — The new town in prospect— The eccentric man its founder —
His removal to the west 316
Chap. XII. — The inhabitants of the town — The sea captain— Our host —
His wife ; a pattern of excellence 321
Chap. XIII. — Our amusements and visits in the neighborhood— Depar-
ture 324
Chap. XIV. — Early settlers — Emigrants — The emigrant supplants the
Sucker ; the reason — Their different views of life . . . 328
Chap. XV. — Hospitality of the people of the prairie — Their daily food and
method of preparing it 331
Chap. XVI. — Morals of the people— Religious sects— The circuit preacher
— Styie of preaching — An amusing character — Happy effect of their
ministry 334
Chap. XVII.— Excursions— Visit to the burial grounds and council house
of the Sauks— Reflections 341
Chap. XVIII.— A tour through the prairie country — Anecdotes and dia-
logues 347
Chap. XIX.— Tour continued— Amusing incidents . • . 356
Chap. XX.— Tour continued— Dialogues with the settlers . . 362
Chap. XXI.— Cheerless hotel— Tour ended 368
Chap. XXn. — Happy residence at Alton ; its social aspect more like the
eastern cities — Beauty of the country 372
Chap. XXHI— The picnic— Delightful close of the day . *. 376
Chap. XXIV. — Return to our former residence — Change in the place —
Effect of these changes on the mind — A mournful tale . . 382
Chap. XXV. — A visit to Prairie Lodge — Departure from the west — Story
and legends of the Indian — The prospects of this country — Its future
greatness 394
LIFE IN THE PRAIRIE LAND.
CHAPTER I.
On the morning of one of the last days of April,
18 — , there was a small party of persons collected
in the cabin of a steamboat which had just arrived
at St. Louis from Louisville, discussing some topic
which seemed to possess for them an engrossing
interest. This party consisted of six persons,
four ladies and two gentlemen, all evidently trav-
elers. The question was how and when they
should prosecute the remainder of their voyage up
the principal eastern tributary which the father of
waters receives above the Ohio. One of the
gentlemen had explored the forest of steamboats
which crowded the whaif of this growing city,
and reported that there was but one advertised
" For the Illinois this evening, without fail," that
he could not get on board of her, but thought her
appearance extremely unpromising. It was near
the close of the week, and as the other gentleman
was a clergyman, and he and his party had more-
over no dear friends from whom they had been
separated seven long years, awaiting their arrival,
they concluded to stop till the succeeding one.
They accordingly went on shore, and the writer
and her companion set out, accompanied by a
cartman and sundry trunks, chests, et cet., to find
the elegant, fast-sailing, high-pressure boat that
was going " up the Illinois this evening, without
fail."
B
14 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
We had traveled far enough on the western
waters already, to have learned that the " this even-
ing" of the bills might possibly be adjourned twenty-
four or even thirty-six hours ; but faith is no less
requisite on western steamboats than elsewhere, and
summoning all ours, we embarked ourselves and our
baggage on board the " Banner." We soon found the
faith which led us on board was a mere rush-light
to that necessary to keep us there. If steamboats
had been running on the Illinois at the time when
Noah explored the summit of Ararat, one would
have affirmed that this very " Banner" was the
pioneer of that period. But there is a story to be
told, by-and-by, of the first craft of this kind that
ever went up the Illinois, and its effect on the set-
tlers, which unfortunately conflicts with this suppo-
sition, and drives the antiquarian to a period
comparatively modern, as that which gave birth
to the Banner. She was not a very large boat,
but what she wanted in size was amply com-
pensated in filth. One flight of stairs between
the cabins was carpeted, and sundry small patches
still remained on the floor of that in which we ate,
being too firmly fastened by mingled grease and
clay to be easily removed. It is not perhaps gen-
erally known, that these articles, properly com-
pounded, make a paste which is quite firm and
nearly insoluble in cold water. I mention it for
the benefit of the unenlightened, and can bear
ample testimony to its virtues, having seen them
repeatedly demonstrated in various ways at the
west. The floors were broken, the stairs dilapi-
dated ; there was no linen for the berths, the hum-
cane deck leaked, and its edge was hung with deli-
cate filaments of tar, which the warmth of the sun
often drew to an inconvenient length and sometimes
quite severed, irrespective of the welfare of those
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 15
passing beneath. The waste of steam was so great
that the wheels effected only about four revolutions
a minute, and the boat had a strange habit which I
could not then fully comprehend, but which has since
been satisfactorily explained by a scientific friend, of
occasionally running twice or thrice her length with
considerable rapidity, and then suddenly lurching
so as throw every thing to the larboard. She av-
eraged five of these spasms a day. There was a
one-handed chambermaid on board, a one-eyed
cook, and a three-fingered boy to wait at table.
But all these imperfections were more than com-
pensated by the exquisite finish and perfection of
the captain. He was a soft-voiced, red-haired
gentleman, in white silk hose, and French pumps,
umbrageous ruffles, and a light satin cravat ; who
had strangely enough been transferred from his
natural profession of lounging in the Broadway of
some western town, to the command of this ante-
diluvian piece of water craft. One could draw his
portrait this day, by adding a thatch of red bristles
over the mouth, and substituting for the silken hose
gaiters of the neatest fit and finish. On deck he
wore lemon-colored gloves. The first polish of
the laundress was taken off his snowy linen panta-
loons when I first saw him, and the plaits of his
ruffle had relaxed a little from their precise an-
gles, but the satin cravat, the pumps and hose,
were unexceptionable. He walked with a min-
cing, uneasy gait through the little hall which led
to the ladies' cabin, and presented himself before
my astonished eyes — one delicate glove drawn on,
and the other straightened in his hand- — with a bow
that would have graced the drawing-room of St.
James.
" It's a ver-ry-warm day, miss." I looked my
astonishment, and was about informing him that
16 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
the gentlemen's cabin was in some other part of
the boat, when he laid his white hand on one of
the filthy chairs and placing it near the door, seated
himself upon it with such an at-home sort of air,
looking at the same time so familiar with the filth
and disorder about, that I felt convinced he must
be a part of the establishment. He must either
be the captain or clerk, for the cook is black,
and none of the hands would dare undertake a
prank of this kind. These thoughts passed rapidly-
through my mind, while the object of them was
adjusting his cravat, arranging his hair, and passing
his cambric handkerchief slowly over his moist
forehead, so that, notwithstanding my deliberation,
I replied, before he was entirely prepared to con-
tinue the conversation, that so far as the tempera-
ture was concerned, I was happy to be able to
coincide with him.
" You are going up the Illinois, miss V
" I am delighted with your sagacity, sir," I re-
plied ; " that forms apart of my present expectation."
" Have you ever been up V*
" Never, sir."
" Then you have a delightful trip before you."
" I admire your taste," I replied, glancing at the
naked floor, the mutilated chairs, and the greasy
berths.
" How far up do you go, miss V
" I am not informed, sir, as to the exact distance."
" You have recently arrived in this region, I
presume V*
" 1 have, sir."
" I shall have great pleasure in carrying so in-
telligible a young lady into the country."
" You flatter me."
" O no, miss, I believe I speak truth."
" Your sagacity, sir is beyond praise."
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 17
Before lie had time to reply, a young chap in a
red calico shirt, with a face dirtier than I can de-
scribe, presented himself at the door and bawled
out, " Cappen, please to come kyur* John's dead
done with whiskey, the new ingineer's gone off
on a spree, and th' ain't nobody to keep the fire
up." Hereupon the " cappen" rose and departed,
with a pompous solicitation that I would excuse
his absence.
He had been gone but a very few moments when
the one-handed chambermaid entered, directing
in a raw Hooshier girl who had been our fellow
passenger from Louisville. Poor child ! even her
eyes, trained as they were to rude sights, looked
astonished at the poverty and filth about her. I
did not wonder that she started with an exclama-
tion of delight and said, " I'm light glad to see
you !" though we had never exchanged a word be-
fore. She was a tall, dark featured person, with
a head of fine black hair that flowed to her feet
when the horn comb was withdrawn from it. Her
stature was large, her hands and feet proportiona-
bly so. She was accompanied by a man whose re-
lation to her had excited a good deal of speculation
among us. He was several years her senior ; had
lost three of his front teeth, wore a red flannel shirt
with a standing collar of the same, supported by a
cotton pocket-handkerchief, a fur cap, and the
thickest of all possible boots, the tops of which
were just invaded by the bottoms of a pair of jean
pantaloons. His attentions to his traveling com-
panion were so peculiar that we had been in a de-
lightful state of uncertainty all the way as to what
* It is difficult to convey by any written combination of letters
the sound of this word as uttered by the natives of these regions.
It is more like yur preceded by h sharply aspirated, than any-
thing else to which 1 can liken it.
2 B2
18 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
this relation could be. They were authoritative
enough for those of a father, but then their age
forbade the supposition. He might have been an
uncle, but she never called him so ; possibly a
cousin, but no woman ever so prized the attention
of a mere cousin. He could scarcely have been a
brother, because there was not the faintest resem-
blance between them. What then could he be 1
We had examined and rejected every supposition
but that of his being her husband ; but nobody
would listen to that, because supported by no prob-
abilities. The riddle was turned over to me for
solution. It cannot be wondered at, that in such des-
perate circumstances, I looked upon their entrance
as quite a providence, and reciprocated the self-
gratulation expressed by my fellow-passenger.
She seated herself on one chair, deposited her
bundle on another, and, laughing the while, ex-
claimed, " This liyur boat ain't set out so smart by
a heap as t'other. I 'lowed we shouldn't have such
a fine place to be in all the way."
" Why," said I, " had you been told that the boats
up the Illinois were so poorly furnished V
"No, I never heern nothin about 'em, but 'tain't
in natur to have such carpets, and cheers, and
glasses everywhere ; it costs a heap to have 'em. "
Poor child ! the splendors of a comfortable cabin
had been to her like the show of regal magnificence
to a peasant ; and she could say with poor Hinda,
though not in language so sentimental, " I knew, I
knew it could not last !"
In a few minutes her companion made his ap-
pearance, and announced that he had toted the
plunder aboard, and as the boat wa'n't goin to start
till after night, he was goin up to see the place.
He gave her no invitation to accompany him, nor
did the seem to expect it. I did not wish to broach
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 19
the question at once, so we had a few words on in-
different topics, till Hal (I believe I have forgotten
to say that my traveling companion bore that con-
venient soubriquet) entered and asked me if I
would like to stroll an hour or two over the west-
ern city.
"Most gladly," I replied; "a wilderness and
motion were preferable to this tedious place."
" Have you seen the captain V was his next ques-
tion.
" Yes, he has paid his respects formally."
" Well, he's a character, isn't he, to finish off
such a boat as this 1 but we'll have some fun out
of him before we part."
We sallied forth, and my heart really ached as I
left the solitary girl sitting there, robbed of all the
splendor that had so delighted her senses for the last
few days, and alone. She looked sad, and I made
an interrogative sign to Hal about asking her to ac-
company us, with all the oddities of her person and
apparel, but he shook his bead. When we were
out, I asked why he had refused my request.
" Why," said he, " Mr. Red-flannel may prefer
to escort his wife himself, and his preference might
be expressed rather strongly if he found me doing
it without his consent. We don't know how these
Huoshiers will receive any civilities to which they
are not accustomed ; and you have heard enough
of the modes in which they express their displea-
sure, to be aware that it is no slight thing to awa-
ken it. You see that clump of trees yonder in the
skirt of the city V
" Yes, but what have they to do with the resent-
ment of insult or wrong 1 ?"
" Much. There is a heap of ashes under one
of them with which this pleasant wind is play-
ing, as if they were not the most revolting ob-
20 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
ject that could be found on the face of this re-
public."
" And what, pray, renders them such 1 Your
face tells a tale of horror."
" And well it may; for last night, only last night,
a man, an unfortunate and guilty one it may be,
but still a man, and a citizen of this proud state,
was tied to that tree and burned alive !"
" Merciful heaven, it cannot be !"
" Yes, it is even so, and a crowd of people were
gathered around to witness the fearful spectacle."
" And was there no heart during all that period
of agony to relent and turn the tide of fury into
pity and tenderness 1 A word uttered in the spirit
of human love must have done it, methinks, and
made the most violent ready to bear their suffering
victim away in their arms."
"It remained unspoken, then; for the damning
fact is recorded on earth as well as in Heaven."
" It surely must blast the peace of every person
who had any knowledge of it and did not interpose
to prevent it. But what was his offence'? Surely
it must have been very aggravated to have awa-
kened such awful vengeance."
" I have not learned the precise circumstances,
but rumor (and that from those who approved, or
at least suffered the disgraceful event to take place,
would, we may suppose, attribute to him his full
measure of iniquity) says that he had led a despe-
rate sort of life on the river and in its vicinity.
His final offence was stabbing an officer who at-
tempted to arrest him for some recent crime."
" Did the wound produce instant death V
" No. I believe the man is still living, or at least
survived some hours. I have understood that he
was very much esteemed, and had a family of small
children. But these are less than feather weights
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 21
in the scale that will balance the guilt of his mur-
derers."
" These things are awful truly, and disgraceful
too, if we consider the boasted supremacy and
efficiency of our laws. I trust the like does not
occur so often that the city is not agitated by it."
" No, such extreme cases do not; but this is only
an extreme one of a class of public offences that
are frequent here. Individual or associated feel-
ing often assumes the prerogative of law in the
infliction of lesser punishments."
" Well, it is not perhaps, on reflection, so extra-
ordinary as it seems at first sight to us. We come
from a region comparatively old, where time has
defined right and interest, and developed more fully
the power of law, and established rules of action.
Here all is new. Passion may break forth and do
its fatal misdeeds, before the slower majesty of law
is perceived by the turbulent actors to be sufficient
for their purposes. Such scenes must exhibit
clearly to every reflecting mind the necessity of
framing in our seasons of entire self-possession
rules by which we will abide when these have
passed away. Fanatical liberalists may term them
shackles to restrain our future freedom, but I
would that every one of such might stand beside
that funeral dust. Before the awful truth taught
there, his ravings for large liberty would shrink
into their true insignificance."
" But if such lessons are not learned from the
pages of history, black with the records of fouler
violence than this, how shall the shallow minds
which reject them there, imbibe them here 1"
" True : but we are wandering far, and your
horrible recital has been so painful that I am less
disposed to walk than before I heard it. Let us
return."
22 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
CHAPTER II.
On reaching the wharf, we found things wearing
a very busy appearance. The engine was wheez-
ino- like an asthmatic, some rough-looking men
were toting plunder on board, the captain stood
upon the guard with both gloves drawn on and but-
toned, the hands were moving about as if intent on
business, and things began to wear quite the as-
pect of departure. This was encouraging.
" Will you start to-night, captain V said Hal.
" Certainly, sir," taking out his repeater. " Ring
the bell, Jack. That's our first bell ; we shall be
off in an hour."
" Really," said I, as we walked up the street,
" this affair has some creditable points, its punctu-
ality for instance."
" Yes, you'll learn the value of that when our
friends who wait here till Monday pass us half-
way up the Illinois."
" Now out upon your croaking, and let's put a
cheerful face on the attempt, since we have made
it."
The hour extended from one o'clock to six. "We
left the wharf just as the sun was setting, and if
the reader escapes a common-place description of
spires gilded by his last rays, of windows blazing
with crimson and golden light, of trees shaking
their small foliage in the evening wind, and of the
dying hum of the city, stealing fainter and fainter
on our ears as the muddy waters parted slowly
before our prow, he may thank the Banner and her
peerless captain. Either were sufficient to have
put to flight the sentimentality of a legion of
school-misses, — both together quite routed mine ;
not to mention our red-flanneled Hooshier, or his
long-haired bride. Everything about me was so
LIFE 'IN PRAIRIE LAND. 23
thoroughly uncomfortable, that I felt no dispo-
sition to rest in any anticipation short of that
which pictured the home and faces we so longed
to see. Three days of this dismal journeying
were reported to lie between us and them, and it
required under such circumstances some heroism
in man or woman to look forward through their
tedious length.
I was fatigued, and requested the chambermaid
to prepare my berth as early as possible. She
offered me a very disinterested piece of advice in
reference to it, which I shall give here for the ben-
efit of such as may be similarly situated, without
the like kindness to direct their choice. It was,
that I had better abandon the little pen, otherwise
state-room, which I had chosen beside the cabin,
and take my berth in the latter apartment, " 'Kase,"
to use her own elegant language, " the bugs ain't a
touch in hyur to what they be in yander." Here
was another volume of misery opened to my already
oppressed senses. Seeing my consternation, she
added, " O, you needn't dread 'em so powerful ; I
broomed the berths to-day, and shook the 'trasses,
so they won't be so mighty bad."
" Make my berth where you think best," I said.
" There ain't no clean sheets, but I can tear off
a pair, and you can sleep in 'em, you know, if they
ain't hemmed, and I'll give you my pillow."
" No, thank you," I replied; "just tear off a third
sheet, and I'll make a pillow-case of it for myself."
At last the berth was prepared, and the vermin
made a night of it. They had evidently not been
treated for some time, and brought vigorous appe-
tites to my reception. After a contest of four or
five hours, I was fain to yield possession to them.
Making such limited ablution as the place allowed,
I dressed myself and sat down on the stern of the
24 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
boat to wait the coming day, and speculate on the
distance we had made. When the light came up
over the heavy forest which clothed the eastern
bank of the river, I saw that the waters were still
muddy, and knew, therefore, that we could not have
passed the mouth of the Missouri. Nine hours'
running had brought us twenty -two miles! — a
dismal augury for the 240 that yet remained. As
the daylight gained, I saw that the current under
the eastern shore was dark and clear, and a few
minutes after the scattered town of Alton began to
peer up from among its beautiful bluffs, just touched
with the first tender hue of spring.
And now the waters widened on the west, and
opened up inland a broad, eddying, plunging sea
of mud. On the spine of a sand-bar which was
just visible between the two streams, the currents
met, and the waters of the Missouri rose into a
circling wave which toppled an instant and ran on,
eager to mingle with the purer element that glit-
tered and danced beyond. But the Mississippi,
as if disdaining the foul alliance thus tumultuously
sought, stole angrily away beneath the dark forest
on the opposite shore, and preserved her identity
a long way down, in a narrow transparent vein,
growing more slender, till at length its bed was
wholly usurped by the muddy monster.
This, then, was the junction of these two streams !
The point where the mighty son of the mountains
meets the clear-eyed daughter of the lakes — majes-
tic union of powers whose feeble birth is in the
deep wilderness and the untrodden solitude, whose
maturity makes the ocean tremble. Nothing could
be more impressive. When the child's geography
had first been put in my hands, I read of these
great rivers and put my feeble powers to their
utmost task to conceive them. I had followed the
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 25
insignificant red and green lines which represent
them, and explored the echoing mountains whence
one plunges to the plain below, and the gushing
springs and softly chiming lakes whence the other
rises and winds ; till fancy, wearied with the effort,
drooped her pinion, and left me on the rough bench
in the little brown school-house, sick and disgusted
with the narrowness and coarseness of the world
to which I was confined. I had taken the eagle's
wing, and, perched upon the mountain pine, had
seen the little rivulets
" leap and gush
O'er channeled rock and broken bush,"
bending towards each other, and swelling as they
united, till their march became resistless. I had
followed them where the dim wood and towering
cliff reechoed to their tread, and where they cut the
verdant bosom of the sunny plain like threads of
molten silver. Vast, illimitable journey ! And here,
beneath my eye, these messengers from the unvexed
solitudes, thousands- of miles away, met and pursued
their path together. It seemed like a union of
strength to thread the more dangerous territory in-
habited by man. Both streams at this time were
swollen to their fullest capacities by the spring
floods. The gigantic Missouri poured out his
turbid waters with a force that made his feeble
neighbor recoil and leave a chasm between the
transverse muddy wall, and the clear dark stream
that glided timidly by on the other side.
While I was contemplating this scene, wrapt in
silence, a little window close beside me opened, and
a hand was thrust forth which I immediately recog-
nized to be the solitary member belonging to the
body of our chambermaid. She drew back with a
scream, and an exclamation not of the most feminine
character ; but the next moment her eyes relieved
C
26 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
her trepidation, and after muttering some apology,
she expressed her opinion that I " must feel right
^peart to be out that airly." I had no little diffi-
culty in convincing her that there was sufficient
activity in my nerves of sensation to render the in-
sects that shared my berth somewhat troublesome.
" I reckon," said she," thar must have been a mighty
6mall chance of the varmints about you, 'kase I
swep up about a pint of 'em yesterday and throw'd
'em overboard ; so it's impossible you could ha
had a great many."
I yielded the point, and afterwards observed that
whenever they were alluded to on board this boat,
it was by measure !
We reached Alton at 8 o'clock. The bell rang
when we were within 100 yards of the shore, and
the boat was in one of her spasms, which the cap-
tain calculated would lay him alongside in gallant
style. But alas ! spasmodic action is no more to
be relied on in boat nature than human. On we
came, the waters quite whitening in our wake, and
making, as the delighted Mrs. Raddle observed on
another occasion, " acterally more noise" than if
we had come in a better boat, for the engine
creaked and hissed at every joint, and the escape-
pipe disgorged itself about thrice a minute with a
dismal hollow sound, as if its vitals were breaking
up. We nearly touched the shore, the captain
stood in his ruffles, silk-hose, pumps and gloves,
the passengers waited, valises and trunks in hand,
ready to jump ashore, and two or three were gath-
ered at the waterside shaking hands with their
friends, and exchanging the usual ceremonies, when,
oh, mostinglorious spectacle ! the spasm ended, the
boat rolled over on the other side, threw the captain
across a stool, and the passengers among barrels, et
cet., and lay motionless for several moments.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 27
" ' That was the unkindest cut of all,' was it not?"
cried Hal, maliciously, to the prostrate captain.
" To play you such a trick here, before the town,
just as we were on the eve of such a bold ap-
proach ; but never mind. She'll hardly have an-
other fit before you can bring her up."
The bell rang, the wheels revolved backward, and
all the numerous mysteries were duly performed
again, but now the boat refused to approach the
shore. She would come up obediently to within a
few feet, but the nicest calculation and the most
delicate persuasion could take her no nearer. At
each failure she was obliged to turn quite round, and
each evolution took her half-way across the stream,
and consumed nearly half an hour. No petted
child ever conducted herself in a more refractory
manner before company, than she before the aston-
ished eyes of the goodly citizens of Alton. Every
prank deepened the tint of our captain's hair,
whiskers, and face, and was made the occasion of as
many jokes as could be uttered till another fol-
lowed.
" She shows off admirably, captain; nothing could
be more fortunate."
" If you could throw her into a fit just before
she backs water, she'd be sure to come up."
" If she refuses again, you may as well go on ;
may be she'll come to her temper at the next
landing."
" The wood will be out soon, and then she'll
certainly float ashore somewhere."
In the midst of this scene our red-flanneled
Hooshier made his appearance. His arms were
inserted in his pockets, nigh to the elbow, the
fur cap tipped over the left eye, and the thick
boots projected more than ever as he leaned
against the side of the cabin, raised his upper lip
28 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
by way of adapting his eyes to the strong sunlight,
and inquired with a loud voice into the meaning " of
all these hi/ur turnins." He was informed by Hal
that the captain had thought of landing at Alton,
but had changed his mind and was now merely
showing his boat to the citizens
" Look hi/ur, stranger," said he, " do I look as
if I could be gummed that easy 1 I've seed too
many boats in my day to believe your story ; but
if he's trying to land thar, this one takes the rag
off them all. I say, cappen, what'll you give me
to jump over and put my shoulder under the starn,
and shove her up for you 1 I calculate there
wouldn't be much difficulty in doin it, if you'd
stop that infarnal old ingine that's whizzin and
bustin, below thar. It's about half man-power, I
reckon, when it don't leak."
The poor captain became more and more per-
plexed every moment, and actually went so far as
to remove one of his gloves. The people on shore
cheered the last two evolutions, and the whole
thing had reached the climax of the ridiculous,
when, by a fortunate guess on the part of some
one, the boat was at last brought alongside the
shore, just one hour and a half from the time of
the first attempt. Everything had been brought
up to the boiling point by the long suspense and
severe effort. The perspiration stood in drops on
the brow of the agonized captain ; the boilers had
contracted the rage, and thrown off more steam
than had brought us from St. Louis ; the very tar
had been warmed into greater freedom, and threw
itself more fearlessly on the luckless by-passers.
Our Hooshier had not duly considered this cir-
cumstance, and, in the excitement of the moment,
he planted himself directly beneath one of these
thin filaments. It spun out in a beautiful thread
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 29
of dark amber, and then, unluckily, parting above,
deposited a large lump on the very edge of his cap,
and shot oif, in a fine stream, to the immaculate
bosom of red flannel below.
''Look hyur, now," said the wrathful Hoo-
shier, doubling his fists ; " if anybody wants to
throw tar on me, he may do it as long as he can
stand, after I've had two or three good licks at
him. I'm a better steamboat than this when I'm
set a-goin, and 'twon't take much such combusti-
ble as that aar to fire me up."
The bystanders were greatly amused, but kept
themselves at a safe distance, for his arms were
swinging about in a manner rather inconvenient to
those on the narrow guard.
"Easy, friend, easy," said Hal; "you cannot
suppose that any gentleman would throw tar upon
you : if you look up, you will see where the insult
came from."
" Yes, I see it's the infarnal old boat. I could
lick out twenty-four just like her ; but there'd be
more sense in giving that ruffled carrot yonder a
taste of a live man's fists."
A little persuasion, however, cooled his wrath.
Our old passengers sprang gladly ashore, and the
new ones set their feet upon the plank rather
doubtingly, but some one on the fire-deck settled
the question by calling out " There won't be an-
other boat till Tuesday."
CHAPTER III.
We got under weigh again after several starts and
backings, and ran slowly along under the magnifi-
cent bluffs that tower above the Mississippi on the
Illinois side. In a short time Hal came to me,
c2
30 LTFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
his face drawn into one of its heartiest expressions
of humor, and said, " Jersey is here ; who could
have dreamed of the good luck %"
But as the reader doesn't know Jersey, he will
hardly participate in our pleasure till he is intro-
duced. The brief appellation by which he is here
distinguished was given him on the first day of his
appearance among us, in honor of the declaration
which he then made, that he " was born in Jarsey,
and had never been out of it till that day." He
wore a suit of coarse snuff-colored homespun, a
large bell-crowned white hat, and a cravat of blue
ground, dotted with large oval figures of copperas
color. He had lost a front tooth, and had an awk-
ward habit of grinning, which made it manifest at
every word he uttered. Though much older than
Hal, the latter had kindly offered to be his Mentor
on first meeting him, and many were the waggish
tricks he had played upon him, and the roars of
laughter which the performances of Jersey, under
his direction, had elicited. The simple, credulous
face of the one, and the grave, imperturbable hon-
esty of the other, in the height of Jersey's most
ridiculous exhibitions, had been an inexhaustible
fund of amusement among the gentlemen during the
weary hours of our journey. Jersey had left home
under the auspices of the celebrated Marion City
colony, but had been separated from them at Co-
lumbia, Penn., by getting on board the wrong boat.
It was there that he first joined us. He traveled
economically : that is, he found his own supplies,
and slept on the floor of the cabin. His ignorance
exposed him to every sort of imposition, against
which Hal was in truth his protector. But for
the honest care which he exercised over his worldly
concerns, he repaid himself by letting out upon
him the whole strength of his trick-loving disposi-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 31
tion. A party of gentlemen were about leaving
the packet, on the second day, for a walk. Hal
suggested that Jersey had better accompany them,
as his health might suffer from the long confine-
ment. But there was a difficulty in the case. He
had just purchased two large cards of gingerbread,
— and what should he do with them ] To leave
them on his box he thought would be dangerous,
and this opinion was fully concurred in by his ad-
viser. To eat them at so short notice, was out of
the question ; to put them in his pocket impossible.
" There is but one way in which you can dispose
of them in safety," said Hal, " and that is to tie
them up in your handkerchief and take them under
your arm."
This was accordingly done, and they set forth.
But Jersey's handkerchief gaped and revealed
the secret. It was no choice herbarium, as his
friend had asserted to the company when they
joined them, but a pair of luscious brown sheets
of gingerbread, which he had purchased at a
Dutch farm-house just back; none of your shop
compounds made of dirty lard, vinegar, and sal
aeratus, but a dainty mixture of golden butter, pure
butter-milk, and superfine flour. A league was
entered into at once ; two of the party engaged
Jersey in familiar elbow conversation, and at a
rough place in the road stumbled against him,
while a third at the same moment dexterously ab-
stracted about a third of one of the loaves. The
foremost rogues begged his pardon, and the walk
was resumed, Jersey replacing the handkerchief,
which had settled a little in the shock he received.
Another stumble was soon made, and the part of
the other loaf which projected behind his arm was
withdrawn. After a long walk there was a short
run to gain a bridge from winch to let themselves
32 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
down on the boat. Jersey seated himself on the
railing beside Hal, and as the boat came up, the
latter began to swing his arms and go through the
various motions preparatory to a leap. These were
continued till the moment of jumping, when at a
word they all found themselves upon deck, but
Jersey's bell crown was lying on the bridge. As-
tonished and alarmed beyond measure, he looked
about with the most ludicrous terror in his coun-
tenance, and exclaimed " My hat's lost !
" No, it isn't," said his grave friend, who had
knocked it oft*. " There, the steersman is throwing
the boat up to the shore. I'll take care of your
gingerbread while you run and get it."
But Jersey preferred to keep the gingerbread
under his own protection, and leaping ashore with
it, soon returned with the favorite chapeau elevated
to its old position. He now seated himself to ex-
amine his stores, and great was his consternation to
find that more than a third of each cake had disap-
peared. A thousand ways of accounting for its loss
were immediately suggested by the innocent youths
about him. But Jersey evidently rejected them
all, and from that hour, his confidence in Hal and
his companions waned. When he reached Louis-
ville, he took another boat, and came on to St.
Louis alone. But if he had enjoyed greater freedom
from jokes, he had been imposed on in more serious
matters, and seemed rather glad than otherwise to
meet his grave friend. I had never seen him yet,
except in the heat of his performances, but now
Hal was very desirous that I should have the
pleasure of hearing him converse awhile. An
opportunity soon ottered.
We were passing a little wooded island three or
four miles above Alton, when one of the spasms
came on, and was succeeded by a lurch more
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 33
violent than any previous one, and an immediate
settling of the whole craft. She had sprung- a leak.
The captain made his appearance, this time with-
out the gloves, and ordered her to be run on the
island instantly. The goods were all taken out,
the hands set at work, while the passengers went
strolling: through the woods.
The island was small and uninhabited. There
was nothing of interest upon it, save two or three
little glades in which the early spring flowers were
just unfolding their petals. We spent three or
four hours in the checkered wood, admiring the
various arts by which nature ushers her tender
and beautiful train into being, and were about re-
turning for some books, when the sound of ap-
proaching footsteps arrested us. In a few minutes
Jersey broke through a thick copse near us.
" Stop," said Hal, "this fellow will be richer than
any printed book." Accordingly we waited, and
Jersey was introduced in due form. He had in
some confidential moment intimated to Hal that he
was more brilliant in the society of ladies than gen-
tlemen, and I saw at once that he needed no pa-
tronage. He prided himself on his political acumen,
and, considering this his forte, plunged at once into
a discussion of the various prominent men who
were likely to claim the suffrages of the people in
the ensuing presidential canvass. His opinion of
them was delivered with a simplicity and brevity,
which quite surprised me.
First of all, he thought " Mr. Clay capable, honest,
and fittin." Mr. Van Buren he guessed was capa-
ble, but dishonester than Mr. Calhoun, who would
be all right if he wasn't a nullifier. I asked about
Mr. Webster. " Oh, Webster," said he, " is a capa-
ble man, but he ain't fittin." On proposing a word
or two of the leading doctrines of these statesmen, I
3
34 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
found him utterly ignorant of them. Nullification,
for aught he knew, meant the annexation of Texas.
Bank and anti-bank were the same to him. He only
knew of banks in general, that they were places
where people put their spare funds for safety. He
seemed not to have become acquainted with that
more modern feature, by the introduction of which
they have become forced loans for the accommo-
dation of gentlemen who wish to travel in Europe,
Texas, or other " foreign parts." The tariff was
in some way connected with trade, but whether
trade between the mechanics and farmers of our
own country or between us and the Indians, of
which he understood there was " considerable" car-
ried on in the west, he could not tell. In short,
Jersey was one of the few Americans who, having
a moderate share of sense, have grown up without
travel or books, and while they have not the weak-
ness of idiocy, have the ignorance of the most un-
favored peasant. I have rarely met in a citizen of
the republic a like absence of all-acquired knowl-
edge, except among some of the miserable emi-
grants from the mountains of North Carolina.
Having finished his political discourse, this illus-
trious son of " the Jarseys" was pleased to deliver
himself of some rambling thoughts on travel. On
this topic his style was more discursive. In gen-
eral he thought people had better stay il to hum
and mind their business, than to be licking it
through the country, the way they do now in
steamboats and on rail-roads. He thought they'd
make more by it. Besides, when he went, he
preferred going in conveyances to traveling. He
didn't think it was a pleasant thing to be carried
along as if you had a whirlwind wrapped around
you ; and then you met so many sorts of folks. No
doubt," he added, " a good many of 'em is honest
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 35
as anybody, but there's a good many more that'll
cheat you out of your eyes, if they can make six-
pence on 'em, and some that'll steal your bread
and meat and throw it away, if they don't want it
themselves." These remarks werged, as Mr. Weller
would say, on the personal, but the ringing of the
bell left no time for explanation. We hurried to
the boat. It was much later than we thought, be-
fore the summons called our attention to the hour.
When we arrived, the last of the barrels, boxes,
&c, were going on board, the steam was up, and
we were just ready to be off. Supper was soon
laid, and we left the pleasant island while at table.
CHAPTER IV.
The night brought on another general engage-
ment between the passengers and the vermin.
The latter held the berths by prior occupancy and
could not be routed, but they were more than wil-
ling to enter into a treaty for joint tenancy with
certain privileges in their favor. It was these
privileges that made all the mischief. Like most
questions in diplomacy, they were exceedingly
difficult to settle ; one party claimed and exercised
them on all opportunities, the other denied them,
and rarely failed to offer the most violent opposi-
tion to their use, even to the taking of life. It is
due to the weaker party, however, to say that they
gained by industry and perseverance what they
never could by strength — the partial exercise of
the prerogatives they claimed, and, in general, the
final rout of their more powerful opponents.
They at any rate were productive of much
merriment below, but it was a heavy affair in our
quarter. I had few books which were accessible,
36 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND
and the long-haired bride had fewer ideas. She
possessed little of that strength of mind and bold
thought, which characterize most of those rudely-
bred women. I thought the magnificent garniture
of her head had taken the place of more valuable
properties inside, as is often the case among more
cultivated females. The strange character of the
feeling manifested by her husband, made me very
desirous of drawing him into an expression of it in
words before he left us, and as their landing-
place would probably be reached on the third
morning, I availed myself of a chance meeting on
the shady guard in the afternoon, to engage him in
conversation. A few words about the height of
the water, the timber, and the prairies, served the
purpose.
" You are going to become a prairie farmer I"
I said.
" No, I've been one afore, I've got a farm up
the river hyur that I've crapped twice a'ready;
there's a good cabin on it, and it's about as good
a place, I reckon, as can be found in these dig-
gins."
" Then you built a cage," I said, " and went
back for your bird to put in it V
He looked at me, and his face underwent a con-
tortion, of which words will convey but a faint
idea. It was a mingled expression of pride aud
contempt, faintly disguised by a smile that was in-
tended to hide them.
" Why, I don't know what you Yankees call a
bird," he replied, " but I call her a woman. I
shouldn't make much account of havin a bird in
my cabin, but a good, stout woman I should cal-
culate was worth somethin. She can pay her way,
and do a handsome thing besides, helpin me on
the farm."
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 37
Think of that, ye belles and fair-handed maid-
ens ! How was my sentiment rebuked !
" Well, we'll call her a woman, which is, in
truth, much the more rational appellation. You
intend to make her useful as well as ornamental to
your home V
" Why, yes ; I calculate 'tain't of much account
to have a woman if she ain't of no use. I lived up
hyur two year, and had to have another man's
woman do all my washin and mendin and so on,
and at last I got tired o' totin my plunder back
and forth, and thought I might as well get a woman
of my own. There's a heap of things beside these,
that she'll do better than I can, I reckon; every
man ought to have a woman to do his cookin and
such like, 'kase it's easier for them than it is for us.
They take to it kind o' naturally."
I could scarcely believe that there was no more
human vein in the animal, and determined to sound
him a little deeper.
" And this bride of yours is the one, I suppose,
that you thought of all the while you were making
your farm and building your cabin ] You have, I
dare say, made a little gai'den, or set out a tree, o*
done something of the kind to please her alone 1"
" No, I never allowed to get a woman till I
found my neighbors went ahead of me with 'em,
and then I should a got one right thar, but there
wasn't any stout ones in our settlement, and it
takes so long to make up to a stranger, that I
allowed I mought as well go back and see the old
folks, and git somebody that I know'd thar to come
with me."
" And had you no choice made among your
acquaintances 1 was there no one person of whom
you thought more than another'?" said I.
" Yas, there was a gal I used to know that was
D
38 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
stouter and bigger than this one. I should a got
her if I could, but she'd got married and gone off
over the Massissippi, somewhar."
The cold-hearted fellow ! it was a perfectly busi-
ness matter with him.
" Did you select this one solely on account of
her size V said I.
" Why, pretty much," he replied ; " I reckon
women are some like horses and oxen, the biggest
can do the most work, and that's what I want one
for."
" And is that all 1 M I asked, more disgusted at
every word. " Do you care nothing about a pleas-
ant face to meet you when you go home from the
field, or a soft voice to speak kind words when
you are sick, or a gentle friend to converse with
you in your leisure hours S"
" Why, as to that," he said, " I reckon a woman
ain't none the worse for talk because she's stout and
able to work. I calculate she'll mind her own busi-
ness pretty much, and if she does she won't talk a
great deal to me ; that ain't what I got her for."
" But suppose when you get home she should
be unhappy, and want to see her parents and other
friends |V
" Why I don't allow 6he will ; I didn't get her
for that."
" But if she does," I replied, really anxious to
touch some chord that might afterwards vibrate in
the poor girl's behalf; "if she does feel unhappy]
you know one's feelings are not always under their
own control."
" Wall, if she does I expect I shan't mind it
much, if she keeps it to herself."
The selfish brute!
" If she kept it to herself, as you say, would you
not attempt to alleviate her sorrows '( would you
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 39
not take her on some pleasant ride or walk, and
speak very kindly to her, and endeavor to make
your new home and company agreeable to her %"
" Oh !" said he, laughing feebly, " I shall give her
enough to eat and wear, and I don't calculate she'll
be very daunsey if she gets that ; if she is she'll git
shet of it after a while."
My indignation increased at every word.
" But you brought her away from her home to be
treated as a human being, not as an animal or ma-
chine. Marriage is a moral contract, not a mere
bargain of business. The parties promise to study
each other's happiness, and endeavor to promote it.
You could not marry a woman as you could buy
a washing machine, though you might want her
for the same purpose. If you take the machine
there is no moral obligation incurred, except to
pay for it. If you take the woman, there is. Be-
fore you entered into this contract I could have
shown you a machine that would have answered
your purpose admirably. It would have washed
and ironed all your clothes, and when done, stood
in some out-of-the-way corner tiint was wanted
again. You would have been under no obligation,
not even to feed and clothe it, as you now are. It
would have been the better bargain, would it not]"
" Why that would be according to what it cost
in the fust place ; but it wouldn't be justly the
same thing as havin a wife, I reckon, even if it
was give to you."
" No, certainly not ; it would free you from many
obligations that you are under to a wife" (it was the
first time, by the way, he had used the word),
" and leave you to pursue your own pleasure with-
out seeing any sorrowful or sour faces about you."
u Oh, I calculate sour faces won't be of much
account to me. If a woman '11 mind her busi-
40 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
ness, she may look as thunderin as a live airth-
quake, I shan't mind it."
" No, sir, I see you possess a very happy insen-
sibility to the woes or happiness of others. Your
wife has occasion to congratulate herself on the
prospects of life with a person elevated so far above
the emotions which move the human herd."
I will not deny that the fellow's coolness some-
what enraged me. There was a fair prospect that I
should have read him a lecture as long as he would
find patience to hear, but at this moment his wife
came round the stern of the cabin. I thought she had
heard the conversation, for the usual insipid smile
was replaced by a slightly contracted expression
on her dark brow, and her voice sounded more as
if it were the utterance of a soul conscious of its
own identity and requirements, as she said, "John,
will you come help me git to the big chist, the
captain has had some truck put on it."
" Wall, you ain't a baby, I reckon, that you can't
tote it somewhar else," was the amiable reply.
" But thar's such a heap of it," answered the poor
girl, unwilling to be wholly refused — so early too !
" What if thar is a heap. Tote away ten or
fifteen minutes, and thar won't be so much."
She turned away without another word, but as
she passed the open window, I saw her wiping her
eyes with the corners of her calico apron. It was
the most human manifestation I had seen in her.
Notwithstanding the intense disgust I felt for the
base-hearted tyrant who stood before me, I was
constrained to make one more effort on behalf of
his victim. I said, therefore, as gently as I could
speak, that it was not customary to treat females so
in our country ; that a man would be pronounced
a brute who would refuse to render or procure
assistance for a woman under like circumstances,
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 41
even if she were his servant, and such conduct was
still more abhorrent toward a wife.
"Wall, I reckon the Yankees may do as they
like about them things, and I shall do jist the
same. I don't think a woman's of much account
anyhow, if she can't help herself a little and me
too. If the Yankee women was raised up like the
women here aar, they'd cost a heap less and be
worth more."
This was the old key again. He was hope-
lessly benighted and brutified. His red flannel
bosom and dark face inspired stronger aversion
than ever, and I turned away, saying that I trusted
his wife would agree with him in these opinions, or
they might lead to some unpleasant differences.
" Oh, as to that,'' said he, " I reckon her pinions
won't go fur anyhow ; she'll think pretty much as I
do, or not at all."
Thou beast ! I exclaimed mentally ; and sat down
in the cabin pondering on the incredible brutality
of such opinions in a civilised man, when the wife
came in. She had just returned from her visit to
the " big chist." There was no longer a doubt,
from the expression of her face, that she had heard
the conversation, and understood some part of it
too. I left her to her own choice, whether to speak
of it or not.
After a few minutes she said, " I reckon you'll
think John talks hard about women."
I replied, that it was quite unusual to find per-
sons who thought as he did.
" Well," said the faithful creature, " I reckon he
don't think as bad as he says ;" but her suffused
eyes more than half contradicted her tongue.
There's too much of the true woman in her for
this brute, notwithstanding her ignorance and
silliness, thought I. It's an absolute waste of some
d2
42 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
of the fairest materials that compose human nature
to throw her away with this selfish animal.
"How long have you been married ]" I asked.
" Two weeks yesterday," she replied, the blood
mantling through her dark cheek and brow.
" Had you been long acquainted]"
This question unsealed her tongue, and without
waiting further inquiry, she ran on with her story.
" No, I never see'd him but three or four times.
We was new-comers in the settlement whar his
folks lived, and nobody knowed when he come
back that he wanted to git a woman to take with
him. He come to our house once after night, and
him and the old man had a long talk out doors, and
finally he come in and stopt a little, and went off.
The next day, dad ast me how I'd like to come
to lllinice ! I didn't take his meanin rightly, but
John come again afore long, and then he ast me.
I told him I'd heern 'twas a good country, but I
liked it well enough thar. Then he said the old
man had told him he might have me to go back
with him if I was willin to it, and he allowed I
would be. So after two or three weeks, we got
married and put right off for his place."
"And you expect to be happier in the new
home than you were with your father and mother I"
" I hain't calculated much about that ; but I
reckon I'll want to see them and the young ones a
little, till I get broke in."
I could scarce forbear a laugh at the significancy
of this rude expression. It was a common one
with her, but described the process before her
more forcibly than the most elegant language.
There was no hope for her but to settle into her
slavery, and wear the shackles, if possible, without
chafing under them. She had not character enough
to redeem herself, and the brutal treatment to
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 43
which she was doomed would tend every day to
diminish the little that she had, and reduce her to
the condition of a mere machine. Both parties
were beyond hope : so that in gratifying my curi-
osity I had raised a crowd of painful emotions in
my own breast, and turned a dark page for the
poor over-grown child before me. They left us
next day, the bride wrapping her light slippers in
her pocket-handkerchief, and walking barefoot
from the landing.
CHAPTER V.
Our boat conducted herself much better in the
latter part of her tour than the first. Her improved
conduct gave the captain leisure, when he was
awake, to spend some time with his female pas-
sengers. As I was the only one left after the de-
parture of the Hooshier bride, these honors were
concentrated on me. It would have been a trou-
blesome distinction had the engine been less noisy
or his voice louder, but as the one was " soft and
low," and the other hissed, whistled, groaned, and
sputtered continually, I was but little embarrassed
by them. If his face expressed astonishment at
what he uttered, I proceeded to look astonished
myself. If he looked a negative, I shook my head;
an affirmative, I nodded : sentiment, nothing was
easier than to respond ; profound, it cost little
effort to look wise and inquiring. Every day he
donned a fresh ruffle and white pantaloons ; but
the hose, I think, were the same — so that after
two or three days, there were several transverse
stripes of a dark brown color crossing the foot,
which, at a distance, with a little aid from the
44 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
imagination, might be construed into ribbons, and
so made to impart the appearance of a more elab-
orate finish to the fine pumps. He had a Leghorn
hat. with a wide rim lined with lemon-colored silk,
in which he aired his brainless cranium on very
warm days, though he never pardoned himself for
appearing in the cabin with it.
We worried on through the flood of water that
was pouring down the bed of the Illinois and sub-
merging its banks, till the night of the fifth day
brought us to the landing-place of our friends in
the town of Pokerton. It was at that time the
county seat of one of the largest and wealthiest
counties in the state. Its name is faintly descrip-
tive of its inhabitants in a double sense : one of
their favorite recreations being a game at cards,
which is indicated by the first two syllables of this
name. A still more conclusive right to it was de-
monstrated before we left the town. We had a
promise of a conveyance to reach our friends early
in the morning, but our utmost efforts of coaxing,
hiring, and remonstrating failed to bring it till one
o'clock. My vexation may easily be conceived.
After a journey of nearly four weeks, to be delayed
so long within nine miles of the dearest friends I
had on earth ; to be doomed to sit in the wooden
room of a wooden tavern, every beam and board
of which was saturated with the juice and fumes of
tobacco ; to look out, hour after hour, into the
sleepy street of a river town, thronged with rough
boatmen, horse-jockeys, plaintiffs and defendants
(for the court was in session) with their learned
counsel, every man and boy of them armed with
a cigar, or old pipe, brown with the absorbed
fumes of the weed ; to see among them all not a
face that one had ever seen, and, tired as I then
felt, not one that I could fancy I should ever wish
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 45
to see again, — was insufferable. Reading, in such
a state of suspense, was out of the question ; and
it was impossible to set foot out of doors, for the
mud mounted half-way to the tops of the men's
boots. I had not a few misgivings about the "new
country," and they increased in arithmetical pro-
gression, till a nondescript vehicle drove to the
door, and Hal came in to announce that deliver-
ance had at last come. Cloak and hat were never
donned quicker than mine on that occasion. I
stood waiting long before the baggage was in.
The driver was a native. " Is this hyur the young
woman that's goin out V said he.
" The very same, sir."
" Wall, just wait till I get this truck aboard, and
I'll help you in."
" Thank you, I can help myself. How long
will it take you to drive to my sister's I"
"I can't rightly judge now; the roads is heavy
and the slues deep, but I allow we'll fetch it about
five o'clock, anyhow. I should a been here two
hours ago, but my beast was out on the prairie,
and I couldn't git him afore." -
" Well, our patience has been amply proved,
meantime ; but now, if you can, accomplish it by
five o'clock. It's just half-past one, and I confess
I do not see clearly how one horse is to travel nine
miles, with three persons and the baggage, over
the heavy roads and those other phenomena that
you named, whatever they may be, even in that long
time."
" Thar, we're all ready now, that big piece of
plunder can't go; seat yourself with the lady, Mr.,
and we'll put out ; — jist hold on the lines a min-
ute, till I go in."
When he returned he had replenished the inner
man with a liberal potation of whiskey, and his res-
46 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
olutions for our benefit were multiplied indefinitely.
He mounted a large trunk in front, flourished his
whip, and we soon left the suburbs of Pokerton
behind us.
It was a glorious April day. The very air was
exhilarating enough to have routed a legion of
azure tormentors, not to mention the circumstan-
ces under which we were breathing it.
Those who have ever experienced the emotions
that fill the heart when one approaches the home of
friends — a dear sister or brother, after a separation
of years, can appreciate something of ours as the
wheels rolled on and brought us nearer to this in-
teresting termination of our wanderings. The deep
joy which will not permit one to be silent and yet
finds no relief in words, the questions which will
continually force their way to utterance, though
no answer is expected, the imaginary portrait of
the home, its internal arrangements and external
appearance, the changes which time has wrought in
the persons of its old inmates, the appearance of the
new ones he has introduced, the volume of the past
which is to be opened by each party, its mingled
contents of painful and pleasurable records, the
new things that are to be told, and the old ones
that are to be reviewed, the freshness of each to
each, and the days that must elapse before this
single charm can be diminished, the speculations
upon the probable position and employment of each
member of the family when you enter, and their
surprise contrasted with your coolness which says,
" Why, you didn't know we were so near, but we
did and are not at all surprised;" all these thoughts
and feelings, and a thousand others which human
language can define, crowded our minds and kept
every faculty upon its fullest tension.
The country itself had indescribable charms for
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 47
the eye to which it was new. We had left the
foliage of spring farther south, but I rejoiced more
to see the prairies in their naked majesty, having
in my mind the rich promise which the coming
months were to fulfil. Where they had not been
burned, the grass was still brown, and the trees and
copses naked.
One of the great desires of my life that yet re-
mained ungratified, was to see a prairie. Several
smooth openings among the groves looked large
enough to our uneducated vision, but the driver
declared they were nothing — mere " little mea-
dows which would make smart truck patches by-
and-by. Jest nothin at all in the way of a prairie."
But this did not restrain our exclamations of delight
at the beauty around us. To all which came the
reply " Nothin at all, ma'am."
I at last asked if we should pass nothing entitled
to the name of prairie 1
" None of much account," he replied; "thar'stwo
or three smart little openings among the baarens,
but the timber's scattered all over hyur."
We crossed a little stream at some distance from
the town, and our road thence onward, for more than
a mile, wound among beautiful heights, thinly wood-
ed and covered with the clean brown grass. As we
mounted one of these the country opened before
us, and swept away to the eastern horizon, a dis-
tance of many miles — a smooth, open plain, undot-
ted by a tree or other familiar object. I can never
forget the thrill which this first unbounded view on
a prairie gave me. I afterwards saw many more
magnificent — many richer in all elements of beauty,
many so extensive that this appeared a mere
meadow beside them, but no other had the charm
of this. I have looked upon it a thousand
times since, and wished in my selfishness that it
48 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
might remain unchanged ; that neither buildings,
fences, trees, nor living things should change its
features while I live, that I might carry this first
portrait of it unchanged to my grave. I see it
now, its soft outline swelling against the clear
eastern sky, its heaving surface pencilled with
black and brown lines, its borders fringed with
the naked trees !
No better proof of the reality of this prairie could
have been given than the silence which it inspired
in myself and my companion. We had burst into
exclamations of delight a dozen times before, when
the little glades opened around us, but now there
was not a word uttered. Both were lost in con-
templation of the sublime spectacle which lay be-
fore us. We had no inquiries to make. Nature
spoke to us in her own unequivocal language.
But the view was short ; the road soon wound
again among trees, and afterward ran across a tract
of low open ground from which the prospect beyond
was cut oft'. It began now also to be worse than
we had found it. The turf was wet and very soft,
and the soil where it was cut, so adhesive that it
was extremely difficult for the horse to make any
progress. We had not yet learned what the slues
were, and I was about asking our Jehu to enlighten
us on this point, when a practical demonstration,
much more impressive than the most eloquent de-
scription, superseded the necessity, and indeed, the
opportunity of speech.
We approached a long narrow line of stagnant
water, filled with bogs of tall grass and apparently
very much broken up in the middle. There was no
bridge in sight, and the road terminated abruptly
on one side of this miniature swamp and emerged
as abruptly on the other. It was evident that peo-
ple crossed, or at least drove in from both sides.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 49
The man on the trunk betrayed no hesitation,
he only looked first to the right, then to the left, as
if he contemplated turning out of the beaten track
if any better one offered ; but apparently the exam-
ination was fruitless, for he advanced and plunged
his horse at once into the thickest of the black
pool. I was certain we should never get through.
The animal sprung, floundered, and pulled his best,
and drew the waggon (the driver, by the way,
called it a dearborn) about twice its length, when
he went down, and I thought was going to dis-
appear altogether, but a sudden jerk showed that
he still found footing. The fore wheels sank in
the place he had just occupied, the driver lay in
the pool between, the horse stood high and dry on
the opposite side, the shafts dragging at his heels,
and Hal and I sat looking all sorts of consternation,
first at the driver, then at the horse, then at each
other. It was but a moment, and both broke into
a shout of laughter that brought Jehu in astonish-
ment to his feet, and drew the attention of two
elderly ladies who were looking up some early
sprouts of beans in a garden near by. There we
sat, dismally helpless, in a bemired and decrepid
waggon, the horse and driver a few feet in advance,
and both of us wondering how we were to get out.
The man of the whip soon recovered his self-pos-
session, and merely remarking that the bottom of
the slue must have fallen out since he crossed it,
suggested that I should walk ashore as I best could
and go into the tavern, while he went to the black-
smith's shop for help, and to get his fractures re-
paired. " It was right good luck," said he as he
drove off, " that we didn't get slued afore we got
to town."
"To town !" said Hal, opening his eyes in as-
tonishment ;■" where is a town ?*?
4 E
50 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
" Why hyur, don't you see there's a tavern, and
yonder is a blacksmith's shop, and two housen be-
side. This is woodland."
" Yes, so I should think, in its natural state."
On due inspection, however, a sign-post was vis-
ible before the smartest-looking of the three cabins.
It belonged to the garden where we had seen the
elderly ladies, and now both their caps were vis-
ible in front. People with traveling baggage
could not pass through the town without inspec-
tion, still less be "slued" in its very suburbs, and
not receive any proffer of hospitality from its prin-
cipal inhabitants. On charitable thoughts intent,
therefore, the good matrons issued from the door
to invite the strangers in till repairs were made.
While they approached I had time for a brief sur-
vey of their persons. As we were within two or
three miles of our sister's house, these people must
be neighbors, so I had some interest in the exam-
ination.
Both were somewhat past the middle period of
life. One was a straight, tall, precise figure, trimmed
at all corners into more than puritan stiffness. Her
face was expressive of much kindness, I thought.
I was not so well skilled in physiognomy then as
now. Her carnage was lady-like, and both her
dress and manner indicated that she was an em-
igrant from the east. The former, however, was
peculiar, and betrayed the presence of some strong
prejudices in the wearer. The waist was short,
and the long skirt fell in narrow, perpendicular
folds to the feet. The sleeves (it will be remem-
bered that this was the period of maturity among
large sleeves) were confined to the long, slender
arm half-way above the elbow, and thence enlarged
a trifle to the shoulder. A neat, square collar of
spotted muslin surrounded the neck. The cap
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 51
was equally plain ; still all was in keeping with
the person, whose whole mien was characterized
by a stiffness that reminded one of a new made
Quaker in a ball-room. Her companion was quite
a contrast to this in person and dress. She was
shorter and thicker. Her movements were quick
and free, and indicated a woman who had moved
much, and always with an object. Her dress was
more conformable, as Mr. Weller, sen., would say.
Her sleeves were larger, her waist longer, her
skirt not so perpendicular, and her cap had a fuller
border. All these observations were made in a
much shorter space than it will take to read them,
for we met in less than a minute from the time
when they commenced. A courteous salutation
from the non-conformist and a cordial one from
her companion, were followed by a scrutinizing
gaze through the glasses of the latter, and an ex-
clamation, " La! it's Miss , Mary's sister, isn't
itl" There was no denying the charge.
" I thought so, you look so much like her; come
in, do. Why, you broke down in the slue, eh %
Well, who'd a thought it ? — but Mary's been ex-
pectin on you this good while. She'll be glad
enough, I guess. Take a chair ; you must be
tired. And that's your brother Henry with you,
eh ] I thought I knowed you as soon as I looked
at you. It beats all how much you and Mary looks
alike. Why, when'd you come up the river ]
What, last night, and never got out here till this
time ] Take off your things ; you'll have to wait
some time for 'em to mend the waggon : the whip-
pletree is broke ; I see the fellow carryin it along
in his hand."
" No, thank you," said I, embracingthe first pause
in the good old lady's interrogatories and saluta-
tions, to inquire the distance that yet remained.
52 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
" La ! 'tain't but three mild ; we're nigh neigh-
bors. Well, how glad they will be to see you !
Do take off your bunnut ; they won't get the
waggon mended right away."
I replied that I would walk rather than wait
long, now we were so near.
" I massy, you can't do it, — the road is so wet
and the slues so full of water. There's a slue right
out here that you couldn't get across at all, so
you'll have to wait."
I now turned my attention to a group of young
girls who were gathered at the other side of the
room. One of them, a pale, timid-looking child
of fourteen, with large black eyes and a face sin-
gularly like that of the taller woman, came for-
ward, and was introduced by the latter as her
daughter Josephine. The others bore the like
relation to the hospitable landlady. When the
latter abated the tempest of her speech a little, the
more dignified non-conformist entered into con-
versation with me. She told me who she was, a
piece of information which had more interest for
me than the reader may suppose ; how long she
had been there, and where she came from. It was
all done in a very proper and precise manner. Not
a single rule of etiquet was transgressed, either
in question or answer.
At the end of half an hour the waggon was at the
door, and we were once more ready to start. We
inquired of the landlady for the house.
" It's the next but one," she replied. " You go
by Squire O'Brien's jist out here in the edge of the
grove, and it's the next one you come to. It's a
story and a half frame-house, with a kitchen back."
Silence seize your tongue, good woman, for the
next half hour, for that hint ! I wouldn't have
looked at the best painting that represented it, and
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 53
here, within an hour of seeing it, I have the whole
things set before me.
We drove on, got over the slue without breaking
down, rode through one or two little copses of
hazel and sassafras, emerged on the open prairie
with the same sky-bound savannah in front that
had so charmed us a little way back, and continued
thus till we struck the outskirts of a thin tract of
barrens, entered a lane with fair fields on either
hand, and saw two houses before us. But now
we were all seized with a sudden mistiness of
recollection. Nobody could tell whether it was the
first or the second ; something had been said about
two close together, and it was finally settled be-
tween Hal and his Jehu that it must be the farther
one. We looked hard at the first, to see if we
could detect no familiar face peering from its
windows, but they seemed deserted and lonely.
The yard and garden adjoining were enclosed
with picket-fence, some rose bushes and a few
other flowering shrubs dotted the turf of clean
cultivated grass, which was just springing from its
winter bed, and there was an aspect about the
whole that made me almost exclaim " This must
be Mary's home." But we had passed, and were
looking back, when a face appeared at one of the
kitchen windows that settled our doubts, and turned
the horse's head in the direction of our own rather
quicker than was quite consistent with the safety
of the dearborn. No accident befel us, however,
and in another moment we were ushered through
the unfinished hall into the room which served
as kitchen, parlor, and dining-room. One was
there whom our hearts bounded to see, but not
Mary.
" Where is she ]"
" She has stepped into her father-in-law's, the
e2
54 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
next house ; but she'll be here in a moment, for
she must have seen you."
The words were scarcely uttered when the outer
door opened, and a thin, slight figure bounded in,
and the next moment we were alternately clasped
in her arms. My dear sister! My dear brother!
were the only words we had need to exchange.
Deep emotion is always silent.
CHAPTER VI.
Mary was followed by a sturdy little boy, with
cheeks like the rich side of a fall pear. He looked
at us a moment, and then drew to the opposite
side of the room.
" This is my Junius," said the proud mother.
" So this is the famous letter- writer, about whose
wonderful doings and sayings we have been favored
with such long passages in certain epistles from
Prairie Lodge. He is not exactly as spiritual as
old No??iinus Umbra was at the last date, but he
will be all the more interesting to us mortals by
and by, when his highness condescends to make
our acquaintance. Now let us see the externals
of Prairie Lodge."
" Oh, there is little to see now. Nature does
most of our ornamental work here, and she has
barely commenced the business of the season yet.
I can show you what she has to work on, and you
will soon see for yourselves that she is an elegant
and unsparing artist here. Now, are you ready V
" Yes."
» What, no gloves ?"
" Never a one. I want my hands at liberty,
having a special use for them : and, moreover, I
hate gloves."
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 55
'* But you'll wear a sun-bonnet V*
" Why, yes, I must concede as much as that, I
suppose, though next to the articles just mentioned,
your close, straight-forward sun-bonnet is my ab-
horrence."
" Yes, so I should think, and all other forms in-
cluded, to judge from the color of your face and
neclc"
" Why, I have worn, as you see, a little open
hat, that would let me look wherever I chose. I
have not lost sight of a leaf, or rock, or anything
either curious or beautiful, for the sake of saving
a shade of brown on my complexion."
"But you havn't traveled from New York in
that little ribboned nut-shell without a veil V*
" Exactly so, sister mine. I packed my veil in
the bottom of my trunk when I started, to save all
scruples, and relieve myself from two or three
troublesome debates each day, on the propriety of
dropping it over my face for five minutes. I put
veils in the same category with gloves."
" And sun-bonnets too 1 Why you'll run wild
on the prairie before the first flowers are out ; if
the Indians were crossing the countiy as often as
they used to be, three or four years since, they'd
take you along for a stray princess."
" Thank you ; the rank would be flattering : but
if it were due to our family on the score of color,
I have an elder sister who should take prece-
dence."
" Here we are. This little brook that is fringed
by these willows, runs from a piece of springy
ground above the garden, and falls into the little
stream that crosses the road at the foot of that
large tree. It is here all the year, except, occa-
sionally, a few weeks in very dry seasons. One
could scoop out a delicious little pool under those
56 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
drooping willows, if one had time and felt no scru-
ples about gloveless hands."
" Yes, I'll think of it. Now where does this
clean path lead through that unparalleled gate and
those bushes beyond V
" To the spring."
" Ah, what a distance !"
" Oh yes, but we only bring water thence for
drinking and cooking ; we have, usually, an abun-
dance of rain-water near the door." »
" That's a blessing ; but when the clouds fail I"
" That is a failure we very seldom hear of here.
You'll see before you have been with us a week it
is the last dispensation one would provide against."
" You have showers, then, sometimes ?"
" The clouds will answer that question some
day, in a manner that will astonish you."
" Is there anything worth seeing in this grove
beyond your spring ]"
"Nothing of much interest in the natural world ;
there is a little spot there — " and my sister's face
lost its playful expression while she spoke, i* But
I must tell you the story some day, when we have
leisure, and take you to see it."
" Very well, if it be melancholy, as I guess, let
us dismiss it till some future time, when sorrow
will be a pleasure. Whose house is that down the
road r
" That is Mr. R % John's father. We call
it ' the other house.' "
"It would be more convenient, would it not, to
eliminate the last two letters of the article, and cut
the phrase down to two words V 1
" Undoubtedly. But I trust you will not claim
the idea as original. It is one we have often
availed ourselves of, since the erection of this,
made a t'other of that,"
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 57
" Very ingenious, truly. But what are all these
shrubs about the yard f"
" Here you see a row of forest trees : this tall
one that bends so gracefully is an elm. John and —
placed them here two years ago. These are roses
along here ; yonder are two lilacs on each side the
front door; farther on is another kind of rose between
the gate and the large tree, and this is a seringa, but
it has never flowered yet. Those scattered pro-
miscuously yonder, are roses. I have been unable
to procure a greater variety ; indeed, if roses
would bloom at all seasons I should scarcely crave
it. As the roots increase I intend to divide and
multiply them till the yard, all except my bleach-
ing plat, is a wilderness of them. There is no-
thing in the flower world that I so much love.
They grow very fast on our rich soil. If different
kinds of shrubbery were to be had here, one could
have a magnificent display in a very few years. I
have the promise of some from Cincinnati this
spring, by a gentleman with whom you are par-
tially acquainted, I believe. Oh, I declare it's a
phenomenon that red can be seen through so dark
a brown ! But this gentleman is to have a variety
of plants sent on, and he offers to divide with
me. By the way I had like to have forgotten
one horticultural curiosity. It is here on the west
side of the house, under the bed-room window.
These windows are not 60 bare in summer. I
have a flowering scarlet-runner that clusters very
thickly over them, and makes a more beautiful
drapery than your damask and gossamer."
" I have no doubt j but show me your curios-
ity."
" Here it is, do you recognize it 1 But there's
little need of asking ; for a lady who abhors bon-
nets and veils, you blush easily, methinks,"
58 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
" I scarcely know who would not blush to see
themselves stared at by their own initials, done in
green of that size, and in salad, too ! common salad !
By-and-by it will be plucked and eaten in vinegar.
Who would not blush at the prospect of such an
ignominious blotting from the face of nature ]
But who is that approaching us V
" My husband. You'll hardly recollect him : —
but come in. I must set about tea. Hal is whis-
pering me that you havn't eaten since you left St.
Louis."
"If he doesn't call such service as he did at
the supper table last evening eating, it must be
confessed we have not."
" Be seated ; you will now learn the conveni-
ence of having your parlor and dining-room in the
kitchen, that is, when you are your own servant.
I take care of my family alone, but it will interfere
little with our conversation ; you sit there, I work
here ; so it all goes on harmoniously."
" But suppose I work with you, let me lay the
table."
"Certainly, I shall refuse you no privilege of that
kind."
In a few minutes the shining plates were laid upon
the snowy cloth ; a reflecter filled with tender bis-
cuit glittered on the hearth ; the tea-kettle bubbled
into the fire ; the cellar yielded its stores of golden
butter, cheese, and honey, and a repast was before
us that would have tempted appetites more pam-
pered than ours had been. In the evening all the
family were gathered, not excepting the gentleman
whose plants were on their way from Cincinnati.
There was also present a gentleman who had long
been domiciliated with my sister's family — a man
with a dark face, which seemed the home of the
very genius of melancholy. A single word ex-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 59
plained his connexion with the story which Mary-
had promised me at some future day. The even-
ing was spent in the enjoyment of some of the
richest emotions that belong to humanity ; all re-
tired at a late hour ; we new ones, with a world of
novelty yet to explore — the others with many
wonders of the eastern world yet to learn.
CHAPTER VII.
The next day calls were received from the
other house, invitations accepted, and prairie life
fairly begun.
There was everything yet to see and learn, but
we were under progress very soon. Hal, I be-
lieve, advanced much more rapidly than myself —
a natural consequence of his being abroad so much
more. But we were no stayers indoor. When the
household cares were disposed of for an hour or
two, away we went into the groves and thickets,
or out upon the prairies. There were some visits
to be made at two or three miles' distance ; these
called for horses. Sometimes the call was re-
sponded to by one only, and I remember one
afternoon enjoying a hearty laugh when Hal, who
was to accompany us, came in and announced
very gravely, that the horse was ready, and that
he would mount and wait till we came out. He
had built a small addition to him, he said, and quite
regretted there was not a fourth person to accom-
pany us. Mounted thus, one on the saddle, the
other behind on a blanket, with Hal for our bridle
knight — and never had two ladies a more waggish
or humorous one — we scoured the prairies. Hal
was generally in at the mounting and dismounting ;
but unless there were danger to be encountered,
60 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
we saw little of him between the goals; what we
gained over him by our speed being lost by the
various explorations which curiosity or fancy led
us to make.
The equestrian of the prairies enjoys the largest
liberty which falls to the lot of mortals. Time
and distance are the only checks he knows. He
draws his rein for whatever point he lists, and
gallops in straight or curved lines on till he tires
or reaches the spot. Physical freedom is nowhere
more perfect, and seldom is it enjoyed with a
higher zest than we brought to these excursions,
great as was the disproportion between steeds and
riders.
Our visits were usually made in the afternoon.
The hour for starting was the earliest practicable
after dinner, which was always taken at twelve.
When the morning had been auspicious within,
and only the ordinary affairs of the house were on
hand, the preparations could all be made by one
o'clock. But the force of habit was too strong to
suffer me to submit to this without an earnest pro-
test, and I remember feeling very much annoyed
one day at being dragged out to spend a long after-
noon less agreeably than we should have spent it
at home.
" What possible pleasure can it afford our host-
ess V I inquired.
"I cannot vouch for the pleasure," said Mary;
"but the convenience, I can assure you, will be
very great."
" How, pray V
" If we go at one she will have time to prepare
tea ; if we wait till two, she will be compelled to
dismiss us without."
" Send a messenger then to assure her that wo
are coming; that will give her time."
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 61
" Yes, but it would be very awkward to take
her in mid preparation."
" Not at all for us, and the lady, on your own
showing, can be endowed with no very high
degree of sensibility; so I think your argument
fails."
" My argument may, but my experience does
not. I have visited this lady, you never have, and
I speak from positive knowledge when I say that
it will not do to go later than one."
This was one of those obstinate cases — such as
arise in many other affairs of life — in which one
feels the reasons to be indisputable, but finds it
difficult to set them forth in words. We repaired
to our post at one o'clock ; the hostess was already
on the qui vive. She however sat about five min-
utes after our entrance, to give dignity to the
reception, and then went about consummating the
great event of the day — the tea table. The whole
affair went on in the room where we sat, so that I
shall be able to give its different stages and pro-
gress with an accuracy which, I trust, may be
appreciated.
First stage — half-past one — a kettle of pumpkin
is suspended over the fire for stewing, and a tea-
kettle placed on the hearth, a few inches from the
forestick ; half past two, a patent oven is placed
before the fire, filled with gingerbread, of which I
will give the recipe to the next edition of the Fru-
gal Housewife. Next, the pumpkin is taken up
and prepared for baking, by sifting and mixing
with eggs, milk, ginger, and molasses. I ought to
have remarked that as all this took place in the
month of May, the pumpkin was dried. At four
o'clock, the gingerbread was replaced by a pan of
wheaten biscuit, and the teakettle was suspended
F
62 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
from the hook whence the pumpkin had been
taken. At half-past four, the table was placed in
the centre of the room, and covered with a cloth.
Dishes now began to drop around upon it. They
appeared at random, of all ages, colors, and sizes,
just as the congregation gathers at a country meet-
ing-house. This continued till dark, broken at
intervals by the attention necessary to affairs else-
where. At five o'clock, the biscuits were removed,
wrapped in a table-cloth or towel, and a pie placed
in the oven. The fire was stimulated with a fresh
basket of chips. Time was shortening now, and
affairs began to wear a hurried look. I could not
forbear taking advantage of a short absence of the
hostess, to ask Mary whether her experience would
enable her to guarantee us any supper, with all our
punctuality. At six o'clock, a plate of dried beef
and pickles appeared on the table, flanked by a
saucer of honey and a preserve dish of plums.
The teapot was scalded at half-past six, the biscuit
and cake had taken their places at a quarter to
seven, and just fifteen minutes afterward, we were
seated at the table. The attention of the hostess
was several times interrupted by the pie, which
would not bake ; at last she declared herself under
the necessity of apologizing for its conduct, and
asking us to excuse its appearance. We left a
little before eight o'clock, and the naughty pie
was taken from its hot berth a few minutes pre-
vious. When I was invited to repeat the visit,
it was impossible to forbear expressing myself so
highly entertained that I should take great pleasure
in doing so.
This is not an exaggerated report ; but it is due
to the females of the country to say that such ex-
treme slowness is not characteristic of them. The
person who figured here was an importation from
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 63
the Buckeye state, and would have been a snail
even in Yankee land.
This, though a literal description, is a fair rep-
resentation of social visiting in that country.
CHAPTER VIII.
At Prairie Lodge our acquaintance with Sucker*
life commenced. But it was not carried to any
great intimacy here. My sister's home had been
little visited, even in earlier days, by the primitive
settlers. Their principal intercourse had consisted
of business affairs between the men, and visits of
mercy between the females in the times of sick-
ness or death, so that we saw little of them except-
ing an occasional out-of-door call from some neigh-
bor, or in passing their residences or waggons in
our various excursions.
One family of this kind occupied the next house
west from the Lodge. We often passed it, and
the external appearance excited the most intense
curiosity to have a peep at the internal. But I
grieve to say that it could never be accomplished
under any decent pretext whatever. All the
showers were either too early or too late. No
waggon ever broke down in the neighborhood,
though the road was at times bad enough to en-
courage hope for a long way on either side. It
was too near home ever to stop for water. It is
true there was an occasional illness, but this could
not serve my purpose, for the wife had a mother,
to whom the lively doctor of our village gave the
name of Meg Merrilies (I fancy there was a little
* The cognomen of the Illinoiahs, answering to the Buckeye
of Ohio, the Wolverine of Michigan, the Corn-cracker of Ken-
tucky, &c.
64 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
spite in it, for she was his rival in this branch of
the medical profession), who would travel fifteen
or twenty miles on foot in the morning, attend to
her patient, and return in the evening. Meg then
officiated, to the exclusion of all the curious gos-
sips of the neighborhood, and had things all her
own way. The patient was generally out the next
day, and all went on as before.
The house was one of the meanest description
of cabins. It turned its back upon the road, and
showed only a four-light window, or rather sash ;
for soon after I first saw it, the third was broken
out, and the fourth so fractured that its continuance
seemed extremely doubtful. A patchwork quilt
of blue jeans and red flannel was hung across the
aperture a few days after, and never removed
while I remained in the country. Directly beneath
this, against the wall, which was on a line with the
fence, was a green pool of about the dimensions of
the house. It was of artificial construction, and
redounded not a little to the taste of some eight
or ten large swine, who delighted their senses in
its aromatic depths, at the same time that they
regaled those of by-passers.
The entrance to the house was in the rear. A
low kind of shantee projected from the door sev-
eral feet back, which served for pantry, milk-
house, pig-pen, poultry-house, and possibly stable
in winter. In the right angle between these was
the well, just far enough from the corner to be
visible in passing. The ground around this was
the great theatre of action for mother and chil-
dren. I never knew the exact number of the
latter, but if called to testify in any matter con-
cerning them, I should say the minimum was eight,
the maximum double that number. I rarely saw
less than the former, sporting away the morning of
LIFE IN rilAIlUE LAND. 65
life, in their rags and filth, on the banks of the ver-
dant pool, or the hard-trodden ground around the
well. Their dress and complexions were so uni-
form that I could never distinguish but one of
them, a girl of some twelve years, whose face was
always a little dirtier, her hair a little stiffer, and
her clothes a shade nearer the color of the earth
in which she burrowed. When any one approached
the house, they all scampered like a herd of wild
animals into the angle between the cabins, and
peeped around the corners as long as the traveler
was in sight. A general yell and shout announced
his disappearance and their return to the several
amusements from which they had fled.
The father of this family was a man of sense
and much general information ; his morals were
unimpeachable, and his character commanded so
much respect, that he was proposed for one of the
highest offices in the county. His election was
lost in consequence of some local division, not at
all connected with the degraded condition of his
family. He had a fine farm, valuable horses, and
other property, and, away from home, appeared
as well as any of his neighbors who lived more
comfortably. His means would have enabled him
to build a good house, surround it with cultivated,
grounds, and furnish it with every requisite for
neatness and comfort. Had such physical degra-
dation been the result of extreme poverty, the case
would have excited compassion, instead of curios-
ity or disgust. But it was not so.
It may be asked, then, what was the cause ?
It was not that the parties were misers, and
hoarded their gains ; for their means were spent
freely to procure whatever they deemed necessary
to comfort. What, then, was it ] Merely the in-
capacity of the mistress of this family to appre-
5 f 2
66 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
ciate a better condition, or help to create one. I
afterwards saw many cases of a like mode of
living, and am bound, in fairness, to say, that the
credit was due in nearly every one to the fe-
males.
I once entered a cabin of this description, on a
cold November day. It had no window; all the
light came down the wide chimney, or through the
open door. There was a long shelf in one corner,
on which two plates, two cups, and three saucers
were arranged, in conjunction with an iron skillet,
a small bake kettle, and a tin tea-pot. A broken
table stood against the wall, on which the break-
fast things yet remained, though it was eleven
o'clock. In a back corner of the room was a bed,
and the only thing that indicated the exercise of
powers superior to the ingenuity of the beaver,
was a wide shelf over it, on which some husks were
deposited, and covered with a bit of filthy cotton
cloth. This was constructed for the nocturnal
quarters of the blowsy little heir, who was then
tumbling over and over on the ground. There
was one dilapidated chair in the room, besides a
single bench and a double one. The chair was
standing back on the platform which had been
laid for the bed, and, as I entered, escorted by the
husband, the wife rose from her seat near the
table, took her pipe from her mouth, and placing
it near the edge of the hearth, invited me to sit.
A second child was playing in the ashes. The
door was wide open, and the raw wind swept in
gusts through the miserable place, filling it with
ashes and smoke. I have never seen more utter
poverty or filth.
When I had gathered my skirts and seated my-
self as safely as the circumstances would permit,
the woman returned to her pipe, and the employ-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 67
ment which my entrance had interrupted. She
had a large paper of coffee in her lap, from some
of which she was selecting the foul kernels, et cet.,
preparatory to roasting. Never was there a more
perfect picture of self-satisfaction. She had a fat
figure, which seemed, when she seated herself, to
settle away into a circular mass of matter, in
which life and motion were barely manifest. Her
children received but little attention ; indeed, it
was not easy to see how one could bestow more
upon them. The elder was enjoying himself in-
tensely ; and the happiness of the younger was
abated only by the caution which the mother
occasionally gave it, " not to s waller the rocks,"
which she threw from among the coffee.
It was impossible for me to contemplate this
revolting scene, without endeavoring to ascertain
the state of mind that could lead a human being to
live willingly in the midst of it. I remarked, that
it must be a serious inconvenience to live through
the winter with the door open.
"Why, yes," she replied, "'tain't as warm hyur
as it used to be in Kaintucky : 'twasn't of much
account there."
" But we obviate the difficulty of a colder
climate by windows; they admit the light with-
out the cold."
" Yes, I reckon they're mighty convenient, but
we hain't had one yet."
" How long have you lived here V
" Four year."
H Have you never had a floor V
" No, we hain't yit; but I reckon we shall git
one afore long. It's mighty bad to have the old
man to work around the house, so I don't say
nothing about it : he wants to put it down, but I
don't allow 'twould make much difference j I
68 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
reckon that out thar," pointing to the little plat-
form, " will do us yet."
It would weary the reader to give further de-
tails of a conversation that evinced only the most
distrusting indifference to the common comforts of
a more civilized condition. I rode several miles
on the same day, with the husband of this woman,
and had an opportunity to learn that he would
prefer a better manner of life, but that her aver-
sion to change or action rendered so great an effort
necessary on his part, that he had never under-
taken it. He had ample means for surrounding
himself and his family with every comfort. Beside
a fine farm, which he cultivated near a good
market, he owned a valuable stock of cattle and
other property, and had between a thousand and
fifteen hundred dollars, in specie, lying in a black
chest by the head of his bed. He had no dispo-
sition to hoard it; he would spend it the next day,
for anything that they could agree on as conducive
to happiness. He was likewise possessed of supe-
rior natural powers, which he had used in acquir-
ing knowledge of various kinds, and was then
capable of making himself a very pleasant com-
panion, by the use of his varied information. His
mode of living was never the subject of remark
among people of his own class. No one thought
it strange, or wondered whether it would ever im-
prove. The women, who, with more household
industry, lived better than "Miss Andreivs," prob-
ably thought she lost a " heap of comfort" in her
windowless, floorless, dirty house, but so a smart
Yankee woman would have thought of them.
These extreme cases, however, are fortunately
rare. In the homes of most of the first settlers
there is much more regard paid to cleanliness and
comfort. In many of them the neatness and order
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 69
are perfect. Of necessity they have fewer artificial
luxuries than the inhabitants of older regions, but
these are not evidences of talent or worth. The
inherent virtues of cleanliness, order, and self-
respect are often more manifest in a simple than a
complicated style of living, and are not less pro-
ductive of happiness in one than the other.
CHAPTER IX.
The beautiful progeny of spring began now to
gather around Prairie Lodge. Animate and in-
animate nature teemed with the loveliest creations.
The showers that had been so emphatically fore-
told on our arrival did not disappoint us. They
fell almost daily for several weeks, and were
generally accompanied by lightning and thunder,
such as the dwellers in the east have no concep-
tion of. Nothing of the kind can be more magnifi-
cent, unless it be the marshalling of the same storms
on the vast plains farther west, where they are said
to be even more terrific. They come more gener-
ally toward evening, and not unfrequently continue
till near morning. Nothing can exceed the rapid-
ity with which they gather after the first signal is
given. A little cloud not larger than a man's
hand rises on the horizon, and in fifteen minutes
the earth is deluged, and the pealing heavens seem
on fire. There are few showers here unaccom-
panied by the most striking electric phenomena :
sometimes the whole arch is lighted by a continu-
ous flickering glare, rent occasionally by a more
intense vein. The thunder roll is ceaseless, with
such lightning! The deep peals that accompany
the brighter flashes only strike with a more appall-
ing tone. At other times the whole vault is filled
with a darkness that seems ponderable, till a mighty
70 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
flash rends the pall and searches the very soul. It
is gone, and the solid earth trembles under the
mighty concussion. Again darkness, as if eternal
night had come, wraps the scene till the flame
leaps forth with a more blinding glare than before,
and a crash follows that seems to shatter the
foundation of the world. The third or fourth sig-
nal is followed by the storm, which breaks through
the sable rack as if half the ocean had been lifted
from its bed and were wandering in the upper air.
In an inconceivably short space of time the plains
around you are deluged, so that every succeed-
ing flash is reflected from innumerable little pools
as if you were in the midst of a shallow lake
broken by islands of sedge and grass. I never
appreciated the sublime power of the elements till
I witnessed these storms. They are one of the
most glorious features of the country.
Their effect was heightened too by contrast with
the scenes which followed them. The vast ex-
panse of country over which they ranged was in afew
hours after as quiet and smiling as if the upper ele-
ments had dispensed only peace and sunshine from
the first hour of creation. And beauty born of these
awful warrings stole over every rolling height and
into every green glade in our landscape. The swell-
ing bud, the unfolding leaf and flower followed in
the path of their majestic progress, making rich
and beautiful what had before been desolate and
wintry. The spirit that had all the night perhaps
raved with such fearful and angry power, seemed,
when the bright and peaceful morning came, to
have borne a magician's wand after his wrath, and
kindled life, beauty, and joy on the plains it had
threatened to devastate. The trees around our
lodge, now began to put on their summer garb ;
the hazel copses unfolded thoir young leaves. The
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 71
prairies spread their green carpets and even went
so far as to variegate the pattern with the violet
and the scarlet-painted cup. The strawberry came
out in her bridal flowers, and blushed herself into
luscious maturity beneath the ardent sun. It was
not confined to beds and patches such as delight
the eyes of the urchin roving through forbidden
meadows in the east, but reddened whole acres
around the lodge. The pleasure of gathering it
was surpassed only by its delicious flavor. When
we came in heated, and just enough fatigued to
make rest delightful, our blushing treasures were
cleansed of the leaves and grass, sprinkled with
sugar, and deluged with delicious cream fresh from
the brimming pan. Oh what a feast ! and while we
were enjoying it the soft breeze floated in laden
with the odors of the young world, and the music of
its varied, populace. The grove in the rear of the
house was tenanted by many little songsters, bu-
sily employed in these days of universal industry
in announcing their return and preparing for the
duties of the season. My favorite was the Quail,
the merriest, the happiest, and most business-like
bird of them all. He rejoices in the showers, and
so do I. The harder the rain, the livelier his
cheering when it is over. He makes the dripping
wood ring with his shrill note. If you walk out
while the drops hang upon the leaves, and the
grass bends with the weight of its gems, you hear
his merry greetings floating by as gaily as if a bevy
of children had escaped to the woods and were
playing hide and seek with an omnipresent " Bob
White," who would only answer when called with a
whistle. You hear it in every tone, the imperative,
the plaintive, the querulous, the dignified, the en-
treating, the congratulatory. " Bob White !" solil-
oquizes one philosophic-looking fellow from the
72 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
second story of a hazel clump. He looks about a
moment, and repeats in a higher and more intense
key, " Bob White!" Two or three more turns of
the smooth little head and the sagacious little eye
seem to raise his temper, and he adds the epithet
" Old !" as if Bob White were rather sensitive on the
score of his years and would be drawn out to repel
the injurious insinuation. " Old Bob White !" he
exclaims, and it is responded to from below. Pre-
sently out trips a neat, industrious, thrifty-looking
bird, who appears to be keeping house in some of
the snug little apartments to which these clean
paths lead, and exclaims " Old Bob White !" He
starts and looks smartly about for the individual
who has perpetrated so unjust a slander. "Old
Bob White !" And, as if the enormity grew with
the repetition, he hops upon another branch, ad-
justs his plumage, and boldly as an eye can defy,
he defies any libeller to prove his charge.
The altercation is becoming sharp, when pre-
sently a softer and entreating voice from below,
cries out " Bob White !" His anger is dissipated
in a moment. With a look of universal charity
toward all Quail slanderers, he alights from his
post of defiance, and trips away up the leafy aisle.
He runs along in haste, looking expectant but de-
termined. He evidently anticipates some appeal
to his feelings as a husband and father ; but is re-
solved to yield to no indiscreet solicitation. He
reaches a little nook near the edge of the thicket,
where low herbage has crept in and woven a thick
bed, soft and odorous. The branches are closely
knotted above it, and two or three stems of the Ge-
ranium Mat u ( \i ta in droop gracefully over, looking
with their meek pale eyes at the nestling little
group which Mrs. Bob White is vainly endeavor-
ing to keep in order during her husband's sally in
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 73
defence of his youth. When he arrives, he finds
a dozen callow Bob Whites tumbling about with
the manifest intention of rebelling against parental
authority. The mother entreats, the father remon-
strates, but to no purpose. He finally changes
his tone to that of instruction, and warns his in-
experienced children against the many dangers
which wait on the life of a Quail, but more espe-
cially against traps. In due time order is again
restored, and the exercise of the parental authority
has so elevated Bob White's estimation of himself,
that he can now forgive all that previously excited
his indignation. He feels that respectability estab-
lished on such a basis is not easily overthrown ; and
thus reconciled with himself and the world at large,
he walks forth beneath the dripping boughs with
a complacency which mere epithets cannot dis-
turb.
The Grouse is another member of the feathered
tribe, peculiar to these beautiful regions. He is
a large, mottled grey bird, with a heavy ruff of
feathers running over his head, which adds much
to the watchfulness and timidity of his appearance.
Their nests are built on the open prairie in some
thick knot of grass. This bird has no proper
song, and is in general a very silent inhabitant of
these vast plains. When hunted or overtaken by
the traveler, they rise suddenly with a whirr,
somewhat similar to, but not so distinct as that of
the pheasant, and fly very rapidly. If not dis-
turbed they describe the half of an ellipse between
the points of rising and alighting. The strokes of
the wing are short and rapid, and the flight is very
swift and direct. These fowls are rarely heard to
utter any noise except at one chosen hour of the
day. On a spring morning before sunrise, if you
are in the vicinitv where grove and prairie meet,
G
74 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
the air resounds with a peculiar noise, between
the whistle of the quail and the hoarse blowing of
the night-hawk, but louder than either. You in-
quire what it is, and are told it is the prairie cocks
greeting the opening day.
Spring morning on the prairies ! I wish I could
find language that would convey to the mind of
the reader an adequate idea of the deep joy
which the soul drinks in from every feature of this
wonderful scene ! If he could stand where I
have often stood, when the rosy clouds were piled
against the eastern sky, and the soft tremulous
light was streaming aslant the dewy grass, while
not a sound of life broke on the ear, save the wild
note just mentioned, so much in harmony with the
whole of visible nature, he would feel one of the
charms which bind the hearts of the sons and
daughters of this land.
We are within the borders of a little grove.
Before us stretches a prairie ; boundless on the
south and east, and fringed on the north by a line
of forest, the green top of which is just visible in
a dark waving line between the tender hue of the
growing grass and the golden sky. South and
east as far as the eye can stretch, the plain is un-
broken save by one " lone tree," which, from time
immemorial, has been the compass of the red man
and his white brother. The light creeps slowly
up the sky ; for twilight is long on these savannahs.
The heavy dews which the cool night has deposited
glisten on the leaves and spikes of grass, and the
particles, occasionally mingling, are borne by their
own weight to the earth. The slight blade on
which they hung recovers then its erect position,
or falls into its natural curve, with a quick but
gentle motion, that imparts an appearance of life
to that nearest you, even before the wind has laid
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 75
his hand on the pulseless sea beyond. A vast
ocean, teeming with life ; redolent of sweet odors !
It yields no sound save the one which first arrested
our attention, and this is uttered without ceasing.
It is not the prolonged note of one, but the steady
succession of innumerable voices. It comes up
near you and travels on, ringing more and more
faintly on the ear, till it is returned by another
line of respondents, and comes swelling in full
chorus, stronger and nearer, till the last seems to
be uttered directly at your feet.
But the light is gaining upon the grey dawn.
Birds awaken in the wood behind us, and salute
each other from the swinging branches. Insects
begin their busy hum. And now, the sun has just
crowded his rim above a bank of gorgeous clouds,
and pours a flood of dazzling light across the
grassy main. Each blade becomes a chain of
gems, and, as the light increases, and the breath
of morning shakes them, they bend, and flash, and
change their hues, till the whole space seems
sprinkled with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, ame-
thysts, and all precious stones. Nothing can be
conceived more beautiful or joyous than such a
scene at this hour. The contiguous wood conveys
an idea of home, such as you have borne from the
forest-clad states of the east. It is a refuge from
the vastness which oppresses the mind, because it
can never wholly compass it. You rejoice, you
exult in the friendly presence of the trees; not
because they afford you a grateful retreat from the
ardent sun ; not because they adorn your rude
dwelling ; not because they promote the growth
of fruit and flowers ; not even because they con-
gregate the dear little birds about your home ; but
because they afford the natural and familiar alter-
native to which the mind recurs when it is weary
76 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
of the majesty which lies beyond them. You have
sat under them in childhood ; you have swept the
fragments from the little spaces among their roots
and carpeted them with moss, and festooned them
with the wild flowers which nodded near. You
have peopled these magic palaces with fairies, and
felt a joy which words can never tell, in dreaming
how happy the little beings might be where nothing
is visible to their tiny eyes but exquisite beauty,
and no sound falls on their small ears but the
melodies of growing life. You have listened to
the winds, sighing plaintively through the boughs,
and felt your soul grow fit for companionship with
all things whatsoever that are beautiful and lovely.
And now your heart turns fondly to these tall
tenants of the plain as to elder brothers, and for
a moment you look coldly on the naked expanse
beyond. But stop ! the sun is fairly up. The
flashing gems have faded from the grass tops; the
grouse has ceased his matin song ; the birds have
hailed the opening day, and are gaily launching
from the trees : the curtain which has hung against
the eastern sky is swept away, and the broad
light pours in resistless. The wind comes cours-
ing gently up from the far distance, bending the
young herbage, and bearing to your senses sweet
sounds and odors, nursed on the unsullied breast
of Nature.
The tenants of the farm-yard are now astir; the
cows are milked, and all the animals whose
services the farmer does not call to aid his labors,
are dismissed to ramble in the boundless pasture.
The generous oxen are summoned to the yoke,
and the labor of the day commences. If I have
lingered long over this revel of nature, a spring
morning on the prairies, with the grouse be all
the blame !
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 77
Among the more accomplished feathered artists
here are the Bob o'Link, a species of mocking-
bird, sometimes called the Brown Thrasher, the
Robin, and the melancholy Whip-poor- Will.
These inhabit the barrens and the prairies in
their vicinity. They are seldom found at any
great distance from the woods. There are some
small birds who love the free plain, but they can-
not boast of much genius as singers. It is beauti-
ful to think, however, that as man creeps outward
from the groves and builds his cabin, opens his
garden, and nurses a few shrubs and small trees
around him, the little wood songsters construe it
into an invitation to accompany him. Trees are
of very rapid growth on the exhaustless soil of the
prairies. A few years' care will bring about your
house a dense grove of the locust, the cotton
wood, aspen, and several other species, so that
one need not be long deprived of bird-music.
There are several varieties of the Woodpecker ;
but they will not visit a new home so soon. They
look upon young and thrifty trees as humbugs, so
far as they pretend to any present utility, and
regard them rather as estates to be held in trust
for future generations, than as available funds for
the present. They decidedly prefer the aged and
established to the young and ambitious. In the
heavily wooded bottoms of large rivers, and their
tributaries, is found the Parroquet ; not so finished
a speaker as the Parrot, but quite as ready. He
is a lively chatterer among the stately trees in the
summer months, and when winter comes he be-
takes himself to the dark deep forests of the
south. Like the most voluble consolers of our
own species, he shrinks before the approach of
stern trial. There are also several coarser tribes,
which I never loved, and shall therefore only
g2
78 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
name for the gratification of the curious. The
Crow caws here as everywhere else, but he has
been rescued from the general detestation in
which he was formerly held by the magic pen of
Bryant. No other could have done it. And yet,
who can read the " Death of the Flowers," and
not entertain a higher respect for him, and feel
more melody in his croakings than before ] The
Hawk screams above the wood top, and over the
poultry yard, all through the bright summer day.
But nothing could make him other than an object
of abhorrence to me since he bore my favorite
chicken away before my very eyes, many, many
years ago. I could not love him even with such
an introduction as made his croaking cousin ac-
ceptable.
Next in kind, but more loathsome, is the Buz-
zard, an indolent, gluttonous bird, who wheels
lazily over the great plains, till the decaying
carcass of a wolf, deer, or other animal attracts
him to the earth. He then descends, gorges him-
self with the foul carrion, and often rests beside it
after eating, from sheer inability to rise. The
Turkey, whom this infamous fellow so much re-
sembles, that he has succeeded in stealing his name
as a prefix to his own, is a much pleasanter mem-
ber of the feathered tribe. Great numbers of them
abound in the woodlands, where the stately march
of the old cock gallanting his hen and her lively
brood through the forest is one of its most de-
lightful features.
The landscape grows more beautiful every day.
The prairie puts on its richest garb about the first
of June. The painted cup, mocassin flower, and
geranium, come out ; and there is more repose in
the vegetable world than there has been. Nature,
like a notable dame, has cleaned house in proper
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 79
season, got her furniture and ornaments arranged,
and now seated complacently in* her easy chair,
challenges the admiration of beholders. In the
vicinity of farms, the landscape is enriched by
herds of cattle feeding on the prairies. If you
walk or drive among them in the afternoon, they
are panting like gourmands after a turtle dinner.
Their very ribs are distended with the luxurious
fare in which they have reveled all day, and their
breath perfumes the air. As the sun declines they
wander homeward, the cows bearing a treasure
that almost flows without the pressure of the
housewife's hand. When the milk is strained and
set away, the cares of the day are over, and then
we wander out among the hazel copses or through
the grove, to enjoy the gorgeous sunset, and the
long dreamy twilight that lingers over these peer-
less lands.
The hazel copse is one of the most picturesque
features of our landscape. It grows very abund-
antly, and in autumn yields an inexhaustible har-
vest of the most delicious nuts. It is found several
miles from the woodland, and grows in clumps
from three to six feet in height. At a little distance
these shrubs have the appearance of green mounds
thrown up on the smooth surface of the plain. Its
shelter is much sought by the rabbit, the most
tender and timid inhabitant of the prairie. Where
the hazel has a strong compact growth it uproots
the grass and leaves the soil unoccupied, except
by an occasional flower or creeping vine, whose
long tendrils make a beautiful festoonery for such
little aisles. Along these the timid hare skips and
feeds during the day, and when twilight favors his
faint heart, he may be seen leaping out into the
more dangerous paths trodden by man and other
beings whom his instinct teaches him to dread as
80 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
foes. Let him hear your footsteps and he flees
the sound as if it foretold his death. We stroll
through these miniature groves, treading carefully,
and speaking in low whispers not to alarm the
quick ear of their little tenants. By and by, we
emerge from the winding road into the more open
barrens. We wander onward, talking of olden
time and the time to come, when presently a
sharp, shrill sound breaks upon the ear, followed
by the bounding of light feet. Away flies the
deer, startled by our white dresses moving among
the green foliage, and fearful every moment of
the cracking rifle. Poor innocent, we shall not
harm you ! You might have cropped the twigs
unmolested, and been spared that pang of fear,
had you known that we love mercy, and find no
pleasure in depriving any created thing of the
joys which are its natural inheritance.
But while we have mused and talked, the mag-
nificent drapery of the west has been folded away.
The gorgeous piles of gold and crimson have
melted and left the sky, faintly tinted with their
departing glories. The curtain of night is creep-
ing slowly over the earth ; the breeze steals
gently through the foliage, and shakes the large
leaf of the sassafras with a soft hollow sound,
which, with the quick, liquid rustling of the aspen,
and the fuller notes of the forest tree, pours a
delicious harmony into the ear of night. Half an
hour later the light is gone out in the west. The
night-hawk has ceased his airy, sounding swoops,
and the whip-poor-will has come from his retreat,
to tell again the melancholy tale he urged so
mournfully last night. There he sits, in the top
of the tall oak before the door, and will not cease
his plaint. What is it troubles thee, poor Will ]
Hast thou been engaged in 6ome naughty affair,
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LANl). 81
wronging thy neighbor, or looking sweetly at the
daughter of some sour old worshiper of Mammon,
who scorns thy poverty, and threatens thee, unless
thou desist. Or has some gay gallant misled thy
dame, and is thy song a cry for vengeance % Me-
thinks it is too melancholy in its tone. Some sorrow
surely is its burthen. But our ears are grown
familiar with it, Will ; and thine, perhaps, is lighter
than that we turn away from every day, though
uttered more intelligibly. They say thou art a
merry little fellow all day ; that joy dances in thine
eye, and that thou hoppest from branch to branch,
laughing under thy wing at the anticipation of the
melancholy pranks thou wilt play at night, with
sentimental maidens and moonstruck lovers. If
so, Will, thou art a sad rogue, and deservest some
real sorrow, little masker that thou art !
But, good night ! I turn my ear to a tale of more
unequivocal sorrow than thine. Sister has prom-
ised me the story of the dark man's griefs.
CHAPTER X.
" Sit with me here," said Mary, "in this dark,
unfinished room. It has been the theatre of some
of the scenes which I shall endeavor to delineate,
and do not prepare yourself for any high-wrought
romance. My story is one of reality too palpable
to be recurred to, even now, without the most
painful emotions. It is one of the many I could
relate illustrative of the trials which sometimes
wait on the settler in new countries. But you
were down at the graves to-day, and have already
guessed the import of what is to follow, so I will
begin in my own way.
" I must premise that, from our first settling here,
we have been under the necessity (often a pleasant
6
82 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
one) of entertaining many strangers, for the most
part gentlemen, who come to view the country.
Persons landing at any of the river towns in our
vicinity, and wishing to spend a few days or weeks
for that purpose, were generally referred to us ;
and when they came, it was impossible to deny
them such a home as we had to share with them.
It has been a severe burthen to us females, over-
tasked as we have been, with the cares of our own
families, and the arduous labors which the imper-
fection of the mechanic arts imposes on the good
housekeeper of new countries ; but we could not,
and often did not wish to escape from it. When
we moved into this house, most of these persons
came to us, probably because my family was
smaller than Mrs. R.'s, and my house larger.
Sometimes such guests have been attacked with
fevers, and lain on the threshold of death for
weeks, requiring such care and attention as only
an accomplished nurse, otherwise unemployed,
could give. I have, in such cases, had to divide
my time and ability between them and my family,
watching by night and working by day, till they
have recovered, and gone from our roof bearing
the recollection, that humanity is not always con-
fined to the homes in which physical refinement
contributes so much to the comfort of the afflicted.
Happily, no one of these wayfarers ever expired
anions us, though I have many times lived in the
daily expectation of such an event. We watched
one young stranger on that bed for ten weeks,
during three of which we expected each day
would terminate his sufferings and our hope. But
he recovered to thank us, and bless his Maker for
the energies which had borne him safely through
the fierce conflict.
"But this is not my story. I relate these events
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 83
merely to convey some idea of the claim which
strangers have to our hospitality, and of the feel-
ing which links us as brethren to those who are
homeless and friendless in our land. This feeling
breaks down all the barriers of ceremony where-
with we are restrained in more populous regions.
It brings strangers together without the frigid
medium that makes them mere objects of sight to
each other ; it seats them at your table and invites
them to partake of whatever your home affords,
with a freedom and genuineness that make the
recollection of the cold and heartless ceremonies
of more artificial society sickening. .
" Such was the feeling that opened our doors to
the solitary man whom you see still among us.
But he came not thus alone. When he landed,
three years ago this spring, at the place you left a
few days since, he was accompanied by a young
wife. They had set out together from one of the
eastern cities, to seek happiness and fortune at the
west. Having no definite place in view, they
landed at P , and there the young bride re-
mained, while her husband visited the interior in
search of a spot where they might make their
home. He came to our neighborhood, and find-
ing a piece of land which he liked, about a mile
beyond us on the prairie, returned and brought
his wife to see it. They stopped at our house, and
I was more than willing they should find a home
here till their own was ready to receive them.
" Mrs. K. was a dark-haired woman, with an eye
that made her whole face glow when it was lighted
up with pleasure or expectation. She was rather
above the middle stature, with a well-formed per-
son, and a clear, happy voice. It was easy to see
that her husband, silent and grave as he was, loved
her with a strength that is rarely surpassed in
84 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
man. They seemed to me a happy couple. They
boarded a few days in our family, and then com-
menced housekeeping in this room. She was a
pleasant companion, and being nearly of my own
age, and possessing a cultivated mind, there soon
grew up a warm friendship between us. Each
could enliven the solitary hours of the other, and
during the long days when our husbands were at
work, we were much together.
" Their farm progressed quite rapidly ; one or
two fields were broken by the plough, a house
built, and an enclosure made around it the first
season. The next spring they removed. Their
place, as I said, is about a mile east of this ; it is
farther out on the prairie, and commands a beau-
tiful view to the south and south-east. It was de-
lightful, after they removed there, to see near us
another tenanted home. You cannot appreciate
this feeling till you have passed a deserted one on
some wide prairie. A sign of life, about one of
the thinly-scattered houses here, stirs the heart
with joy, though you have never seen its inmates ;
but a deserted prairie home, with smokeless chim-
ney and curtainless windows, is one of the loneliest
objects on which the eye can rest
"A new source of joy cheered the young wife in
her labors. She was soon to become a mother;
and what task sweeter than to prepare her dwell-
ing for the expected guest. She toiled faithfully
and patiently, as if her hands had been trained to
it from childhood ; and her labor was directed by
a capacity that made it effective. Her rough house
grew into a pleasant habitable abode, and the
young harvest springing around, gave cheering
promise for the coming season. I saw her often
after their removal, and always found her happy
and rejoicing in the prospect before her.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 85
" On the 24th of April of that year, there com-
menced the most remarkable series of storms ever
known in the country. They occurred daily and
sometimes twice a day, till the last of June, ac-
companied by the most terrific thunder and light-
ning ever witnessed. You may judge of the ter-
ror they inspired, when I tell you, that much as I
loved the conflict of the elements before, the roll
of thunder even now always produces a temporary
faintness and nausea ; then it completely overcame
me. Language can convey no idea of those ter-
rible days. The storms gathered with such fearful
rapidity. A small cloud would be seen somewhere,
" When all the rest of heaven was clear,"
and in a moment the deluge was upon us. It
seemed as if another flood were coming to purify
the earth. The falling of the rain was frightful,
to say nothing of the lightning that cleft the at-
mosphere, and the crashing thunder that followed
so close upon it, that the tread of the latter seemed
to extinguish the light of the former.
" These terrible scenes, following each other with-
out the intermission of a day for more than two
months, seemed to blight the country. The prai-
ries were saturated, and in many places submerged,
and yet the rain came. Sometimes when it had
stormed thus all night, the sky would be clear till
noon, and the sun pour his rays upon the steaming
earth, till vegetation seemed scalded. Perhaps,
just as dinner was set, a little cloud would gather
in the west, or a faint roll of thunder strike the
ear. My appetite would vanish in an instant ; and
with blanched face and trembling limbs, we would
set away the meal untasted. The men always
came in, though they were generally drenched be-
fore they reached the house. But such was our
terror, that we could not have remained alone.
H
86 LIFE IV PRAIRIE LAND.
When a shower commenced,, we knew not that
its termination would see us alive. One flash and
thunder-peal, I remember, were so awful that they
brought us all to our feet with pale faces, and eyes
that looked as if they were gazing on- death.
When the shock had passed, and we found that
we could still move, the people of each house
rushed to the doors, expecting to see the other on
fire. But the lightning had rifted that large oak,
the stump of which still stands about midway be-
tween them. After a while we ceased all employ-
ment when these awful periods came, and sat like
people awaiting their doom. I have never seen
anything of the sublime or terrible that approached
the storms of those seventy days.
" But the consequences were still more dreadful.
The earth was filled with water, and every little
hollow upon the prairies became a stagnant pool
to engender disease ; so that after the fierce
storm-demon had scourged us and departed, the
silent pestilence rose from the green plains that
smiled beneath his reign, and stalked resistless
among; their inhabitants.
" It was a critical period for my friend. The new
cellar beneath their house had been half-filled with
water, and I dreaded extremely its effect on her
health. But there was no way to escape it, except
to leave the house, which was scarcely thought ne-
cessary, while the danger seemed so remote. She
preserved her spirits and energy through all, till
her husband was prostrated by the fever. Then
came her time of trial. Except the laborer who
had. assisted her husband on his farm, they were
alone, and ours was the nearest family with which
they had any acquaintance. I rode over nearly
every day after my work was done, and frequently
apent the night with her. There was a long pe-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 87
riod of dreadful suspense. The same disease was
raging elsewhere with a fearful malignity, and it
was impossible, for many days, to say whether
hope or fear predominated. I knew that the
effect on herself must be great, whichever way the
scale turned. When the excitement was removed,
she must sink. It was even as I dreaded. She
was attacked long before the recovery of her hus-
band, and both lay helpless ; dependent on the
skill of their lured man and the kindness of neigh-
bors. I watched with them every alternate night
for several weeks, and spent a part of almost every
day there, after she was brought to her bed. Her
attack commenced with a fever and terminated in
a premature confinement. The babe that had been
so long and joyfully expected, was thrown heed-
lessly aside, and all attention concentrated on the
sinking mother — but vainly. She survived only
till the third day; and the first time her husband
left his house, was to follow his wife and child to
the little spot you visited to-day, beneath those
trees. His grief was appalling. Sickness had
blanched his dark face into a ghastly hue, and
drawn deep furrows in his cheek, which were im-
movable as if chiseled in granite. He had seen
little of her lately, for his mental faculties had
been partially suspended while she was watching
by his couch ; he knew she had been with him,
but in terrible affliction which he had not soothed,
Her last days were days of intense mental suffer-
ing, which he had not alleviated ; and, finally, her
life had closed in fierce agonies, which he had been
compelled to witness, but could neither share nor
relieve. He seemed to be a stranger to himself
in these new circumstances, that had so suddenly
changed the aspect of hig whole life.
" Her grave was the first that had been made
88 . LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
among us. We selected the spot for its quiet
beauty, and the repose which its situation prom-
ised the dead, even when all who are interested in
them pass away. When we arrived at the tomb,
it seemed impossible for him to resign her without
one more look. The lid of the coffin was removed ;
he gazed a brief moment, bent over it, imprinted
one long kiss on the cold brow, and turned away.
The mother and child were lowered, the grave
filled — and thus departed the stranger who had
come among us so recently, filled with hope and
joy. His home was now too desolate to be en-
dured. All that had made it home was gone for
ever. He returned to us sick, dejected, melan-
choly ; all the brightness which had gathered round
his life turned to darkness — all his hope to de-
spair. The house now stands untenanted, a cheer-
less sight to us who have known its better time.
He spends his days at work on his farm, and his
evenings as you see. But, notwithstanding his mis-
fortunes, he still loves our country, and will, I
think, remain in it."
" That, I believe," said I, " is the choice of most
who ever spend any time here, and it was to me a
mystery very difficult of solution, till I saw what
enchains them. I do not now wonder that a per-
son who has senses to be gratified, with all the va-
rious objects of each, that surround him here, and
higher faculties to be elevated by communion with
nature in her loveliest forms, can never willingly
leave the land in which they are so daintily fed."
"Yes," replied Mary; "there is a charm in
this country which cannot be resisted. But what
is it ] I have lived here five years, and am yet
unable to say. It may be in our majestic streams ;
in our glorious prairies; in our delicious springs
and summers ; our profuse and glowing autumn;
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 89
in the variety of free and joyous birds and animals
that revel here ; in the unrestrained freedom which
we enjoy, or in all these combined."
" Undoubtedly, if my short acquaintance entitles
me to an opinion, it is the latter."
" Social and physical freedom exist here," said
Mary, " in their most enlarged forms. In less
favored portions of the earth, man is more or less
enslaved. Want, custom, artificial desires, or some
of the thousand phantoms which tread upon the
heels of human enjoyment, restrain his freedom.
They limit his action, give complexion to his feel-
ing, oppress his thought, cut off his communion
with the primal sources of truth. His necessities
have each an individual voice, and call loudly for
effort. He may not rest till this is made. Here,
it is to a great extent otherwise. Our genial cli-
mate and exhaustless soil afford an abundant and
ready return for his labors. He is soon released
from want, and his faculties, rebounding from their
depressed condition, go leisurely forth in quest of
happiness. There is just enough of ease in his
outward circumstances to excite, instead of ener-
vating the tone of his energies y and with enlarged
capacities for enjoyment, he finds himself sur-
rounded by the most propitious array of facts and
objects for promoting it. Nature in her loveliest
and benignest aspect is spread before him. She
invites him to her acquaintance ; and while he
courts it, the jarring selfishness in which his life
has been spent softens into greater harmony with
the good, the true, and the beautiful in creation.
He becomes a better, wiser, happier man. His
fetters crumble, and he begins to reach forth to
ascertain the boundaries and qualities of the new
sphere in which he finds himself. These are such
as to afford him a greater degree of pleasure than
H
90 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
he has probably ever before experienced. Free-
dom from want, purchased with a moderate use of
his physical powers ; freedom from social tram-
mels ; freedom from the struggles of an emulation
founded in vanity, or other vitiated desires ; from
the myriad forms of ruinous and slavish excess
which feeling takes in more populous regions,
where man's intercourse is more with his fellows,
and less with Nature and his God."
" These elements," I replied, " create a happi-
ness which all can enjoy and appreciate, the culti-
vated as well as the rude. Hence it is no longer
a problem with me, that one possessing tolerable
powers of mind may leave the most refined society
of the older world, where material as well as mental
elegance have previously surrounded him, and,
coming here, find that charm in his life, though
stripped of everything that had before constituted
happiness, which will not let him sever himself from
your fair land without many a pang and heartfelt
longing to lay himself once more upon its broad
and beautiful bosom."
f? There is another thought," said Mary, "which
has always constituted a strong bond between my
heart and the land of my adoption. It is that of
the mighty Future which lies before a country
possessing resources like ours. To bear a part in
developing this, seems to me equally calculated to
stimulate and gratify our noblest powers."
" Unquestionably ; but are such thoughts enjoyed
by any but the nobler class of minds ] Have they
existence among the unthinking and uncultivated I '
"A better defined one, I suspect," replied my
sister, " than you are disposed to concede to them.
Indeed, I think them born of the country, and
nursed by every day's acquaintance with it. One
could as well gaze upon the rising sun and not
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 91
foresee the splendors of midday, as live in these
magnificent plains, and have no vision of their
future greatness."
" You are probably right. At least, I have as
yet no authority to dispute opinions growing out
of five years' experience."
" I think your longer dwelling here would lead
you to the same conclusions. It is impossible for
the commonest mind to resist the united influences
of which we have spoken. It must be elevated
and made happier by them. Hence, if I were
asked to name the charm that binds the prairie
settler to his home, I would say, it is not merely
the fine climate, the beautiful lands, the diversity
of the natural world, nor the majesty of stream or
plain, nor even the bountiful seasons. It is the
combined effect of all these, Driving ^ e widest free-
dom of thought and action, and inspiring each indi-
vidual with the consciousness that his acts, be they
few or many, tell upon the development of ener-
gies that have slumbered for ages, but are now fast
growing into gigantic stature before the world.
Nor is it necessary, in order to constitute a part
of that which prompts us to action, that these ideas
should have a distinct existence in the mind. Men
often act from motives that are buried beneath an
ocean of lighter feeling, and are but partially
recognized by themselves, till, like the electric
shock, which compels the sea to reveal its most
startling secrets, some mighty event, searching the
depths of their being, brings them to the surface,
to astonish their possessors. Many a man has
mouldered into dust, whose life has been shaped
by motives which, clothed in words, would at
first have appeared strangers to him, but which
he would soon come to recognize as a part of
himself."
92 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
" But it is bedtime for people who rise with the
day, and to-morrow you have another half-day's
penance to perform at "
" Which I shall rejoice to have accomplished, I
assure you. Good night ; I am certain 1 shall see
that dark face in my dreams."
CHAPTER XL
Our life at Prairie Lodge soon became more
quiet. Visits having been received and for the
most part returned, we were left to the enjoyment
of our own circle. But I had still seen so little of
the Suckers that every opportunity of coming in
contact with them was gladly embraced, and just
as we were beginning to cast about for some ex-
cursion that should furnish one, the kindest of all
chances sent along a traveling menagerie and
circus. A most rare conjunction of attractions for
the " natyues."
The " Zoological Institute and Grand Corps
of Equestrians" was to exhibit on Friday the
day of June, at the town of Washington, about ten
miles north of us. It contained an elephant, two
camels, a Numidian lion, a royal Bengal tiger,
and several other less important personages, all
whose claims were duly set forth ; in addition to
which, the " Grand Equestrian Corps" would ex-
hibit the " most remarkable acts of horsemanship,"
and " Messrs. Sands and Turner would perform
some of the most striking feats of physical agility
ever witnessed." In short, the enterprising pro-
prietors had determined to spare no pains to make
these wandering entertainments as attractive as
possible. But the certainty that the native popu-
lation from far and near would be gathered was
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 93
sufficient for me, without reference to the wonder-
ful attractions set forth in the bills. Master Junius
was anxious to see the elephant, lion, tigers, et cet.,
and his father and mother to see him enjoy the
novelty ; so it was determined without debate to go
to the menagerie. It rained nearly all the night
preceding, but the eventful day opened bright and
clear as became a day in June. The horses were
harnessed to the large farm-wagon, from eight to
twelve chairs placed in it, some sidewise for better
stowage and some facing each other. All the
umbrellas, from our smart new-comers, to the old
mutilated ones whose heads had grown grey, and
whose limbs were fractured and luxated by five
years' service in a new country, were put in requi-
sition. Everything being ready, and the party
seated, we set forth.
While we are making way over the wet prai-
rie and through the " Slues" I shall, with the
reader's leave, introduce to him the steeds by the
aid of whose good limbs we journey. They are
emigrants, and have always held themselves very
much aloof from the natives of their species, so
that, notwithstanding a residence of five years,
they are not on visiting terms with one of their
neighbors. The one whose character and career
are most interesting bears a name which has suf-
fered much since the time when he gloried in it.
This cognomen is Tyler. At the time of which I
write, and for several years before, the adjective
" old" had been prefixed, but it was purely in hon-
or of his years, not as an epithet of insult. Tyler
had some peculiarities which made him rather a
pleasant object of contemplation wherewithal to
diversify a long ride. His physical eccentricities
deserve precedence. There was about the for-
ward extremity of his neck a sort of decayed or
94 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
constricted appearance, as if he once suffered the
extreme penalty of the law and the impression of
its instrument was never effaced. This gave
his head the air of not being at home with his
body. It looked as if he had drawn it in a lot-
tery, and not being pleased with his bargain, had
refused all pains to make the best of it, and put
it on in the rudest style, — a lifelong warning to all
horses who would speculate in like manner. But
the other defensive member so indispensable to all
quadrupeds, was characterized by the reverse of all
these appearances. It had been robbed of its nat-
ural fair proportions, so that only a fraction of it
was left, but what there was, was perfectly at home
and very useful in the small sphere in which it
moved. Its principal office when the body was
not at work was to refresh the memory of flies,
and add bitterness to the natural prejudices of these
insects against the owners of all such appendages.
It was not as efficient in defence as in offence,
but was tireless in both capacities, to the extent of
its abilities. No one ever saw it still. Its most
brilliant achievements, however, were displayed
when the owner was employed ; and of all the kinds
of labor which he performed, traveling before a
waggon seemed most to favor its powers and pre-
tensions. Tyler had a gait which I think was an
anomaly among his species, though his friends
called it a " trot." It was considerably slower than
a walk, but was characterized by such a harmony
of the whole animal, mental and physical, that it
was really a pleasure to see him perform it. He
settled into it naturally, after one or two applica-
tions of the lash, and instantly there was such an
air of repose and contentment in his face, and such
a harmonious moving of the whole body and its
appendages, that it was delightful to see him. On
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 95
these occasions the organ of which we speak
played its most brilliant part. It seemed to gov-
ern his entire machinery, to be as it were the music-
master of the choir, and by its beats regulate the
whole. So perfect was its supremacy, that even
the engrafted head yielded and swung from side to
side in exact time with it. Flies could now light
with impunity, for the harmony was not to be
broken for a trifle.
Tyler had a habit which it seemed absolutely mar-
velous how he could preserve, of appearing very
much astonished when any means were taken to
quicken his gait. He, however, used his ears and
tail principally to manifest this feeling. The for-
mer would prick up and the latter flash out of all
time, as if some wonderful phenomenon had burst
upon his senses. But he recovered from it in an
incredibly short space ; the tail resumed its swing
and the ears their unwondering position, before he
had described a distance equal to the length of
himself and the waggon. Then if the request were
repeated at the end of that time, he experienced
the same surprise, and manifested it in the same
manner, with the addition of a shake of the head
if it were pretty sharply conveyed. There was
but one argument for increased speed which
wrought any conviction in Tyler's mind. To this
he always yielded on its first presentation. If you
exhibited the corner of a buffalo robe to him over
the side of a waggon, he construed it into a neces-
sity that could not be resisted, and away his hete-
rogeneous body flew over the prairie, helter-
skelter, one eye ever and anon cast back to see
whether the reason were still good. Such an
event always gave a shock to his feelings from
which he did not soon recover; unless the remain-
ing distance were long, it was certain to be accom-
96 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
plished in much less time than if his tranquillity
had not been thus disturbed.
Tyler was sustained in his labors by a compan-
ion of the feminine gender to whom he had been
long and faithfully attached. But she was Xan-
tippe to his Socrates. If his conduct was at any
time offensive to her taste, which it must be con-
fessed was more refined than his, she informed
him promptly by snapping his ears and otherwise
showing the most unequivocal symptoms of wrath.
I fancied that her affections waned as the graces of
youth departed from her companion.
But Tyler has swung his head, tail, and feet to
some purpose, for here we are in the suburbs of
the town whose name will, if its proprietors are to
be believed, redound not a little to the honor of
the Father of his Country. It is prettily situated
in a grove, through the borders of which runs a
stream of considerable size. As we come upon
the high swell south of the village, we have a full
view of its principal street. At this moment it is
lined with a crowd of all ages and sexes, dressed
in a great variety of styles. We descend the slope,
cross the bridge, and are at once in the midst of
them. Let us alight here. This is my menagerie.
I wish to fall in with that tide of females, and hear
what they say. There are three walking along to-
gether. One of them has on a pair of paper shoes,
and is obliged, as she wishes to keep her feet in
them, to tread rather daintily ; the others, more
prudent, have walked in their substantial leather
shoes, and carry the finer ones wrapped in their
pocket handkerchiefs. They are talking busily
while they pick their steps in the black mud. One
of them addresses her friend on the right.
" I expect there'll be a power of folks Jnjur to-
day."
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 97
u I reckon," is the brief reply.
" Was you ever in one of these hyur shows V
*t No, I never was ; but Irene has been."
" Whar was it at V
"In Indiany, 'fore dad moved hyur. She said
there was a heap of droll beasts in that, and dad
says they're pretty much alike. They tote the
same critters about every summer in different parts
of the country."
" Well, it's just as good, 1 reckon, for them that
never seed 'em afore," said the third party, who
had hitherto been silent.
" Yes, I reckon so, and two bits ain't much any-
how, if they should bring the same back."
"Where be they?" exclaimed the one in ad-
vance of her companions, looking up as she ap-
proached the public square ; " I don't see nothing
hyur."
" No, I allow you won't," said her friend, laugh-
ing, " they don't keep 'em runnin about the roads.
They ain't many would pay two bits to see 'em if
they run out."
By this time we had reached the centre of the
village. The two prudent ladies turned into the
house of an acquaintance to change their shoes,
and we went on toward the immense canvass pa-
vilion, which was erected just beyond. The usual
noises which proceed from a collection of the kind
were issuing from it as we entered on the flood-
tide of Suckerism that was setting into the narrow,
winding door. A large number of grated boxes
were placed around the sides, and one stately
elephant was vibrating at the upper end, between
a large and small camel. An immense number of
seats rose to the very roof from the spaces between
the waggons, a part of which were already taken,
though it was early in the day. While the young
7 I
98 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
letter-writer went one way, to delight his father
and mother with his original remarks and profound
questions on the animals, I turned another, to
study what was by far the more interesting to me —
the human part of the show.
It would be vain to attempt any description of
the external of this crowd. The philosophy of
Sartor Resartus himself would have failed in the
endless variety before me. Here were garments
whose a^e must have exceeded that of their wear-
ers ; — bonnets of a fashion which must have pre-
vailed in the last century, for nothing like them
had ever been known within the memory of the
oldest of our party ; Vandykes in imitation of the
Elizabethan period, and caps, whose fantastic pro-
portions and trimming would have irritated the
risibles of Hogarth's sleeping congregation. There
was one young girl barefoot, her head covered
with an antique Leghorn, trimmed with black, and
projecting enormously over her face. Her dress
was silk, of a hue which no language will describe.
It was compounded of the color of apple-tree
bark, old soap, and sole leather. The waist was
too short to let her arms fall into their natural po-
sition ; when they did, the blood-vessels ceased to
perform their office, as the crimsoned broad hands
and protruding wrists gave too palpable evidence.
The brevity of this part, the length of the skirt,
the total absence of all tournure in that part of the
figure where it has been fashionable of late years
to admire it, and the naked feet, made one of the
most extraordinary tout ensembles of the day.
Another miss, of more mature years, sported a
pair of light cream-colored shoes with the hose
which nature had given her, and these in quite an
unsophisticated condition ; a coarse red and black
calico dress, a silk apron of mazarine blue, and a
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 99
black cape of the same material, over which one
of the capacious tamboured collars of the olden
time was spread, its lateral extremities drooping-
from the elbow. On her head was a pink sun-
bonnet with a square frill which covered her
shoulders, and a pair of green cotton gloves, the
wrists ornamented with wide lace, were displayed
upon her hands.
There was little conversation while they were
examining the tenants of the cages. Some-
times an expression of wonder or admiration was
elicited, but the hum which tires one's ears in an
eastern assemblage on like occasions was not
heard. I took an advantageous position on one
of the seats, and gave myself up to the examination
of the crowd. Presently Mary came up, to point
out a character. He was a middle-aged man with
dark hair, and eyes which seemed to look out at
the sides of the head, so continually were they roll-
ing from side to side. He was clad in a blue
jeans coat, and pantaloons of the same, and held
a large riding- whip in his hand, wherewith he em-
ployed himself in whipping the dust from one leg
of the latter. He was looking about with the air
of a man to whom the emotion of surprise was no
longer possible. If he had just returned from the
African deserts with a full collection of every spe-
cies of animal which they contain, he could not
have regarded these with more coolness. But for
his garb and one other circumstance, one would
have affirmed he could be no other than Van Ara-
burgh or Monsieur Martin himself. That other cir-
cumstance was a certain constrained expression of
the face, and, when it rested upon a new object, a
gleaming of the eye, which, closely observed,
showed that the man in the jeans coat and panta-
loons was not quite so familiar with elephants,
100 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
lions, tigers, &c, as he wished the Yankees to
think him. He was evidently playing a part for
their edification. I watched him sometime, not a
little amused at the assumed indifference with
which he suffered his eyes to wander about him.
The crowd increased every moment, and began
to form about the entrance a dense, heaving mass
of heads which, for aug:ht one could see, miffht
have been floating on some buoyant medium, so
perfectly were the bodies which belonged to them
concealed from view. It was a very pleasant
amusement to guess, when a new head appeared,
what sort of body belonged to it, and follow it to
the skirt of the crowd, to test your own acuteness.
The contrast between the fact and your expecta-
tions was often highly ludicrous. Presently there
appeared in the midst of the scene an upper ex-
tremity which left one in no doubt as to the char-
acter of the pedestal on which it was supported,
for the shoulders and part of the chest towered
clear of the crowd, and bore aloft one of the most
extraordinary heads — its furniture included — I
have ever had the good fortune to see. The face
indicated that it might have seen some fifty-five
years. It was a long face, sharp at the lower ex-
tremity, and rather rounded at the upper. The
eyes were between a grey and a black. They had
a quick and penetrating, but not a restless glance ;
they were eyes which had been compelled to serve
their owner in scenes of danger, and had contracted
the habit of looking too strongly to be able to
abandon it when the necessity was removed. The
mouth seemed to have been originally drawn up
at the corners, as if nature had made it to laugh,
but the events of life had thwarted this purpose,
and hung so heavily upon them as to draw them a
little below the straight line. Yet there was ever
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 101
and anon an effort made to repair this wrong,
which lent an indescribable mixture of the sorrow-
ful and comical to the face. The eyes shared in
giving utterance to these blended emotions, but
when anything decidedly comical presented itself,
they supported the melancholy expression, and put
on a look — partly of resistance, partly of defiance
— which was very curious. Thus the face was
continually hovering between a smile and a cloud ;
but the former seemed to be laboring under some
disgrace, so that before it could fairly show itself,
it was hissed down, and shrunk away in shame.
The forehead was surrounded with short hair,
which had in former times been black, but was
now an iron grey. A very wide but scant cap
border hung over it, and the whole was surmounted
by a capacious sugar-loaf Navarino scoop, which
had once vied with the raven hair, but was now
faded, and mottled with bluish grey spots, that cor-
responded well with the lead-colored ribbon that
fastened it. The crown mounted from the back
of the neck, in a cone, to the height of half a yard,
and the ribbon climbed over this, holding loosely
in its place a circular piece of pasteboard, which
supplied the absence of the original top. Let no
one suppose, however, that the old lady had
repaired her black hat with white pasteboard. It
had either been inked, or dipped in a black dye ;
probably the latter, for ink must have been a rare
article in her domicile. So much for the head.
Her shoulders were covered with a small black
shawl, and a blue and white cotton handkerchief
supplied the place of a cravat, though neither could
possibly conduce to comfort, in the heated crowd.
At the first look, it was impossible to avoid the
ludicrous idea that the old lady had provided her-
self with stilts, the better to enjoy the spectacle
i2
102 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
before her ; but this thought was instantly put to
flight by the character of her face. Besides, her
gigantic stature was too well proportioned, and
each part too much at home in its elevation, to ad-
mit the idea of temporary or artificial foundation ;
for she advanced when others stood still and gazed
with wonder at her amazing stature and progress.
She fairly divided the honors of the day with the
elephant, and stalked up to the camel in a mena-
cing attitude, as if she thought he did not see a
woman of her presence every day, and might as
well confess it at once. Sometimes her scoop bon-
net covered half my field of vision, at others it was
tui aed so that the paper-capped crown towered
ab( ve everything else. As the people began to
take seats, preparatory to clearing the ring for the
monkey ride, I was very desirous that the old lady
should get a post in my neighborhood. I rose on
my feet, therefore, and as her eye was wandering
in search of an eligible spot, beckoned her to ap-
proach. She looked hard at me a moment, as if a
little bewildered, and then, suddenly changing the
expression of her face, came down at her most
rapid pace. As she approached, I made room for
her beside me.
" I reckon," said she, while adjusting herself in
it, " you're Miss Roberts' sister that's come lately
from York. You look a heap alike."
"Indeed," said I, "has my sister the good fortune
to know you V
" O yes, I've know'd Miss Roberts ever since
she come to the country, and a right smart woman
she is, if she is your sister."
" Really, do you consider her ' smartness ' any
the more remarkable on that account?"
"No, I didn't jist mean that, but I've all'us
thought a heap of Miss Roberts, and like to say it."
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 103
The old lady's panegyric was interrupted by the
voice of the manager ordering the more curious to
"> fall back," and clear the ground. My neighbor's
head was instantly turned and elevated several
inches to command the theatre of action. A beau-
tiful little brown pony trotted out into the ring, and
was very soon followed by a sagacious and most
respectable-looking monkey in regimentals. He
was introduced to the gaping multitude as Gen.
Jackson, but his servility made it a poor compli-
ment to his Roman prototype. The master of
ceremonies on this occasion, as on all similar ones
which I have ever witnessed, was a very tall man
in a long-skirted frock-coat and rather short brow-
sers. The fact is one which I would recommend
to the attention of naturalists — not a little ingenuity
may be exhibited in its solution. Whether it is
one person who, gifted with ubiquity to a certain
extent, presides over all the monkey-rides of the
country, or whether there is a peculiar affinity be-
tween these animals and tall men, are questions
beyond my depth. Any one who inclines to the
latter supposition will please bear in mind that the
principle, whatever it be, must cover the long frock-
coat, the short pantaloons, and a tall seedy hat. I
have never known these adjuncts fail. On the
present occasion the performance was not very
brilliant. The pony threw up his heels and whirled
exactly with the crack of the whip, the monkey
was quite as inelegant as usual in his postures, and
not a whit more excited with the novelty of his
Sucker audience than if he had been performing for
a common New York assemblage. I did think he
winked a little quicker when he faced the Nava-
rino, but it might have been imagination. The
most edifying part of the whole spectacle was the
comments of my neighbor.
104 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
" Mighty !" she exclaimed, as the pony took his
place, " what be they goin to set on that little
horse's back ] That great feller ain't agoin to
mount him, I'll knock him off myself if he does.
He's too long for such a powerful little beast. The
great lazy ramajjin"
The good old lady, in her friendly zeal for the
pony, forgot that the feller whom she was de-
nouncing was several inches below her own
stature. But while she was in the high tide of
her anathema, the monkey appeared. She looked
for a moment quite bewildered, and at last broke
out.
"Well ifthese Yankees don't go ahead of heaven
and airth ! I reckon now they made that little
fixin a-purpose for that horse, but he ain't very
handsome no how ; he looks like a baby with his
grandfather's head on. They mought a made the
tail of his coat longer, and he'd looked better than
he does now — but the Yankees don't care what's
decent, for the young women goes with their necks
bare a heap more than I ever seed anybody else."
Dropping the tone of soliloquy, and addressing
herself to me in the most earnest manner, " Look
at them two critters," said she, " I s'pose they are,
for they say that one that's ridin ain't a boy, for all
he looks so powerful like one. That horse'll throw
him off yet, and stomp his brains into the ground if
he's got any."
Two or three whirls of the pony wrought the
old lady's sympathy and indignation to the highest
pitch.
" If everybody felt like I do they wouldn't set
such a fool as that a horseback, whether he's a
monkey or not. He's alive, I reckon, and that's
enough to make a christian take him off o' that
critter's back, anyhow."
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 105
The tall man came in for his share of denuncia-
tion at every new feat which he commanded the
monkey to execute, and before the three perform-
ers retired, the good old lady had denounced all
Yankees and " Yankee doins " for the fortieth
time. The man in the jeans clothes and riding-
whip had watched the whole affair with such evident
admiration, that the look of contempt which he
remembered to assume after they retired was ex-
tremely ludicrous, and served better than a volume
to reveal his whole character. But he was too
remote for his comments, if he made any, to be au-
dible to us.
Next came Mr. Turner with his dog, and their
wonderful feats drew whole volleys of exclamation
from my transparent neighbor. But when the
young man climbed the centre pole and suspend-
ed himself from its top by a cord around his
wrists, the poor woman could restrain herself no
longer.
"Mighty Heaven!" she exclaimed, or rather
shrieked, for her voice was sharpened by her ex-
cited sensibilities. " Does the 'farnal Yankee think
we come to a hangin 1 I've saw one in my life,
and that'll do me. But if he's a mind to hang thar
he may, I won't look at him," and the giant hat
swung quickly round, facing the audience above.
"It don't make you feel like it does me," she
remarked, touching my elbow, " or you wouldn't
look that way. I reckon you never see a real
hang, did you V
" No."
" "Wall, you'd never want to see another if you
had, nor any such shammin as that. 'Tain't fit
for folks to look at that knows what christians is."
I expressed so hearty an assent to this opinion
both in relation to the real and the sham hanging,
106 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
that the old lady looked, earnestly at me for a mo-
ment, and then said, " Well now, I allow you've got
some christian feelins in you. I like to hear any-
body talk like that. Come and see me. Mr. R
will tote you and Miss Roberts up some day, and.
I should be mighty glad to see you, and so would
my old man."
While this little complimentary by-play was
going on, the man whom we left suspended had
come down, the crowd had relieved its excited
feelings by two or three hearty rounds of applause
and several interchanges of opinion among them-
selves. 1 lost sight of the man with the whip, but,
to my great joy, he presently appeared in our im-
mediate vicinity. I pointed him out to my neigh-
bor, and asked who he was.
" O, that's old man C ; everybody knows
him for the biggest liar ever lived in these
parts. It's no account what you tell him, he'll
alVurs break up ahead on you. And one thing is
strange, he all'urs tells his lies as if he b'leeved
them himself. He was in the milichary under
Gineral Harrison a good many year ago, an if
they should set down together anybody that heerd
him would reckon he was the first man of the
two. There ain't nothin on airth that anybody
has ever seed or know'd, but what he's seed
6omethin a powerful sight bigger. You'll see
afore long, now he's come so nigh."
While my friend was thus enlightening me, the
ring had been again cleared, and a springing board
elevated upon two blocks placed within it. In a
few minutes, one of the most athletic-looking riders
appeared in knit garments fitting closely to his fine,
muscular form, and was introduced to the audience
as Mr. Sands, who was about to perform some sur-
prising gymnastic feats.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 107
" I hope he won't hang himself," said the old
lady, looking earnestly at his splendid figure, " he's
too handsome, and there's been enuf of that^'m-
nasty now."
But Mr. Sands, after a few preliminary perform-
ances, to assure himself that he was all right, re-
lieved the good woman's apprehensions by setting
himself into a sort of rotary motion in the air, like
a human windmill. I counted twenty-nine of
these surprising aerial evolutions, and then turned
away, for the spectacle grew painful.
" He'll kill himself," said my excitable neighbor,
" why don't they take him away ] Stop him I"
she screamed; "he can't stop himself! Why
don't you catch hold of his legs and arms, some of
you ] I could hold him myself if I was thar,"
and the sympathizing creature rose on her feet
and stood expostulating with the heartless audi-
ence some seconds before the performance ceased;
when it did, there was a great deal of confusion
for a few moments, and then a shrewd neighbor,
who understood the constitutional infirmities of
" Old man C ," remarked to him,
" Well, Mr. C , for a Yankee boy, that was
pretty fairly done, eh'?"
"Oh, I reckon it'll pass among Yankees, but it's
no account among us. When we was in the army,
we used to do that every day, and we had some
fellers who would turn them somersets sixty-feet
right up a tree !"
" What, branches and all]"
" No ; we cut away the branches of some of the
trees round the camp, a purpose to have 'em
ready. It's no account to do that. A right smart
man would turn eighty or ninety without stoppin
to breathe; that fellow, now, is a puffin like a beat
horse."
108 LIFE II PRAIRIE LAND.
*' Yes, he does breathe a little quicker, it's true,
but we think he has done well."
" Oh, it's right for you that never see anything
better to think so, but I've got smarter blood than
that myself."
"Ah! how?"
" My grandfather fit the British under Begyne,
thar in old Virginny ; and when orders was give
for every man to take care of himself, he took a
knapsack from a feller that was dead close by
him, and put it on hisn, and started. Jest as he
got to the fence, a powerful, big, old nigger that
he know'd a long time, hollered to him for help,
for both his legs was broke by a cannon-ball, and
he allowed the Indians 'd scalp him if they got
hold on him. So the old feller just throws him over
the two knapsacks, and jumps the fence. But the
British was most on his heels when he cleared it.
He retreated fifteen miles in sixteen minutes, and
then he come to the race-way of a mill eighteen
feet wide ; that he jumped, and the British halted
on the other side for a raft, and so he got away."
" With the two knapsacks and the black man ]"
said the listener.
" Yes, and the next day they weighed 'em all,
and what do you reckon they all made \ n
" Two hundred pounds Y*
" Two hundred \ The knapsacks weighed eighty
a piece, and the old man weighed two hundred
and fifty without his legs, for they cut 'em off' be-
fore they weighed him."
" Indeed ! your grandfather must have been a
very powerful man, to retreat so rapidly under
such an immense burthen."
M Yes, he was a right smart old feller ; but I've
seen younger men that could do more than that."
" Ah and who were they V*
LIFE INT PRATRIE LAND. 109
" Why, 'tain't of much account for a man to
brag of himself, but I've done better than that ar
in my own time" (whipping his boot more vehe-
mently than ever). " When I was with Gin. Har-
rison, we wanted to make a forced march once,
when the roads was mighty bad, and the streams
all in a fresh. So the gineral he come to me in
the mornin, and said he calculated I'd be the best
man to go ahead, for if anybody could do it — I
could ; and the men would follow me better than
any other man. So jest to oblege him I started on,
and told the boys to come, for I'd clar the road for
'em. We went on till after night, and it growed
so cold, we thought everything would freeze up
anyhow. At last we come to a stream that had ris
a right smart sence morning, and left the ice un-
der water : I halted here, and waited for the gin-
eral to come and insult with him afore I tried it.
We waited an hour, and at last the rare-guard
come. I told the gineral that I reckoned we bet-
ter not try it that night, but he said he wanted to
git over ; and he allowed I could git the boys to
follow. So I never waited for him to say it agin,
but I put right in, and swum my horse through,
and broke the ice all the way. When I got on
t'other side, I toted four or five old trees to the
water, and laid 'em across myself, 'cause you see
the stream was narrow, though it was right deep.
At last they all got across, and then we marched
five miles afore the gineral would let us camp.
When we come to the place, I started to git off
o' my horse, and couldn't stir. I was froze fast
to the saddle. It was growing colder and colder,
and I didn't know what I should do. Some of
the boys allowed they could warm some water,
if I'd set still, and thaw me up. So they went to
building fires, but I didn't want to set there and
K
110 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
wait ; and, at last, I give a mighty spring that lifted
the horse right off his feet, and when he come
down, the ice cracked all around, and I got loose."
" You must have been sick after it," said his
listener, " and so lost the battle the next day."
" Not a bit of it. I never was better than I was
the next day ; and I'll tell you what I did. I had
a boy to load my rifle, and while he was doing it,
I fit the Indians with a hatchet. I shot twenty-
one, and — " but here a surge of the retiring mul-
titude took the speaker and listener beyond my
hearing.
" There," said the old lady, who had caught the
last few words ; " didn't I tell you right ] He'll lie
like that as long as anybody will stop to hear him,
and that's a wicked man that's keepin him agoin."
" I have heard," I replied, " of story-tellers who
would never suffer themselves to be out-done by
others, but this man seems determined not to be
surpassed by himself."
" That's jest it," replied my friend. " If he
should ever tell so big a lie that he couldn't tell a
bigger one, I reckon 'twould kill him. But I see
my old man yonder waitin. Good bye ! come
and see me, and tell Miss Roberts to come with
you." And with these words the old lady de-
parted.
I began now to experience some trepidation,
lest it should not prove so easy to rejoin my
friends. I looked long and anxiously over the
moving mass, but nowhere were their faces visible,
till a sudden jog of the elbow brought me to the
right, and showed Mary standing with Master
Junius in her hand.
"Come, 'light down,'" said she. "John has
gone for the horses, and you will not find another
Mrs. S. here to-day."
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. Ill
" Nor anywhere else, I apprehend," said I.
" Women like her must be rare."
" Yes, they are, more's the pity, for, with all
her eccentricities, and they are interwoven with
mind and body, she possesses some of the finest
elements of character. Kind, just, generous, and
hospitable, with clear perceptions and a ready
humor, blended with the best feelings which be-
long to humanity, yet almost wholly devoid either
of the arts of cultivated life, or the prejudices of
her class, she is a model of a frontier housewife.
Poor woman ! she has endured much physical
hardship and suffering, as well as other afflictions.
They seem to have bent her naturally buoyant
spirits almost to the ground, so that one is con-
stantly reminded, while conversing with her, of
the purple frost flower we used to admire so much
at the east, which, always bent under the strong
November blasts, seems ever vainly seeking to
regain its former position. You may laugh at
my comparison, and think that a woman over six
feet, with such a Navarino and other appurte-
nances, should remind one of flowers only by
contrast ; but when you have lived as long as I
have, away from the world where clothes make
the man or woman, you will learn to see and
appreciate beauty of spirit, irrespective of garb."
" I scarcely needed such a lesson as I have had
to-day, sister, to teach me that. You know I
never placed undue value upon dress, nor other
material refinement ; and if I had, I could not
have failed to discover some of the spiritual
beauties you have enumerated, under the coarse
exterior of your friend. She seems an excellent-
hearted woman ! With some cultivation, and a
little training in the hands of a posture-master,
she mis:ht have carried even her enormous stature
112 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
into any circle, and awakened only respect and
affection. As it is, I have no doubt these are the
predominant sentiments with which she is re-
garded by her acquaintance. Still it cannot be
denied that the Navarino is an extraordinary
adjunct of such a figure; see, now, if it is not,"
said I, pointing to the huge Pennsylvania waggon,
in which the good woman was seated, beside her
little husband. "It is in admirable keeping, all
but the man, is it not ] The very horses seem to
copy their mistress : but the husband must be a
cipher !"
" No ; you are mistaken. He is almost the
equal of his wife in excellence, and enjoys as
undisputed supremacy in his family as if the size
were all on his side."
" That is the best thing you have said of her
yet. But I am going to visit her some time, and
then I shall see for myself. Here are our steeds,
and, I think, by the time Tyler has accomplished
ten miles, we shall be willing to discuss something
more substantial than external or spiritual beauty."
Just as we were crossing the stream I looked
back. The great tent was struck, the cages were
all converted into close waggons, the circus horses
and riders had off their holiday garb, and were
each ready for the journey before them; the
camels had shouldered their bundles, and the
elephant, acting as his own porter, though under
a cloak, was advancing towards us. But we soon
left them out of sight, for Tyler plied his six
organs of locomotion with such praiseworthy
celerity, that we reached home just as the sun
was sinking before us into a range of gold and
purple mountains.
The adventures of the day led to some lively
discussion of men and things in the west. 1 found
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 113
the descendant of the " Begyne" hero was quite
as notorious as he had been represented by that
eccentric show. The stories which he told that
day were declared to have formed a part of his
honest belief for the last ten years.
" It cannot be otherwise," said my brother,
" for he has, within that time, repeated them so
often, and so earnestly, that he would have con-
vinced you yourself of their truth, unless you had
argued their probability in your own mind after
each telling; and certainly, he has a right to in-
dulge in the luxury of such hard-earned belief.*
His stories no longer amuse me ; but his absurd
misapplication of words has not lost that power.
It is only a few days since he called on us in the
field to inquire for ' strays.' We told him there
was one among our cattle, and were about specify-
ing its age, et cet., when he stopped us, and said
we ought always to make a man who was looking
for strays ■ subscribe 1 them himself. * Now I'll
subscribe the beast I am looking for, and you can
tell whether it's this one or not.' When he had
finished the ' subscription,' as he called it, we in-
formed him that it did not belong to our ' stray,'
and he plumed himself not a little on the shrewd
lesson he had taught us."
I afterward saw a deed, conveying a consider-
able amount of real estate, of which this expe-
rienced gentleman had taken the acknowledge
ment. He had never held the office of magistrate,
nor was he in any way qualified to perform an act
* These passages may serve to show the almost incredible
influence of habitual falsehood in warping the judgment as well
as the moral sense. The anecdotes related in the text were
narrated with as much gravity, and, ultimately, I have no doubt,
with almost as earnest a belief in their truth, as the demon-
stration of any proposition could be recited by a grave pro-
fessor.
8 k2
114 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
of the kind. It was, therefore, " of no account,"
either in a legal or a common sense. But it had
the merit of originality, both in structure and
orthography. It was briefer, too, than those
forms wherewith more learned gentlemen certify
the legality of like documents. Here it is, ver-
batim et literatim : —
" hear i dothe surtify that the said his
wife and the said is the said peepul that
has maid this said dead and they allow they did it
without compunctions or fears of themselves or
enny body the said wummen aint 'feared of her
said man nor him of her — Thereunto i set my
hand an seal
(seal.)"
But everything has an end, and I know of no
class who should be more grateful for thisj:ruth,
than people who are continually making themselves
absurd. Even " Old man C's " ridiculous blunders
ceased to excite our laughter, and after the cows
had been milked and the chickens fed, we retired
to rest, with a hearty welcome to the kind " Re-
storer," after the lengthened amusements and
labors of the day. Our repose was not broken till
deep in the night, when the growling of lions, ti-
gers, etc., and the heavy rumbling of waggons, with
the tramp of horses, roused us. The menagerie
was passing on its way to the next town to exhibit.
The following morning the elephant was found to
have left the print of his foot in the soft turf beyond
the house. It was about fifteen inches deep, and
large enough to allow a child of six or seven years
to sit down in it. It was not obliterated for many
weeks.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 115
CHAPTER XII.
The time had now arrived when I was to leave
Prairie Lodge and try my fortunes among strangers.
This was in truth the commencement of " Western
life " to me ; for in my sister's home the ruder and
less pleasant conditions of life in a new country
had been softened down by innumerable little arts
and resources. The peculiarities of the people
had been only so many sources of amusement or
themes for speculation. They had never come so
near as to embarrass or annoy. Now the chances
were that they might assume a very different as-
pect. Instead of provoking mirth or awakening
only cool curiosity, they might and probably would
conflict painfully with my previous habits and long
indulged preferences. Nevertheless the trial must
be made, and the first difficulties to be solved
were, where and how 1 that is, in what particular
house should the new home be found ] Every
habitation in the little town, on which our choice
had fallen, was already crowded to excess. Several
were in progress which offered prospective homes,
and in one of these quarters were finally promised
when it should be completed. Meantime some six
weeks or two months must elapse, and a temporary
" place " must be found, in which to wear these
away. Far and near was the country searched
therefore to find it. Suitableness was a consider-
ation quite out of the question, for be it known to
the fastidious that seeking board in the west is very
different from the same thing in New York. Here
the host is favored, there the guest. After several
days of fruitless inquiry the anxious seeker was
commended to a Quaker family about a mile and
a half from town, where many of the citizens had
116 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
boarded while building their own dwellings. I had
lived so much and happily in the neat quiet houses
of these people at the east, that the bare suggestion
filled me with delight. My imagination immedi-
ately conjured up the most delightful pictures of
order and neatness. This house was visited on
Saturday afternoon, and found to offer a very tol-
erable prospect of comfort. The mistress was ab-
sent, but her husband gave assurance that we
could be accommodated. We could come the
next week.
Behold us then landed at the door, the next
Saturday a little past one p.m. The house stands
on a hill which is bordered on the west and south
by a grove, and commands a fine view of the
prairie north and east. The spot is really quite
beautiful. I shall find many charms " in the wood
and by the stream " to lighten the long and lonely
hours, if such come, as come they must to one
among strangers. The exterior of the house looks
very respectable. It has the western stamp ; the
tall chimney is turned out at the end, and there are
four outside doors, two in front, and two in the
rear, opening opposite each other. The windows
also are uniform, two between the doors and one
beyond each. A slat-fence of some pretension
encloses a part of the yard, but, most wonderful of
all our claims to gentility, the house is painted. It
is a dark red, bordered at the angles with a stripe
of dull white. The window frames have a dubious
hue which I cannot name. We alight and enter
the southernmost of the front doors. It is a warm
day in July, and the opposite entrance is thrown
wide to allure the current. But oh, what an ely-
sium it breathes upon ! We gain the floor by one
step, though it is of rather inconvenient height, and
here the full view bursts upon us. The room is
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 117
unequivocally filthy ; near the opposite door sits the
patriarch, his chair standing at an angle of forty-
five degrees with the floor. He has on neither
coat nor waistcoat, the whole of his simple garb
being made up of a pair of blue cotton pantaloons,
and a muslin shirt of very doubtful hue. On the
right as we enter is a large open fire-place, the hearth
of which is covered with ashes that in some places
even encroach on the floor. Among them stand
several baking-kettles and spiders, in which were
apparently going on some very moderate cooking
operation. Opposite the fire-place, partly under
the stairway, stands a table, spread with a dark-
figured india-rubber cloth. Beside this stands our
lady hostess manipulating various parcels of dough ;
a process rendered particularly interesting from
the fact, that a current of air enters the fire-place
every few moments from the south side, and departs
at the northern to make the circuit of the room ;
having during its brief stay taken a heavy freight
of ashes and smoke. As it travels around to the
opposite side, a very considerable portion of these
cargos is deposited upon the table ; and the prin-
cipal object of the woman's labor seems to be to
distribute this brown coating fairly through the
mass. Each time that the parcels are taken up,
the space they have covered is left comparatively
clean, and though I will with an earnestness that
starts the perspiration, that the operator shall lay
them on the same spot again, yet she fails to do it
in every instance. She must be proof against all
magnetic influence ! The old adage of a rolling
stone is utterly refuted in those loaves. Locomo-
tion was never more successfully proved to be fa-
vorable to gathering. My eyes grow to those balls
of dough, and will not be persuaded from them, till
they rest quietly in the filth of a single spot. The
118 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
transition is then very natural to the person who
has been operating with them. She is a woman of
ordinary size, with two black eyes settled very
near each other on a lymphatic face. Her hair is
drawn tightly back from the forehead, leaving the
grey temples entirely uncovered, and fastened be-
hind in a most slatternly twist with a small white
comb. She is clad in a dark blue calico, made
very short in the waist and very narrow in the
skirt. A small cape of another color, finished at
the neck with a rectangular collar, is, I suppose,
designed to cover the space left bare by the dress.
But the various duties to which she is called, have
so reduced it from its fair proportions, that two-
thirds at least of its office is left undischarged,
and that in the most important point. A part of
these duties is very soon explained, for a cry is
heard in the next room, to which she responds by
rubbing the dough hastily from her hands, and pre-
senting herself in person. In a moment she returns
with a child of some twelve or fifteen months in
her arms, and seating herself directly in front of the
gentleman, proceeds to offer, without a spoon, the
universal cordial for such woes. Shocking as is
this proceeding, it does not prevent my noticing for
the first time her feet. It is no tiny slippered
member that peeps from beneath the flowing folds
of her dress ; but a broad flat foot, partially clad in
a homeknit stocking of brown linen. The heels
of both have long since got leave of absence, and
the toes are earnestly soliciting the like indulgence,
but with less success. The most melancholy state
of the epidermis is manifest where these rents ap-
pear, and the sight of them reminds me so stromal v
of the anecdote of Dr. Abernethy, and the old
woman who won a guinea from him by the exhi-
bition of her lame foot, that, notwithstanding the
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 119
horrors of my situation, I can scarcely resist the
involuntary smile that rises to my lips.
There are two children in the room ; girls of
seven and nine, who from the moment I entered
have politely turned their attention from ornament-
ing the loaves on the table with finger marks, to
the inspection of my dress and person. Let the
reader figure to himself, then, the dirty house, the
dirtier man, the dirtiest woman, and the most dirt-
iest children, for nothing but a double superlative
will convey any idea of their condition, and the
writer sitting in the midst clad all in white of the
most unsullied purity, and he will have some faint
conception of my debut in " Sucker life." Perfectly
astounded by the scene before me, I had dropped
upon the first chair, and sat gazing at the objects I
have attempted to describe with a consternation
that, had it been observed, would, I fear, have led
our host and hostess to doubt my sanity. The two
girls dodged around me in all directions. The
whiteness of my dress seemed to amaze them.
They took hold of it in various places, and lifted it
from the floor to get a look at my feet. I drew
them back instinctively. What if the hose had by
some mysterious process become such as I saw be-
fore me ! I could scarcely persuade myself that
they had not, and felt agreeably relieved when the
elder, who had assumed this part of the inspection,
exclaimed in a half whisper to the other, " She's
got on new stochins /" But their most profound
wonder was called forth by an embroidered sew-
ing-silk shawl. I could not keep their hands off it.
The pure white of the fabric, and the bright and
delicate tracery of flowers, could never be suffi-
ciently admired. At last my gloves drew their
attention. They seized the one which I had un-
fortunately laid off, and bore it away for a more
120 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
minute examination. I looked imploringly at the
father, and was understood ; for after he had several
times repeated an order for its restoration, they
returned, and a few minutes more, very much to
my relief, brought the examination to a close.
When it was over, the juvenile committee retired
precipitately to the yard in front, and throwing
themselves down "on all Jours," scampered at full
speed through the grass for several minutes, utter-
ing all the time a noise so nearly like that of the
wild turkey, that I started with surprise.
" That's the girls thee hears," said the hostess,
half adjusting her dress, when the uncleanly baby
signified his willingness to get down. She slid
him to the floor, and, without washing her hands,
walked directly to the table and recommenced her
baking operations. The loaves had been very
freely sprinkled several times during her absence,
and the dark table-cover was quite whitened by
the repeated deposits of ashes, so that the present
working over was to some purpose ! How could
one ever eat that bread 1 I made a random esti-
mate of the number of days one might subsist with-
out food ; and calculated the chances of getting
boiled eggs twice or thrice a week, but the pros-
pect was very dismal.
" Let us walk out," said Mr. F.
I gladly accepted the proposal, and stepped
hastily forth, relieved, like one oppressed with
nightmare, by the blessed name of the outer
world. When we were fairly out of ear distance
my husband spoke.
" You cannot live even for a few weeks in that
place, can you'?"
It was a difficult question to answer. Three
minutes before, with that horrid spectacle around
me, I should have said, without hesitation, No !
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 121
But now it had faded away. Nature was pure
and beautiful here as elsewhere. The deep wood,
with its clear leafy aisles, was doubly inviting,
by contrast, with the filth from which I had just
escaped. The winds that sighed around us were
fresh, and birds were chirping and singing pleas-
antly in the trees, as if the house had been the
home of all the domestic virtues. I should have
a little place of my own somewhere, that could
not be proof against hot water and soap, and
there I could sit alone and enjoy its neatness.
Beside all this, I knew that a better, or, indeed,
any other place was out of the question ; and it
seemed quite inconsistent with duty or comfort,
therefore, to show any adequate appreciation of
the disgusting realities of this. Moreover, retreat
was now impossible. The conqueror of Mexico,
when he had landed his forces on the shores of
the new country, destroyed his ships to prevent
the possibility of return. We had followed this
illustrious example, not with so imposing a motive,
perhaps, but to scarcely less purpose in regard to
the alternative of escape. Weighing all these
things in my mind, in much less time than they
can be written, I answered decidedly, "Yes."
I will not deny that the answer was rendered
more energetic by a discovery made at the mo-
ment, that the grove abounded in wild fruit, as
the plum, blackberry, cherry, &c, which would
soon be ripe, and afford a most luxurious fare
without that loathsome bread. So much was I
encouraged by these unexpected accessories, that
it really cost but little effort to dress the prospect
in colors which comforted both very much. After
a deliberate survey of the external, we turned our
feet reluctantly houseward, for homeward, as yet,
it was not. On reapproaching, I noted, for the
Ei
122 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
first time, a little cabin almost adjoining the large
house on the northern end, which gave every in-
dication of being inhabited. The entrance looked
neat, and there was a cleanliness about the pails,
kettles, and other household implements standing
without, that quite revived me. " Here must be
something," I exclaimed, " that can be seen, at
least, if not participated in. It looks familiar
and cheering."
I set my foot reluctantly upon our dirty thresh-
old, and, as I entered, saw a young woman sitting
within sewing. She looked so cleanly and whole-
some, that I set her down at once for the tenant of
the cabin. She was introduced as the married
daughter of our host, and the housekeeper afore-
said, a ceremony, by the way, which would never
have been performed but for another announce-
ment that followed it, and made me almost
embrace her in the joy it produced. We were to
eat at her table ! Judge of my relief, any one
who can, to be transferred from this dreadful
place, to be no more haunted by those loaves, to
get leave of absence from those stockings, and the
children, and the vile india-rubber cloth ! My
happiness seemed perfect ! I wanted to take my
young hostess by the hand and say, Let us leave
this place, and go to your own neat home. But
this would not do. I was obliged to restrain my
transports, and reconcile myself a little longer to
the apartment of her lady-mother. But, alas !
true happiness is always brief, and mine was a
little briefer on this occasion than usual. It
suddenly occurred to me, that some place must
be provided to spend the night in, and the hints I
had heard of congregated sleepers among these
people, combined with the fact that there was but
one other room in the house, throw mo into a
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 123
greater trepidation than I had yet experienced.
To settle the question at once, I asked the young
woman where my room was.
"Room!" she replied, regarding me with evi-
dent surprise, " thee can't have a whole room, but
thy bed stands in tkar."
" Show it me," I said, while a cold shudder
passed over my frame.
She led the way, and I followed to a room cor-
responding exactly, save the staircase and fire-
place, with the one we had left. There were three
beds in it, two occupying the front corners, and
one at the back. The latter was pointed out as
the one assigned to my use, and I thought, from
the tone in which it was done, that I migrht con-
sider myself fortunate if the whole of this were left
to me. Beside the beds, the apartment contained
four flour barrels standing in the corner fronting
mine, a cast-off tin oven near them, two chairs, a
large bundle of old calicos and muslins lying under
my window, and a few bits of board covered with
fragments of broken plates, cups, et cet., with which
the young ladies before referred to, doubtless
amused their elegant leisure. The floor was not
so hopelessly bemired as that we had just left, but
it was strown with all descriptions of loose litter —
flour, meal, potato rinds, plum pits, apple cores^
chips, rags, feathers, et cet. The young woman
apologized for the disordered condition of the room.
But this was the least dreadful of the realities it pre-
sented to me. The other was enough to make the
greatest heroine that ever lived in romance, stand
aghast. I inquired who occupied the other beds.
" The boys sleeps in this hyur," was the reply,
" and , the county surveyor, in this, when
he's hyur ; but that ain't more than oncet or twicet
a week."
124 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
The tone in which these facts were communi-
cated was such as utterly to defy remonstrance or
appeal. The proprietor of a first-class hotel could
not have shown his best suite of rooms with less .
expectation that they would be complained of. I
must demur to these arrangements, but where to
begin was the question. At last I observed that it
was so at war with all our eastern usages to sleep
in a room with other people, that I scarcely saw
how I should become reconciled to it.
" Thee'll soon git shet of that," said my host-
ess, " 'taiu't of much account anyhow, and a body
gits so they don't mind it after a little."
" But the initiation," I said, " is terrible. I
would rather have a couch on the floor of your
garret, or sit up in a chair all night, than sleep in
a room where there are two other beds occupied
by strangers."
" Oh, thee needn't mind the boys, they'll be
asleep long afore you go to bed, and up afore
you're awake, and I won't be here to-night.
He allowed he'd be gone till the middle of next
week. So thee needn't make thyself any more
trouble. I reckon thee hain't been in the country
long, has thee ]"
" Not long enough," I replied, " to be accus-
tomed to this, and I never shall be. I don't intend
to be," I added, waxing somewhat warm at the
nature of the supposition. " I shall never sleep in
that bed till some partition is thrown across the
room. I have some ideas of exclusiveness, which
shall not be outraged by any degree of necessity."
The good-natured creature laughed in my face.
M If I see thee next year at this time," said she,
" thee won't feel so."
" That may be," I replied, " though I doubt it
exceedingly. But how I may feel a year hence is
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 125
a matter of no consequence. The present is what
I care for. If I degenerate with the lapse of time,
I will lament it then, not exult in it now. Be as-
sured I can never attempt to sleep in that bed as
it now is. I only regret that there is not another
day between this and the sabbath. If there were,
I would show you what the ingenuity of a Yan-
kee girl could do. As it is, I shall live outdoors
most of the time till Monday morning, and then
you shall see."
" Very well," replied my hostess, " but I reckon
thee won't care much about it after a little."
I had forgotten to say that before we left Prai-
rie Lodge, Mr. F. had purchased a little roan pony
for my progresses over the country, and that she
was the only living thing here, beside ourselves,
in which we felt any personal interest. We were
not, therefore, altogether so helpless as the great
conqueror after his ships were destroyed ; for
pony was still left, when our carriage returned ;
but for all practical purposes of escape we were
equally so, since the flight of two persons could
scarcely have been effected in any manner, with
such small means of locomotion, not to mention
trunks, valises, et cet. If any lady wonders how
pony finds a place in this arrangement for the night, I
will tell her. I contemplated dispatching a boy to
town on her to procure the wherewithal for my
temporary carpentering, and, as I stepped quickly
to the door for this purpose, the faithful creature,
who was feeding in the yard, came up and laid
her head in my hand, as if she would offer me any
service in her power. But night was too near at
hand ; I was obliged to abandon the enterprise
till Monday morning came. I, however, requested
(for ordering was no part of my prerogative there)
that the flour-barrels might be removed, the tin
l2
126 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAXD.
oven set away, and the playhouse and bundles of
rags carried to the other side of the room. When
this was done, I borrowed a broom, and made clean
work with the flour, chips, et cet., that covered
my part of the floor. The trunks were then placed,
and so much done toward domiciliating in this un-
paralleled place. Never did anybody rest more
unwillingly than I from these labors. But tea
came, and the white cloth and shining dishes quite
reconciled me to the delay I was obliged to en-
dure. Besides, there was a glory in originating
and prosecuting such a scheme, to reward one for
submitting to a little restraint. I determined to
keep my own secret ; and the complacency with
which I sat up in the great naked room till a late
hour, and, finally, lay down in a wrapper to rest a
little before morning, excited no little wonder in
the sharer of my vigils.
CHAPTER XIII.
The Sabbath, spent in quiet wanderings through
the woods and fruit thickets, and reading on the
clean turf, and another night like that described,
brought us to the morning which I had so ardently
desired. No scrupulous housewife ever longed
more earnestly for the absence of the male part of
her household while her slaked lime was waiting,
and her tubs of water ready for the onset, than I,
till Mr. F., With many adieus and ceremonies, and
much condolence for my condition, at last took
his departure for the day. At the end of the next
three minutes my working toilet was finished, and
my labors commenced. I had bespoken a supply
of the necessary articles from the cabin, and having
cleared so much of the floor as I intended to occu-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 127
py, proceeded to put these cleansing agents to their
duty. Their efficiency exceeded my most sanguine
expectations. The floor came up from the super-
incumbent mass, with a distinctness which no one
would have anticipated. Blistered hands and lacer-
ated fingers were matters of no moment to one intent
upon a great purpose like mine. I toiled away,
therefore, in spite of a variety of these little inci-
dents, till the dinner summons came and found me
still in the high tide of successful effort. But the
room, for it had now become one, had undergone a
great change. A heavy partition of quilts doubled
on each other twice or thrice, had been run across
above the head of the bed, and the whole space
enclosed by them was exclusively mine ! The little
floor was covered with a piece of carpeting. The
two chairs were scoured, the window washed, and
the wooden work of the walls thoroughly cleansed.
Between the window and door was a space for a
mirror, and here I had set a toilet made of dry-
good boxes, and covered with brown linen damask.
The trunks were snugly stowed under the bed,
and I fancied, as I looked about, that I might safely
challenge any home of six hours' growth, for an
equal air of comfort and neatness. My door and
window looked out upon a green lawn, dotted with
the wild cherry and other trees, and still farther,
upon a rich and distant stretch of prairie and grove.
Now that I had brought affairs within to so im-
proved a condition, I could regard those without
with more complacency. Even the beauty of the
distant landscape was much enhanced by the envi-
ronments from which I now beheld it ; and still
more, I suspect, by the better state of feeling
induced in myself by the latter. I piled my books
— the best companions of such a quiet retreat —
upon the toilet, which, by a curious, and I flatter
128 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
myself ingenious, arrangement of the boxes, was
made to answer the purpose of toilet-table and
bureau, and dressing myself hastily, answered the
call to dinner. My hands smarted and ached with
the wounds they had received, and I felt a degree
of fatigue which made rest welcome, but a more
delightful feeling of satisfaction is rarely experien-
ced, than was mine when contemplating the result
of my morning's work. And then the anticipation
of Mr. F.'s surprise when he should come in, and
find such a snug, neat little home grown up since
morning ! My only sorrow on returning was that
there remained nothing else to be done. But I
borrowed a broken pitcher, and gathering such
wild flowers as could be found at that season,
placed it between two piles of books, and then sat
down to compose my mind for reading.
I had seen nothing of my neighbor in the next
room since the day previous, but how could I for-
bear inviting her to witness the superiority of
industry and order over her own miserable house-
wifery \ She seemed to have an idea of being
quite exclusive, so that I thought there could be no
risk in inviting her to look in upon my new quar-
ters. I confidently expected a burst of admiration,
or at least some hearty commendation of my in-
dustry. Judge then of my surprise, when the good
lady seated herself, and, after looking coolly about
her, exclaimed, " Wall, I reckon thee thinks it
looks better than it did before ! but I shouldn't
like so small a room !" Comment was unneces-
sary. I did not even name the window which
would stand open all night, nor the door which
might remain ajar likewise, nor, bad as is the foul
air of a small bedroom, the things which wore even
worse than that to me, but dismissed the old lady,
more than ever confirmed in the ouinion that she
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 129
was destitute of everything which could awaken in
me the least interest.
My young hostess was not equally stupid : she
appreciated the advantages I had gained, and par-
ticularly the satisfaction arising from a sense of
cleanliness in everything about me — a sensation
unknown to the other. She could likewise under-
stand something of the feelings which had prompted
my labors, and participate, to a certain extent, in
the joy of success. She loved to have her own
little cabin neat and orderly ; and so far there was
a bond of sympathy between us. Beside, she could
estimate the joy of the surprise which I was con-
tinually hovering over and studying to heighten ;
and this made her seem far more human than if
she had looked with indifference upon it.
At last the time came. Just as the sun was
setting behind the woods, pony came dashing
gaily up the hill, and in a moment more the
" gude mon " stood in the door, looking very much
as if he had entered the wrong house. I pass
over the repetition of the details which I was
obliged to give, and the lamentations that were
taken up over my hands, and simply say, that we
found ourselves so happy under the new arrange-
ment, that the more commodious apartments of
Prairie Lodge were pined for less than we feared.
My principal regret was, that pony could not
walk in and share our comfort; but she frequently
came up to the door, and, putting in her head,
looked as if she were convinced that it was all
right, although the means of making it so were
not quite so apparent. I had more difficulty in
making arrangements for mv morning ablutions
than anything else. Towels I could furnish my-
self; but the best ewer I could get was an old
pail, and the best basin, a tin one, holding about
9
130 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
two quarts. These would have answered the
purpose very well, if I could have been left in
undisturbed possession of them. But they were
sure to disappear at least half a dozen times
during the day ; and then it was exceedingly
difficult to track them. When found, too, they
must always be cleansed ; for no one could tell to
what uses they had been put during their absence.
I had several times, while thus engaged, met the
patriarch of the establishment, and thought he
cast an evil eye on my proceedings. But as I
knew no reason for his doing so, I had gone on in
all the consciousness of innocence, to assert, prac-
tically and theoretically, when occasion required,
my right to these articles. Judge, then, of our
astonishment, when, after bearing with his dis-
turbed spirit several days, the old gentleman took
my husband aside, and, after expressing himself
perfectly satisfied with our deportment, et cet.,
added, " But I can't allow thee, nor thy wife, to
wash in my house. I reckon outdoors is good
enough for anybody; thar's a basin by the well,
and plenty of water in it ; and anybody that can't
wash thar, I expect mought as well go without."
Ridiculous as this may appear to the reader,
and does now to me, I scarcely knew at the time
whether to be most amused or indignant.
" I will wash in his house," I said, " so long as
I sleep in it, whether he is accustomed to it or
not. If the other ladies who have boarded here
were weak enough to yield to this barbarian
prejudice, I will not. Of that I can assure the
venerable gentleman, in one moment, if he wants
my decision. Does he think I shall sally forth
every morning, and stand at the well, waiting my
turn for that vessel, which lies on the ground all
day, and answers every conceivable purpose, from
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 131
a pig-trough to a washtub — for the baby's linen.
It is so completely encrusted with filth, that you
might safely defy a legion of chemists to name the
material of the original form. Out upon the old
savage. I'll maintain my separate establishment
in spite of him."
But as there were some four weeks yet re-
maining, it was thought prudent to indulge his
prejudices so far as to appear willing to comply
with them. Accordingly, after bathing and com-
pleting my morning toilet, I usually transferred
my basin from the wooden chair seat to the sill of
the door, and made a very circumstantial display
of a sham washing outside. If the patriarch
passed anywhere in the vicinity during this time,
I esteemed it particularly fortunate, and, if pos-
sible, advanced the basin a little further into the
outer world. This honest compliance brought its
reward ; for although it did not quite meet his
views, he was pleased to express the pleasure it
afforded him M to see so much goodwill in the
young woman." Poor Mr. F. was obliged to
recompense my rebellion, by taking the basin to
the well, and performing ablutions equally super-
fluous there among the young gentlemen.
But it is time to introduce the reader more par-
ticularly to the senior personage. He was a dark
complexioned man, of some fifty-five years, with
an eye that had nothing peculiar about it when his
face was in repose, but which had a keen piercing
look when anything excited him.' He bore the
name of an illustrious preacher of the sect to
which he claimed alliance, and had originated in
the same neighborhood ; but the branch of the
family to which he belonged had left Long Island
many years before, for " Virginny ;" and as their
fortunes declined, had gone farther west, till he
132 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
now occupied the outpost in Illinois. He had
speculated himself into several fortunes which he
had lost by the same means ; was a shrewd calcu-
lator of his gains ; (but would risk them all when
a "right smart spec"" offered;) and had that pe-
culiar kind of industry, which led to continual
scheming, but to little manual labor. He loved
the country and his mode of life. But this feeling
was subsidiary to those already named. If he
could have schemed as well in an eastern city, he
would have relished life there ; and only found
occasional cause of complaint in the absence of
game, which he loved to shoot. He would never
have hesitated to place his family anywhere. An
introduction to the Court of St. James would have
flurried him less than a private dinner party does
many people. Himself arrayed in his jeans suit,
and lonof furred hat, and Catharine in her ancient
pongee and quaker bonnet, he would have
"reckoned" they were "fixed enough for any-
body." He was tyrannical in his family, and
" allowed that boys was made to work," an
opinion in which his sons did not so heartily
concur, as to evince thereby the highest degree
of filial respect.
The daughter with whom we boarded, and the
eldest boy, a youth of sixteen, were the children of
a former wife, and, if rumor were to be trusted, did
not find the paternal fireside so agreeable as the
darlings of the second mother. The only dowry
which this daughter had received, was the name of
Sidney ; though as she said " she never know'd
that was a man's name till the Yankees come to
board thar." She was a good-natured girl, with
no great depth of feeling or thought, but all that
tthe had of both was expended on her coarse, long-
haired husband a Hooshier of tho broadest stamp.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 133
She appeared to have had her native buoyancy
suppressed by some unnatural process in early
life, for her face was always grave, even in her
happiest moments. If she laughed it was a fleet-
ing laugh, gone as soon as it came, and succeeded
by a reproving expression, as if it were a thing to
be repented of. She had grown up in the most
abject ignorance. Reading could scarcely be in-
cluded in the catalogue of her accomplishments,
and writing was to her as mysterious as Egyptian
hieroglyphics. The simplest arts of cultivated life
were unknown to her, and she was at the same
time ignorant of those other branches of knowledge
which may be almost universally found among fe-
males of her class. Poor Sidney had, therefore,
few resources within herself, and fewer still in the
indulgence of the filial and fraternal affections. No
wonder then that what capacity she had for love
was concentrated on her husband. Beside, he
deserved it ; for though somewhat rough in the ex-
terior, his kindness was inexhaustible, and his faith
in ner perfection impregnable. They were really
pleasant models of domestic happiness. He had
more physical industry than his father-in-law ; the
forests of Indiana had perhaps cultivated it ; but
when the labors of the week were closed, and Sid-
ney had prepared an extra meal after breakfast on
Sunday morning, he would " gear up," and, seated
side by side in the immense Pennsylvania waggon,
they drove off to " meeting," or to some friend's to
spend the day, and returned at night pleased with
themselves, with each other, and with the prospect
of returning next morning to their labors. They
were far happier with these rude enjoyments, than
thousands who live in luxury and ride in splendid
carriages, with liveried servants.
M
134 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
CHAPTER XIV.
For many comforts in the household affairs of
the little cabin, we were indebted to those who
had preceded us. Sidney had taken the title of
Mrs. the preceding year, and the festivities of the
occasion had been superintended by a family of
" York girls," as she designated them. During
their progress she had been initiated into the mys-
teries of pound-cake, jumbles, and apple-tarts.
And these now constituted the principal delicacies
with which she tempted our appetites. It is need-
less to say that having only an imperfect knowledge
of the rule by which they were compounded, she
was not always successful in her attempts ; and as
we were little addicted to the consumption of the
articles when she was, her ingenuity was not
greatly taxed in these matters. Her style of serv-
ing the cake was quite original. She shaved and
laid it on the plate as one would old cheese ; and
her notions of the quantity which should be in-
dulged in at once, were extremely moderate, not
covering more than one of these thin small slices.
This should be the rule at many other tables than
that of Sidney.
We fared very well for four weeks. My resi-
dence grew more and more pleasant as the summer
advanced. The blackberry and plum ripened all
around us, and afforded delicious desserts at break-
fast, dinner, and tea. I could gather any quantity
myself, in the grove and thicket below the house,
and used to spend many hours thus when Mr. F.
was in town. The only drawback to these pleasant
rambles was the fear of snakes, and the danger
from these was more imaginary than real ; for I
never saw but one or two (and those were harm-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 135
less) in all my wanderings about the place. And
I may as well take this occasion to say that dangers
of this kind are very much exaggerated both in
books and the minds ef settlers on the prairies. I
resided nearly five years in the country, and spent
a large portion of my time abroad on foot, on
horseback, and in waggons, and was never once
menaced or frightened by a venomous or danger-
ous serpent. That there are many there, cannot
be disputed ; and so there are in all country re-
gions which I have ever visited. But if unmolested
they are mostly harmless ; and when a bite is re-
ceived, nature has an antidote immediately at hand.
You scarcely walk ten yards on the prairies with-
out passing several tufts of an herb, the leaf of
which is said by old settlers to be an infallible
remedy if applied within a short time. The bite
of the rattlesnake is, therefore, little dreaded among
those who understand this. In the rich bottom-
lands are two or three larger species whose speed
is equal to that of a horse. They sometimes give
the incautious traveler chase, and are dangerous,
from the heartiness of their embrace, when they
overtake him ; but there is little danger in the
prairies from these tenants. It takes time, how-
ever, to become convinced of this, and I, to make as-
surance doubly sure, made my sallies under the pro-
tection of a pair of boots, which, though they im-
peded my progress and threatened to forsake me
at every step; quieted the little fear I had, and left
me free to wander and look for something beside
snakes — a hateful search anywhere ! On one of
these excursions I was overtaken by a citizen who
was riding along the same road. Skirts were not
so long then as now, and I felt a painful conscious-
ness of my feet, that drove me to the tall grass to
await his disappearance. In my haste I nearly lost
136 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
one of the boots, and had to stop and replace it
just as he was opposite me; but a beautiful flower
that was springing up where I stood, afforded a
graceful pretext for stooping, and so relieved the
awkwardness of my position. When he was out
of sight, I promised never again to wear the boots,
snakes or no snakes, a vow which I kept religiously
ever after.
I saw no company in my temporary home, ex-
cept the inmates of Prairie Lodge, who some-
times rode down and paid us brief visits. The
reception of strangers was out of the question in
my narrow apartment. Every night brought a
report of the progress of the house whose comple-
tion we were awaiting, and every morning sent
forth most fervent aspirations for the day when
its walls would be tenantable. Six weeks spent
in this retreat, seeing scarcely a face, save those of
our neighbors in the next room and cabin, made
me begin to feel that society would be welcome.
Beside books and my wandering^ the only amuse-
ment I had, was to make observations on the char-
acter and domestic arrangements of the elder lady.
The former was soon exhausted : the latter afforded
a more protracted employment. There was one
little mystery that I felt some curiosity to solve,
and that was how the house should have had so
cleanly an aspect on the Saturday when Mr. F.
first visited it, and been so incredibly the reverse
when we arrived. In due time the solution came.
The thrifty housewife had a regular rule for clean-
ing, which she conscientiously observed. No ac-
cident, as of storm outdoors or an upsetting within,
ever induced her to swerve from it. She washed
her floor every other Saturday, and Mr. F. had hit
the happy day. We were halfway between, and
hence the different complexion. But even these
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 137
cleanings were not such as to satisfy more scrupu-
lous housewives. Many an eastern dame would
not have hesitated to denounce them as mere pre-
tence ; and they always seemed to me to be made
more from the force of habit than from any sense
of duty or increased comfort. They served, how-
ever, to make sitting down in her room less dan-
gerous for a day or two, and so were very accept-
able.
I had been for several days dreading an invita-
tion to her table, and could only pray that, if it
must come, it might be on the afternoon of the
clean Saturday. But no such fortune awaited me.
It came in the middle of the last week, when the
disagreeableness had nearly reached its climax.
What could be done ] Excuse or evasion was
impossible there, under such convenient observa-
tion. If one could have become suddenly indis-
posed ; but that was an alternative to which I had
neither the patience nor artifice to resort. I had
no confidential friend to send for me, saying that
my presence was indispensable; and after exam-
ining every loophole of escape, I gave up in de-
spair. Here was another act of semi-martyrdom
four or five hours in duration, and infinitely worse
than any I had suffered at Prairie Lodge. Deter-
mined, however, to endure as little as possible, I
stepped into the cabin and petitioned S to
share it. She readily consented, and seemed dis-
posed to make quite a formal thing of it, by putting
on her Sunday gown. At half-past one, the latest
moment she declared that we could wait, we pre-
sented ourselves in the good woman's room. The
resignation of a lamb going to the slaughter was
nothing compared to that into which I com-
pelled myself, as we took our seats. If the dirty
casket before us had been enriched with a single
m2
138 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
gem of thought or feeling above what its exterior
appearance indicated, one might have forgotten its
uncomeliness in their lifrht. But the disa^reeable-
ness had no such qualification. To sit a half day
with her, was to sit with the mere physical mate-
rial of a woman, put together in a somewhat
exceptionable style, and sadly soiled. The after-
noon wore away in discussions of the fruit harvest;
in some uninteresting reminiscences of life in Ohio ;
and a detailed account of the babyhood of her
promising daughters. Meantime the young ladies
were demonstrating their emancipation from this
period, by tumbling about in the grass before the
door, and imitating the cry of turkeys, grouse,
owls, et cet. They had the most incorrigible love
of locomotion " upon all fours." Wherever business
or pleasure summoned them, unless great haste
were requisite, they journeyed in this unique style.
One could not avoid being reminded of a species
of animal to which they seemed allied by other
similarities as striking as this.
When tea-time approached, the dodger was
mixed and placed at the fire, the "salt risin" loaf
that had stood in the corner all the afternoon was
examined (with hands that had not been cleaned
since we entered), and put to baking ; and in due
time the india-rubber table-cover was garnished
with a variety of dishes, empty and filled, and we
were invited to take our places. Then came the
time that tried my stomach. There was nothing
on the table that was not of home manufacture ;
not even that last refuge of the distressed, a " store
cracker." The milk had passed through sundry
pails, strainers, and pans, so that it stood little
chance of being purer than the bread ; the butter
was not to be thought of by one who had seen the
churn, and the hands with which its contents were
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 139
removed ; the preserves were, if possible, more
impracticable than anything else ; the fried bacon
was too loathsome in itself; and the chicken radi-
ated pin feathers from every part of its surface ;
beside having gone through with all the stages of
preparation in our presence. Graham himself
never took a more temperate meal in point of quan-
tity than I on that memorable afternoon. I had
made up my mind to devote myself exclusively to
a piece of bread. I attempted the crust, but there
was the table-cover on which it had been kneaded
staring me in the face : then the inside ; but this
was soft, and it was impossible to swallow it with-
out remembering the hands that had been thrust
through and through it. The hostess pressed me
in the kindest manner to eat. Dish after dish was
offered and rejected, till, at last, when my stomach
was on the eve of uttering a protest that could not
be mistaken, I withdrew, and retreated as hastily
as decency would permit to my own room. Scarcely
was my equanimity restored, when a considerable
bustle arose in the apartment I had just left ; and
presently one of the girls came in to say that the
baby had a fit. I stepped in, and found the child
lying in a stupor upon its mother's lap. She was
chafing his feet, hands, and temples alternately,
and appeared more like an animate being than I
had ever seen her. In a short time the boy
revived, and his mother then informed me that he
was " often took that way, but he soon got shet of
it." The table was still standing, and she ordered
the elder girl, who was in her favorite attitude be-
fore the door, to stop " cutting up," and come in
and clear it away. " And git the basin," added
the fastidious woman, " and wash the dishes off:
thee can do it as well as I, if thee's a mind to."
I sat a few moments, till the poor baby seemed
140 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
quite recovered, and then rose to return to my
own room. One might suppose, after what I had
seen, that no evidences of uncleanliness could sur-
prise me, yet when I cast my eye at the table in
passing it, and saw the cups from which we had
just drank piled into the basin that had been com-
mended to my husband for our morning ablutions,
I was obliged to confess a new cause of wonder.
The sight drove my digestive apparatus to open
rebellion. I fled as from an embodied pestilence ;
and the whole affair was soon settled, by my re-
signing all claim to the few morsels of bread I had
swallowed, and promising never to abuse myself
thus again. But I little knew what fate had in
reserve for us. The week before we left, some
near relative of our young landlord was taken ill,
and his wife was obliged to leave us to the tender
mercies of ma chhre mere. It would have been
seven days of a fast unbroken, at least at her table,
if we could not have been supplied with boiled
eggs, plums, and blackberries. The former could
not be contaminated, and the latter we could gather
for ourselves. So that affairs were still sufterable,
and the more so that relief was in speedy pros-
pect. Indeed, those days might have been quite
agreeable, but for the necessity of appearing at
table. One could not take a meal in a private
room without giving offence, and thus producing
a state of things that would by no means enhance
our comfort.
I had. nearly forgotten to mention one very novel
feature of our entertainment in this place. Our
" old man," as he was familiarly designated by his
sons, had been, and in truth still was, so great a
lover of sport, that he had at one time kept a large
band of dogs for the indulgence of this taste. They
were now dwindled to lour sturdy fellows, who
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 141
seemed, like the few retainers of some decayed
knight, to mourn the days that were gone. Their
leader was a noble old brown dog, who bore the
name of Lion ; I prefixed Cceur, and made him a
hero. He was a famous fellow, of lordly presence
and magnanimous spirit. His supremacy over
his brethren was never disputed. In all quarrels
he was the final umpire. In all expeditions he
was the commander. In all difficulties with foreign
powers, he was the diplomatist, and his terms were
never dissented from by the democracy. But not-
withstanding this confessed greatness, Cceur de
Lion wore a sorrowful expression, and, except in
periods of excitement, walked humbly about as if
conscious that the sun of his glory had set. He
looked an Othello, his "occupation gone." He
was the patriarch of a race whose power was
diminishing, whose greatness was decaying before
his eyes, and how could he be other than melan-
choly ? There were seasons however when he
seemed to enjoy partial relief from this oppression.
Moonlight nio-hts were the chosen of these. The
silence, the cessation of man from those plebeian
labors which no well-bred dog can share, the par-
tial light, friendly to illusions elsewhere, as well
as in the mind of Cceur de Lion, all favored the
revival of olden memories and the imaginary par-
ticipation in scenes of bygone power and useful-
ness. On these occasions he was wont to stalk
about in a contemplative mood, not suffering his
followers to be heard, and scarcely to be seen, till
night had fairly set in and the moon rode high, the
undisputed source of light.
His friends were then summoned ; and after
consultation, one or two, as the case might de-
mand, were dispatched to the woods, and the
noble leader with the remaining force took up his
142 LIFE IN Pit AIR IE LAND.
station near the house. In a few minutes the
scouts commenced their reports, and the replies
and instructions began to be sent forth from head-
quarters. This always continued, each waxing
warmer as their duties seemed to grow more real,
till the din brought the " old man" suddenly to his
feet, and the ignominious " git out !" repeated two
or three times with increasing emphasis, and a
most irreligious expletive at the end, silenced the
home department. On such occasions, Cceur de
Lion's ears and tail dropped suddenly ; and look-
ing at his company with a mournful resignation, he
led them away, the picture of abject and hopeless
shame. It was doubtless mortifying to him beyond
measure ; but obedience was one of his many ex-
alted virtues. He could not have been guilty of
its opposite to save the whole canine race. Cceur
de Lion was no noisy radical. He preferred dis-
grace and suffering under the existing order, to
reform in defiance of it. But there was a difficulty
in enforcing this rigid discipline, of which he was
not the master when his forces were divided. He
could compel the party under his immediate com-
mand, to silence ; but the scouts were not so easily
reduced. Distance was favorable to the mainte-
nance of the authority which had been delegated
to them ; beside which it was impossible, without
a personal interview, to inform them that no more
reports could be responded to that night. This
could not be had without leaving the post which
he had pledged himself to maintain, and thus poor
Cceur do Lion, placed botween an imperative order
on one hand, and the calls for his opinion to be
audibly expressed growing every moment louder
and more pressing on the other, was in a most pit-
iable state of perplexity. Ho ran from one side
of the house to tho other ; ho snuffed the wind,
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 143
and scented the grass, and at every renewed call
from the woods seemed on the point of bursting
forth again into oral communication with the dis-
tant party. At last he grew desperate ; and, hope-
less of restoring order while he was dumb, sent
forth a sharp and brief command to " come in."
This astonished the other division, and always led
to some inquiry into the cause of the order. Dis-
ciplinarian as he was, it was impossible for him to
produce perfect obedience without a word of ex-
planation ; and while he was giving this, footsteps
were again heard, the door opened, and another
shameful " git out !" issued, followed by the irrepa-
rable ignominy of a broomstick, an old hat, or a
billet of wood, to enforce it. And then poor Coeur
de Lion, broken in spirit, sorrowful, disgraced in
his own eyes and those of his followers, slunk away
by long, slow steps around the corner of the house,
and was no more seen or heard till the folio win o-
morning. His friends, left to the discouragement
of reporting to a silent camp, usually came in about
half an hour after; and having learned the true
cause of the apparent neglect with which they had
been treated, received apologies, and all retired to
rest.
Such scenes diversified the early hours of nearly
every moonlight night. When they were con-
ducted with spirit, and one was not too far pledged
to Morpheus, they became a source of much mer-
riment.
CHAPTER XV.
Our house progressed more moderately than we
expected ; but at last, to my great joy, it was within
three days of completion. I was anticipating the
144 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
pleasure of having a whole room, and the innu-
merable little appurtenances of comfort "thereunto
belonging," when one day Mr. F. returned from
his office much earlier than usual, and informed
me that our apartment was already occupied by
others, and that he had taken a tenement, and
determined, with my concurrence, to commence
housekeeping. Here was a most unexpected state
of things ! I was as ignorant of the great art of
housekeeping as if I had been a child instead of a
woman. But that which so disqualified me for
undertaking it, made me all the more ready to
begin ; so that fifteen minutes' pondering over the
proposition made it seem even pleasanter than our
original plan. I was ready to go the next day, or
even that, if it were practicable. " But the house
— what kind of one was it, how large, how many
rooms ? which way did it front 1 was it painted,
finished, had it a garden, et cet. V All these
questions were answered in a breath. It was a
small house with two rooms, fronted south, stood
back from the street, leaving a fine yard, which,
however, was not yet fenced, and there was any ex-
tent of land back, for a garden. The front room was
not finished, but would be in two days, and the
house cleaned, ready for moving. Two days were
left for preparation, and though I had nothing to
prepare, I was exceedingly busy. Meantime, on
Mr. F.'s return each day, I could not but fancy
that he had very much the air of a man who had
been engaged in some severe labor, but I ques-
tioned him in vain to find out what it was. I was
cpiite too inexperienced myself to come to the
correct conclusion : the shrewdest guess 1 could
make being that he was buying furniture, &:c.
to save me the trouble after my arrival. On the
morning of the third day, the house was reported
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 145
to be ready, and having packed my partition,
taken up my carpet, and undressed my toilet., I
6tepped into the waggon, and in twenty minutes
made my entrance into the town of , and my
debut as housekeeper.
I must give my own description of this theatre
of my future exploits ; for the one given by Mr. F.
is too meagre to do justice to the place. We
alight at the back door of a building, so small that
I fancy it is one of our outbuildings, till the sight
of some chairs, turned helter-skelter over each
other, and a Franklin stove standing within, con-
vinces me that this is the veritable house. It was
reported to be small, and I do not find the report
exaggerated. The door by which we enter is so
disproportioned to the house, that one thinks it
was designed to allow the house itself to walk out.
It is made of heavy rough oak boards, and parts
in the middle, as if it opened into a carriage-house.
It is altogether one of the most extraordinary of
doors ; but this is explained by reference to the
fact, that the building has once been used for a
grocery store. The adjacent lot, on the right as
we enter, is occupied by a gaping cellar, all un-
covered, and affording, therefore, readier inoress
than egress to sundry small pigs, chickens, et cet.,
who perambulate the vicinity. Its walls, however,
are so weather-washed, that one of them offers a
practicable way of escape when the wits of the
small prisoners are sufficiently collected to try it.
Beyond, on the same side, the near view is diver-
sified by the rears of several wooden stores of
different lengths, the ground about each being
picturesquely ornamented with broken crockery,
soiled sheets of wrapping paper, rifled boxes,
and crates. On the left, is a row of three
buildings, which were afterwards called " Globe
10 N
146 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
Row," from the fact that the " Globe Hotel" was
opened in the one farthest from us. They contain
a room each and an attic. The middle one is
occupied by our nearest neighbors, the family of a
worthy mechanic recently from Philadelphia. The
old lady's first call was made in about half an hour
after our arrival, and accompanied by the tender
of a barrel of rain-water, a kindness which those
only can appreciate who have undertaken to clean
such a house with lime-water, and that to be
brought a distance of some dozen rods. Now
that I am speaking of water, I may as well add,
that there was no well belonging to our house, and
the nearest one was at the distance just named.
Thus much for the view from the back door. I
should add, that all these buildings were unen-
closed, and thus presented temptations which
wrought lamentable corruption in the morals of
the swine. Young pigs were thus tempted, nay,
heartlessly allured into all manner of offences
which grow out of too close an investigation of
pails, kettles, boxes, mops, brooms, and other
articles that usually consort at the back doors of
dwellings which have neither closet, cellar, cham-
ber, nor entry.
But I must leave moralizing, and finish my
picture. We shall have to pass through the house
to get a front view, and on our way may as well
take a cursory glance at its finish, proportion, and
contents. The entire tenement is sixteen feet by
twenty. It has a door and window in each end,
and a partition of very thin boards dividing it into
two rooms. One of these is nine feet deep, the
other eleven. The preponderance in size has
been given to the roar apartment, which is finished
inside with boards of the same description as those
outside, and put on in the same maimer ; except
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 147
that, instead of lapping, they do not quite meet,
and therefore hold out the most unlimited invita-
tions to winds and vermin, to enter and examine
the premises. Nearly opposite the doorway, foi
as yet there is no door, which leads to the other
room, stands a Franklin stove, making every
possible effort to look social, as if it had been an
old acquaintance in some of the pleasant sitting-
rooms of the east. But it appears to great disad-
vantage, being besmeared with a mixture of paste
and tar, with which Mr. F. has been trying to
fasten strong brown paper over the cracks in the
ceilings. Half a dozen green wooden chairs stand
about, trying to give a home look to the room.
But some appear to have become disgusted with
the effort, and turned themselves on their heads,
in the laps of their neighbors.
We pass through into the next room. This is
got up in very creditable style. The proportions,
to be sure, are not just what one may call elegant,
being sixteen feet one way and nine the other.
But the walls are plastered, and there is a very
large front door, with a very small window beside
it, and a narrow side door, which affords an ad-
vantageous view of the cellar aforesaid, and the
dead wall of a brown framed store, about thirty
feet in length, beyond it. But the grand prospect
is from the front. Here is the little niche left
between the grocery next door, and Globe Row,
which will be a front yard when there is a fence
thrown across it. At present it is a very interest-
ing area of black soil, on which the vegetation has
been so often disturbed by ploughing matches be-
tween gentlemen who combine in themselves all
the advantages of team, plough, and driver, that
there is not a blade on its surface. Beyond lies
the pride of the town — the Public Square — an
148 LIFE IN PfiAIRIE LAND.
open space of ten acres, which has had trees
enough lithographed for it to cover it three times
with a dense forest, but which yet remains an
obstinate and ungrateful piece of prairie turf.
Still beyond this, is a hollow, or slough, which
traverses the centre of the town from east to west;
and divides it into "Trade end," and "Court
end." The latter is on the opposite side, and,
exclusive of a few straggling houses, contains a
large two-story framed building, without a chim-
ney, painted white, and denominated the Court
House. Here the ministers of justice assemble
twice a year, to terrify honest and peaceable
citizens, and annoy rogues who are less adroit
than their compeers. That other appendage of
civilization — the jail — is in another part of the
county. The last man who was in it, after stay-
ing some four weeks, begged the jailer to excuse
him from keeping the key any longer for him, and
assured him that he should take pleasure in trans-
acting any little business he might have in the part
of the state to which he was bound !
But this by the way. The few remaining evi-
dences of public enterprise will hardly bear notice
here ; so we will omit further description, and
return to our house, which is at the opposite
extremity of the town. Upon a more deliber
ate examination, I find it has neither cellar noi
chamber. The entire establishment, including
the privilege of bringing water from a distant
neighbor and cultivating any degree of intimacy
which fancy might dictate with the swine of the
town, most of whom were distinguished for their
pedestrian powers, consists of these sixteen feet
by twenty, inclosed within the four walls already
described. Mr. F. had, it is true, endeavored
to avail himself of a trap-door in the back room
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 149
by making an excavation beneath it sufficient to
contain a tirkin of butter or a small basket of vege-
tables. But this did not promise to be eminently
serviceable, inasmuch as one foot of the Franklin
stood upon the corner of the door, so that the lat-
ter could never be opened without first swinging
the former round ; a process not easy of accom-
plishment, and attended with imminent risk to the
pipe. The floors were thoroughly wet, and exhib-
ited every evidence of having been recently visited
with other implements of cleaning than those usu-
ally employed by females. But they were still far
from clean ; and we addressed ourselves therefore,
broom and cloth in hand, to bring affairs to a more
wholesome state. If any delicate lady asks how
I could have undertaken the scrubbing myself, I
reply, that if I had not, no one would. No consid-
eration could have procured the assistance of a
stout Irish or colored woman, because none such
were there. I might have sat myself down, folded
my hands, and wept over the disorder; but that
would never have brought order out of it. A much
pleasanter and more efficient method was the one
I adopted. It cleaned and curtained my windows,
brought my stove out from the rubbish which cov-
ered it, made my chairs fit for use, and restored
the floors to a comfortable degree of cleanliness
before sunset. Our first meal under my auspices,
consisted of crackers, cheese, and cold water, served
on the lid of my bureau toilet. Our first night's
rest, and welcome rest it was too, was taken on a
straw bed laid in the six green chairs.
The next day advanced my housekeeping oper-
ations very much. My closet, consisting of four
short pine shelves, was built in a corner of the
back room and filled with dishes. My hollow
ware was purchased and put in order. My floors
n 2
150 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAXD.
were visited -with another deluge of hot water and
soap. Still the bedstead and table came not, and
housekeeping was necessarily imperfect, to a cer-
tain extent, without them. Making purchases is
not the same thing at the west as here. One does
not go out to select sofas, chairs, bureaus, toilet
6tands, mirrors, carpets, tables, et cet., but to take
such as can be found, and consider it lucky to find
one article or set of the kind required. The ques-
tion, too, is not how much you shall buy, but how
little. Because, where shall you put it when it
comes to you ? This requires calmer judgment
than any other part of the business. In my little
box I could not have entertained twelve persons
in any manner, unless they had been so good-na-
tured that part of them would have remained with-
out half the time. Yet I must purchase a dinner
and tea set for twelve, to cumber the frail shelves
of my small closet. Dining, breakfast, and tea
plates, at least half of which had not the remotest
prospect of coming into use, were therefore stored
away, to the imminent risk of the whole.
These injudicious purchases gave me much
trouble. My shelves were the favorite resort of
whole troops of mice, to whose obtuse senses the
volume of experience was a sealed book. For
though they explored every aperture and crevice
daily, and found not the slightest morsel to gratify
the appetite withal, they returned each day as
eager and expectant as before. Nothing but per-
sonal inspection satisfied them, and nearly as often
as this was repeated, I had to follow it with the
application of water and soap. Before a month
was over, I wished my unlucky dishes fairly back
in the shopkeeper's hands.
In due time the bedstead and table arrived. A
carpet was found large enough for the front room,
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 151
and a piece to make the back one look comforta-
ble ; some parlor chairs, a mirror, and bureau
were obtained. My toilet was re-dressed, a door
was made for the space between the rooms which
had hitherto been curtained ; and thus the whole
affair became in time quite respectable. Our family
consisted of Mr. F., myself, pony, and another
member who ought to have been introduced to the
reader before. This member bore the cognomen
of Susannah, a name which was bestowed in con-
sideration of her circumspect and exemplary cha-
racter. Susannah belonged to the Swine family ;
but it seemed a melancholy perverseness in nature
to have placed her there. She was a pattern of
all the virtues that ever dwelt in her race. Comely
in person, grave and dignified in manner, she
carried in her whole deportment that air of humble
merit that quite won the hearts of beholders. Su-
sannah made but little acquaintance with the town
swine. Their corrupt morals and lawless habits
seemed to disgust her. She never joined their for-
aging expeditions, never put her nose into a pail,
nor looked in at a door as if she thought she had
a right to enter. She always advised against the
scaling of garden fences and the stealthy visiting of
neglected corn-fields. Susannah was therefore not
so popular among pigs as many who were less
worthy. She was voted an aristocrat, a Tory — a
pig of no spirit— a pig whose example, if followed,
would reduce the intelligent, enterprising, and
highly-favored pig democracy of the town to a spirit-
less set of man-servers ; a set who would eat when
food was given them, and mind their own business
at other times. What could be more disgraceful or
dastardly 1 Whence then would come that large
liberty which pigs of talent, courage, and enterprise
bad wrought for themselves, in spite of dogs, fences,
152 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
broomsticks, and hot water — those infamous agents
of wrong and oppression, against which their an-
cestors and themselves had so long and fearlessly
protested ? Such addresses, coming from the in-
fluential leaders among the pigocracy, frequently
led to Susannah's expulsion by violence from their
circles. Cries of " down with the advocate of or-
der !" " put her out !" " long live the enterprising
democracy !" were heard, and poor Susannah ran
forth sorrowful and alone, a persecuted victim of
principle. Being of the feminine gender, she had
no opportunity to make head against these enemies.
She knew they were demagogues, but what then ]
The very principles for which she suffered forbade
her overstepping the bounds of order and taking
the field against them. So she grew up from early
pighood to maturity, preserving her integrity in
the heart of a corrupt community, a flower wasted,
a model lost. But exemplary as she was, Susan-
nah had some enemies among the biped citizens ;
some, I suspect, who bore in mind that very homely
adage, in which it is alleged that silence facilitates
the process of deglutition ; and at last she met her
death at the hand of one of these illiberals. She
was found one morning to have been assassinated
in the vicinity of the sheriff's office, the place hav-
ing been chosen, doubtless, to give a legal coloring
to the act. She was lamented as her worth de-
served amonor those who knew her, and her de-
scendants are to this day the most respectable
pigs in the town. This passing tribute was due
from one who know her many virtues. The mo-
rale of the picture may often apply to a higher
race.
Pony was quite a different personage from this.
She was neat and compact in person, with a
freckled complexion, that looked as if she had been
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 153
thoroughly wetted and then covered with unbolted
wheat meal. She was mirthful, affectionate, and
withal not a little eccentric. Her favorite place
of feeding was on the prairie, in the rear of the
house. There she stalked very demurely about,
cropping the rich grass till she was filled, and then,
all on a sudden, she raised her head, snuffed the
air, pricked up her ears, and stood an instant, as
if listening to some mysterious communication,
when she started at the top of her speed for the
house. On she came, like the wind, looking as if
she had something very wonderful to tell; but
when I met her at the door and inquired what it
was, she laughed in my face and said "salt!"
When she had eaten a quantity from my hand, she
would lay her head against my shoulder, and apol-
ogize in the playfulest manner for the artifice.
Pony, as might have been expected, was a great
favorite among ladies and gentlemen who were
fond of equestrian exercises. Her docility of dis-
position and rocking-chair gait made her very
popular. I could throw my rein over the horn of
the saddle, take a book when I did not care to look
about, and had no companion to entertain me, and
gallop up to Prairie Lodge any morning and back
at evening, never uttering a word, except in a
pleasant colloquial way, the whole distance. If I
dropped my book, discovered a flower or other
natural object which I desired to inspect more
closely than was practicable from her back, T in-
formed her of it, sprung from the saddle, and left
her to feed till I was ready to remount. This
was not so difficult a process as one might sup-
pose it would be on the open plain. The distance
from the ground to her back was very trifling ; and
I think she would have looked with contempt on
any lady who could not have accomplished it, with-
154 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
out aid, at a single spring. If you failed, however,
her contempt never overcame her patience ; she
merely looked around, as if she thought the failure
ought to have excited your own indignation, and
putting her head to the grass, left you to repeat it
at your leisure. When all was ready, away she
galloped again, looking about as if she enjoyed the
prospect as much as yourself, and would like, if
6he had time, to point out some features of the
scene which might escape your notice.
We loved pony, and so would any one who had
known her as we did. She had but a single weak-
ness, and that was one which she shared with
many of our own species. It was a dread of
showers, more particularly those which were ac-
companied by electrical phenomena. On these
occasions she would run to the house at full speed,
and standing close under its lee, if it happened to
be on the windowed side, look in so entreatingly,
that I was almost moved to open the door and in-
vite her in, or go out and share her trouble. There
she would stand, cowering and shaking before the
wind and the thunder-peals till it was all over,
and then trot away to crop the moistened grass.
The words of an old lady who had enjoyed some
opportunity of becoming acquainted with her mer-
its, are the briefest and most appropriate eulogy
that can be uttered to her memory. " She was an
ornament to her speeshy."
CHAPTER XVI.
But it is time I left my domestic circle, and in-
troduced to the icadtr some of our neighbors and
fellow citizens, and their doings. Our town had
been settled two years before, by a colony com-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 155
pounded of New-Yorkers, Bostonians, Providence
people, and a few random Yankees and adventu-
rers, that were said by an ancient Sucker lady in
the neighborhood to have been " hove in to fill
up." They had organized in the east and come
to the west at random, knowing that there was
plenty of territory there whereof to manufacture
farms, cities, et cet. The honor of being the shire-
town of this large and wealthy county was then
vibrating between two villages, both of which were
settled mostly by western people. The Yankee
colony came, took this tract of unbroken prairie,
laid out a square mile into lots (the wealthiest men
holding the contiguous farms under promise not to
refuse room in case the town should outgrow its
original boundaries) ; and by the aid of a little cap-
ital, some notes of hand, more brains, and still
more cunning, bore off the prize for which the
open-mouthed Kentuckians, Tennesseeans, and
Buckeyes were disputing. What equivalent was
offered the Commissioners, who were appointed to
select the most eligible spot, for their choice of
this, was never known to the public ; but it has since
appeared that they were pretty " shreivdly done''' to
a considerable amount in promises, the payment
of which was afterward refused on the plea of
want of consideration ! One may guess, therefore,
that we have a pretty sharp population, and he
will not very widely err. It is but rendering
honor where it is due, however, to say that most
of this kind of public spirit dwells in a few of the
original company. The majority are thriving, in-
dustrious mechanics, farmers, and tradesmen, who,
possibly, contributed their quota for such purposes
when called upon, but otherwise pursued their
occupation peaceably — content with their daily
gains and the prospect of a rise in the price of
156 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
property. The latter formed by far the larger
item in their expectations of becoming capitalists.
The most matter-of-fact citizen who had paid six
hundred dollars for a choice lot at the sales, could
not but see his money doubled, interest included,
within the first two years. Nearly every citizen
owned one, two, or three such lots, besides farms
of immense value in the vicinity, so that we had
also a wealthy population.
In politics the balance was pretty nearly equal
in point of numbers between the two great parties.
The four leading spirits, those on whom the re-
sponsibility of public efforts rested, were equally
divided. But like true men and patriots, they suf-
fered no party questions to divide or weaken their
efforts in the common cause of personal aggran-
dizement. In truth, political considerations among
them were rarely suffered to outrun community of
interest. Not that men were less rank politicians
there than elsewhere, but causes that affected the
price of town lots were superior to all other consid-
erations ; and as this was the great point on which
golden expectation turned, nothing was allowed to
interfere with it. Our religious zeal was much
more heated and less suppressed. Sectarian piety
ran high among the professing heads of the com-
munity ; and, as people who buy town property, et
cet., for the most part care little whether a man has
any religion, and still less what particular sect he
adopts (his choice in these matters not affecting his
vote), we were less restrained in the expression of
these opinions than of those which bore on the
more embarrassing question of politics. Orthodox
and heterodox, therefore, were terms in frequent
use among us. The precise meaning attached to
each was known only to the initiated (if indeed to
them) ; but this very iudefmiteness was one of their
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 157
greatest charms. Nothing more restrains vitupe-
ration and combat than an exact use of words. A
term which has great latitude of meaning is much
more easily hurled at an antagonist, than if it were
precisely defined and did not touch his case. As
in metaphysics, imagination is made to cover every
phenomenon for which no other cause can be as-
signed ; so in our discussions of character and
morals, orthodoxy and heterodoxy were made the
sources of all sin, or the parents of all virtue. Un-
like political opinions, these extended to the femi-
nine population, and were, I rejoice to say, the
single cause of whatever dissension or difficulty
existed among us. Let me not be understood to
rejoice that this existed, but that it was the only
one known among us.
The most important personage in all village
affairs was one of our nearest neighbors, who, for
certain good and sufficient reasons, I shall call
Mrs. Esculapius. The reader will suppose now,
that Mrs. Esculapius was the wife of the physician,
but his sagacity is entirely at fault in the suppo-
sition. The occupation of her husband is a matter
of no moment whatever to us. If it were, it would
exceed his own importance in his family, for never
man had less. The law that size is, cater is paribus,
a measure of power, has been much discussed of
late years ; I only wish those who doubt its truth
could have seen the complete illustration of it
afforded by these worthy citizens. In no fact that
ever fell under my observation was it more fully
demonstrated, than in the relative size and power
of Mrs. Esculapius and her husband. Both these
qualities were in the extreme of contrast in them.
He was the smallest of men, she at the opposite
end of the scale among women. He was less of a
master in his household than any other man, she
O
158 LIFE IX PRAIRIE LAND.
quite the reverse. He was good-natured ; this
did not spoil the contrast. He was submissive,
she imperative. He was timid and retiring, she
was always foremost in every domestic movement.
But beside these points of difference, Mrs. Escu-
lapius possessed some other peculiarities which
will, if permitted, stand alone. She was endowed
with a sense of hearing, the acuteness of which
was perfectly astounding : neither walls nor dis-
tance offered any impediment to it. She knew as
well the topics under discussion at her neighbor's
houses, and the opinions expressed upon them, as
if she had been present. She could report all
these opinions the next day with as much certainty
as if she had participated in the utterance of them
herself. Her optical sense was equally keen;
and, what was still more extraordinary, both these
wondrous powers could be used at once ; and
hence she could report the expressed opinions,
and the unuttered thoughts, of persons in any
part of the town. We should have voted the
phenomenon magnetic, but for two reasons ; first,
we were all unbelievers ; and, secondly, a stronger
faith in the possible than any of her friends exer-
cised, would have been necessary to believe that
she was ever in a magnetic state. For no one
ever saw her asleep. But all conjecture and
speculation of this sort were rendered superfluous
by reference to the plain demonstrable fact, that,
at the time when she was taking notes for these
reports, she was always pursuing her ordinary
household avocations ; to all appearance as unab-
stracted by such employment, as any person to
whom this power was denied.
The only circumstance which threw any light
upon this wonderful faculty, was the necessity of
waiting till the next day, and possibly till the
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 159
second, before she proceeded to report. It was
suggested, that a troop of fairies had chosen her
for their general post-office, and were making her
the victim of their harmless pranks. If any more
ingenious solution can be offered, the case still
waits for its light. Passing these peculiarities, this
lady is a pattern housekeeper, a kind friend to
those whom she likes, a sympathetic woman at a
sick bed, a hospitable and generous hostess in her
own house. She takes pleasure in sending speci-
mens of her excellent cookery to neighbors who
are less skilful in the art, or less favored with
conveniences for plying it. I take pleasure in
acknowledging myself still her debtor for many
such little kindnesses.
In the front ranks of our religious community
stands Deacon Cantwyne — a man celebrated in all
the " country side" for his piety, his love of money,
and his affectation of philosophy. Deacon Cant-
wyne's house is the resort of all the clergy of his
own denomination ; and the philosophy which he
affects, leads him to extend his hospitalities to many
others. So that he lives in a theological atmos-
phere, so to speak, an atmosphere musical with
expressions of the religious feelings. This is his
chosen condition. But if denied him in the pres-
ence of others, he is capable of creating it to a great
extent for himself. He prays three times a day,
and reads the Scriptures each time. He never
neglects religious worship, takes an active part in
the orthodox Sabbath-schools, frowns on open vice
or dishonesty in any shape, is scrupulous in the
observance of the Sabbath, even to leaving the
room in which so profane a thing as the Pilgrim
Fathers is sung on that day, and loses no opportu-
nity of exhorting his non-professing neighbors to
" come out from the world," and " fight the good
160 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
fight of faith." Deacon Cantwyne is a business
man, and he declares that a profession of religion,
so far from interfering with success in business, as
many worldly-minded but mistaken individuals
think, is no little aid to it. He speaks from expe-
rience, for his religious pretensions have enabled
him to pray his way to the bottoms of hundreds of
pockets, which he could never otherwise have ap-
proached. All the while that he is doing it, he
will lavish the most hearty expressions of esteem
on you — esteem grounded on the virtues which he
has discovered in you, for, as a Christian, he can
admire no other qualifications. If you are in afflic-
tion, he will console you, pray with you and for
you, commend you to the Bible, and to those
sources of comfort which he has found so potent,
and in the next moment, count the dollars which
some proposed operation will enable him to make
out of the confidence his speech was designed to
create. When any special enterprise of this kind
is in prospect, he prays longer and more fervently
than usual ; and if the victim is present, in the
shape of a purchaser, or a debtor whose all lies
under a mortgage which he holds, he is apt to be
quite overpowered with his love of duty and his
charity for his neighbor. Ten chances to one but
he makes you the subject of a special petition, and
closes with a request that you may be preserved
from the devouring influences of the carnal appe-
tites, from vanity, and from love of riches. He
feels for you already, and wishes that your suffer-
ings may be light when he shall have sounded
your purse. His piety is never more apparent
than on these occasions. If the operation is one
of considerable magnitude, he solicits the brethren
of the neighborhood to unite in a protracted meet-
ing, for he feels that the gospel is losing its inllu-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 161
ence on the hearts of men. When he has con-
summated the affair, he will meet you with the
blandest face, and enter into a conversation on
electricity, the aurora borealis, or the last Arctic
expedition. But he never fails to turn to the pole
of his thoughts before he leaves you, and exhort
you to remember that all these " phenomeny,"
wonderful as they are, are the handiwork of a
power to whom your highest services are due, and
that the best of us can but poorly glorify Him. Or
perhaps he reads you a page from his own expe-
rience, telling you how, when he was a young
man, he began life with the hope of achieving
some worldly honors and possessions, but soon
found that to do so, he " should have to set his face
like a flint " and close his ears to all the petitions
of mercy ; how this struggle between his better
nature and the desire to do his duty had almost
ended in the triumph of Satan ; how thankful he
is that it did not, and how much he hopes that
every young man whom he sees entering life may
be preserved as he was. And all this is said with
as grave a face as if he had not just defrauded you
of your last penny, and were not ready to do you
the like favor to-morrow.
Deacon Cantwyne's exhortations are uttered
with a. face and tone that would subdue a Phila-
delphia mob. These are natural gifts — at least I
set them down as such. If they are not, they
must have been cultivated in early life ; for nothing
of the kind can be more perfect. The face leads
you to anticipate the voice, and vice versa. Deacon
Cantwyne has been pretty intimately connected
with the affairs of the colony, and son^e of his
transactions would edify men whose kindred genius
is restrained by stone walls and sheriff's processes.
He was originally from one of the principal
11 o2
162 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
cities of the east. While there he was employed
in a highly useful trade, from which he seems to
have realized a handsome equivalent for his labors.
To this he has added whatever has fallen in his
way, beside several things that have not been able
to get out of it since he came west; and he is now
one of our wealthiest men. He is not so ardently
beloved in the neighborhood as many persons I
could designate, but he never discovers this unless
it is forced on his attention ; and when it is, he
sets it down to the account of his rigid piety.
" How shall a devoted christian expect to com-
mand the love of the children of darkness 1 He
ought to glory in their hatred, and would if it did
not argue such deplorable wickedness in them" —
and show that they would be on their guard
against his long prayers. His piety is embellished
by a liberality as striking as itself. This, however,
partakes more of a public than a private character.
Any public bequest which will enhance the value of
property, he makes freely, provided it be expended
in the vicinity of his own possessions. There are
many little tales afloat in the village and country,
illustrative of Deacon Cantwyne's peculiarities,
which his biographer will doubtless gather for the
purpose of doing justice to his memory. If I have
drawn his picture correctly enough to have it re-
cognized bv himself and his friends, I have done
all that I proposed to do on this page. If occasion
to refer to him again should arise, a single stroke
will bring him before the reader. That is a prin-
cipal advantage in having his character well defined
at the outset.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 163
CHAPTER XVII.
Our village abounded in professional men. Not
to mention the youthful Cokes and the unassuming
Blackstones, who asked no loftier place for their
names than gilt or gamboge letters on a black
shingle nailed beside their office-doors; we had
magistrates, judges of law and probate, retired
counsellors, waiting a favorable opportunity to
embellish some of the more elegant walks of
life. But most indispensable and popular of
all was our doctor. He was the ornament not
only of our professional classes, but of the village.
His personal appearance is worthy a livelier pen
than mine. He is actually of middle stature, but
seems considerably below it, from the excessive
deficiency of anything like hauteur in his character.
His head projects well over the eyes, and towers
above the forehead into an immense table-land, on
which you might heap offences that would out-
number the hairs that cover it, and yet find for-
giveness. This preponderance brings the head
forward and upward in a right line, but it is the
most graceful departure from a perpendicular that
could be imagined. His strong perceptions leave
about him no air of stumbling abstraction, but,
combined with a boundless benevolence, lend the
delightful expression one wears when looking for
objects of sympathy or admiration. Leaving the
doctor's head, the next most striking thing about him
is his gait. Various were the attempts at descrip-
tion which this wonderful gait elicited from his
fellow-citizens. A walk it certainly was not, if by
this term is meant a straightforward, or indeed
almost any other use of the limbs given for that
purpose. I do not mean to say that he performed
164 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
locomotion without the use of these organs at all,
because that would imply that he walked upon his
hands or head — arts which I am not aware that he
ever cultivated ; and which it will be conceded
must have been extremely inconvenient, unless his
pockets had been made to correspond, for they
were his medicine-chests. If he had been an im-
porter of drugs, he would never have wanted any
storehouse but these, and the privilege of deposit-
ing samples that were unsaleable, or robbed of
their virtues by age, upon the shelves of his wife's
closets.
But to go back to his gait. It certainly was a
curious one. It was made up of incredibly short
steps, that followed so fast upon one another as to
give the idea of a man with two pairs of legs, each
running on a wager against the other. If one
could conceive a sheep with his two fore-legs
lengthened so as to give him an erect attitude, yet
still preserving his peculiar motion, with a perfect
resemblance to the human figure in all other
respects, he might have a tolerable idea of the
doctor's gait. I am aware that this is a labored
illustration, and that the idea at best is complicated ;
but no one knows how difficult the subject is, nor
how long I might search the whole kingdom of
animate nature in vain, for something whereunto
to liken this motor phenomenon. It is true, that
the terms "nudge" "shuffle" "trot" and sundry
others were used among the puzzled villagers to
designate it ; but they are all feeble, and so I be-
lieve will be anything I can add to them. There
are things in nature which words hover around in
vain : they never touch them.
The other eccentricities of our Galen were not
so indescribable. He had a versatility of genius,
which never failed to respond to any appeal. An
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 165
Indian war-dance, or the amputation of a limb ; the
old woman in Robin Roughhead at a private
theatrical entertainment, or a post at the couch
of prostrating, withering disease,, were matters of
equal facility — I had almost said of pleasure ; for the
warm exercise of his sympathies on the painful
occasions, and the relief which his skill and ten-
derness often enabled him to afford, were high
sources of pleasure. As might be expected with
such a constitution, our doctor had been a merry
youth. He had spent a very considerable fortune
in early life, for the purpose of reducing himself
to terms of equality with necessity, whom he could
not coax to his acquaintance in any other way.
And he seemed even now to have a fear that she
would forsake him again, for he never collected
his dues, never informed any one that his services
were to be paid for, unless by way of assent when
the proposition originated with themselves. When
he returned from a ball one winter morning with
his splendid wife and brother, and found the house
which they had jointly occupied burned to the
ground, with everything it had contained, he stood
a moment, and then said, " There are plenty of
houses about here whose inmates will receive Mary
for a few days, and there will be sick enough
this season, heaven help them, to whom I can do
some good, in return for which they shall enable
me to build her a better home. I'll have it all
right in a year or so, except the little mementos
and trifles endeared by association #nd otherwise.
Those cannot be replaced, so I suppose we must
mourn over them a little." And the doctor kept
his word ; catching the means which fortune
threw at him for his poorly-paid, arduous, and
ceaseless labors, he purchased a beautiful building-
spot in " Court-end ;" built a cottage with a roof
166 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
so sharp that it was described by a stage-driver,
who had a passenger to set down there, as " the
house with a ruff that split the rain-drops," made
a sort of bird's nest of it, whose chief ornament
was his peerless wife : and there he lives, or rather,
the lady and her babes ; for he is too much abroad
during the warm season to have a proper residence
anywhere. And there a hospitality and social
charm are offered to guests, which is rarely sur-
passed in more elegant mansions.
At this time the doctor is accompanied in his
professional visits by a faithful old horse, who is
known throughout the country by the name of
"Pomp." It would, perhaps, be as correct to say
that the doctor accompanies Pomp ; for the latter,
if harnessed and left loose, under the false impres-
sion that his friend was in the seat, would doubt-
less have gone alone to visit their patients. I say
their patients, because it always seemed to me that
the doctor and Pomp were partners. What share
the latter had in the profits was never known,
though his share in the labors was, for he some-
times traveled sixty or seventy miles a day, beside
stopping for calls. The estimation in which the
doctor held Pomp was very high. To have struck
him would have been treason : yet I ought to add,
as an evidence of the inconsistency of man, that he
would allow him to be driven till his bay coat was
white with foam. But how could Pomp complain
when his master treated himself in the same man-
ner ! Seated jn his light waggon, reins in hand,
the doctor announced his readiness to set oft" by
speaking the name of his four-footed friend, in a
tone which seemed to be agreed on between them
as a signal for moving; and away they went; never
a blow was struck, nor a harsher word spoken. I
apprehend it would not have been safe for any
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 167
person to have attempted either. I remember
ridino- out with the doctor once, to see a sick
friend. On our arrival, a coarse fellow came up,
and seizing Pomp by the head, called out to know
whether he should " ondo him!"
"Ondo him!" exclaimed the doctor. "Ondo
Pomp !" and he cast a look at him which might
have been translated into a volume ; but, passing
on, he merely said " No ! you may give him some
flesh grass, if you have any here. I should like
to see the man," he added, in a muttered paren-
thesis, " who would dare ondo Pomp !"
The doctor's mode of communicating his opinions
and wishes to Pomp is very convenient and pleas-
ant, not only to themselves, but to the settlers whose
habitations they visit. You may foretel their ap-
proach when two miles distant on the prairies, at
any hour of the night, by listening to the mono-
syllable Pomp ! Pomp ! And pleasant sounds
they are to those who leave the bedside of lan-
guishing pain, and step forth an instant into the
cool silent night, to breathe and catch the signal
of the visit so ardently longed for.
In sickly seasons they travel all night. The
doctor moves the seat of his waggon back, has an
extra cloak or buffalo robe, of which he makes a
bed, and, when he leaves a house, curls himself
up in it, gives Pomp the signal, and starts on,
leaving the latter pretty much to his own choice
about the road. And they thus go on admirably;
for the doctor has such a habit of speaking to
Pomp, that, though fast asleep, he articulates his
name in the usual tone, about once in twenty
minutes, and the latter knows the roads so well
that he always goes right, if not left to his own
pleasure too long. In these latter cases the doctor
is likely, on awaking, to find himself before the
168 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
sharp-roofed cottage, for Pomp, among his other
virtues, is eminent for his love of home. This
goes on till poor Pomp is incapable of traveling
longer at such rate, and then a stranger is hired
for day-driving, and Pomp kept for night-driving.
For himself the doctor has no substitute. He
goes night and day for weeks, snatching rest as I
have described, and sometimes, when he goes into
a house, after examining his patient, lying down
upon the floor, or on three chairs, with a strict
injunction to the watchers not to let him sleep
over half an hour. This and a cup of tea twice a
day, strong enough for the brother of the Sun or
Moon himself, were all that the doctor required to
keep him going till the pestilence abated. It is
only in rare seasons, however, that their duties
are so arduous. Ordinarily, the " sickly season,"
as it is termed, extends through some two or two
months and a half at the close of the summer and
opening of the autumn. During those weeks bilious
fevers prevail more or less through the whole
country ; but especially in the vicinity of streams
and low grounds. Here they are very general,
and more malignant than in the prairies and higher
regions. In many cases, where the medical ad-
viser is unskilful, or proper care is not bestowed,
the patient is left with the " shakes" this term
being merely a shorter name for the disease which
others choose to call " Fever Ragy" Exclusive
of the short period just specified, little sickness
prevails. More than half the numerous forms of
disease which poison society and baffle the phy-
sician here are there unknown. And, judging
from my own experience, I should say that a
largo proportion of those which do prevail, might
be avoided, by ordinary attention to the laws of
health. Regularity in sleep, temperance in diet,
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 169
personal cleanliness, and a due share of exercise
at proper seasons, would reduce materially the
frightful amount of disease which now makes these
western summers alarming. A residence of nearly
five years, with only a tolerable attention to diet
and regimen, brought me not a week's indispo-
sition from the causes incident to the country.
But I have left our doctor to speak a word of
caution to settlers. I know his good-nature so
well however, that I am assured of pardon, even
though my advice should shorten his bills. And
why not, since the length of so few of them is ever
estimated ] In periods when his professional cares
relax, the doctor is the most efficient of our village
sociables. Always ready to converse well with
those who wish to do so, or play the mountebank for
those who prefer amusement ; ready to flatter a
lady into good-nature with herself, if it be neces-
sary, or argue political tendencies with her hus-
band, if this be more agreeable ; he was indispen-
sable in all social meetings, and nowhere a more
delightful companion than at his own table or fire-
side. Though not an accomplished singer, he was
sometimes prevailed upon to do his devoir even in
this behalf. I never heard but one or two exhibi-
tions of his vocal powers, and these were made at
the pressing instance of friends who could not be
refused. He had one favorite piece which served
on both occasions, though doubtless he was mas-
ter of others equally elegant in diction and charm-
ing in composition. I more than half suspected
that he had played Mozart himself to the following
lines —
" At the battle of the Nile,
I was there all the while."
These lines were burthen, chorus, and all : they
comprised the entire piece. And the third or
P
170 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
fourth repetition, in a tone incomparably more
monotonous than the words, generally drew such
peals of applause from the gentlemen and such a
waving of handkerchiefs from the ladies, that the
doctor was quite overcome, and took his seat in a
very interesting state of confusion. As a mere
artist the doctor was rarely excelled in what he
undertook. A negro dance or a lofty flight of
admiration for the works of nature, with which he
was so continually conversant, were executed with
nearly equal excellence, except that to the latter
he brought the strength of a fine mind, as well as
a high degree of artistic skill. In short our doctor
was a rare character, and we prized him as such.
His very faults and weaknesses, and he had plenty
of them, only made us pity him and wish they were
not — one could scarcely be indignant at them.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Summer had worn away, with its wealth of
golden grains and flowers. The luxuriant harvest
had disappeared from the farms in the adjacent
country, the tall corn was in its sere and yellow
leaf, the late fruits began to ripen, the prairies
faded from their rich green, save where here and
there a " late burn" showed the tender grass, like
an emerald island in the vast brown ocean. Au-
tumn in the prairie land is scarcely excelled for
the richness of its charms by any other season.
Coupled with the perfection of the wide vegetable
world is an idea of repose which fills the soul.
An immense country, whose energies have been
springing all the previous months with ceaseless
toil, whose rank luxuriance evinces the employ-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 171
ment of tremendous powers, now lies all around you
in the deep quiet which ushers in a truly natural
death. The sun pours forth a rich, mellow light ;
dim and soft, as if like a tender nurse he watched
over this sleep of nature. The native birds, happy
in the abundance which they cannot consume, fly
cheerfully but quietly about, as if, their labor done,
the season of rest had come to them also. The
quail whistles and dances among the brown hazel
thickets ; the grouse flies from field to field, di-
viding his depredations through the neighborhood,
and bearing off, when unmolested, a full crop to
the plains, which he loves better than the abodes
of man. The crow calls from the wood top, or
wheels his long and lazy flights above the naked
prairies, seeming really more amiable than at any
other season. The air is filled with the smoke of
distant fires ; some day they creep up into your
own neighborhood, and when night comes, light the
heavens and the earth as far as the eye can reach.
These are magnificent spectacles. I have stood upon
the roof of our large hotel in the evening, and looked
into a sea of fire which appeared to be unbroken
for miles. These incidents occasionally interrupt
the dreamy rest to which everything tends, but they
pass away in a few hours, and the next day is as
quiet as before. Sporting parties are made up
among the gentlemen, and fruit parties, including
ladies, to visit the nearest groves in search of haws,
nuts, et cet. ; or if any orchard has been cultivated in
the vicinity by some ancient settler, this is resorted
to, and small parcels of its rare fruit purchased and
taken home. Our fruit parties usually resorted to
a grove about a mile distant, on the west, and re-
turned after an hour or two of delightful rambling,
with baskets laden with the delicious haw-berry, a
feast for many days. The paw-paw and persimon
172 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
did not flourish in our vicinity. They love the
bottom lands of streams.
The groves at this season are indescribably charm-
ing. There is not in the large foliage that gor-
geous variety which we find in the eastern forest.
The trees wear a more sober and uniform com-
plexion ; but there are a thousand minuter beauties
which touch the heart. A few flowers linger in the
borders of the woodland and skirt the small streams.
In the deeper recesses some sprightly ones are found,
indicating by their vigor and freshness that they
belong to the season of frost. Among these is one
which I dearly love. It grows upon a tall stalk
sparsely set with leaves, and forms near the top a
beautiful shaft, studded with myriads of small flow-
ers of the most exquisite hue and loveliness. They
are like so many bright eyes looking gaily out into
the pleasant world around. This flower does not
belong to the deep groves, but is found in the lit-
tle glades or openings in the woodside. And there,
when October winds play among the leaves, and
the bright sunshine pours through a sea of mist
and smoke, into little nooks and corners, by de-
caying logs and upturned roots, where it has not
gained admittance during all the leafy reign of
summer, this bright flower is seen nodding and
dancing merrily in the breeze as if it rejoiced in
the approaching gloom. The squirrel searches
timidly about among the fallen leaves, making pro-
vision for the winter ; and the hare, whom he often
meets, skips by him, half in sport, half in earnest,
seeking tho tender twigs whereof to make her
dinner. The ripened nuts dropping among the
leaves often startle her from her contemplations,
and drive her to seek refuge in the nearest clump
of grass or bushes.
These wood-partios aro delightful recreations.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 173
Armed with thick shoes and provided with a basket
each, for trophies of all descriptions — or if the dis-
tance be too great to be traversed on foot, mounted,
as we could be best provided (the reader will re-
member pony), without our riding dresses, that we
may not be cumbered with them when we reach
the wood — away we go, free as the winds. North,
south, east, or west, the way is equally open. The
wild Indian, mounted on his hunting horse, has
scarcely a larger liberty than we. We scour the
plain, leap or plough the " slues," and gain the
grove. Here our steeds are fastened to trees and
boughs, and we scatter. Oh what a joyous after-
noon is before us ! And some at least know it,
though all do not seem to do so. Toward even-
ing, when the shadows begin to lengthen on the
turf, and the winds to sweep more chillingly
through the grove, we gather at the rendezvous ;
bring forth the shawls and other cautionary arti-
cles, spring into our saddles, give free rein, and
after a swift and exhilarating ride, stop at our
own doors filled with happy recollections, and
made better in spirit and body by a day in the
woods.
About three miles from our village is an orchard,
which has been cultivated these many years by
the widow of the original proprietor. It is the
only one in the vicinity, and the old lady's name is
therefore well known. And though no two words
could be more unlike in Orthography and sound than
her own name and that of the fruit she sold, yet to
me the former was always synonymous with ap-
ples. You could not hear or speak it without
having your mouth water for the delicious fruit
with which it thus became associated. The old
lady was much patronized by our villagers and the
settlers on adjacent farms. She lived quite neatly
p2
174 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
in a half-framed house, which you had to circum-
vent in order to enter it, there being three doors
in the rear, but none on the roadward-side. (I avoid
saying front, to be exact in the use of words.) The
grounds contiguous to the house had at certain
seasons of the year rare beauty and richness. A
stream of some magnitude swept in a crescent
form around the orchard-clad hill, on which it stood.
Across the road this hill sloped downward to the
stream in a smooth green lawn, dotted with trees.
On either hand from the house and skirting the bank
of the 6tream in front of it, was a dense grove of the
peach, the apple, and wild-crab apple-trees. About
the first of June these were in full bloom, and no
perfume of Araby could excel their sweetness, no
floral display, their beauty. As you approached
the spot after sunset, when the light dews just
moistened the blooming boughs, and the evening
winds swept over them, the whole air was laden
with their fragrance ; and when you gained the
summit of the hill and looked down upon the
nodding clusters of blossoms, set, as it were, in the
tender green of the forest trees towering above
them, nothing could be conceived more beautiful.
Many a pleasant twilight ride have we enjoyed,
lingering through the paths of this blossoming wil-
derness, inhaling its delicious odors, and gazing on
its unequaled beauty. I remember one evening,
when the sounds of bells seemed coming up from
the grove below our patlf to greet us : they ad-
vanced slowly ; and we almost stopped in admira-
tion of the gorgeous sunset above and the wealth of
the foliage lavished around. Presently the sounds
became more distinct, and a largo Pennsylvania
waggon with a top of snowy whiteness emerged
from the green wood. It was an emigrant family
— a group of the happiest faces and the cleanest
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND 175
persons one often finds among them. This was a
favorite camping ground, — and we lingered watch-
ing them till their supper fires shone in the ad-
vancing darkness, and then reluctantly turned our
horses' heads homeward. How I envied those
people ! — to lie down there, bathed in the calm,
pure air of a June night, the dropping petals strew-
ing their place of rest, the clear brooklet murmur-
ing to their sleep ; who could submit patiently to
imprisonment within four walls, as dull then as if
nature were not doing her best in grove, plain, and
sky to induce us to leave them !
But here lived the old lady of apple memory,
and here amid all this beauty had she lived from
time immemorial among the Yankee settlers. Her
spirit had partaken of the scene. She lived neatly
in doors, and there was an air of comfort about
the exterior of her home quite in harmony with
the feelings awakened by the surrounding scenery.
How indeed could she have violated so beautiful
a sanctuary, by a life altogether coarse and un-
lovely. But she was not proof against the perni-
cious influences which the possession of absolute
power works in the mind which exercises it.
Being for many years the sole dispenser of apples
to a large region round her, she had grown ca-
pricious in her tastes, and now cared little to accom-
modate those whom she did not like. If you were
one of her favorites, and called on her in the fruit
season, either by way of compliment, or as a pur-
chaser, she always presented you a dish of the
choicest productions of her orchard to eat in her
house, and made her happiest selection for your
purchase. We were fortunately of this class. She
regarded it as an evidence of kind and friendly in-
terest, to inquire after the prosperity of her place,
and usually tendered some hints gratis, on the
176 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
cultivation of fruit trees. In one of these familiar
lessons, she remarked that there was a way to
make trees bear much earlier than most persons
supposed they would.
" Pray how is that, Mrs. S 1"
" Why, when we was a settin out the last of
our trees, them in the orchard down thar," pointing
out of the door, " the man we got 'em of, told my
old man that if he wanted 'em to bear early ho
must set 'em out when the moon was in parri-
ghee."
" When is that, Mrs. S V* said I, making a
violent effort to preserve my gravity, for her keen
eyes were fixed on my face.
" O, I reckon folks that's college larnt as you be,
needn't ax me when the moon's in parrighce. I
expect you can tell any time when you look at
it."
" I am not college learned," I replied, " you
know ladies never are, and I presume my husband
has forgotten all about the parrigliee of the moon
long since."
" Well you can find it any time by looking in a
nahnanic ; that's whar we found it. Some folks,"
added the old lady, " don't allow there's anything
in the moon about fruit and so on, but I reckon
they don't know so much more than other folks as
they think they do. I know a heap of things
that does better when they're planted at sartin
times o' the moon, and there can't nobody make
me think 'tain't so, 'cause I've tried it. 'Tain't so
much account about some things ; I reckon taters
does as well planted one time as another, and so
does beets and so on, but cabbages and onions and
all them 'dought to be planted in the new o' the
moon, if you want 'em to be of any 'count."
Such edifying conversation usually occupied the
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 177
time spent at the old lady's house. If you were
particularly deferential and received instructions
meekly, you were always rewarded by having
your pockets or basket filled with the choicest ap-
ples for your own especial gratification. I know
of no other way in which the good woman ever
corrupted the morals of her visitors, but this was
bad enough. Whose integrity could stand un-
shaken before a dish heaped with apples such as
money could not buy 1 Who would venture to
correct the friendly old woman's orthoepy at such
a risk ! Certainly not one who had such a longing
for the apple bins of eastern cellars as I had.
Such were some of the many excursions of autumn
days which we shared. Then, as I intimated, the
gentlemen more frequently went out in small com-
panies to shoot the quail, grouse, hare, and squir-
rel. These parties were generally equestrian and
very jocose among themselves, though the whole
mass of female nerves in the village was in a
flutter till they returned. Because it had been
found that in the absence of game they shot each
other ! My husband had joined one of these par-
ties and came home with shot enough in his limbs
to make us count it quite a serious affair, though
it only resulted in his giving two or three days*
exclusive attention to books within doors.
Later in the season an occurrence under similar
circumstances robbed us of one of our worthiest
young mechanics, and produced a most melan-
choly feeling throughout on our little commu-
nity. Two young men, intimate friends, had left
the village together on Saturday evening, to
spend the Sabbath at the house of a friend six
miles away. On Monday morning they started for
home, each with his rifle and game-bag, intending
to search the groves and thickets on their way
12
178 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
down for game. Near sunset they had reached
the skirt of the grove about a mile and a half from
the village, and discovering some quail in one of
the hazel thickets which bordered it, they parted to
" beat" the thicket. Stealing cautiously around,
one raised his rifle and fired at a bird that was just
tripping into his place of concealment. The bird
fell, but a spring and a dismal groan at the same
instant made his blood curdle. He dropped his
rifle and ran to the other side. Judge of his feel-
ings when he saw his friend lying on the ground, a
crimson stream spouting from his breast ; and heard
him exclaim in a faint voice, " C , you have
shot me!" In three minutes he was dead! The
ball had passed through the heart ! His remains
were borne to the village on the waggon of a
neighboring farmer, a coroner's inquest was held,
And on the second day they were followed to the
grave by the mourning citizens. The unfortunate
man was a son of New Hampshire, the pride of his
aged father and mother, whom he had left to seek a
more promising home in the richer regions of the
west. His friend, scarcely less an object of sym-
pathy, took a vow never again to handle fire-arms ;
but so completely had the horrors of the scene fast-
ened upon his mind, that he never recovered his
former calmness. He brooded over the dreadful
event with a morbid kind of self-accusation, aban-
doned his business, and at length wandered away
melancholy, abstracted, miserable. This was a
painful tragedy for our little community, and last-
ing and deep was the sympathy it created for the
two unfortunate young men.
The reader will remember I informed him that
our next door on the left was a grocery — (groggery
would be the truer name, but what lady can ever
make up her mind to write it). If he has heard
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 179
nothing from this place before, it is not because I
have not. Many a day's tranquillity and many a
night's rest did this horrid place destroy. All the
influence which the respectable portion of the
community could bring to bear upon it, failed to
mitigate its character or check the abominations
daily enacted in it. The sights and sounds of the
poor wretches who frequented it often compelled
me to forsake and close the front of my house ; but
it was vain to seek seclusion from them in my
small tenement ; their sickening shouts and groans
reached one everywhere. Sometimes these diabol-
ical orgies lasted two or three days and nights
without pause, and then a time of comparative
quiet followed. The master-spirit among those
who shared in their scenes, was the individual
who kept the shop. His ceaseless habits of drunk-
enness had made him one of the most disgusting
of human spectacles. AVith a face enormously
bloated beyond its natural proportions, eyes bleared
and watery, white lips, parched and mottled with
bright red spots, and palsied limbs, the miserable
wretch, not yet thirty-five years of age, crept
about, a warning, one would have thought, to those
who congregated about him. But here they as-
sembled, two or three miserably lost spirits from
the eastern states, and as many Kentuckians of the
lowest class ; and here, hand in hand, they led
each other to ruin. Sometimes the citizens would
acquire influence enough over one of the band to
keep him from the spot for a period, but they
seized on him again at the first opportunity, and
made him pay for his respite by a deeper plunge
than ever. There was one unfortunate man highly
connected in one of the principal cities of the east,
where he had left a wife and two interesting chil-
dren. He had fallen among these wretches soon
180 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
after his arrival, but had several times been re-
strained, partly by his better feelings, partly by
the remonstrances of his friends. Every one who
knew him mourned over the waste of a man who
possessed so many of the elements of usefulness
and happiness. Early in the autumn, he received
a letter from his wife, appealing to him, as her
husband and the father of his children, to return
to them or make provision for them to come to
him. It touched the right chord in him ; he re-
solved to become a temperate man. And he per-
severed in this resolution till the beginning of
November with every promise of success. Acci-
dent at length threw him into the clutches of these
fiends. They dragged him to their place of sac-
rifice, and compelled him to taste, nay, to drink,
till he was again without self-control or reason.
His friends, who had watched him with deep in-
terest, seizing every opportunity to strengthen his
good resolutions, called on the master demon, and
begged that he would let him go ; that he would
n N t supply him with the means of self-destruction.
He answered their remonstrances with curses, and
assured them that as long as he had liquor and
" Mac" had money, the latter should have what he
■wanted. On Saturday evening there was deep
drinking in this miniature hell. The carousal
held till morning opened, and at a late hour the
various inmates set out reeling and stumbling
toward home, or whatever lodging chance might
bring them. The Sabbath opened clear and bright.
A light frost had crisped the grass ; the red sun
came up the eastern sky, curtained with mist and
6moke ; soft winds crept over the embrowned
forests and plains, and all nature seemed to be
filled with a kind of sad joy. I shall never forget
that morning. The holy quiet which rested on
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 181
the earth contrasted strongly with the fierce and
harrowing sounds of the previous night. I looked
out just as the sun was rising. The smoke began
to curl slowly upward from various chimneys, and
a few early risers were abroad inhaling the air
freshened by the frost which yet lay upon the
grass. They looked as if care were dismissed, and
man as well as nature was to enjoy a holy day.
When the family who had sheltered poor " Mac,"
notwithstanding his many deviations, ascertained
that he had not returned to the house, they dis-
patched a person to the grocery, to bring him
home. But he was not there ! The miserable
proprietor reported as nearly as his half conscious
state and drunken recollections would permit, that
he left there about two o'clock.
" You'll find him," said he, " under some fence
or the side of a house, fast enough, I'll warrant
you ; for he was drunk when he went away ; he
wanted to git off afore he took the last drink, but
we made him go it !"
There was an unfinished house some distance
below, and thither they went, thinking it probable
that he had crept in there to sleep. But he was
not to be found. They were wondering where he
could have gone, when one of them, happening to
pass near the open well, glanced into it, and was
horrified to discover the figure of the lost man in
the bottom, partly covered with water. He was
immediately removed, and measures taken to resus-
citate him, but life was utterly quenched. Another
coroner's inquest was held. A rude coffin was
nailed together, and the remains were deposited
the same day in the earth. I see now before me
the thrilling events of that day, faint as is this pic-
ture of them. I feel again the overpowering emo-
tions we experienced when reflecting on the fate
Q
182 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
of this unwilling victim to the vices of others. The
poor wretch, half conscious, notwithstanding the
maddening potations that had been forced upon
him, stumbling along in the dark night for a place
of rest, thinking possibly of his broken vows, and
of the faithful wife and children whose hearts
would bleed could they know his situation ; half
resolving, perhaps, that he would still save him-
self, and never touch again the fire that had so
nearly consumed his soul — all these thoughts and
feelings, faintly recognized, passing through the
mind that had bowed reluctantly to its renewed
degradation, and all cut short by the brief and sud-
den plunge which ended in almost instant death !
What an entrance into eternity ! what a fearful
leave-taking of the fair earth ! what an introduction
to the mighty future ! For days my mind was
busied with his last thoughts, and the fearful strug-
gles he must have made to recover his hold upon
life. I could not dismiss them.
If everything connected with this terrible place
had been painful and disgusting before, it will
readily be conceived that they were incomparably
more so now. The groans seemed the dying ago-
nies of fiends, the shouts their exultations. The
reeling forms and bloated faces seemed more
deeply lost than ever. But they did not remain
long : public indignation was so roused at the de-
struction of a man who had naturally so much to
win esteem and respect, that the grocery was
doomed from the day of his death. Pity it could
not have been before ; but people require some-
thing which would startle the blind and deaf, to
rouse them to action in such matters. Even now
public opinion barely permitted individual action,
but did not aid it. The licence which conferred
the power to do all these things was revoked, the
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 183
shop broken up, and the miserable wretch who
had kept it driven to seek another place of abode.
He lingered about some time in his degradation,
till at last one of his brother masons took him to
his house in a neighboring town, and by some
means induced his reformation. When I last saw
him, I scarcely recognized him. But improved as
he was, he still bore the stamp of a degraded,
wretched man.
CHAPTER XIX.
The reader must wish by this time to hear
something of my housekeeping. It will be remem-
bered that my only fire was in a small-sized Frank-
lin stove ; and as this had a grate in it, it will not
be difficult for housekeepers to conceive that my
conveniences for the multifarious operations of
baking, boiling, stewing, and roasting, were some-
what limited. By the nicest possible adjustment
of my tea-kettle to the middle of the arch, I
could pass it in and out of the grate. The first
task was by no means difficult, being generally
performed when the vessel contained cold water.
But to remove it, when the boiling liquid was bub-
bling from the spout, and every crevice performing
the office of an escape pipe, to the utmost of its
capabilities, was quite another affair. Neverthe-
less, twice, thrice, and even double the last num-
ber of times in a day, I wrought myself up to the
effort, and what is still clearer evidence of heroism
and genius, never failed, nor even met with any
greater accident than sundry small burns on my
hands and fingers. The greatest number of these
agreeable little incidents of tea-kettle rescue, was
four at one attempt, the average two.
184 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
Beside my tea-kettle, the largest vessel which I
could use was a three-pint saucepan ; and herein
were performed all soils of operations, from the
fricasseeing of chickens to the boiling of corned
beef and cabbage. Not to tax credulity too much,
let it be borne in mind that I could use three of
these at once — a privilege which every dinner I
prepared taught me to appreciate. The most
troublesome of all my culinary operations was
baking. It is true I had a good tin oven, but then
where to place it was a troublesome question. If
it had been possessed of any means of generating
caloric within itself, so that, having placed the
preparation within, I could have set it on the table
or flour barrel, and left it to bake at its own pace,
my troubles would have been sensibly alleviated.
But my tin oven was like all others. Never taking
into account the difference between a small Frank-
lin and a wide fireplace, although it had looked the
former in the face so often, and been times with-
out number crowded and jostled from its position
before it, it said, "Set me to the fire, and I'll bake
your bread ; if you don't, it shall stand here raw
till doomsday." So I was always compelled to
make some provision for it. The front feet could
stand on the hearth, but the back ones were of the
same length, and, of course, called for something
to make up the difference between the height of
the hearth and floor. Sticks of wood and chips — I
had like to have said stones, but of these we had
none-: — were the articles most in demand for this
use. But as these, when piled loosely upon each
other, are not the most stable foundation, it will
not be wondered at, that my oven sometimes went
over and poured out the half-baked loaves upon
the floor.
But, beside these mechanical obstacles, there
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 185
was another difficulty attendant upon baking, of
much more serious import, and that was the
making of the bread. I scarcely know how I
should have conquered this, but for the kind in-
structions of the excellent old lady whose barrel
of rain-water had been so acceptable a letter of in-
troduction. The best of yeast from her own jar
was always at my service, and the most patient
directions for mixing, kneading, and rising. I
had learned in the laboratory that it was a most
pernicious thing to suffer bread to pass the stage
of saccharine fermentation; and have no doubt that
if any housekeeper, before I was one myself, had
applied for instructions in making bread, I could
have delivered quite a voluble lecture on the
various stages of fermentation, and the changes
attendant upon each. But theory is one thing,
practice another; and though the knowledge I
had derived from our lamented professor was by
no means useless, yet it did not make my first nor
my second loaf of bread as good as that of my
neighbor, who had never read a page of chemistry.
However, the mysteries of sponge, first mixing,
moulding, and second rising, became familiar after
a few sour experiences, till I could, with much
complacency, set a plate of my own good bread
before my husband. I had one other main diffi-
culty; and that was to keep this last-named person-
age from making a private grocery and meat-house
of my little place. Never man looked at the con-
suming powers of two common individuals through
such enormous magnifying lenses I Those described
by Mr. Weller to Sergeant Buzfuz, were nothing
to them ! Four dozen quails, and half a dozen
rabbits, purchased in one day, it will be confessed,
was rather a large provision, abating the innumer-
able fancies for salt-fish and corned beef, which
Q2
186 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
one might take before these were consumed. We
tried, under this profuse administration, the salted
quail ; and, I hesitate not to say, for the benefit of
posterity, that they bear no comparison to the
fresh bird. The same testimony will apply to the
corned rabbit, of which we had a great abundance.
I speak of these dishes, not to boast of the dainti-
ness of our fare, but because they are, I think,
anomalies in the gastronomic world, and because
I wish that the young housekeeper who has never
had so formidable a purchase to dispose of, may
admire our ingenuity. Truth compels me to say,
however, that a considerable portion of this game
afterwards made its escape by the side door, with-
out having seen the interior of my saucepans.
The period to which I looked forward with
most trepidation, was the session of Court. My
better half being in the legal profession, it would,
of course, be incumbent on us to entertain some
of the brethren whom this event would call to-
gether. Getting up a formal dinner was an affair
quite beyond my comprehension. I had paid so
little attention to the externals of the art, that I
did not even know how a table should look when
laid, to say nothing of the formidable detail by
which it was brought about. The first dinner,
therefore, was likely to be quite an event. While
it was yet in futuro, Hal made his appearance at
our little domicile. I laid all my troubles before
him, but he bade me be of good cheer, promising
to preside over the cuisine himself when the dread-
ed day came, and comforted me by asserting that
he could prepare a handsomer dinner than half
the housekeepers of the village, and that both of
us together must make a brilliant thing of it.
Behold us, then, on the morning of the eventful
day, all stir and earnestness. The moment the
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 187
professional moiety of the household left, the con-
sultation began. I was not in the condition of
Elise, whom Mrs. Gunilla relieved, at a very late
hour, with a pair of chickens. My purveyor had
been at his large purchases again, and I had
lamb, quails, chickens, and pig. In the perplexity
of choosing I turned to Hal.
* Which shall I take ] for you know it is impos-
sible to prepare more than one."
" Let it be the lamb, then, by all means. It will
be more substantial as a solitary dish than chick-
en or quail, and will not, on an average, compel
so many of your guests to cannibalism as the other
four-footed animal would."
"Bequiet,SirImpudence. I don't employ cooks
to make comments on my guests. But if you think
the lamb will be better than either of the other meats,
let us decide upon it. How shall it be cooked V*
" You have but one way — a leg of lamb will
hardly go into a three-pint saucepan. You must
roast it of course ; and if you have dinner at two,
it must go to the fire about twelve."
" But there is a difficulty," I replied, " about
roasting which my limited practice has not yet
enabled me to overcome. That is to tell when the
meat is done ! and a small degree of over or under
doing, you know, ruins the whole for nice palates."
" Oh leave that to me," said my assistant. " I'll
keep all that right. You make the various other
things ready, and prepare the roast, and I'll be
here in time to superintend it. I'm going over to
see the Sucker court now."
" Well, don't fail of being here at half past
eleven, for I shall be in a fever if you do."
" No, good by."
I spent the remainder of the morning in the sub-
ordinate duties of preparing potatos, turnips, to-
188 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
matos, et cet. The narrowness of my apartment
compelled me to restore everything to order as fast
as I disordered it ; I could not leave a utensil soiled,
because there was no spare place which it could
occupy. No vessel of water which had been once
used could remain standing ; for my hollow ware,
beside the tea-kettle and frying-pan, was confined to
the three saucepans already named. I had but one
table and the three short shelves before described,
and on, or about these, all my preparations had to be
made. Such very limited conveniences for house
keeping duties drew the deepest commiseration
from the neighboring ladies who visited me, and
yet, strange as it may seem, I thought they were
quite uncalled for. My entire unacquaintance
with practical housekeeping, while it doubtless
multiplied the few cares I had, rendered me una-
ble to appreciate a more favorable condition, so
that it was, after all, a source of much content. I
had no better state with which to compare this, and
was therefore ready at all times to pronounce it
good. With a few alterations which I could have
suggested, I should have thought it unexception-
able.
In the initiatory stages of the dinner, when
doubts of my success would rise to torment me, I
had one stronghold to flee to for comfort. That
was my dessert. There was no doubt about it.
My pumpkin pies were as good as ever graced a
New England thanksgiving, and the peaches de-
licious ! And then, too, I was certain of good
coffee. Mr. F. had taught me the Parisian mode
of making it, and there was no chance of failure.
So between the doubts and hopes, pretty nearly
balanced (for what would the dessert be if the
meat were spoiled), I got through the morning.
Punctually, a little before twelve, came Hal full
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 189
of marvelous things to relate about the court room,
and the people, and the functionaries, more espe-
cially the judge. The personal apearance of this
gentleman he declared to be very extraordinary.
His wardrobe demonstrated that he had been on
a long circuit and left his valise at the first stop-
ping-place. One could scarce refrain condoling
with him, and offering the loan of a change of
linen. He patronized the never-failing uniform
of ajeanscoat and pantaloons; the latter so much
worn, that really it was wonderful he had not re-
membered to order a new pair in place of those
he must have left. So overflowing was the youth's
mind with recollections of the Court-house, that
I had some difficulty in bringing him back to the
leg of lamb. But this was effected at last, and the
earnest business of the day commenced. Boil and
roast was the burthen of our song till half-past
one. But the tribulation we were in ! or rather
I, for Hal was wicked enough to enjoy my per-
plexity. The lamb began to shrink as soon as it
was thoroughly warmed through, and continued
to diminish till he declared another half hour would
use up its very shadow.
" It must have been killed when the moon was
in parigee," said he, " for no position of the hea-
venly bodies, less extraordinary, could produce
such an effect."
It was too late now to repair the consequences
of this unaccountable freak ; and its diminutive
appearance when placed upon the large dish I had
reserved for it, nearly made me desperate. "What
would my guests think of such a solitary piece of
lamb ! What a misery, I thought, that apologies
have been so worn out by their unmeaning use,
that one cannot now be uttered without the forfeit
of self-respect. I can never explain the true difli-
190 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
culty here, for I should burst into an uncontrollable
laugh over the wasting lamb. I can never tell
them why I did not prepare another dish, because
while I was expatiating on the inelastic capacities of
a small Franklin, and three half-grown saucepans,
they would be weighing some point in evidence
or law, and wondering why women would talk
forever about such small matters ! There was
but one way ; and that was to be silent. The mo-
ment I made this discovery, I was at rest. If there
be any excellence about my philosophy of life, it
is that of adopting heartily, and at once, whatever
way seems clearly to be right, no matter how much
it may conflict with preconceived feelings or opin-
ions. This disposition, ability, or whatever one
may please to term it, has saved me many hours of
indecision, complaint, and pining. It is so much
happier, not to have one's energies and desires
warring with each other — not to be debating
between the right and the wrong — wishing to
pursue the one, yet unable to abandon the other.
If my moralizing over a shrunken bit of lamb
seems out of place, the reader will remember that
I had extricated myself from great tribulation by
resolving to treat my dinner as if it were worthy,
not only of my own respect, but that of my guests
also.
My temperature, however, was a little raised by
the sudden reflection that Mr. F. might double the
proposed number of guests, if he could find, among
his acquaintances, so many that were unengaged.
He would forget the size of the house, the size of
the stove, and the size of his wife's capacity as
cook, and bring as many as if all these had been
on the most extensive scale. Fortunately, the rec-
ollection of this indefinite hospitality did not seize
me, until just as the tide of learning and law was
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 191
flowing out of the white wooden temple, and I was
soon after able to distinguish our little party, lim-
ited to the original number. Two of the guests
were strangers to me; the third scarcely other-
wise. When the ceremony of introduction was
over, they were seated in the little front bedroom,
and I retired to dish up the dinner. Hal was mis-
sing, and I could not call him ; the partition was
too thin. While I was externally busied with the
vegetables, and internally denouncing the friend
who could forsake one in the hour of severest trial,
the popular half of the great back door swung open,
and the waggish face of my extempore cook was
thrust cautiously in.
" I say," he exclaimed in a whisper, " consider-
ing the lamb, I may as well take a botanizing tour
while you are at dinner, eh V
" Be off," I replied, " and botanize, or do any
other thing you please, but don't come here to
perplex me now, when I have so many weighty
matters to adjust."
" You don't call the mutton weighty 1 Just put
a couple of quails into one of those things there
that never rest, and we'll have the better dinner yet.
It's a pity you hadn't something to lay around that
fraction of roasted lamb," returning provokingly
to the sore subject ; " shall I get you a handful of
greens from the prairie V
" Oh, be merciful, Hal, and go away for an
hour, if you won't sit down to dinner with us.
When you come back, I'll have a quail ready for
you."
" Well, good bye ;" but a moment after the face
reappeared.
" Just allow me to suggest that you had better
not take any of the lamb. You need not look at
the dish when you decline, but just carry it off with
192 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
a Graham air, as if you thought the less any one
ate of it the better."
" Now, sir, if you add another word to your im-
pudent counsel, you shall go elsewhere for dinner ;
speak only once again," said I, seizing a tumbler
of water, " and I'll — "
The door slowly closed, and my tormentor dis-
appeared. I arranged my various dishes, unfas-
tened my working-apron, and was folding it, pre-
paratory to inviting in my guests, when the face
again looked in.
" Shall I not come in and pour the water for
youl It is rather an awkward business."
" Nevertheless I am fully competent to it my-
self. Judge if I am not," and away went the
tumbler I had menaced him with plump in his
face. He was fairly rid of now, beyond a doubt,
for the door shut quickly, and a handkerchief was
put in requisition on his streaming face and head.
When I had enjoyed the joke sufficiently to be
grave, I invited the gentlemen to take seats. One
of them was good-natured enough to praise the
lamb, though it must have been execrable. When
they left it, there remained an abundant supply for
a much larger company. But the coffee was in-
dubitably good, the pie ditto, and the peaches and
cream required no praise.
I got through the meal without receiving any
very distinct impression of the characters of the
party, except that one appeared a slow man, with
heavy thoughts which came to the surface, some-
what as a load of coal comes up from dark mines,
and seemed not a little astonished to find them-
selves there. Another seemed to be halting be-
tween two species of animate existence, his ears
not being long enough to give him an undisputed
position in one, and all other qualifications, except
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 193
the power of speech, too short to entitle him to a
place in the other. The third was a Kentuckian
— a member of the legislature — an honest man of
free but not elegant speech. A man who thought
truly, but made some ludicrous blunders in giving
utterance to his ideas. The character of a high
public functionary came under discussion, and this
gentleman testified to his being " the most indig-
nant man" he had ever seen. I had before heard
his honor spoken of as rather pugnacious, and sup-
posed this to be the Kentucky style of expressing
the same thing. " The most indignant man, mad-
am," said he, turning to me; "he has no more
dignity than a schoolboy !"
" Indeed, sir ; if that be true, I think he has
ample occasion to be indignant."
" Take some more of the fruit, major," said my
husband ; " help yourself, sir."
" Thank you, I'll endeevor" was the character-
istic reply.
At last the dinner was over. "What with law,
blunders, and nonsense, the gentlemen adjourned
to the court-room, and I sat like a feminine Ma-
rius looking over the ruins, when the face I had so
recently washed without the consent of the owner,
peeped in at a crack of the great door, and asked
if there "was any mutton left]"
" Come in and see," I replied, " and look well
to your conduct, or I shall try the virtues of cold
water again."
" But this time I shall be able to return it, so it will
behove you, madam, to look to your ways also. If
you do me another such favor on credit, I shall feel
bound to reciprocate both — with interest."
We, however, got through with no more hydro-
pathic sparring ; and when the house, i. e., the
13 R
194 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
back-room, was fairly set in order again, I felt no
little ground of self-gratulation that my first din-
ner was so creditably over.
CHAPTER XX.
As the autumn advances toward winter in the
"prairie land," nature, as everywhere else, loses
her benign aspect. Heavy winds from the west
and north sweep over the immense plains, shaking
their brown, crumbling herbage on the unburned
regions, and howling with a sharper tone over the
tracts that have been left naked and black by the
fire. Much rain usually descends in the month of
November, and slight falls of snow commence in
the latitude of 41° about the middle of the follow-
ing month. But they rarely whiten the ground till
much later in the season. The roads are fright-
fully bad until the rains are over, and the frost
locks up the surface of the earth. There is then
rarely snow enough to make sleighing in the
beaten tracks. The greatest depth seldom exceeds
five inches, the average is about two and a half.
Very few sleighs are kept. Occasionally a young
gentleman who bears rich recollections of the
moonlight rides of the east, possesses himself of a
nondescript article of this kind ; more, however, as
a memento, than as a means of like enjoyment in
the new country.
The farmers usually keep a coarse vehicle, on
which they slide their produce to market and their
wood home. When a ride is taken it is in this,
rigged with the box of a farm waggon. They are
pleasant rides, notwithstanding the roughness of
the conveyance. A slight fall of snow on the long
grass gives the sleigh an easy, flowing motion, and
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 195
you glide as gaily over the prairies as you would
along the fenced ways of the east, with a foot of
snow beneath your polished runner. Away you go
with nothing to restrain your motions. The wide
domain is all unfenced; the frost has bridged the
sloughs ; and your excursion is bounded only by
time'and the capacity of your steeds. Dashing along,
you start up a bevy of grouse that have been shrink-
ing under a clump of tall grass or weeds. Away
they fly, their steady wings cutting the clear dense
air, with a scarcely visible motion, till they alight at
no great distance, and seek a shelter similar to the
one they have left. The small red wolf too occa-
sionally crosses your path, but his gaunt form soon
disappears behind some hillock or tree. If you
turn into the barrens, you do not ride far before
the tramp of your horses and the merry voices of
your party startle some timid hungering deer from
his browsing, and send him bounding over the
snowy surface, with a tread almost as light and
fleet as the wind that follows him. If a rifle has
been clandestinely stowed beneath the buffalo
robes, it is produced now in quick time, but the
ladies one and all declare that it shall not be dis-
charged at the fugitive. If it is leveled at him,
they push it aside, or strike it up into the air, so
that the sportsman, if he persist, sends his ball
among the naked boughs, or if reasonable, lays it
aside, and contents his savage heart with a promise
to come out next day, unattended by " these foolish
women."
The quail dodges about farm-yards, grain-fields,
and woodland, and during all the winter months is
trapped in immense numbers. I have known them
offered in market at sixpence a dozen. No meat
surpasses them for richness and delicacy of flavor.
Broiled, fricasseed, roasted, or fried, they are in-
196 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
comparable. But one must have more stomach
than soul to devour the little charmers, without
some compunctions. The bare recollection of one
of the cheerful, happy-looking little beings who
has tripped along in the road before you when
you were taking a summer ride or walk, the de-
lightful feature that his presence lent to the land-
scape, and the charm of his clear voice, ringing
through the copses and groves, must, if you have
any love of these things, detract from the mere
palate pleasure before you. Yet notwithstanding
all these appeals to the higher sense of man, mil-
lions of these beautiful little creatures are every
winter devoured.
The winters of these western regions are much
shorter and less severe than those in the same lati-
tudes in the eastern states. Indeed, this season
scarcely sets in till the middle of December. After
this the cold is often as intense as is ever experi-
enced below the high latitudes of the New England
states ; but its period of duration is very short.
Two or three days at most of such weather are
invariably followed by fair, sunny days, often mild
as those of June ; the hard-trodden streets of
towns become quite dry, and even dusty ; soft,
pleasant winds from the south prevail throughout
the day ; your fires die away in the bright sunlight
that pours through the open doors and windows.
Sometimes these days are attended by warm rains,
which soften the soil and make the roads and streets
almost impassable. It seems then as if spring
were at hand. You almost watch for tender grass
to spring through the dead herbage that covers the
prairies. But these pass away, and presently the
frost-king is down upon us again, his cold breatli
searching every cranny and chink of the rude cabin
oi the Sucker, and the unfinished house of the more
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 197
ambitious settler. I do not mean to say that so
mild a temperature as I have described is invaria-
ble at this season. Yet no person can spend a
winter in the region to which I refer, without ex-
periencing many such days. Farther south, in the
latitude of Vandalia and Kaskaskia, they make a
considerable part of the season.
The most objectionable feature of the climate of
all these valley states north of the Ohio, is the sud-
den and extreme changes to which it is liable. The
mercury sometimes rises many degrees in a few
minutes, and often falls as rapidly.
I remember one of these changes which occurred
in the winter of '37, when the mercury fell incred-
ibly in a very few minutes. There had been a
slight fall of snow two or three days previous,
which the warm sun had converted into water, and
left standing in pools all over the surface of the
frozen ground. The morning was mild, and the
sun shone bright till a few minutes before eleven,
when the air became suddenly chilly, and in less
than ten minutes the whole face of the earth was
locked as under a Lapland winter. Many persons
lost their lives by the sudden and extreme cold.
Travelers over the large prairies had no means of
escape, and for several days tidings were continu-
ally coming in, of some unfortunate victim who
had perished. An old gentleman and his daugh-
ter had left a little town north of us for their home
six miles away just before the change, and never
reached it. Three men on horseback were cross-
ing a large prairie on the south, all of whom per-
ished, with their steeds. One of them, in hopes to
escape by uniting to his own the warmth of his
horse, had removed the entrails of the animal, and
crept into the cavity ! They were all found the next
day, a short distance from each other, stark and stiff.
r2
198 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
In the northern part of the state the winters are
longer, the snow falls deeper, and the cold, though
not always more intense, is of longer duration.
But the prairies here are divided into smaller
tracts, and partially sheltered by copses of wood,
so that the long winter does not rave so fiercely
over them as it would over the wide savannahs
farther south. The deep snow occasionally leads
to dreadful destruction among the deer. It is often
crusted over, so as to bear the weight of a man,
while their long, slender limbs plunge into it,
and sink them beyond the hope of extrication.
In this helpless condition, the terrified creatures
are overtaken, and often cruelly beaten to death,
by barbarians whose only object is to destroy them.
Sometimes they are not even removed, and at
others only the choice parts are taken off and car-
ried home for use. The unmitigated barbarity of
these merciless hunters is more clearly demonstrated
toward spring, when starvation has left the deer a
feeble skeleton. In this state he can be of no value
whatever, yet the ruthless butchery continues add-
ing another to the many evidences that blood-
shedding may become a pleasant recreation.
The fickleness of the wintry season greatly im-
pairs the farmer's chance of success with fall crops.
In those regions where the surface is not covered
with snow, the small grains which the eastern far-
mer is accustomed to sow in the fall, have little
prospect of coming to much strength of maturity ;
but this disadvantage is, according to all western
agriculturists, compensated tenfold by the gigantic
growth of summer.
One of the most trying conditions of western life
is the first winter, which finds the settler moved out
of his warm cabin into the new house which he has
erected for himself, but not finished. The former
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 199
tenement has afforded good security against the
greatest degree of cold. Its thick walls, chinked
between the logs with triangular bits of wood,
plastered neatly in with clay, have been impervious
to the biting frost. The wide fireplace has afford-
ed abundant facilities for imparting warmth ; and
the heavy floor, if well put together, has protected
the feet without a carpet. But since the last win-
ter passed away, the new framed house has been
erected. Boards split by his own hands form its thin
outside walls, and these are generally for the first
year the only thing interposed between the bitter
elements and the shivering tenants. No wonder
then, that the cups freeze to the saucers while they
are at table, or that the chicken or grouse from
which they have just breakfasted, is thoroughly
frosted over while the housewife is setting away
the remains of the meal. These are trying times.
Quilts are put in requisition, in place of lath and
plaster, the fire is kept on active duty, and food is
abundant. Hope too whispers that such weather
cannot long continue. A few pinching days, and
the bright sun and the warm winds will steal in
where the keen cold now enters, and be all the
more welcome for the constrast. One, two, and
sometimes three winters are worn out in this way.
The material for finishing houses is scarce ; labor
is still more difficult to procure ; and, most of all,
the great length of the warm season and the thou-
sand delights which the external world furnishes,
relax the care and energy which under circum-
stances less favorable to other enjoyments, would
prove a more efficient security against the rigors
of this season. A like want of forecast against the
inclemencies of winter marks the whole economy
of the early agriculturists of these genial regions.
Their cattle are no better cared for than them-
200 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
selves. No barns or outbuildings, except a small
corn crib, are constructed for years after they set-
tle on a farm. This neglect is doubtless owing, in
part, to the scarcity of material for building, to the
defective state of the mechanic arts, and nearly as
much, perhaps, to the unsettled feeling experienced
by these strange lovers of the freedom of frontier life.
Liable at any moment to be pressed upon in his
chosen home by eastern emigrants, the western
farmer feels that he must retreat from it. He has
little sympathy with the living tide that is flowing
over his beautiful plains from the land of the rising
sun, and when it has passed and closed around
him, he feels a stranger in his own home. The
charms for which he loved the country are no
longer there, the spirit which bound him to it
dwells not in the thrifty growing estates of his
Yankee neighbors. It has fled to the untenanted
plains beyond, and thither he must follow it. Of
what avail then were it to build, as if his life were
to be spent here ] He must be ever moving, ever
in the van of civilization, pressing hard upon the
Indian, whose footstep brushes the first dew from
the face of nature in all these magnificent king-
doms of her richest wealth.
But I am departing from winter and winter life
on the prairies. The firesides of many families
present something of the aspect which those of our
grandsires did in the eastern states. The small
wheel employs the females in the hours not de-
voted to the cares of the family. The bunch of
linen grows day by day, and by and by the sound
of the loom may be heard from the chamber or the
adjoining room, if there be one. The men look
after their cattle, husk their corn at the shock in
the field, and if preparations for building the next
season are in progress, spend the remaining time in
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 201
preparing timber, splitting boards, riving shingles,
and in every other way making their own hands
perform the duties of the various mills, machines,
and instruments, which elsewhere relieve the cul-
tivator of the soil of these duties. "When nothing
of this kind employs them, they fasten a horse to
a little " pung" or jumper,* take a gun, and driving
around the corn-fields of the vicinity, shoot grouse
enough for one or two dinners, and return home
to read or do whatever else seems good, until the
return of evening brings fresh wants to be supplied
at the farm-yard, or some social neighbor to chat
away the hours at the fireside.
Navigation is suspended on the streams of the
interior, and on the upper Mississippi, for a few
weeks. It usually opens toward the last of Jan-
uary, seldom later than the first of the succeeding
month. The ice bridge, however, is not to be
trusted. While it remains, therefore, it is a serious
obstacle to those whose business or pleasure leads
them over unbridged streams ; and some of the
most painful accidents have occurred in attempting
to cross them. I recollect one that took place
during the last winter I spent in the country. A
party of four or five young persons set out toward
evening to cross the Illinois, for the purpose of
attending a ball in the village opposite their place
of residence. The river at this place is widened
into what is, in this country, termed a lake. The
width, at the point of crossing, is probably between
half and a quarter of a mile. The weather had
been remarkably mild for some days, and the
crossing was considered extremely precarious ;
but their love of gaiety predominated over pru-
dence, and the party entered on the dull, saturated
* A miniature sleigh, each shaft and runner of which is made
of one long bough bent up in front.
202 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
ice. They had proceeded but a few yards from
the shore, when it gave way, and plunged them
all in. Fortunately, the water was shallow, and
many trees and shrubs grew far out from the bank.
They caught at these, and, with almost super-
human exertion, climbed into their branches, and
were all saved; though they nearly perished of
the cold before relief came. It was not until a
late hour of the following morning, that their
situation was discovered by some one passing
near the water's edge ; and then some time was
consumed in getting a passage for a boat through
the ice, which was now broken up and moving
slowly off. One of the females, when taken from
her perilous position, was stupefied and helpless.
All, however, recovered.
The ice generally moves about the last of
January. Navigation is then uninterrupted, till
midsummer reduces the streams, and leaves the
"bars," which occur at frequent intervals, too
scantily covered with water to allow a steamboat
of ordinary draft to pass them. This is true only
of the tributaries of the Mississippi and Missouri.
The latter streams are supplied with an abund-
ance of water during the whole year.
CHAPTER XXI.
It is always pleasant to resume communication
with the world around, when the icy fetters of
winter are cast off. Every one rejoices that the
great highways are again open, even though he
may expect to derive no personal pleasure or
benefit therefrom. This feeling, united with the
anticipation of the approaching jubilee of nature,
makes the settlers in the vicinity of navigable
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 203
streams rejoice to hear of the " first steamboat."
And as the sun wheels himself day by day higher
in our heavens, and the chill winds are followed
oftener and longer, by soft airs from the south, and
the evenings grow mild, and the frogs begin to
pipe in the moist spots on the prairies, one's very
heart leaps to meet the benignant spirit of the
opening year.
How intense has been my enjoyment of such
seasons in Prairie Land ! How entire the happi-
ness, with which we have stood by our door at a
late hour on some mild March evening, when all
sounds of human life were hushed in our little
village, and listened to the thousand minute and
gentle voices by which nature announced her
emancipation from the grim rigor of the hoary
winter ! Millions of the little creatures just named,
tenants of the sloughs and low grounds moistened
by the rains and melted snows, send forth their
cheerful chorus to the night. The moon shines
faintly through a veil of mist and smoke, accumu-
lated from the slow fires that have all day crept
lazily through the saturated grass. Delicious
breezes press gently over the vast plains, with a
solemn ceaseless sound, that subdues and yet
gladdens the soul ! In such an hour the mind is
all unchained from its material fetters — free — its
conceptions large as nature herself. Tt floats with
the evening winds over all the dim region, searches,
like them, every recess in plain or grove, teeming
with young life, and ready, when a few more
sunny days shall have passed, to burst into visible
and joyous beauty. Sympathy, thought, emotion,
when nature is in such a mood, scorn all laws of
time and place, and career through every period,
and over all the regions of space. What are
nations and empires the most potent, to the ex-
204 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
istence of which mind is conscious ] The mightiest
events of earth sink into insignificance before its
own exulting sense of being. It asks no power
but that which it can achieve for itself. It sees
neither joy nor pain, in the definite acts of life,
whatever be their nature. It asks only to go
abroad with the unfolding of the omnipotent spirit
that breathes around it, of which it feels itself a
part. All its past is but a point — all its future
eternity ! It inquires not how or whence it came,
cares not for the circumstances in which it finds
itself, but rejoices in being — itself the most
wonderful of all the mysteries which it cares not
now to solve. Nature, in all her vast extent, her
manifold operations, is within its grasp. Clouds,
volcanos, oceans, tempests, mountains, deserts —
the secret workings of the vital and physical laws,
the innumerable forms of life and matter ; all the
beauty of the world which is just bursting into
life ; all the glory of the millions that have passed
away, become only sources of exquisite pleasure.
They waken no inquiry, they seem no mystery.
We live in the past as if it were the present ; we
are tenants of all time. We seize, for a moment,
our place in the spirit world, and look upon mate-
rial nature as if we were no longer a part of it.
What are such Teachings of the mind but a
lengthening of the bonds by which it is allied to
Omnipotence ] Are they not foretastes of its un-
shackled future, glimpses of its eternity — faint and
brief, surely, yet sufficient to make us rejoice that
it is not destined to reside ever with matter ] Who
is not richer for such a moment 1 Whose soul
does not thrill with a joy unutterable, when this
chord has been swept by the breath of nature, to
find how deep and rich are the tones it yields, in
making up the harmony of his being] Who does
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 205
not descend to earth, from such ecstatic flights,
happier and better for the exquisite sense which
has been kindled by them ! His love of the ma-
terial beauty and harmony which has summoned
him from himself is a thousandfold stronger. They
are no longer regarded merely as objects of de-
light to the faculties which perceive them, but, as
links to draw us higher, as incense laid on the
altar of our hearts, to kindle therein brief but
angelic light. Blessed be nature — beautiful, life-
enkindling nature ! Blessed be the thousand arts
by which she appeals .to our love and reverence.
Bud, leaf, and tree, raging tempest and gentle
life-distilling dew — fathomless ocean and clear,
moss-bound spring — blessed are ye all. And
thrice-blessed and adored be the wisdom which
has enabled us to see all these, and feel ourselves
partakers of their being, their beauty, and their
power.
The majestic silence (for the rich music of na-
ture is silence to the soul that harmonizes with it)
in which such emotion can alone live, is deep on
the dark plains around us. No discordant sound
of life — no jarring stir — no hum of art or toil,
breaks on the soul. Its pinion soars untiring — its
keen sense is drawn ever onward, but only by the
voices which Omnipotence has called forth. The
human world is all absent, gone, faded away in the
immense distance. What sound is that which re-
calls the ear to its mortal sense, at this deep hour ]
A slow, measured march, which you deem for a
moment might be the deeper bass of the universal
choir — the cloud voice answering to the solemn
spirit of the night. Whence comes it] It is dis-
tant, but belongs to earth. It dissolves the spirit
fabric in which we have been enshrined, and leaves
the keenly sensitive soul unshielded, until it again
S
206 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
enters the mortal, and adapts itself to its old abode.
Earth is here again, with all its forms of beauty
and notes of harmony, to waken admiration, won-
der, and love. The vision is past. Sensations and
emotions belonging to the mortal, come again, all
summoned from their slumbers, by this one note
from the human world. What is it 1 A moment's
attention tells you.
Far off in that forest, behind whose leafless
boughs the sun set, and the twilight faded, lies a
6tream — a river. Its dark waters flow slowly on-
ward, between rich banks, wooded with the gigan-
tic black walnut, the graceful elm, the slight and
mobile cotton-wood. Nearer the margin the red-
bud, already begins to swell, and close beside it,
the pure white blossoms of the dog-wood are un-
folding:. So that even now, before the trees are
clothed with their young leaves, these beautiful
shrubs enliven long lines of the dull, brown forest
with chaste and exquisite colors. As the winds
career along the surface of the waters, they bend
and dance above them ; and when their more ma-
jestic neighbors shall put on the vernal garb, they
will fling their petals to the stream, and mingle in
the common world of leaves about them. In all
the still, currentless nooks of this stream, myriads
of wild fowl are now engaged in preparing for their
young. Occasionally a 6cream overhead, and the
sound of swift wings cutting the air, announce that
another party has arrived from the sunny south, to
join them. If you were near that river, you would
hear their small talk all the night, as they glide
about in the water. And sweet music it is, to one
who loves the wild and unrestrained in nature.
Here they have built their temporary homes and
reared their young, from time immemorial. And
here, long years ago, they were unmolested in
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 207
these cares and pleasures. The wild tenants of
the woods and streams passed them by, without
harm, and if man came there, he came silently.
The slight canoe shot through the waters with a
sound that scarcely struck their ear till it was gone.
The night was profoundly quiet — the day brought
no harsh sounds, no waste of joyous life, no giants
rushing through the still waters, casting their
waves far up on the shore, to return laden with
mire and earth. Now, how changed! Monsters
plough the bosom of the river, whose hoarse voices
ring through the silent valley for miles ; whose
eyes are fire, whose breath is destruction. Long
before they approach, their measured marchings
terrify these feathered dwellers in the wilderness,
and long after they are past the sound returns, and
the disturbed waters roll ashore with an angry
splash, as if they would signify their displeasure
at such intrusion. It is the note of this almost liv-
ing thing that fell on our ear just now. Though
nearly nine miles away, it may be plainly heard in
peculiar states of the atmosphere. Its first few
puffs are faint, but as it approaches nearer, they
swell louder into the silent air, till you almost fancy
you can hear the wheels dashing into the foamy
waters. Then they die away. Fainter and fainter
grows the sound, and at last it is wholly lost. Si-
lence, profound as before, reigns around us, and
the mighty creation, that called us back to earth,
is gone, to break the solemn repose of the wilder-
ness beyond.
One of the most impressive features of this
magnificent land, is the magnitude of its streams.
One can form no adequate conception of the ef-
fect which these watercourses have on the mind :
the smallest of them that is ever entered by
6teamboats, longer than the most vaunted rivers
208 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
of the east ; the largest, half spanning a con-
tinent.
To float along on these majestic waters, through
regions whose fertility and beauty we can scarce
imagine to have been surpassed by Eden itself;
to travel thousands of miles through forests whose
deep aisles reecho to no sound save the monoto-
nous breath of your own steamer, and plains which
stretch away from the water-side to the sky ! mil-
lions upon millions of acres, sending forth no sound
or sign of life ; silent, tenanted only by wild animals
and at long intervals by the solitary wood-chopper,
whose " shantee," hidden among the trees, is indi-
cated by the smoke which curls up from its stick
chimney ; or possibly by the shouts of children
around its door : to travel thus for days and even
weeks, your steed never tiring, your speed never
flagging, is to gather an idea of vastness, unpar-
alleled except upon the ocean. Firm, inhabitable
vastness, every foot of which is teeming with the
energies that support lifej every acre of which
would yield an ample subsistence to large num-
bers of the famishing and perishing thousands of
the crowded old world.
To set out on one of the tributaries of the mighty
stream which has given name to this immense val-
ley, to follow this comparatively insignificant one
till it is lost in the larger, and then to float on
amid waters that have fallen upon the mountain
peaks an interminable distance toward the setting
sun, and made their devious way through the myr-
iad windings of forest, cliff, and plain, bearing mes-
sages from all these to the distant ocean, awakens
a perception of extent which it is impossible to
realize elsewhere. There is a sublimity in jour-
neying on these great waters which language can-
not describe. You feel it from the first moment
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 209
you find yourself afloat. It is not in looking out
upon them. To the mere optical sense they are
often less impressive than the puny streams of the
east. It is in the association — the idea that the
water which ripples at your side has come from a
far land, a land full of unexplored wonders and
beauties. The reflection opens an immense field
of thought and inquiry, and makes you long to be
transported to the region where all these exist.
But you must love nature, to enjoy this senti-
ment. There must be a chord in your mental
existence that will vibrate to the potent wand
which summons life, beauty, and majesty to these
vast solitudes.
Oh, I love nature. The old world, burthened
as it is with the sublime and exquisite products of
human energy, enveloped as it is with the associ-
ations of tumultuous ages, and glorified with the
light of mighty minds, is interesting. It tells many
a tale to subdue and to enkindle the soul ; it opens
many a volume to delight, to astonish, to agonize.
It offers a continual spectacle of warning, exhorta-
tion, and instruction to him who will gaze thereon.
Wiser heads may prefer this, but give me the free
untrodden empire of nature ! Give me her piled
cliffs, her forest aisles, her chant of rushing winds
and waters, her untrained songsters, her exquisite
forms and hues of beauty, and I will ask no other.
The lofty edifices which art, directed by the reli-
gious feelings, has wrought and piled, may waken
devotion in others, but my cathedral should be the
overhanging cliff, my temple the eloquent shades.
My worship is kindled by these into far more in-
tense life than by the displays of human power.
Living much with nature, makes me wiser, better,
purer, and therefore, happier !
14 s 2
210 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
CHAPTER XXII.
The spring of '37 opened with delicious beauty
on the prairie land ! The growing world, both
animate and inanimate, seemed to rejoice in the
departure of an unusually rigorous winter. The
showers fell more lightly than those of the pre-
vious year, and the earth, moistened with gentle
rains and bathed in genial sunshine, seemed more
willing than ever to enrich man. Happy would
it have been for the inhabitants of these fertile re-
gions had they obeyed her summons, and turned
from the alluring uncertainties of speculation to
honest, productive labor ! But they had not then
learned the bitter lesson which the few following
years taught them. Men had resorted to the west
expecting to coin the rich soil, not by expending
patient labor to convert its energies into products
useful to man, nor by erecting upon it homes which
should increase the amount of happiness there en-
joyed ; but by dividing it into small fractions and
setting an inflated estimate upon them — an esti-
mate not authorized by its capacities, or the con-
dition of the country ; but dependent on the extent
to which they could deceive each other and them-
selves. So the growing population of the rich
savannahs disregarded all the strong inducements
which the earth held out to seek legitimate wealth
and happiness, and left the fertile acres uutilled,
to scour the country for " town sites," which no
one of their generation will ever see occupied.
Time and energy were spent in these fruitless
labors, that, well directed, would have enriched
the state. Men seemed to have forgotten that
wealth has natural sources, without drawing upon
which, it can never he obtained except in few and
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 211
rare instances. And, forgetting this, they plunged
deeper and deeper into the mazes of speculation.
The cloud of distress which had risen over the
eastern world had not yet cast its shadow on these
favored regions. Money was abundant, and hope
high. This was the year of the " crisis" in the
west ; and the change which succeeded it was ter-
rible.
But the country was now full of life and energy.
The human, the animal, and the vegetable world
seemed alike rejoicing in the superabundant vigor
of the season. Happy and joyous life smiled
everywhere ! Our little village had received many
valuable families the preceding autumn, and with
the first flowers of spring came several others,
who had been long expected and were joyfully re-
ceived. Among the former was one which I shall
introduce here, as well for the interesting charac-
ter of its members, as because there is a tragical
sequel to be told, by-and-by, of the husband and
father. This family consisted of four — father,
mother, and two sons. They had emigrated from
the metropolis of the east late in the preceding au-
tumn, and spent the winter in a neat little dwell-
ing on the southeastern border of the village.
They were members of the Society of Friends, and
if their form of faith were to be accepted as the
origin of their many and exalted virtues, one could
wish it universal. Nowhere else were such peace,
harmony, gentleness, and affection found ! The
father was a middle-aged man, with nothing
extraordinary in his personal appearance till the
expression of his face, and the contour of his head,
arrested attention. The latter would have delight-
ed the phrenologist, the former would have won
the affection of the most timid child. Benevolence,
kindness, mingled with justice, and a proper de-
212 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
gree of self-respect, were the leading characteris-
tics of both. His high, open brow, and mild yet
intelligent eye, the noble development of the up-
per portion of the head, and the thinness at the
base, were delightful assurances that a spirit every
way worthy the name of man dwelt within. And
so it proved. No person was more respected,
more beloved, and it is a rare combination that
commands both these tributes from our fellow be-
ings. Endowed with a fine taste, and good pow-
ers of mind, he had been ever a devoted lover of
some branches of natural science, among which
ornithology claimed preference. Much delight
therefore was in store for him in the new varieties
of birds to which western life would introduce him.
And great was his pleasure when a leisure day
came, to sally forth, gun in hand, and return after
a few hours' ramble, with some of the feathered
tenants of the new country for preservation. Many
beautiful specimens of his preparation are still
found among eastern collections, and in the
homes of his friends. Such was the husband.
The wife, though differing widely from this, was
not less respected and beloved among those who
knew her. Plain and exceedingly neat in per-
sonal appearance, soft and quiet in speech, gentle
and tender in her deportment, kind and dignified
in her treatment of strangers, and unaffectedly
loving in her family, she was an object of just
admiration and warm regard. Between these
persons there still existed that lively affection
which poets sing as belonging only to the fresh
and glowing days of youth. Their intercourse
was marked by the tenderest consideration in
each for the wishes of the other. Their lan-
guage had still the warmth of youthful feeling,
chastened by the purifying influences of parental
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 213
love, and the higher moral sense which well-spent
years produce. The happy children of these pa-
rents were two sons, well advanced toward man-
hood — such sons as one might expect would grow
up at a fireside adorned by so many virtues. And
beautiful it was to see this family gathered in their
neat and simple home ; each a bond to the other,
and all to him. They were the model which
many of the young beginners in our village set
before themselves for imitation. Happy will they
be who shall ever reach its perfect semblance.
When the spring came, the father and sons
began to open their farm about two miles below
the village on the prairie. It was a beautiful spot.
The plain around was diversified by high swells
which fell off into pleasant hollows, where the
large, luscious strawberry, concealed by the rank
grass, clustered and ripened much later than on
the adjacent elevations. Groves bordered the
prairie at no great distance from the house on the
south and west ; and on the northwest lay a bold
eminence, on the summit of which stood the cabin
of their nearest neighbor. In due time, the little
cottage in which they were to find their future
home, was completed and entered. Trees were
set about it, outbuildings constructed, and the farm
began to wear a cheerful and inviting aspect. The
health of the mother, which had been extremely
delicate in the east, improved very much. The
cares of her family were no longer burthensome to
her, and every source of enjoyment seemed open-
ing before her, as if youth were returning, instead
of passing away. And here, giving and receiving
happiness, we leave them for the present.
Meantime many farms began to be opened in
the vicinity of our village. Riding over the prai-
rie you would see the heavy team of three and four
214 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
yokes of oxen traveling slowly over a tract,
dragging after them a plough, which if you have
never seen " breaking'' 1 done, is an entire stranger
to you. The forward end of the beam runs on two
wheels, to the axle of which the team is made fast.
One of the wheels, that on the right, is larger in
diameter than the other by about three inches.
This runs in the furrow ; and as the machine
advances, a belt of turf, from eighteen to twenty-
seven inches broad, and two or three deep, is cut off,
.and turned smoothly over into the space from which
its neighbor has just been ejected. When the turf is
well broken, these strips lie as smoothly in their
inverse, as natural positions. The uniformity of
the surface renders it unnecessary to hold the
plough; so that one man can perform the labor
alone. If the track be fenced previously to break-
ing, a very respectable crop of corn, called by the
farmers "sod corn," may be raised on the broken
turf, with no other preparation than this. It is
usually planted at the time of ploughing, a few
kernels being: scattered along: the edo-e of each
furrow, and left to spring up between the contig-
uous belts of sod. I have often seen this " sod
corn," thus planted and never afterward aided by
cultivation, attain a larger growth than the most
cultivated fields of the east. It is principally used
as fodder.
June is the month generally preferred for this
process of breaking. The turf, once fairly turned,
the overlaid vegetation decays during the summer,
the roots below " die out ;" and by the next spring
a pair of horses will easily turn a furrow four
inches below the first. After this, nothing can
exceed the ease with which the soil is cultivated.
So mellow, soft, and free from obstructions is it,
that a child could almost work it. Breaking the
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 215
turf is, to the prairie agriculturist, what clearing
the ground is to those of wooded countries : the
difference being that one man with a good team
and plough will break three acres of the former in
a day, while the same force employed in the forest
would scarcely prepare a like area for cultivation
in a year.
The fertility and inexhaustibleness of the prairie
soil are other sources of pleasant congratulation
to its cultivators. From three to six and even
nine feet of the richest black loam cover millions
of acres. No wonder that an English gentleman,
on riding many days over such rich grounds, and
seeing them lie along the navigable streams for
thousands of miles, exclaimed in astonishment,
M It is wonderful that your farmers do not cul-
tivate these rich lands !" One might easily have
told him that we had not a sufficient number grown
yet ! There are spots in the prairie country which
have been planted with wheat annually for two
hundred years, by the early French settlers; and
yet no signs of exhaustion are visible. The growth
is apparently as rank, and the maturity as vigorous,
as in the first year of its culture.
These slow-moving teams and the brown sur-
face around them are pleasant sights to those who
love to witness the growth of a country. Then
there are other features indicative of the same
thing, which one rejoices to look on. Houses
spring up in various parts of the prairie, with
fenced fields about them. The road on which
last spring we could ride three miles north from
our village without seeing a dwelling or any sign
of cultivation, has now within that space two
houses, one of which has a noble farm look. The
other is the residence of a worthless mechanic,
whose home might be a princely one, if he would
216 LIFE IN PRAIKIE LAND.
use his time and skill in that manner, instead of
spending it in lawless carousals, and spreading
ruin and degradation among the families of his
neighbors.
Fence-making is an important item in prairie
agriculture. Where farms are opened at a con-
siderable distance from timber, the expense and
difficulty of procuring rails are insurmountable ;
there is no stone to supply their place ; and the
next expedient is to use the turf. This is suffi-
ciently firm, and when properly " laid up," not
only serves admirably for purposes of utility, but
often lends much beauty to the face of the land-
scape. Hedges surmounting these walls of green
have been tried, and I believe sometimes with
tolerable success. There is no doubt, if sufficient
pains were taken, they would succeed to perfec-
tion, and nothing can be imagined more beautiful
than a densely populated prairie, divided by such
hedges, the broad rich harvest waving between,
and the luxuriant orchards bending their laden
boughs over them. I have seen some sections of
these turf fences surmounted by a lofty border of
the late yellow flowers, so that at a little distance
the earthy elevation was perfectly concealed, and
the field looked as if it were enclosed by a floral
hedge six or eight feet in height.
Another and a still more delightful task to the
person of taste is setting out trees. Early in the
spring you will see an occasional waggon, laden
with the young members of the forest, going to
some cheerful-looking farm, or rolling into the
village with its choice cargo, for the public grounds.
In the season of which I am now writing, the
square of our little town was surrounded, and many
private grounds were similarly ornamented with
them,
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 217
No enterprise, public or private, produces more
chaste and unselfish joy than this. Every body
loves trees, and every one feels a thrill of grati-
tude toward the man whom they see planting one.
A tree is unlike any other ornament. Though set
on private property, it is a public blessing. It is
not like a piece of statuary or painting, accessible
only to the few. Its beauty may be seen, its
glory appreciated by all. But not for this alone is
it prized. Every leaf-laden bough that dances
before a prairie house, invites the merry songsters
of the woodlands to come out and cheer its in-
mates. And the rapid growth which the locust,
cotton-wood, aspen, and some other species have
in the strong soil, leaves no excuse for living
long in a treeless and birdless home. While the
more beautiful and stately specimens are coming
forward, these will give the bobo'link, brown
thrasher, robin, whip-poor-will, &c., ample en-
couragement to visit you. They will not come
without them.
CHAPTER XXIII.
As the spring advanced, we forsook our little
toy-shop, and, after boarding for a few weeks in
the family of a very dear friend in town, I found
myself once again domiciliated within the beloved
walls of Prairie Lodge. The earth, I think, holds
no spot, the memory of which will ever be so dear
to me as this. Even at this long distance of time
and space, and with the wide chasm which succeed-
ing events have opened between the then and the
now, I remember its every feature, its every charm,
as if they had been seen and enjoyed yesterday.
The little stream, and the willows which drooped
T
218 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAXD.
over it ; the profusion of roses, which drew, daily,
exclamations of delight from Mary ; the rich grass
about the house, which she had so carefully
watched and defended against the encroachments
of its wild neighbors ; the tall old oak before the
door, and the vigorous growth of the shrubs and
vines which had been set in the garden the pre-
ceding spring, and which every evening found us
admiring ; the rich foliage of the barrens and
groves around, and of the tract covered with the
shrubby oaks where the solitary graves were made,
seem as fresh as if objects of the present hour.
The latter spot more particularly won much of
our thought and admiration during the summer.
It lay in front of the room in which most of our
time was spent ; and, in the warm afternoons, when
the sun left the door shady and cool, we used to
gather near it or even upon the sill, and sit and
look at the bright leaves glancing in the light, and
talk of such repose as might be enjoyed beneath
them, till it seemed as if to lie down there would
be no terror. In June, when it was in the height
of its beauty, the whole tract was thronged with
locusts. Myriads of these busy insects reveled in
the rich foliage ; all day the soft air resounded
with their ceaseless hum, and we used to listen to
it with a kind of charmed feeling, and wonder
over the mystery which unfolded itself in visible
forms only at such long intervals. Toward the
close of July their song and revel ended. Their
feasts had been principally confined to wild vege-
tation ; the fields were scarcely touched, and the
abundant harvest yielded a generous reward for
the labor which had been bestowed upon it. Day
after day the creaking wain came slowly in from
the sunny fields, and its rich burthens were trans-
ferred to the noble barn which the farmers had
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 219
reared and finished with their own hands. The
labor of the season was severe both in doors and
out. But Mary had passed through five such,
performing toils infinitely multiplied during some
of them, by sickness in her own family or the
neighborhood. Still I wondered each day, as she
moved about to her appointed tasks, how so slight
a form could endure so much. Yet she rarely
complained of fatigue or indisposition. But I
looked with boding anticipations at Tier small
chest, and thought of our mother who had died
long, long years before, of the disease which this
figure too surely signaled. And yet we were
happy; no word was ever spoken that defined
these thoughts. Indeed they had but a dim ex-
istence in my own mind. We laid plans for finish-
ing and ornamenting her house ; we formed schemes
for revisiting the scenes of early childhood, dis-
cussed systems of education for the promising boy
in whom we all delighted so much, and, in every
expression and thought, looked forward to sharing
a long life in the beautiful country we so loved,
and to many years of happiness and comparative
ease for her in the home she had so hardly earned.
But as the summer drew to a close, she began to
droop, and a cough, so slight that we scarcely
noticed its existence, began to hang: about her.
There was no pain, apparently no disease, and yet
the limbs, that had never before tired, now refused,
at times, to obey the energetic mind ! " What can
be the matter]" she would say. "It must be in-
dolence ! It must be that the event which I have
so ardently desired, the arrival of my friends, has
wrought a desire for relaxation from the severe
labors which I have never abated before, since we
came to the new country.
We were accustomed to repel this half-playful
220 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
self-accusation, and it was often said that she
needed repose ; that she had exhausted her ener-
gies by incessant labor, both of body and mind ;
and that they would return fresh as ever after a
period of rest. In any other case we should have
known this was a glaring fallacy ; but we wished
it so, and therefore believed it. But when the
repose came, the result we had hoped for did not
follow. At times, it is true, there was a little recruit-
ing, barely enough to balance our fears, with the
hope it enkindled, but the gain would be all unac-
countably lost in a few days ; and then our ingenuity
was vainly taxed for a reason, and for some other
resource in which to trust anew. Thus it went on.
The last of August brought an event which quite
diverted our attention from all previous objects — an
event fraught with emotions at once the most joyful
and solemn to me — one which ever opened the
deepest fountains of feeling in the female heart ;
which added to my other sources of happiness the
charm of maternity. Absorbed as 1 was in this new
relation, as we all were in the little being, whose
charms and wants claimed our attention, we forgot,
in a measure, the previous object of our solicitude.
She seemed to be better too, and when we left her
late in the autumn and returned to our little village
home, we had the most ardent hopes of seeing her
quite well before the winter set in. When the
calm mild days of the Indian summer came, she
rode down, and spent a considerable part of a
week with us. Our boy grew nobly ; and what with
the delight this gave us, and the hopes which oc-
casional periods of improvement in Mary kindled,
the short winter wore nearly away without start-
ling us from our fancied security. But the time
came when we could no longer delude ourselves !
The invalid herself was the first to show us how
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 221
much we had been deceived. "We were frequent-
ly together, and one day toward the last of Feb-
ruary, when we all were seated in her room, she
took occasion to express her wishes in regard to
the disposition of affairs when she should no longer
be with us. She spoke as calmly as if preparing
for a journey to some pleasant land from which
she would soon come back restored and happy.
We were plunged in the deepest grief. I can
never forgret the effect which this conversation had
upon my feelings. It seemed the opening of a
dismal gulf before me, whose hungry depths were
going to devour the form, the affection, and the
noble mind I had been so long denied, and had
but now just come to enjoy. I had nothing to an-
swer, not even tears. To utter words of hope,
with that wasted form before me, and those dark
eyes fixed upon my face, their deep, intense, un-
earthly light piercing my very soul, was impossible.
To unite with the resignation she expressed, equally
so, and thus I was compelled to listen in silence
to her feebly uttered words, every tone of which
struck upon my heart like the voice of a burial
knell ! I have seen few bitterer days than that. It
broke down the barrier of hope which I had almost
unconsciously reared around us, and left nothing
whereon to lean. I felt then that the reality could
scarcely be more agonizing than the certainty
which placed it before me.
My sister's disease thence onward took a more
active and complicated form. But it wrote itself
in strangely deceptive characters on her person.
In her days of early girlhood, she had possessed
what a few persons call beauty. Her figure was
always slight, and the bust too thin for mere phy-
sical beauty. But there was a grace in all her
movements which few could see and not admire ;
t2
222 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
her finely proportioned head was covered with a
profusion of glossy chesnut hair, which flowed half-
way to her feet. Her high, broad forehead sur-
mounting a small lower face, indicated the pres-
ence of a mind of no common order. There was
something quaint yet sweet in the expression of
the mouth — something which gave assurance of the
predominance of earnest and grave thought ; and
yet betrayed the presence of a humor which, upon
sufficient provocation, would break forth into ir-
resistible laughter; and a merry laugh it was,
when it came — a laugh to which no one could
listen without responding. But the finest feature
of her face was the eye. It was dark, darker than
the hair ; and though not uncommonly large, was
at times dilated and lighted up with such an ex-
pression that one would not hesitate to pronounce
it of extraordinary size ; it was a bright, clear eye,
that one could look into, as into a shady spring,
and seem to see all that lay beneath the surface.
In my early admiration I had thought it exceed-
ingly beautiful, and my ripened affection was
scarcely likely to correct my judgment if it erred.
Beside, it had gathered a richer expression from
all the stirring duties, pleasures, and trials of her
new life. It was now the eye of a mother, a wife,
a high-purposed, thoughtful woman. On her sick
bed how changed were all these things ; the thin
form was now so wasted, that we could bear her
in our arms from one place of rest to another ; the
face seemed more than ever disproportioned to
the heavy forehead — the complexion was pure,
and the cheeks had each a color like the deep
blush of the roses she loved so well. But the eye
was most changed of all ; it was dilated, apparently
to twice its usual size, and, was indescribably
bright and clear.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 223
As the genial days of spring drew on, and the
balmy air floated in at the open doors and win-
dows, we used to lift her from the bed as a mother
would a pining infant, and lay her, half recumbent,
in her pillowed chair, where she could look abroad
upon the opening world. Oh, it was bitter then
to sit helplessly down beside her ; when her large
spiritual eyes were wandering over the reviving
plains and awakening groves — when every shrub
and tree that she had so loved and cherished
around her home, was putting on its richest charms
to fascinate and bind the heart ; when the birds,
whose joyous notes had cheered the solitary hours
of so many similar seasons, were returning to their
olden haunts full of life and music, and the vines and
roses that her own hand had trained were unfold-
ing their young tendrils around her casement, and
the brook which she had so gaily challenged me
to arrest, under the clump of willows, was coming
down with its freight of vernal waters, babbling
and murmuring the same song to which she had
listened, through long years full of vigor and hope ;
and feel that she was passing irresistibly away
from all this; that a hand was upon her which
neither skill nor affection could remove ; that by
and by she would depart, no more seeing nor seen :
this was the agony which never finds utterance.
To feel that in this spot, made beautiful by
her untiring industry and little arts, she had spent
so many years of loneliness and toil, pining for
those far-off few, for each of whom her faithful
heart so yearned; anxious to perfect her home,
that if they came they might be happy in it ; and
that now, when this was nearly consummated, and
the fond ones were all gathered at her side, she
was going from among us, and we were impotent
alike to save or detain her, was insupportable.
224 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
Yet this was my task on the anxious days that
ushered in that memorable summer.
The solitary resting-place of her friend lay di-
rectly before the door, and though the graves were
hidden in the rich foliage of the shrubbery around,
the spot claimed many of her thoughts. They
sometimes found faint utterance in words.
" It is beautiful," she said one day, while look-
ing out upon it, " it is beautiful, that dancing foli-
age ! How many days I have watched its blended
light and shadow from this door. But the feeling
with which I have done so, has wonderfully
changed since the grave was made. Before that,
I used to wonder when the bushes would be
removed, and delight to anticipate a luxuriant
orchard growing up there. I have had fair visions
of trees laden with the red and golden stores of
autumn, such as I used to love to wander among,
away in the land of our nativity. I was always a
lover of autumn. When I lived in the great
city our friends used to visit the country in the
spring and summer ; they especially loved the
joyful spring-time. But I chose nature's solemn
autumnal days. I loved then to steal away to the
silent wood, or ramble under the drooping boughs
of the orchard trees. And here, I anticipated
many sunny days in advanced life, when I should
find that pleasure on this spot. But when the
grave was made, this feeling changed. I would
not have seen a shrub removed, nor a tree felled,
for the world. It is so quiet now, so far removed
from the stir and toil of the farm, and the large,
glossy leaves of those low oaks are such fit drapery
for one's final couch ! See, when a slight breeze
rustles them, how the light and shade mingle on
their polished surfaces. Those tall trees that stand
beside the grave, and mark the spot in the wil-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 225
derness of leaves below, must never be cut down.
They are dear to me, and will, I trust, be so to
you all by-and-by. Do not weep for me. It is
true, I little thought to have been laid beneath
them so soon myself; but it is the tomb I have
always wished I might rest in. When I used to
see the dead borne through crowded streets, and
deposited in populous cemeteries, I prayed for a
grave in the deep wilderness, with the rich foliage
above, and solemn silence around. I have reached
it sooner than I then wished — my autumn has come
before my summer has reached its full dawn ; but
what then 1 except," she added with moistened
eyes, the mother rising superior to the submissive
christian, " except for my boy, who needs his
mother's care these many years yet — except for
him, much as I love you all, I could go willingly to
the greater peace that lies beyond. But it pains
you, and I will say no more. Look," she said,
after a pause, " there is a bird that has built her
nest every spring, in the tall tree over the grave.
It is a little pe-weet. They are not so fine singers
as some others, but I have always loved them,
because they belong to our earliest associations.
When I used to lead you to school, up the hill-
road by the Friends' Meeting-house, those birds
would greet us from the fences and trees, every
dewy morning; and I remember so well the
delight you used to express, when I could succeed
in making you see that it was, indeed, no other
than a little brown bird that had spoken the name
of our elder sister so plainly, that they have ever
since been associated with my pleasantest remin-
iscences of our childhood. What a blessed priv-
ilege to pass one's childish days in close commu-
nion with nature. The heart is so susceptible then
to impressions of beauty — so free from everything
15
226 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
which afterwards engrosses and lacerates its sensi-
bilities ! One gathers then many a gem to bear
through life, many a bright glance from the be-
nignant face of nature, to beam on the stormy
hours of after years. I would not barter the
recollections of my early childhood, for the uni-
ted display of the cities of earth. T would not
lose the delicious memories then gathered, of
the deep wood, the running stream, the mossy
rock, the valley, mountain side, and verdant plain,
for all the wealth which art can boast. I value
the exquisite productions of the sculptor and
painter, but I love the works of God. One af-
fords the highest pleasure to the mere human
faculties, but the other exalts our affections to the
ansfelic ! "When I hear mothers, who have come
from cities to this glorious country, regretting the
change on account of their children, I long to lead
them forth, and show them the magnificence in
which they may revel here. Feeble minds ! that
can compare the puny works of man to those of
his Maker. I could better educate a child here,
with the great volume of nature to expound to
him, than in the pent city, with all its dusty libra-
ries and elaborate preparations. I could draw his
soul upward — I could purify his aspirations — I
could instil the love of enjoying and creating
beauty — I could teach him those great truths
which ought to be the foundation of all education,
better here, alone with nature, with a few choice
books, and enough of society to call out the natu-
ral affections, than the most learned professor
could, shut in his cloister. I count knowledge
of things as they exist; I count a high reve-
rence for the right — a strong reliance on truth —
just perceptions of duty — a keen sense of the
beautiful and the harmonious, which God has ere-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 227
ated around us, and a profound adoration of Him,
superior to the gross ideas, related in the lan-
guages of nations long extinct — to their corrupt
mythology — their feeble attempts in science —
their sanguinary wars. I would rather my son
spent years, roaming among the sublime solitudes
of the mountains and plains, studying the secret
labors of nature, and her grand and beautiful pro-
ductions, the Bible his only book, than the same
length of time in becoming acquainted with the
Greek or Latin tongue. I wish his affections
drawn out thus, when I am gone. It will soothe
the hardest pang of my early death, to know that
he will love what I have loved and derived such
happiness from. But you say I must not talk.
Indeed, I feel that I cannot; let me lie down;
the shadows of those tall trees are lengthening on
the miniature forest below. If 1 could walk out
with you an hour hence, we should look upon a
sunset, gorgeous enough for the skies of Italy.
But go you alone, and when you see the golden,
purple, and crimson tints, changing and blending,
fading and deepening, and feel that you can scarce
restrain the emotions which the scene kindles in
your bosom, think how often I have looked upon
such, and wished that you were here to enjoy it
with me. Draw the curtain, and let me look out
upon the grass and my little elm. How gracefully
it bends ! I once thought to have seen it a majestic
tree ; but that will be for other eyes than mine."
CHAPTER XXIV.
Such, and so heartwringing, were these last
communions. I had never seen her so beautiful
as she was in those days. Her mind, too, seemed
228 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
to act with more than its usual strength of reason.
It was thronged with images of beauty which took
the most appropriate and eloquent forms of ex-
pression. There was a kind of painful pleasure in
listening to these feebly enunciated thoughts and
sentiments, which I could not deny myself.
I remember one bright day, when she felt unu-
sually well, she was sitting up in the bed support-
ed by pillows, and looking upon the growing
world outside. She had just heard her little boy
recite the Lord's Prayer, and dismissed him to
play, when she turned suddenly to me, and said
" To-day is the eighth anniversary of my wed-
ding."
" Is it possible V' I said, struck by the painful
thought that it must be the last she would ever
see ; but as we were accustomed to suppress our
feelings in her presence, I remained silent.
" Yes, it is eight years to-day, and just about
this hour, too," glancing at the clock, " since I
stood by my husband's side with a heart overflow-
ing with strength and hope. We were both
young ; I was but seventeen, and he some four
years older. We had health, energy, intelligence
enough to enjoy the highest pleasures within our
reach, and, above all, that affection for each other,
without which all these blessings would have been
of little avail to secure happiness. Eight years ! I
spoke of it this morning, but it was so painful to
John to recall the pleasant recollections of that
day, that I forbore. I feel strong now, and you
must let me talk. Do you know Ave have never
been acquainted since we were little girls V
I looked up in surprise.
" I mean," she added, "that wehave never enjoy-
ed that full revelation of thought and feeling, whieh
alone can constitute acquaintance between sisters.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 229
There has never been an opportunity for this till
since you came here, and you have thus far been
too much engrossed with other affections to admit
of it. Do not think I speak reproachfully ; I have
rejoiced in your happiness, but the young wife and
mother could hardly find time and affection to bestow,
in those deep, heart-searching communings, which
should make each thoroughly known to the other.
There have been long years of event, and ages of
emotion in the life of each, since we lived togeth-
er unengrossed by our love for others. Now you
must listen, and let me tell you something, such as
my weak memory and weaker powers will permit,
of those many years of separation.
" You remember the little home in the little
village surrounded by mountains, where we first
found ourselves. You remember one chilly, dark
afternoon, when we returned from the small school-
house in the woods, we were met at the gate by an
older schoolmate, a relative of the family, who told
us to come softly in, for our mother was dying !
You remember the awe which these words in-
spired, and the solemnity with which we were led
through the tearful crowd collected in the room, to
her bedside ; and how we gazed with bursting
hearts into her dim eyes, to which the full day
already seemed faint twilight; how we took timidly
hold of her hands, that were wandering in air to
grasp the children she could no longer see. You
remember how next morning, when you asked to go
in and see her, she lay upon a hard board, straight
and cold, and how we turned away from the pale
face and leaden eyes, and refused to believe that
it was our dear mother ; how we stayed home from
school, and wandered all that day about the silent
house, scarcely speaking above a whisper, and
occasionally peeped fearfully into the dark room ;
U
230 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
how the next day, mourning garments came ; and
a coffin that struck us with such dread we could
not be brought to look on it, till a great crowd of
people gathered about, and our father led us up,
and asked us to look once again at our mother, be-
fore she was put in the cold earth. I recollect
you were not tall enough, and he raised you in his
arms by my side, and little Henry, still younger,
looked down from his uncle's arms and lisped
coaxingly to her to get up and take off her cap.
A few minutes after, the coffin was closed and
borne away ! We followed it, and when it was
covered in the grave, returned home, scarcely
knowing what had happened, but having a dim
impression that some great sorrow had come upon
us.
" From that day we had no longer a home in
common ; when we met, it was as visitors. This
was a great affliction to me, for our continual com-
panionship had ripened in my older mind to warm
attachment, and I was grieved to be denied its
object. You were more easily satisfied with little
Henry's company; though I remember no one's
arrival ever gave you so much pleasure as mine.
All your most charming resorts were shown me,
all the choice mementos that had been laid care-
fully away since my last visit were brought forth,
and many little things exchanged by way of
remembrancers. Those were delightful visits that
I paid you at grandfather's. The dark pine-tree
that stood before the door used to play music that
held us spell-bound many an hour, while we sat
beneath it. I remember at these times, and when
we lay in bed, while the rain was pattering on the
roof close to us, you always began to talk of " ma,"
and expected her return. You used to ask me if
I thought she would come back in the cap and
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 231
night-gown she had on when she went away ; and
where she would stand when we first saw her. At
last these visits ceased. We were wholly sepa-
rated. You went many hundred miles from us all,
with strangers, and the remaining four gathered
once again under our father's roof. But no longer
in the little village ; we were now in a great city,
and I was old enough to begin to learn that life
had more painful realities than had come to us,
when we were together. Seven years ! what may
not seven years — from nine to sixteen, from seven
to fourteen — do for children such as we were?
What did they, till we met again, bring us 1 what
sorrow, keener than all that had gone before, in
the loss of our last parent ! to you, what oppression
and bondage among heartless strangers ! Those
were dark volumes to be opened by gay-hearted
girls, that we learned to read during those seven
years : gloomy commentaries on the world in which
we were left to make our way to happiness or ruin.
Mine taught me to shrink continually from the
world, to regard it as an enemy ever on the watch
to destroy my peace, ever waiting with lies and
deceit, to lead me away from my true path. The
greatest blessing was, that I had a pretty clear
perception of what this was. Many a poor girl
who started under fairer auspices than myself, has
made a total wreck. Since I have come to years
of maturity, I have learned that our mother was
gifted with a superior mind and great depth of
purpose and feeling; and if we have struggled
successfully against tides that have borne others to
ruin, we owe praise and gratitude to Him who
gave us such a parent. But I had some terrible
trials in the great heartless city during those years !
I remember one fierce conflict of four days, that
came near destroying my reason. I have never
232 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
been able to look back upon it without a shudder.
On the one hand, misfortune and suffering among
those who were dearer to me than my own life ;
on the other, ceaseless labor by day and night for
a pittance which I tremble to think is now lessened
by nearly half to thousands of unfortunate females,
similarly situated. How could I escape the temp-
ters, who never tired in spreading their diabolical
nets for my weary feet 1 I will tell you the nature
of this fierce trial some other day, when I am
stronger. Let me hasten on now. When I was
little more than fifteen, I received an offer of mar-
riage from a young man who had shown himself
an honest and firm friend from the first day of our
acquaintance. He was several years my senior,
the son of wealthy parents, and bore an unexcep-
tionable character. All these things made him
what the world calls a ' very desirable match.' Our
friends thought it almost heaven-sent. Everybody
was so pleased with my fortune that I too thought
it must be good, and with much encouragement
from others, and sanguine hopes of the increased
happiness I should be able to afford those I loved,
I finally entered into an engagement with him.
But it did not require much reflection on my pan,
after this relation was established between us, to
discover that the affection which should be the first
and holiest motive to marriage, was wanting in
me. All the other requisites of happiness — wealth,
integrity, an agreeable person, and certainly as
high an order of intelligence as most girls of fif-
teen look for, were present. But I soon saw that
these would not do. Poor as I was, and welcome
as would be the means of ease, and the opportu-
nity of intellectual pursuits which I most craved, I
could not perjure myself to obtain them. Better
my two hands and a subsistence daily earned with
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 233
them, I thought, than wealth, arid a spirit oppressed
with so great falsehood ! So I told Mr. H. that I
was convinced I should consult the happiness of
both, by begging him to release me from the en-
gagement. After many conversations and much
reasoning, which continually strengthened my pre-
vious conviction of the right, I prevailed, and turned
from the high anticipations of those few weeks again
to my needle. But I must not linger over those
days ; in less than eighteen months I entered into
the engagement which was fulfilled eight years ago
to-day. It will soon be severed now. This was
one of the heart. There was no wealth, no posi-
tion superior to my own, but only those personal
qualities which assured me that, without these, our
happiness would be enhanced by a union. I loved
my husband, and that was a stronger motive than
ail that had operated in the other case combined.
" During those eighteen months I had found an-
other source of tranquillity, in higher and more
clearly defined perceptions of religious duty than
I had ever before experienced. I had found that
there was positive and exalted happiness in ap-
proaching my Maker as a tender father and friend.
And thanks be to Him, who deserves our most
elevated affections, this never failed me in my
hours of severest trial. It was a safeguard and
shield. Armed with this newly awakened senti-
ment, I felt secure and quiet amid all temptations.
Most young persons think their enjoyment of life
will be diminished by an allegiance to the laws of
Christianity, but I think they are in error. Mine
was infinitely increased ! I wished every one to
feel as I did. It was in this state of mind, and
just after I had formed the engagement with my
husband, that I met you after the lapse of those
seven eventful years. Such a period, spent as that
u2
234 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
had been by you, not only in a natural but moral
wilderness, away from society, away from schools,
away from everything but the tyranny of a selfish,
passionate woman, and that woman — oh most won-
derful phenomenon ! — that woman an Atheist — a
defier of her God — had wrought startling changes
in you. The timid, inquiring child from whom I
had parted with such agonizing tears, met me al-
most a woman in stature, and with more than a
woman's boldness of thought and speech ; — they
were an atheist's ! Judge now — but no, you can-
not ; you never can until you are similarly situa-
ted, of the anguish I experienced on the first eve-
ning of our reunion, when, as we all knelt down,
my heart overflowing with a gratitude which God
alone could measure for your restoration to us, you
walked away to the door, saying you wanted no
part in such delusive mummery ! I never remem-
ber to have felt a keener pang ; and when, after
much persuasion, I induced you, through your af-
fection for me, to rejoin the circle and wait while
thanks were offered and petitions put up for your-
self, you turned impatiently away and requested
that you might be made the subject of no more
prayers until you saw the necessity of them. You
remember, that our conversations almost always
took the form of controversies ; that I found you
conversant with the works of Paine, Volney, Vol-
taire, and nearly the whole school of infidel wri-
ters, modern as well as early ; that every consid-
eration which I proposed was instantly gainsayed
by an appeal to them, or by some fearless sugges-
tion of your own mind. You had not only made
these men your standard, but even exceeded their
impiety, and by your impious reasoning, made up
of the boldest conceptions and the most unshrink-
ing conclusions, led yourself to renounce all belief.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 235
I was at last compelled to give up in despair, trust-
ing to time and better influences to eradicate these
frightful errors.
" A few weeks parted us again. I have some-
times, when looking over our past lives, compared
ourselves to two helmless, rudderless ships, float-
ing on the storm-wrought ocean. For a moment
they approach each other, and seem as if they
would journey on together, but the next, they are
parted and driven about on the waste for years ;
perhaps never to meet again till they decay and
sink into a common sepulchre. It has been almost
so with us. We parted ; you to seek the educa-
tion and mental culture which should have been
the work of earlier years ; I to make such prepa-
ration as I might, for the great event before me.
The next spring I was married. You know my
husband had meantime visited this country, and
returned a few weeks previous to our union, with
such glowing descriptions of its beauty and advan-
tages, that his father gathered the little means he
had, and proposed that we should all start west
together after our marriage. We did so, and it
will be eight years in a few weeks (I may live to
see the day), since we bade adieu to our friends
and commenced our journey. This state at that
time was thought, among the stable population of
our mountain region, to be almost beyond the
knowledge of civilized man. Our friends bade us
farewell as if we were about to plunge into the
deserts of the old world, instead of the richest and
most beautiful region of the new.
" I rejoiced in that journey. It was the season
of life fullest of hope and trust, and all nature
seemed like me, to be exulting in the future that
was opening before it. We journeyed several
weeks through the blooming orchards and fields
236 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
of the cultivated country, and at last plunged into
the heavy forests of Ohio and Indiana. Here we
sometimes slept in our waggon or on the ground,
and took our meals in the woods. At last we
emerged upon the great prairie which extends from
the Wabash, west and north, nearly three hundred
miles. Here the magnificence of the country to
which we were bound began to appear. I re-
member, as we journeyed day after day across its
heaving, verdant bosom, that I seemed to be living
in a new world. All the noise, all the selfish hur-
ry and turmoil in which my past years had been
spent, faded away. They seemed as remote as if
the barrier of eternity had been placed between
me and them. A new creation was around me.
The great, silent plain, with its still streams, its
tender verdure, its lovely flowers, its timid birds
and quadrupeds, shrinking away from our sight ;
its soft winds, its majestic storms — was a sublime
spectacle ! Occasionally a herd of deer bounded
across our path, or a solitary pair of grouse, startled
from their parental cares, rose and cleft the air
like the arrows of their old pursuers ; but save
these we were alone, in silence broken only by
our own voices. I thought how many ages that
plain had been spread out beneath those soft skies
and that genial sun ; how its flowers had bloomed
and faded, its grasses grown and decayed ; how
storms had swept over all its wide expanse, and
the thunder echoed from its bosom ; how the
solemn winds of autumn had sighed over it, and
the raging fires marched in unrestrained fury from
one border to the other ; how long all this power
and magnificence had displayed itself •unseen of any
eye, save His who made it ! How long all these
mighty and beautiful phenomena had followed
each other, and awoke no human emotion, appealed
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 237
to no enlightened soul. Nature disporting with
herself, frolicking in merriment, fading in sadness
or raging in anger ; the sole witness of her own
acts !
" Then as we crossed the narrow, deep-worn
trail of the dark people who had traversed it so
long before us, I thought how much emotion had
dwelt here ; how much love, hospitality, friend-
ship, and fierce hatred had grown, matured, and
been extinguished here. How many fearful war-
shouts had resounded ; how many death fires had
been kindled in the distant groves ; how many
wailings for the lost had mingled with the solemn
winds.
" In imagination, I could still see files of dark
warriors stealing silently along, unmindful of the
flowers and the bright skies, the gay birds and the
happy creatures who reveled in the rich world of
vegetation around them ; intent only upon the
fierce butchery to which they were marching.
And my blood used to chill under these fearful
visions. But my husband enjoyed them. He had
more sympathy with the stern and implacable in
the Indian character than I, and he delighted to
think of the free warriors roaming, fearless of their
foes, fearless of storm or tempest, in search of their
enemies. Later years have quenched much of this
feeling in him, but he still loves those legends of
the olden time.
" As we advanced into the midst of this im-
mense prairie, our horses were tortured by a large
fly that gathered in great numbers upon them,
and drove them almost to madness. At length
we were obliged to stop during the day, and travel
all night. There were houses at long intervals,
situated sometimes in the points of groves that
projected into the plain, and sometimes several
238 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAXD.
miles from the woodland. These were usually
our stopping-places, where we remained during the
day and then traveled on. My heart ached for
the men. They could sleep little during the day,
and two or three (there were five of them, you
know) were obliged to be continually on foot at
night to guide the horses. Their fatigue was
almost insupportable. My husband has told me,
that he was conscious of having often walked
several rods at a time when he was asleep ; that
his eyes closed in spite of all his efforts to keep
awake, and at length a stumble or a word from
some of the party would startle him, and he would
find himself walking along beside the team as
usual. They were faithful creatures, those horses.
You have caused and enjoyed many a hearty
laugh at their expense ; but if they had borne you
patiently over nearly two thousand miles, of roads
without bridges ; traveled night and day with you,
you would feel something of that sentiment which
has often restrained me, when Tyler's peculiari-
ties have set your powers of ridicule in operation.
" But we left the prairie at last ; I was not sorry ;
neither could I rejoice, except for those who suf-
fered more than I. But the long journey, the
excitement attendant upon the strange features of
the country, and the broken rest, were too much
for me. When we reached the crossings of the
Mackinaw, about thirteen miles from here, you
know where it is, I was in a raging fever. We
traveled on, however, for there was then no house
where we could stop. Our people heard in some
way that this ' claim' was for sale. They wished
to buy an improved one — that is, one with a cabin
in which we could live till a house was built, and
with grain enough on the ground for the season's
use. I have pointed out to you the very small,
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 239
low cabin which we found here. There were
also several acres of grain growing. We all
liked the situation, and so a bargain was soon
made with the owner, or the ' squatter,' as he
termed himself, for his place. But there was one
circumstance which was very awkward for us.
He could not leave the larger cabin till autumn,
and we were therefore obliged all to live in that
little pen until our people could build another. I
scarcely know how things went on those few
weeks. I was sick and wretched in person ; but
at last the other cabin was finished, and we felt
ourselves very comfortable in it. When the family
of the ' squatter' left us, John and I moved into
the old one, and lived there until the framed house
was built. That was our first introduction to cabin
life. The summer was considerably advanced
when we arrived, and our people were soon en-
gaged in the harvest. The grain was stacked in
the cow-yard, for there were then no bams or
outbuildings of any description. When the har-
vest was over, they began their preparations for
carrying on farming more systematically the next
year. They made fences, ploughed and sowed,
and built a small log stable for their horses.
" I remember the whole land seemed to me a
paradise that summer and autumn. The profu-
sion of late flowers and wild fruits, the abundance
of game, the richness of vegetation, the mildness
of the climate, the sublime storms, and the soft
musical winds, delighted me. Our men worked
much in the woods, and I used at noon to take a
small basket of dinner to them. The sound of
their distant axes, and, as I drew nearer, of their
cheerful voices, contrasted delightfully with the
silence of the sleeping grove.
U We all had good health so far, and appetites
240 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
that led to many jokes between ourselves about
famine, et cet. You have now learned by experi-
ence how this climate acts on the appetite, and
you may judge of the amount of food which nine
persons, in this stage of acclimation, would consume.
But we had plenty of grain stacked, and meats
more delicious than the daintiest markets of the
east afford, were abundant everywhere, so we only
exulted in our fine health, and pursued our labors
joyfully.
" The prairie below us where there are now so
many pleasant farms, was then unsettled. There
was no house on the south between us and the
Mackinaw, and at the crossings of that stream was
the only family whom I visited for the first two
years. You ask if those were not lonely years.
I answer that there were many, many hours when
John and I talked of the friends we had left,
when the cheerful social circles where we had
sometimes met, were named with moistened eyes,
and yet there was no day of them all when we
would have returned and forsaken the land of
our adoption. Much as we wished for the society
of our absent friends, we could not have consented
to exchange for it, the joys we had won in the new
country. We loved everything in the new land too
much for that. But I was telling you that the
prairie was all unsettled when we came. I be-
lieve it remained so two years. The autumn
fires raged then much more fiercely than now that
they are trodden or partially fed. You cannot
estimate, from what you now see, the sublimity
and fury of those early conflagrations. One after-
noon late in October, the prairie below us took tiro
by accident, or was set on fire by some one on tho
other side. There was little wind, and the flam
came lazily over the grassy surface ; it seemed as it a
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 241
breath would extinguish it. It was a fine spectacle,
however, to us new-comers, and we watched it occa-
sionally, almost wishing that it might show a little
more energy. No one thought of danger. To-
ward sunset the wind rose slightly and the fire in-
creased ; as darkness came, the breeze freshened
till it became almost a tempest, and the plain
around was a sea of roaring flames as far as
the eye could reach. It daunted us a little, but
was too sublime a spectacle to turn away from,
till one of the family suggested that it came with
such fury the stacks might be in danger. The
thought was instantly acted upon, and every pre-
caution taken to secure them, but vainly ! The
fire came on with such irresistible energy that, like
the wind itself, it overleaped all barriers. In
less than an hour, our grain was burned to ashes !
The houses, farming utensils, et cet., were barely
saved, and we were left in this thinly inhabited re-
gion with but a mouthful of bread stuff ! It was a
severe blow to us with our small finances, and the
difficulty of procuring grain, independently of that.
" But I enjoyed that fire. The finest spectacle
was when the danger had passed. While the
stacks were burning more slowly, the flames swept
furiously onward through those shrub oaks. That
was a magnificent sight. They mounted quite to
the tops of the tallest trees, and went roaring and
cracking through the silent barrens with a noise
that contrasted strangely with the usual stillness
of the hour. The blackness and desolation of the
following morning, and the reflection that we had
lost all our grain, were painful consequents of such
an entertainment. There was, however, no danger
of real suffering. The greatest abundance of fine
game abounded in our vicinity, and it could not be
impossible, so we thought and said, to find some-
16 X
242 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
thing whereof to make bread. Our houses and
other property were spared, and we were thank-
ful.
" By the next summer the unnatural appetite
which had beset us all, disappeared, and the suc-
ceeding stage of acclimation came on. Part of our
-l • • • •
number were prostrated with bilious fever, which
in almost every case was followed by ague, and
the others were visited with that cutaneous disease
which you know sometimes takes the place of
prostrating fevers. It is the safer process, but
scarcely the more agreeable. Some of our people
suffered extremely with it. Their arms and hands
were perfectly denuded of skin, and in such a
state, that, for two or three weeks, those who were
not so afflicted had to feed them as if they were
infants. My husband and I both underwent the
severe ordeal of a long fever, succeeded by ague,
but we came through, apparently with unimpaired
constitutions. All recovered in time, and there
has been little sickness among us since, except the
poor invalid sister, who seems to have been born
to suffer.
" Still we have had many seasons of trial. There
has been more or less sickness in the country
every summer, and we cannot sit down in our own
homes in peace when our neighbors are afflicted. I
have sometimes rode one, two, or three miles every
day, or every alternate day, to visit a sick neighbor;
and here our visits are not calls. We go to per-
form the duties of nurse for a day or night, and
having no servants at home, are obliged to return
as soon as possible, and, notwithstanding our
weariness, proceed at once to the cares of the
family. We had beside, as I have already in-
formed you, many strangers in our homes, some
of whom were long and dangerously ill while
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND, 243
there ; and these circumstances increased our bur-
thens : nevertheless we were happy. In the fall
of the third year our little boy came to cheer us
with his beautiful presence. Oh that was a happy
day when I first heard myself spoken of as a
mother, and happier still were those that followed,
as our darling grew under our care. He is a
brov/n boy now, since he has gone abroad so
much, but he was a beautiful babe. He had dark
eyes and hair, and a clear skin, with cheeks that
deepened like the heart of the rose whenever he
slept. We moved into this house the next spring.
I had a great deal of labor to perform, and the
dear child used to sit and creep on the floor from
morning till noon. Many a time, when I have
been too much engaged to attend to him, my ear
has been struck by the cessation of his prattle,
and I have turned to find his cheek pillowed upon
the naked board, and his wearied faculties lost in
profound sleep. I have laid him on the bed, some-
times with smiles, sometimes with tears. I was
seldom lonely now, even when his father was
away all the long days in the field or wood. He
was a world to me. Our society increased, too,
about the country. Many intelligent and excellent
families came into our neighborhood, and the little
towns that had grown around us, improved our
social life very much. Still we were not so de-
pendent on society as you might suppose. The
charms of the country, which never tired with us,
the delights of building a new home and beautify-
ing it ourselves, of having everything grow from
nature, under our own hands, and the pleasure we
began to anticipate in your arrival, were ample
sources of happiness. Every tree and shrub
which we planted in our grounds was a compan-
ion, whose growth it was delightful to watch.
244 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
Every strawberry-bed that I discovered about the
house was counted on as a means of enjoyment
when we should all be once more assembled.
"I must be a dreamer, for I have had delightful
visions of our wandering together long years hence,
over these little spots, our children gathering the
fruit, while we looked on and applauded their kind
zeal. But that is all past now ; I have striven
to make my home pleasant. I have wrought
within and about it harder, perhaps, than will ever
be the lot of another. I have loved its natural and
its cultivated beauties better, perhaps, than any one
else can, and now I must leave them ! It is hard,
but hardest of all to leave my husband, who has
shared these pleasures and tasks, and my boy, for
whom we have most rejoiced to perform them.
Yet I desire not to remain. The solace which,
under lighter afflictions, I learned to draw from
divine sources, is more precious now than ever ;
and though, to the human eye, I seem to have
toiled through these twenty-five years to gain this
spot in life, and my blessing is yet unenjoyed, still,
I doubt not, it is best so. I have, perhaps, had my
share of happiness. If I have endured bitter griefs,
I have enjoyed intense emotions of pleasure. If I
have buffeted storms and tempests, my sunshine
has been proportionally bright. If I have been
oppressed with cares and labors, my rest and free-
dom have brought delights enough to compensate
for them. If I have been repeatedly and long
separated from those I loved, I have felt the most
unalloyed pleasure in meeting them. I would fain
persuade myself that the last two years have repaid
all the ardent prayers I offered for the presence of
my brothers and sisters, and that I am ready to
depart and leave you all ! Once I should have felt
it my duty to bow with unqualified submission to
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 245
my fate, as to a special expression of my Master's
will. I should have attributed no part of it to the
effect of natural causes which were left to human
control. Now I feel otherwise. I have learned
within the last few years to be wiser, though I
humbly trust not less a christian. If my resigna-
tion is not entire and blind, it is because I feel that
the responsibility of my early death rests on hu-
man beings, and that the will of the Almighty is
expressed in it only so far as to remove me in
kindness when repeated transgressions of His law
have placed it out of my reach to be longer happy
and useful. Do not weep. I am tired now ; take
away the pillows, and let me lie down. I have
talked long, and yet have failed of relating half
that I desire, or expressing what I feel. Bring
me a rose from my favorite bush. I would have
something fresh and beautiful to win repose after
this long effort."
CHAPTER XXV.
I never saw my sister so beautiful as she was
at this period of her illness. But we knew it was
the beauty which ushers in decay — the rich sunset
which is soon followed by blackest night. And
even so it proved. The last signs of emaciation
began to appear as spring passed away. When
the full strength of summer came, the beauty had
departed from the wasting frame, the cheeks no
longer wore the hectic hue. They faded and
grew thinner each day as we looked upon them,
till it seemed, when she slept, that mere emacia-
tion must forbid her ever waking.
The summer began also to grow gloomy abroad.
Tidings of disease came from every part of the
x2
246 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
great valley. Strangers from the states, south,
east, north, and west of us, spoke of the suffering
and death they had left at home, and witnessed
along the way ; and an unusual solemnity rested
over the whole country. The heavens seemed no
longer propitious. The sun poured down his
scorching rays upon our great prairies ; bat no
rain fell ! Vegetation began to parch ; the heavy
dews grew lighter and the heat more intense. My
sister's sufferings were greatly enhanced by the hot
and unrefreshed state of the atmosphere. She
pined for showers, for the freshness, beauty, and
odors which they used to awaken in the world
around her. She grew weaker daily, and express-
ed a clear conviction that she should not live to
see the month of August. At her request, a large
Bible was procured for her son, and a letter which
she had addressed to him while she was yet able
to hold a pen, fastened among its leaves. There
was something deeply touching in the hope which
led to this act. She trusted that this voice speak-
ing from a mother's grave, to a son whom she had
so dearly loved, might link his affections to her in
after years ; might be as a spoken admonition to
him when temptations crowded his future path.
The beautiful lines beginning with
" Remember, love, who gave thee this,
When other years shall come,"
were inscribed by his father on a blank leaf.
She loved the scriptures, and frequently asked
to hear the sixteenth chapter of John read. Its
exalted and earnest promise cheered and strength-
ened her. The month of July drew toward a close,
and we could not but see that her days were num-
bered. The form that had once been so elastic,
was wasted to a shadow; the limbs that had never
tired were feeble us an infant's; the wan face with
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 247
its large, sunken eyes, and passionless expression,
all told that a period would soon come to her suf-
ferings and our fears. She was restless ; she pined
to be abroad, where she could see the face of na-
ture and the familiar objects she had so cherished.
Her husband would bear her in his arms to the
shade of the old oak before the door, where she
would sit while the soft air played over her pale
brow, and look upon her favorite shrubs and flow-
ers with a kind of mournful affection as if she
would fain linger yet a little while among them.
There was one young rose-tree which she had set
with her own hands the year before in the corner
of the yard. It was luxuriant and full of vigor;
she begged it might bear her name and never be
removed. u You cannot think, " she said one day,
** how much I have loved these flowers. When
the beautiful wilderness lay about our home, they
were like friends of the olden time to us ; familiar
voices from a far land. Everything was new to
us here. The trees were not such as we had play-
ed beneath in childhood ; the flowers were stran-
gers ; the very grasses seemed to belong to another
clime. It is true there were glory and beauty in
them all, but the heart cannot rejoice in what is
altogether strange. I have often thought if I were
placed in a world where nothing but exquisite love-
liness and forms of beauty grew around me, I should
still crave some familiar object, however plain;
something which I had known in the old home ;
something which would be a visible link to the by-
gone. These flowers were such ; many a long day f
when I have been all alone, I have stolen out in
some leisure moment, and stood by them and dream-
ed pleasant dreams of the years long gone. Here
was the same rose which I had thought it such a
privilege to pluck and carry to school or to meet-
248 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
ing. It had the same odor, the same clustering
petals, the same deep tint nestled in its dewy re-
cesses, and why should I not love it ! It was a
pleasant remembrancer of the past ; the only one
I had in all the world of nature. I nursed them
as children, watched their growth and exulted in
their beauty, and the love of them will go with me
to my last resting-place.
" It is a strange thing," she added after a pause,
" this undying desire of the heart for something
which it has before known and loved. I have
thought much of late, whether it does not prefig-
ure a reunion with the objects of our earthly af-
fections in the spirit land ! Those who have loved
strongly here must be changed in their whole na-
ture, if they enjoy the happiness which we picture,
and yet find there none who have shared their
human affection. I sometimes feel convinced that
we shall know and love each other there ; but
then — if we found not all ! — if some whom we
have loved and pitied ; some for whom we have
struggled and prayed, for whom we. could have
laid down our lives, were not among the rejoicing
throng ! Oh, it is a terrible thought ! it is the one
which most pains me now, till I reflect that what-
ever is, is best. It sometimes occurs to me that
the beatification of the just made perfect will con-
sist principally in arriving at such wisdom, such an
exaltation of mind over feeling, that we shall rec-
ognize all things in the economy of the Divine
ruler to be right. If the mind be thus elevated
over our present affections, we shall feel no pain
in the absence of those whom we have loved on
earth. But it is difficult to conceive such a state
while we are here."
Such were some of the conversations of these
last days. They were uttered in so low a tone,
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 249
that the rustling of the leaves or the chirping of a
bird would drown their sound. But we had
listened so long, with all our senses sharpened ;
had become so accustomed to gather the import of
her speech, from the play of the wasted lips, and
the expression of her languid eyes, that it was no
longer difficult to understand her perfectly. One
day, when her husband was sitting alone by her
couch, she asked him for the hymn book. Her
hands had scarcely strength to support it while
she turned the leaves slowly, and, at length, open-
ing to that sublime burial piece, commencing
*' Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb,"
she handed it back, with a request that it might
be sung at her funeral. "It is an impressive
poem," she added, " and expresses the hopes in
which I die. I pray daily that they may become
yours, and that you may bring our boy up to
entertain them." Her last hours with her son
were very touching. She felt an anxiety which
was intensely painful to us, to impress a recollec-
tion of herself upon, his young memory. Some-
times she despaired, and her lamentations were
the only words of murmuring we ever heard. " He
will forget me," she would say. " He is too
young ! Oh if I could but have lived long enough
to be assured of a place in the affections of the
man whom I have borne. If I could feel that
during his life, the recollection of his dying mother
would be to him what mine has been to me, a safe-
guard against temptation, a shield against the un-
holy allurements of a world in which so much
that is evil must be resisted ! But I fear he will
lose it ! his mind is too elastic. Yet I must submit
to it. I only ask that you will all aid in the execu-
tion of my wishes after I am gone. You will have
250 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
many opportunities to speak of me, and recall his
young faculties to the effort of remembering me,
as I have been for the last year. I would rather
his memory bore its impress from my well and
happy days, but that is impossible."
The last days of July were now drawing on ;
and though there was no change, other than that
which had been manifest from day to day, for
several weeks, still our beloved invalid assured us
that she should not live to see August. The thir-
tieth of July was Sunday, and a solemn day it was
with us. The angel of death seemed visibly hover-
ing over the silent house. Our babe, usually a
lively, happy little fellow, full of laugh and prattle,
was somewhat unwell, so that even his pleasant
voice was seldom heard in the silent rooms. The
few words that we spoke were uttered in low
tones; the table was laid very quietly, and its con-
tents removed each time almost untouched. The
day was excessively warm and dry. " Oh !" ex-
claimed the suffering invalid, " shall I never see
another pleasant shower fall upon the fair earth 1
shall I never again inhale the delicious odors of
reviving grass, and flowers, and trees ; nor hear
the happy song of birds when the clouds are
fading away in the distant sky % How much I
long for all this once more. Take me out, John ;
let me breathe once more beneath the open sky!"
Towards night a slight dew began to gather upon
her forehead. It chilled me, as if a mountain of
ice had fallen beside me. It was a sign which I
knew too surely foretold the fulfilment of her pain-
ful prophecy. I passed my hand softly over her
brow. It was cold and deathlike. Then I knew
the dart had gone forth — the struggle had com-
menced. Death was among us ! She smiled faintly
as I removed my hand.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 251
" Is it moist V she whispered. Tears were my
only reply. " Then I have not much longer to
suffer. Let them all go to bed; I shall see them
to-morrow morning." I sat at her side all night !
As the dark hours flew by the death damp gathered
in cold drops upon her brow, her large lustrous
eyes grew dim, and her breath came more hurriedly.
She was restless. Many times during the night I
raised her from her recumbent position ; but she
soon returned to it, weary and exhausted. Oh,
that was such a vigil as I hope never to keep
again ! When morning came she was apparently
the same. Breakfast was set, but it was a mere
form. Our boy seemed more unwell, and claimed
much of my attention ; still I scarcely left her
couch. She spoke little. About nine o'clock she
said to her husband, "Between eleven and twelve
I shall cross Jordan." It was even so. She was
conscious when the last moment approached, and
turning her dim eyes toward the clock, with a
faint smile, extended her hands to us. Her face
suddenly blanched — her white lips parted an in-
stant — and all was over! Our lonef- dreaded trial
had come. The patient spirit, to whose wants we
had ministered so anxiously, had fled!
Fond and faithful sister ! How often thy memory
6teals on these distant hours ! How often thy griefs
and trials rise in painful array before me ! How
jealously memory treasures every unkind word or
look I gave thee ; and how faithfully does she set
them before me, now, when to recall them is im-
possible, when the wound which they inflicted is
no longer within my healing, when all the arts
which the tenderest affection can susfSfest are im-
potent to procure the forgiveness that could alone
silence regret. Thy tomb is far away from me !
The silence and beauty thou so much lovedst are
252 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
around thee ! The winds of spring bear the same
delicious odors over thy couch that played around
thee years ago ; the foliage is as bright as when it
danced before thy rejoicing eyes, the stream winds
as softly by, as when thy light footsteps trod its
verdant bank.
" There, through the long, long summer hours,
The golden light doth lie ;
And thick young herbs, and groups of flowers,
Stand in their beauty by.
■ The oriole doth build and tell
His love tale close beside thy cell,
The idle butterfly
Doth rest him there, and there are heard
The housewife bee and humming-bird."
The solemn winds of autumn moan around thee,
and bear from thy overshadowing canopy of boughs,
rich offerings to thy tomb ! We buried thee with
many and bitter tears : we trust in the faith which
so exalted thee above thy trials, to meet thee,
where tears are all wiped away, where there shall
be no more sorrow, neither any sin, nor any pain.
CHAPTER XXVI.
My sister's death was a severe affliction to me.
Much as we had been separated by the events of
our early years, our hearts had grown together by
the strongest bonds of sisterly love. We had
looked forward to an unbroken union, in the beau-
tiful country whither she had led us, and now I was
there, but she was gone forever. Much and bit-
terly did I grieve over the dreadful void left in our
circle by her death. But our little boy's health
soon claimed attention. He did not recover, as I
had trusted he would, and when the first few days
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 253
Were past, he seemed so much indisposed, that a
physician was summoned, and all our energies
directed to his restoration. I was too ignorant of
children to appreciate his true condition, and the
blow which had just fallen, instead of preparing
me for a heavier one, seemed rather to be a secu-
rity against further affliction. While, therefore, I
hovered around the sick couch of our babe, sor-
rowing over his sufferings, which my ignorance
did not permit me to appreciate, and anxious be-
yond the power of language, to see him joyous
and happy again, and hear his musical voice,
breaking upon my silent hours of grief, I never
dreamed that it would not be so. True, I saw
him waste day by day. I saw the fair face grow
thin, the vigorous limbs feeble and tiny, the bright
red lips pale and distorted with suffering. His
large black eye, in which love, delight, and wonder
were used to reign alternately, now wore only the
sorrowing look which tells of pain ; and his fair brow
was contracted to a slight frown, as if he would
fain resist the infliction. Yet notwithstanding all
this, I never dreamed that he could die. It was
strange, it now seems incredible to my own mind,
looking back upon that awful period, that I could
have been so blind to a language which afterwards
seemed to have inscribed itself, in letters of fire,
upon my heart. Yet so it was ; and many a young
mother, who has entered upon her holy office, as I
did, with no acquaintance with infant life, either
practical or theoretical, will bear witness, that
even a mother's instincts are all too feeble, to be
trusted without knowledge. Our boy never grew
better ; he sunk from the time of my sister's death,
and spite of all that skill and tenderness could do,
just two weeks from the day on which her life
closed, he yielded his, and we were wholly bereft.
254 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
Even to the day of his death, I did not anticipate
the event. It is true, I had fears, anxieties, sym-
pathy which only a mother can feel, but preemi-
nent over all these, there was a hope, so disguised
by its very strength, that I did not recognize its
true character. When, therefore, the kind doc-
tor, who had stolen an hour from his arduous
duties, to spend it with us, said to one of those
present, that " the little sufferer would soon be
released," his words seemed to dry the very springs
of life within me. I had no word to say, no tear
to shed, but I gazed upon the little panting form,
and glassy eye, with every faculty suspended by
that dreadful sentence. In half an hour, I was
a childless mother ! Such alone can judge my
feelings !
My previous affliction was utterly forgotten.
Who shall ever tell the bitter, the agonizing
pangs, that rend the very bonds of life, when a
mother stands by the cold clay of her only child !
What thronging recollections come of happy hours,
and shouts of joyous laughter, and peals of merry
music, which earth will never again afford her
ear ; and then, oh agony beyond comparison, of
pain which she has "not alleviated, or perhaps
has caused, of grief which she has not soothed, of
sadness which she has not cheered, of words spo-
ken in impatience, when they should have been
uttered in love, of little pleasures denied, when
they should have been granted, of mortal agony
which she could not share, and Death descending
in grim tyranny upon the little sufferer, who is
all unconscious of his approach. G-od grant I may
never see another such a night, as that which
closed the life to which my own was so closely
linked ! There he lay, in his little crib, where I
had so often frolicked with him, the lips now all
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 255
cold and leaden, which, in his last agony, had
called imploringly on me, by the dearest name to
which the heart of woman ever responds ; the
eyes, which had so often looked into mine, over-
flowing with merriment, with silent wonder, or
appealing tears, closed forever. What could I
do 1 How impotent is every form of expression,
which grief can take, to relieve the heart oppres-
sed with such a burthen.
Again the spot where we had stood so few brief
days before was visited. The little coffin which
seemed to carry my very heart into the earth with
it, was lowered close beside my sister's grave ;
but the latter had not now power to call forth a
single tear. We turned away. The deserted
house stood before us : its doors were closed, its
windows all silent, its neglected vines climbing in
untrained profusion over the silent walls. At any
other time it would have unsealed all the fountains
of emotion within me ; now I scarcely recognized
it as an object connected with my feelings. The
deepest chord of my heart was vibrating to the
last fierce blow, and no lighter touch could waken
its other strings.
But the home whence our darling was forever
gone ! Oh who shall describe its desolation ! who
shall ever tell what a mother feels when she re-
turns to her silent house from the new-made grave
of her only child] How the practised ear will
listen for the accustomed greeting; how the eye
will wander to the door for the merry face that
was wont to come peeping in ; and then what
agony, when some favorite toy is turned from the
place where it was hidden by those little hands
which you never more may clasp, which will never
again wander in playful affection over your face
and neck ! The little garments which you have
256 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
not had the heart to put away from your sight,
hang about your room as they did in happier days.
Here is one perhaps in which the little departed
breathed away his life, and there another whose
brio-lit colors and tasteful fashion carry vour aching
heart back to the days when all was blithesome
promise and intense happiness. I shall never for-
get the pang that wrung my bosom when one
morning, two or three weeks after we were alone,
I found a toy of pine wood indented all over with
the print of small teeth. The last hand that had
touched it was my babe's, its familiar form and
bruised surface brought the happy little owner so
strongly before me, that I seemed to live the terri-
ble parting over again.
CHAPTER XXVII.
The close of this summer found our home a
melancholy one. Days of agony, and nights of
delicious visions that made the morning sorrowful,
wore slowly away. Abroad, the gloom still deep-
ened. The sickness which had begun early to
prevail in various parts of the country, increased
in strength and malignancy. The longer the
drought held, the more fatal grew its ravages and
the more cheerless the aspect of the whole land.
Vegetation was parched to ashes. The dews no
longer fell ; the thirsty earth gaped under the
merciless sun, and the trodden roads were piled
with dust, so that every breath of wind which swept
across them and every vehicle that passed along
raised a blinding cloud. The skies seemed to
have shut their chambers of mercy and to have no
relenting toward the blighted earth. For long, long
weeks, the heavens were watched for a cloud or
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 257
some sign of mercy, but in vain. A hard metallic
glare pervaded the whole arch, an impassable bar-
rier to the blessings we so much craved. Mean-
time pain, disease, and death were stalking abroad.
The pestilence claimed its victims in almost every
house. In some the whole family was prostrated,
and the sufferers were dependent on the kindness
of their distant neighbors to minister to their wants.
The fevers took their most malignant and fatal
character in the " bottom lands." These, as the
name indicates, are the low lands bordering the
streams. On some of the larger water-courses
they are very extensive, and on all they have a
character which strongly distinguishes them from
the prairies and barrens above. They are .gener-
ally wooded. On most of those bordering the
large rivers, the growth is extremely dense and
heavy. Gigantic trees shoot up on the rich earth,
made by the spring floods of every season, and
weave their heavy branches above into a dense
canopy which the sun can scarcely penetrate. On
the black soil below, which is often ten, twelve, or
fifteen feet in depth, and of the finest loam, vegeta-
tion riots in unbounded energy. Immense quanti-
ties are produced, the decay of which, with the heavy
foliage of the trees, generates vast volumes of mias-
mata. The high bluffs then which border these
teeming lands, together with the dense wood that
covers them, prevent the circulation of the purer
air from the uplands, and leave all the causes of
disease to take their most concentrated forms
among the unfortunate settlers. Most of the fami-
lies living on these tracts were French and Ger-
man settlers. The former are the remnants of the
old trading companies, the latter more recent emi-
grants. There are few Americans among; them.
They live for the most part in cabins of the poor-
17 y 2
258 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
est description, and their general habits are little
conducive to health. Here therefore, at this fated
period, the pestilence found its readiest and most
numerous victims. My husband sometimes rode
through these regions, and frequently found houses
in which every member of the family was sick ;
so that it was a blessing for a stranger to call and
hand them a cup of water. In these districts in-
dividuals were found lying in all stages of disease.
Some had never been seen by a physician ; some
were pronounced to have the yellow fever, and the
few that recovered wore a ghastly sallow hue that
was frightful to behold, as they crept about their
death-stricken homes. One could ride miles
through these dark woods, the steady sun when it
poured through the leaves heating the still air al-
most to suffocation, and pass on his route many
cabins apparently deserted ; but on entering he
found two or three, or perhaps a greater number
of persons lying in the same dark room, tossing
and raging in the various stages of consuming fever.
It was frightful to hear of, and still more so to wit-
ness their condition.
But suffering and mortality were not confined to
these gloomy districts. They spread throughout
the entire country. Our little village was one of
the last spots visited, but it paid its tribute in the
loss of one of its most accomplished and excellent
women, and the severe illness of many other citi-
zens. On the eighteenth of September, the day of
the great eclipse, two infants, twin daughters of
our village teacher, were buried. I remember
well the gloom of that afternoon. It was easy to
conceive how in periods of affliction and calamity
the benighted nations that had lived here before us
should construe such an impressive phenomenon
into an expression of anger by the Great Spirit.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 259
The prolonged and unnatural darkness, and the
alarm which prevails among the lower animals fol-
lowing the impression already produced upon the
mind, might well be considered as evidences of
displeasure in the Power that rules the elements.
We trusted that some change would be wrought
in the atmosphere by this great event, that would
break the dreadful monotony of drought. There
were but three or four wells in the village that
afforded any water, and the earth seemed actually
consuming under the fiery orb, now for a brief
space hidden from our weary eyes. Not a drop of
rain had fallen for near seven weeks, and for a
previous period of nearly twice that length the few
showers that had descended were barely sufficient
to saturate the dust. But our hopes were vain ;
the shadow passed from the sun, and he rode out
glaring and bright as ever in the relentless heavens.
Gloom and despair brooded over everything. Na-
ture seemed about to light her own funeral pile.
People walked slowly about with countenances
darkened by their own griefs, or saddened with
sympathy for their neighbors. One met with no-
thing cheerful anywhere. I had on my part no
wish to have it otherwise. The wide-spread sad-
ness harmonized well with my feelings. The loss
of my boy, and this loneliness, heightened by the
previous death of my sister, made me shrink from
everything like joyousness in the natural or human
world. If my mind were won from its burthen
for a moment by books or conversation, it bowed
the next, more painfully and inescapably than be-
fore. I could not get my own consent to resign
those whom all my griefs could never recall ; and
thus my days wore away under the ceaseless
gnawings of the bitterest and keenest emotions.
The unaffectedly good pastor of the church which
260 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
we attended, handed me from time to time many
books, the perusal of which he thought would tend
to soothe feelings so deeply wounded ; but while
I appreciated his kindness, and enjoyed a few
hours of comparative tranquillity over the pages of
his choice, still I found nothing of the peace and
resignation which I had often seen others manifest
under similar afflictions. One afternoon when I
had exhausted the solace of tears over recollections
of my lost babe, the sublime consolations with
which the Psalmist hushed his griefs under a like
affliction, occurred to my mind with unusual force :
" I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me."
The recollection of these words drew me to a more
diligent and frequent reading of the scriptures, a
new set of faculties was called into action, and the
cloud began to pass away. From that time there
was a new element mingled with my grief — one
which robbed it of its fiercest power, softened its
sterner lineaments, lighted its darkest depths. I
no longer brooded in despairing silence over my
sorrows. I felt that there were infinite love and
infinite pity in the divine Mind, and there was a
solace which words can never describe in uttering
them before Him. But the comfort which I found
was no miraculous shining forth of anything exter-
oal to myself; it was no everflowing fountain
which poured itself out, independent of my own
Btate of mind ; such as many seem to have found,
but simply a more exalted action of some powers
which I had always possessed, and a partial sub-
duing of others. The newly acquired supremacy
of those which directed my thoughts heavenward,
which made the departed, objects of benignant
hope instead of black despair, could be overthrown*
I found no power superior to my own mind, pull-
ing down the one and setting up the other — it de-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 261
pended on myself. I found no perpetual source
of joy flowing continually around me, but only one
to which I could resort when I governed my feel-
ings carefully, and sought it earnestly. But this
was all that I desired, it was all that I could be-
lieve true — it was sufficient.
The pure and exquisitely beautiful sermons of
our pastor, to which I had before listened with an
intellectual pleasure merely, had now a higher im-
port, a loftier mission to my mind. The sublime
truths were interesting on other accounts than the
chasteness and simplicity of the language in which
they were presented. In truth I believed I had
attained what I had always heard talked of as a
great mystery, an incomprehensible blessing, viz.,
a religious state of mind. A blessing it certainly
was to me. Its benignant aspect shone far over
the future. It gave me strength and hopefulness,
and while it lightened the present burthen, was
itself a preparation for such as the future might
bring.
Thus with heaviest afflictions on the one hand,
and cheering hopes on the other, closed the second
year of Life in the Prairie Land.
PART II.
CHAPTER I.
Prairie Land is tenanted by numerous varieties
of native birds and animals. Among the former
I have already mentioned the quail, the grouse,
turkey, buzzard, and many others. Among the
latter are many whose habits and characters con-
tribute not a little to the interest which the country
possesses for the lovers of humor or adventure.
One of these is a little ground inhabitant of the
prairies, bearing the uneuphonic cognomen of
" Gopher," and a passionate devotee of subter-
ranean architecture. He is a small personage,
not much exceeding in size the large wharf rat ;
wears a very compact coat of dark satiny fur, un-
equaled for fineness and beauty ; a long tail, a
sharp nose, and a pouch, or sack, outside each
cheek, opening close to the corners of his mouth,
in which he transports the refuse of his labours.
He must have the most implicit faith in the strength
of his genius; for he never suspends the cultiva-
tion of it for a day. If he is ejected from premises
which he has improved, he never mourns his loss,
nor institutes legal proceedings to recover damages,
but, with unabated energy, seeks another site and
commences anew. He is both sagacious and.sus-
picious ; and, in all his plans, manifests plainly a
desire not to be unceremoniously intruded on.
Thus, when he finds an eligible site, he proceeds,
like all settlers in new countries, to break ground ;
but, having gone under the turf, he forthwith lays
himself out to elude pursuit. Down he goes,
crooking and bending his path, now straight, now
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 263
obliquely, for five or six feet. It is not known
that, at the end of this labyrinth, he applies his
thumb to the extremity of bis nasal organ, and
looks contemptuously back ; but it is presumable
that he enjoys something of the feeling which
leads to this gesture in biped builders ; for he im-
mediately turns toward the surface in another
direction, and often extends his researches a fourth
or a half mile within a few feet of it. At points,
not many rods distant from each other, he emerges
with his sacks filled with earth, empties their con-
tents, and goes back to reload; but, from each of
these points, he makes a winding departure as at
first. Thus the little brown hillocks which he
throws up, are only indications of his vicinity, but
afford little clue to his immediate whereabouts.
These deposits are often found in great numbers
together, forming a little village, in the subterra-
nean streets of which it is not difficult to imao-ine
many pleasant incidents, when toil is relaxed, °and
the social feelings come into play.
I remember one of these little towns, which
must have contained near three hundred little
dark mounds on the space of an acre. They
looked very social and pleasant, and were calcu-
lated, withal, to excite one's humor, when, on
inquiring of a boy, in the midst of them, for the
town of , well known to eastern capitalists,
he answered, with a grin, " Why, this hyur is it,
don't you see the stakes?" Besides the Gopher
settlement, there were two houses in sight, one
about a mile, the other half that distance from us,
in opposite directions.
The fox inhabits the prairie country, and is very
much such a fox there as elsewhere, levying con-
tributions on domestic poultry-yards, when it is
expedient, and, in default of these, making the
264 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
most unscrupulous sallies against the grouse,
quails, and other feathered neighbors of his. He
burrows in the copses which skirt the plains, in
the bluffs that border streams, and on the sides of
the most elevated swells in large prairies. Hunt-
ing him is a sport much relished in the winter
season.
The prairie dog formerly dwelt here, but he has
retired with the Indian, and is now scarcely found
east of the Mississippi. He was a gentle, grega-
rious, social tenant of this beautiful wilderness,
and seems, by some strange adhesion to the
natives, to have fled with them, while many other
animals remained.
CHAPTER II.
There are two species of native wolf found on
the prairies. One is the small red wolf, a com-
paratively harmless animal, rarely attacking any-
thing about the farm but sheep or small pigs. But
he is a noisy neighbor in the night. Congregated
in large troops, they trot off from one point to any
other they desire to reach, and never, for a single
moment on the way, suspend the growling, bark-
ing, yelping, and whining, in which they utter
themselves in different moods. I remember when
I had lain on a sick bed for several days, without
sleep, to have fallen into a doze about midnight,
and been awakened by a band of these marauders
passing under my window. There must have
been a large number of them, for the noise was
almost deafening while they passed the house. A
party of maniacs, of all ages and sexes, roaming
the country, could scarcely have produced a
greater variety and confusion of noises. It was
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 265
an evil sound to steal upon one's slumbers, and,
to my disturbed mind, boded no good. The next
day we were informed that their wanderings had
terminated in a sheep-fold, about a mile beyond
us. The slaughter was complete, not one of the
terrified innocents having escaped. This, however,
was an uncommon occurrence. During a resi-
dence of four years I never heard of a similar one.
The large grey wolf is much more ferocious ;
when pressed by hunger, he not unfrequently
attacks men. Many cases are related of travelers
who have arrived pale and breathless at some
cabin on the borders of a large prairie, their lives
having been saved only by the speed of their
horses. The ravening, famished wolf has hung
upon their heels for miles and at last been foiled
only to return with deeper rage and desperation
to the solitary plain ! Woe, then, to the unarmed
traveler who next crosses his path ! He sees his
death warrant in the glaring eye and gaunt, foam-
ing mouth.
In the early period of white settlements, the
traveler was sometimes startled by coming upon
the bleached bones and knotted scalp of some
unfortunate, who had perished thus terribly. But
these are now tales of the past. The supremacy
of man is less disputed by these prowling maraud-
ers, as his dwellings multiply, and his means of
invading their territory grow more formidable.
Occasionally, however, when hunger makes them
desperate, they compel the unarmed traveler to
stake his life upon the speed of his horse, or, in
default of this, upon the best defence he can make.
I was informed by a gentleman that he was at-
tacked so late as the summer of 1839, by a gang
of these hungry fellows, in the midst of a prairie
twenty-two miles in extent. One of his horses was
Z
266 J.IFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
sick, and very much emaciated, and he was with-
out arms of any kind except a large club, which
had been accidentally left in his waggon. He
confessed that when he saw the hungry troop
making toward him, and looked upon his feeble
horse, and around on the empty waggon, he felt
that there were many conditions more enviable
than his. On they came, and for want of better
tactics, directed all their forces against him. He
was a large and very powerful man, and having
previously made such preparations as the circum-
stances permitted, he gave his startled horses the
rein, and seizing the club, addressed himself solely
to defending the waggon. He dealt his blows with
so much vigor and rapidity, that what with the pro-
gress made by the team, and the bruised heads
and feet they bore down from each assault, they
at length gave over, and parted company with,
him ; but not without many looks and growls,
which seemed to threaten dire vengeance, should
they ever meet him in a more helpless state.
A most melancholy occurrence took place not
far from us in the winter of '38 — 9, to which these
lawless animals contributed ; though how far could
never be correctly ascertained. A poor fellow,
laboring under temporary derangement, left his
dwelling early one cold evening when the snow
was two or three inches in depth, and still falling
fast ; and although the most diligent search was
made for several days, no knowledge of him was
obtained till the following spring, when on plough-
ing a neighboring corn-field, his bones were found
scattered over it, peeled of most of their flesh, and
exhibiting thrilling proof that after death, if not
before, his limbs had been torn by these merciless
animals.
In the early years of the settlement such painful
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 267
events not unfrequently startled the inmates of the
rude cabins which bordered the prairies. There
were few other ferocious animals to disturb the
quiet of the settlers. Occasionally a catamount or
panther was found in the dark, wooded bottoms ;
but the treeless plains were never visited by them.
There the wolf seems to have been undisputed
monarch, and, like the hyena of the desert, when
living prey was not at hand, he rifled the tomb of
its sacred trust.
An incident of this kind, connected with the first
settlement on one of the most beautiful prairies in
the state, had a thrilling interest as it was commu-
nicated to me.
The great road from the northern to the southern
extremities of the state passes, for the most part,
over large prairies. These are sometimes divided
by groves two or three miles in extent, sometimes
by open, sparsely timbered tracts, called barrens,
and sometimes by a mere thread of timber, tower-
ing above the swelling plain, showing a dark green
line at the distance of miles, the first glimpse of
which often elicits a cheerful " land ho" from trav-
elers who are unaccustomed to these long voyages
by terra Jirma. This road intersects at Peoria
the Illinois river, with which it runs nearly parallel
for sixty or seventy miles, at a distance varying
from four to eight, ten, and fifteen miles from the
stream. The wood which crowns the bluffs of the
stream stretches back at frequent intervals in long
lines, and fringes the plains over which the road
passes. These groves are generally very beautiful.
They are usually seen on the high swells of the
prairies, their outlines clearly defined on the hori-
zon, long before you reach them. Their edges
are bordered with the plum, hazel, and other fruit-
bearing trees, and shrubs, which are frequented by
268 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
birds, hares, squirrels, et cet. The music, life,
and freshness of these woodlands, together with
their utility to the husbandman, led the early set-
tlers to select them as the sites of their new homes.
There the cabin was laid up under the spreading
boughs of the outermost trees ; and there the hardy
frontiersman placed his family, remote from every
artificial means of comfort, W alone with nature,"
rich, beautiful, majestic, nature in the silent prairie
land.
CHAPTER III.
It was at one of these spots that the incident
referred to took place. On the northern side of a
prairie, eighteen miles in extent, two groves ap-
proach within a short distance of each other from
the east and west. They lie on a lofty swell of
land and are visible many miles away. The plain
between these dark green promontories is smooth
as the unruffled sea, and you fancy as you look upon
its quiet outline, while the tree-tops toss, and swell
against the clear blue sky, that the smallest object
would be discernible. Presently a short dark line
rises against the light, and as the coach toils over
swell after swell, and brings you nearer the object,
it grows distinct, permanent, and bold, and fastens
itself with a strange pertinacity on the eye and
mind. It concentrates your wandering thoughts,
and you wonder what could have led to the con-
struction of such an object on that spot. No dwel-
ling or other tenement is visible, and the green
wall of the western grove rises apparently a full
mile from it. There it stands without proportion
or symmetry, its harsh angles unrelieved by a single
shrub, its silent walls brown with the storms of
years. It is a tomb ! Farther back in the grove,
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 269
stands a house near which its silent tenant lived
and died.
Long before these lands were vacated by the
Indians, a settler came hither from the eastward,
with his family. He was roving through these
beautiful gardens in search of a spot whereon to
make his home. One morning his white-topped
waggon entered the southern border of this large
prairie, and, all day, was seen by the wondering
Indians at the grove, to rise and fall slowly among
the green swells, coming nearer and nearer, till at
nightfall it halted on the line where this solitary
tomb now stands. Here the travelers encamped,
and one who has visited the spot, will not wonder
that when the patriarch had seen the next sun rise
on the scene before him, he declared their jour-
neyings ended ! A site was selected in the grove
for their cabin, the logs were felled, and laid up
by the father and his sons, and a frontier home
soon sent its smoke curling through the overhang-
ing boughs. Their only neighbors were the ram-
bling Indians who, in their excursions from the
north and south, always halted at this grove.
They had no domestic animals save the faithful
cattle that had drawn them and a dog.
For many months after the cabin was built they
depended on wild game and fruits for subsistence.
The rifle of the father brought down abundant
supplies of deer and grouse, and the smaller mem-
bers of the family could trap the quail, gather ber-
ries and plums, and beat the hazel and nut trees.
The wife and mother wrought patiently for
those she loved. Her busy hands kept a well or-
dered home during the day, and at night, they plied
the needle to the wardrobe of her little household
band. It was already scanty, and materials to re-
place the worn-out garments were far away, and
z2
270 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
would cost what she had not to give. When one
was worn beyond the resuscitating powers of her
needle, its place was supplied as well as might be,
by the skins which they had taken from their game.
Sunrise and evening twilight found the father at
his labors. He had no harvest that year, but if he
would reap the next, much preparation must be
made before the winter came. First, the turf was
broken where he proposed to plant his corn, rails
were next made and laid around it, some of the
native hay was gathered and piled up at the corner
of his cabin, and a little garden fenced and
ploughed. When all these things were done,
there yet remained the journey to the nearest set-
tlement for winter goods and grains, and for the cow,
which could not longer be dispensed with. When
all was ready, the father and his eldest son started
in the emigrant waggon, and were absent many
days, during each of which the mother and her
little children — protected, if danger came, only by
the dog — looked anxiously out upon the great
prairie, now embrowned by the frosts of autumn,
and wondered when they would return. There
were few travelers then in those uninhabited
plains. Day after day passed, and no sign of life
was visible on the plain, save the deer bounding
among its crisp herbage, or the famished wolf,
rushing madly against tho winds which bore the
scent of prey. The intense sunshine which flooded
this swaying sea, was now softened by the hazy
atmosphere peculiar to those plains in the autumn
months, the flowers were all dead, the trees dis-
robed, and a wild, vast desolation, which pene-
trated the soul of tho lone woman, seemed hover-
ing over the face of her new home.
On the fifth day, a party of Sauk warriors, plumed
and painted, entered her dwelling. Her heart
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 271
beat quick, and her eye glanced wildly toward her
little ones, as their swarthy figures darkened the
door ; but a moment restored her self-possession.
She knew they were not enemies, and felt secure
in her very helplessness. They had not lived much
among the whites, and it requires some teaching
to induce the savage to fall on a helpless person
who is not his foe. With the few words and signs
which she had acquired, she entered into conver-
sation with them, and learned that they were on
their way to give battle to the Kaskaskias and
Peorias. Here was a new cause of solicitude;
her husband's road lay through the battle-ground,
and who could tell what savages, seeking blood,
might do 1 or what would be his fate, should he
fall between the hostile parties ! Offering them
such hospitality as her poor home afforded, and
praying that it might purchase the safety of the ab-
sent, she signified her hopes and fears, and watched
their retreating footsteps with a boding heart.
All day she bent her eyes to scan the plain, but
nothing met her search save the forms of the
retreating warriors, which grew dimmer with dis-
tance and the fading light, till at length they were
wholly lost. With aching head and anxious heart
she put her little ones to bed; and when they
slept, she rose and looked anxiously out upon the
night. Black broken clouds were driving across
the heavens at a fearful rate, and the wind rushed
through the naked trees, and howled around her
chimney, like some evil spirit demanding sacrifice.
The only window of her cabin looks over the
plain ; and there she stands gazing as if the day-
light rested on it, and she hoped each moment to
see the long wished-for object heave in sight.
Presently a strange light gleams on the blackened
sky! What should it bel not lightning, for it
272 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
rose instead of falling, and hung longer on the
sight than the electric flash. But it is gone ! — now
again it comes, stronger, and looks as if the bright,
fiery sun had lost his place, and without any pre-
cursor were rushing up the southern sky. Again
it almost disappears ; but the faint tinge is soon
increased, and a broad glare bursts up which over-
whelms that widowed heart. The dreadful truth
pierces her very heart, and makes her whole frame
tremble. The prairie is on fire ! Oh God ! what
a conviction ! She remembers now that they have
talked of prairie fires, and promised themselves
much pleasure in beholding them. But she never
dreamed of the red demon as an enemy, and one
to be encountered in this dreadful solitude.
Her heart sinks within her. There are no means
to avert or escape it. The only living things about
her are the children and the faithful dog. The
former are sleeping quietly, and the latter sits at
her feet gazing in her face with a mute sympathy
that brings tears to her eyes. She does not need
to look for the light now, for it has gained so that
she cannot escape its glare. The wind is bearing
the fire almost with its own speed across the im-
mense savannah. She cannot calculate the dis-
tance at which she first saw it, but if it were at the
extreme southern border, it must, with such a
wind, reach her in a few hours, nay, even less !
But what to do, where to go ! She rushes to
the door. Merciful Heaven ! It is all one sea of
dry combustibles around her. Grass, dry grass
everywhere ! she can find no refuge. The very
tree-tops, if she could gain them, with those she
is bound to save or perish with, would afford
her no protection from such a sea of flamo as is
roaring yonder! Tlu' wind increases, the elements
seem to grow madder as the flame approaches, and
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 273
aggravate its fury. "With every blast, it towers
and curls, and then, as if enraged at its own im-
potence, sinks a moment sullenly, to gather strength
for a fresh effort.
There is a large creek about four miles away,
and on this the lone woman hangs her last faint
hope. The wind will" not befriend her, and she
can only hope that the waters may arrest the
flame. Hapless woman ! she little knew the
strength of the devastating demon that was let
loose that night ! A slender thread of water to
separate her from such a surging sea of flame !
But if it did not protect her ! What then ! If the
last extremity came ! what should she do ] She
could have but few moments to deliberate, after
the dreadful foe crossed this line. Bewildered,
almost stupified, by the terrors of her condition,
she had not waked her children. She had con-
templated their dreadful fate alone, almost in
silence, and with little action, after she opened
the door and was overpowered by the conviction
that to leave the house was even more certain
death than to remain.
Now, when the time grew short, and the hot
breath of her relentless foe rushed fiercely around
her, she addressed herself rapidly to the care of
her little ones ; she woke them with much diffi-
culty, and with much more brought them to compre-
hend the danger that awaited them. One lively boy
enjoyed the spectacle, and clapped his hands, and
almost maddened his mother, by rushing out to
get a fairer view of the wonderful scene. But
where was the dog ] the noble dog who was her
only intelligent friend in this fearful time % Her
quick mind had counted on his protection, in case
she should escape and were shelterless. But
where was he 1 She stepped to the door ; the
13
274 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND,
light was now strong and revealed distinctly every
object. He was nowhere to be seen ! She made
the wood ring with his name, and presently a low
supplicating bark was borne to her ears on the
hot wind.
The fire had crossed the creek, and was tearing
its way, like an infuriated demon, up the plain,
A few minutes must decide her fate — she fell on
her knees, and commended herself and her help-
less babes to the mercy of her God ; and then
rose, calm and collected for the event. She had
not, hitherto, contemplated the wonderful scene
apart from the dangers with which it was fraught;
but now, for the first time, she was struck with its
grandeur and sublimity. It was an unbroken line
of flame, wide as the eye could reach, mounting,
roaring, crackling, and sending up columns of black
smoke which, as they rose, became rarer, and,
rising still higher, were reilluminated so as to ap-
pear another devouring demon sweeping the
heavens. Mercy and hope seemed alike cut off
by its angry glare. The fiery wall shut out the
world behind, except occasionally, when a blast
cleft it, it opened upon a black chasm that looked
like the funeral vault of nature.
Scarcely had she taken this brief survey, and
noted the nearer approach of the flame, when the
dog came bounding to her side, and, with the
most earnest petitions, sought her attention with-
out the door. She followed him a few steps,
scarcely thinking what she did, but, finding nothing,
and seeing him making rapidly for some distant
point, she turned back, closed the door, and sat
down before the window to watch the progress of
the fire. In an instant he was there, pawing,
whining, bowling, and, by every means in his
power, soliciting her attention. Before she could
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 275
open the door to admit him he bounded through
the window.
" Merciful God ! what have you done ! we shall
all be consumed — there is no hope now !" He stood
at her feet; the strong intelligence of his face fas-
cinated her eye in spite of the danger. What
could he mean] In an instant the sagacity of
his instinct flashed upon her. To the ploughed
field ! Yes, there was hope, and there alone.
She seized the two younger children in one arm,
and almost lifting the other by her hand, she fled
along the trodden path, the delighted dog going
before, and manifesting his joy by every sign in
his power. They gain the fence — the fire is at their
heels, it almost blisters their unprotected faces !
One or two more leaps, and the herbless ground is
gained. The fire has nothing now to feed on, and
almost faint with the sudden and certain safety, the
exhausted mother drops on the ground among her
helpless infants.
" Merciful Savior, what an escape !" In a few
minutes the flames are besieging the house, the logs
covered with dry bark are but a morsel in their
fierce jaws, the hay-stack takes fire and communi-
cates to the rest of the cabin, and while the great
volume of the fire sweeps among the trees and over
the plain, it leaves the heavier materials to be con-
sumed more slowly. Long did the light of the
burning home, therefore, blight the eye of the lone
woman after the " prairie fire" had done its worst
around her and gone, bearing ruin and devastation
to the northern plains and groves. Worn out by
the terrors of the night, she sank into the sem-
blance of sleep, on the naked earth, among her
babes, with her faithful protector crouched at her
feet.
276 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
CHAPTER IV.
She woke in the morning to the dread reality
which had been briefly forgotten ; but which now
broke with stunning force upon her senses. Her
children were chilled and hungry. The spot
where late their pleasant hearthside shone was a
heap of mouldering brands and blackened ashes,
with which the morning winds were toying in
merry pastime. There was neither food nor shel-
ter ! and when she rose to her feet and looked
out upon the plain, its strange appearance startled
her. It seemed more boundless than ever, and the
blackness of desolation brooded over every foot
of it. It was clean shorn of every blade of vegeta-
tion, and appeared, within the last few hours, to
have been blighted with a curse from which the
smiles of heaven could scarcely redeem it.
With faltering steps the unhappy woman gath-
ered her little ones, and prepared to leave their
cheerless bed. But whither should they go ! there
was no house within many miles. Beside her own
little roof she had not seen another since they left
the last settlement. To seek shelter or bread,
therefore, from others was impossible. Her only
resource was to search the wasted wood and
plain for roots or nuts, or whatever might be left
to support life, till her husband's return. The lire
of her cabin would warm the shivering babes for
one or two days at least, and if help came not
then, she must trust herself to the mercies of a
journey over the bleak desert.
Bending her steps, therefore, towards the smoul-
dering ruins, she soothed and wanned her children,
and set out with the generous dog to search the
grove for food. It was a desperate pilgrimage :
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 277
most of the nuts and fruits in the vicinity of the
house, had been gathered and deposited in the
loft for winter use ; and of those that were left
upon the ground, few had escaped the consuming
flames of the previous night. Occasionally she
found one sheltered by a decayed log or a heavy
clump of grass, which the fire in its haste had not
stopped to devour. But they were rare, and she
had three mouths to feed beside her own ! A
scanty meal was, however, obtained, and she re-
turned to the fire. The warmth relieved their
sufferings more effectually than the coarse morsel
they had eaten. The little ones wondered where
the house was, but rejoiced in the great pile of
burning logs, and after a little time, the mother
had the happiness of seeing them forget their hun-
ger in some merry games.
Long and intensely this day did her eyes dwell
on the wide, black plain ! She had no need to
look so earnestly, for the most careless glance would
have revealed the white cover of the waggon if it
had been moving over the dark surface. Noon
passed, and brought no signal of mercy. She
could see the brown deer leaping timidly over the
scorched waste, and the grouse wheeling his short,
swift flight from place to place ; but this was all.
Another night of dreadful solitude ! exposed to
cold and hunger, and to the starved wolf ! shelter-
less, weaponless — the dog their only defence.
During the day she had found a few of the
ground-nuts, which grow quite abundantly in the
edge of the grove ; with these she fed her little
ones ; and parting with nearly all her clothing,
wrapped them in the scant covering ; and with
pleasant words, while her heart was bursting,
soothed them to sleep, and laid them on the charred
turf to the windward of the smoking pile, while,
Aa
278 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
with her noble dog, she sat down to watch their
slumbers. At intervals, for several hours, the
winds bore to her aching ears the short, queru-
lous barking of the small prairie wolf, and once or
twice her very blood curdled when the shrill, dis-
mal howl, by which the large, grey wolf summons
his neighbors for an attack, resounded over the
bleak waste ! The night was utterly black. Be-
yond the little circle, faintly lighted by the wasting
embers, nothing could be discerned. Her eyes
would not warn her of an enemy within three
yards ; and as often as she peered into the dark-
ness at every new sound, the faithful dog would
nestle to her side and lick her hand, and turn his
intelligent eyes toward hers with an expression of
sympathy and confidence that cheered her solitary
vigil more than she could tell.
The cold winds howled around her thinly clad
frame and chilled it to the core. The noises one
by one died away, and, spite of the horrors of her
condition, a drowsiness stole over her which she
could scarcely resist. Her eyelids drooped, and
her shivering body swayed slightly to and fro,
when the smouldering ends of the logs tumbled
into a new position, and sent upward a volume of
shining, crackling sparks, which roused her sinking
energies and braced her for another hour's watch-
ing. At last the darkness became profoundly
silent ! Save the steady pressure of the wind, not
a sound was heard. The nocturnal wanderers
6eemed to have withdrawn to their haunts, and left
nature to the undisputed reign of night. Chilled,
and faint with fatigue and fasting, the lonely
watcher could no longer preserve her wakefulness ;
she curled her shivering form close to the sleeping
babes, and left the vigil to the faithful dog.
It was stupor rather than sleep that locked her
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 279
faculties till the cry for food recalled tnem. The
fire was diminishing; the sun was up, but he
looked coldly through a mass of leaden vapor that
was crowding up the south-eastern sky. The
whole heavens were curtained with the still, sul-
len mass which threatened every moment to de-
scend in rain. A fewhours before, she had thought
her condition could scarcely be aggravated. But
the impending storm was little less to be dreaded,
in their feeble state, than the terrible foe which
had exposed them to it. Her limbs were stiff and
full of pain ; her brain reeled, and her sight became
dim, as she rose to her feet and prepared to search
the grove once more for something to sustain life
in her hungry children.
Her own desire for food was gone ; she would
have loathed the most tempting viands. But when
the little ones hung upon her garments and begged
for bread, she summoned her fainting limbs to one
more effort ; and, taking a direction which had not
been tried before, she found, after a long and pain-
ful search, a few stalks of the ground-nut, which
her feeble hands with difficulty removed from their
firm hold upon the soiL The roots of these afforded
a morsel wherewith to still the cries that pierced her
heart. And when there was no farther hope, and
her limbs tottered beneath her, and strange rack-
ing pains wrung her worn body, she hastened back
to the spot which still seemed home, though nought
of home was there, and felt, if her hour were come,
it were better to lie down and perish by those
consecrated ashes, than in the cheerless wood. A
drizzling rain was falling when she reached the
spot, and threatened to increase. It would be im-
possible to preserve the fire long ; but pushing the
brands together, she gathered her trembling little
ones about her knees, and, between her periods of
280 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
agony, sought to impress their memories with the
terrible events that had befallen them. She en-
deavored to make the eldest boy comprehend that
he might be the only narrator whom his father
would find, should he ever return ; and left many
tender messages for him and for her first-born.
With pallid, tearful face he promised to do as she
desired; but urged her to tell him where she
would be when his father came, and whether his
little brothers were going with her, to leave him
all alone.
The rain increased, and their drenched gar-
ments gave the chilling blast redoubled power.
The embers hissed and blackened, and soon re-
fused to warm the shaking group. Like the pangs
of death grew the mother's agony ! — as certain and
relentless ! And there, beside the reeking ruins of
her home, the black earth beneath, and the pitiless
storm above, there alone, her only attendants the
helpless children and the dog, who sat at her head,
and seemed almost to weep over her writhing
form, the hapless woman gave birth to a little be-
ing, whose eyes never opened to the desolation of
its natal hour !
Long did the mother lie unconscious alike of
the terror-stricken cries of the children, and the
moaning caresses of her dumb friend. The day
was far advanced when her eyes opened on the
dreadful scene. The cold rain was pouring stead-
ily down, and twilight seemed to her faint eyes to
be creeping over the earth. A pleasant sound was
ringing in her ears, but it was either a dream, or
its import had faded from her mind before it was
fully grasped. She made an effort to rise, but fell
senseless. Once again, her eyes opened, and this
time it was no illusion. The eldest of her little
watchers was shouting in her ear, " Mother, I see
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 281
father's waggon;" and there indeed it was, close
at hand before his untrained eye had discovered
it. All day it had been toiling across the black
prairie ! The rain had softened the turf, and the
wheels sank without cutting it ; so that the last
few miles had been inconceivably tedious. The
mourning garb of the plain had struck the hearts
of both father and son with indescribable terror.
The former would have left his slow team and
flown across it, but his son had charge of the cow,
and this was impossible. More alarmed and ex-
cited as he advanced, he was still obliged to restrain
his intense feelings, and accommodate his progress
to the slow motion of the tired cattle. Night drew
on before the desolation of his home was revealed
to him. When within about a mile he should, have
discovered the house, but all was a level waste!
Unable longer to endure the torture, he sprang
forward, leaving the animals to follow as they chose.
He flew, he shouted, and the dog bounded to meet
the well-known voice. When the boy saw the
waggon, the father had just left it, so that even as
he repeated the joyful tidings, the stricken man
stood over them, half-stupified by the effort to
comprehend the nature and extent of his calami-
ties.
A group of perishing children, an infant corpse,
a dying wife ! and all, all gone, wherewith to
minister even the decent ceremonies of such a
period. Oh, how bitterly his heart cursed the day
when he trusted the treacherous beauty that in-
vited him there. He raised the dying woman in
his arms ; the seal was on her glazing eye, and the
faint fluttering at her wrist foretold the last and
worst that could befall him ! Slowly, word by
word, she told her agonizing tale. He threw his
garments over her, and wiped the rain-drops from
aa2
282 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
her face, and drew her to his heart. But the cold
dew returned, and told that storm or shelter would
be soon the same to her ! He prayed her for-
giveness, and with wild, incoherent words, accused
himself of her cruel murder. She vindicated him
from these accusations with all her little strength,
and with many messages for her absent son, and
many prayers for her dear children and their father,
she resigned her breath, just as the last light was
fading from the western sky.
She had begged that her tomb might be made
on the site of the burned cabin. And there, when
he had watched two days and nights by her un-
sheltered corpse, and hewn a rough coffin to
receive her and her untimely babe, she was de-
posited. The grave was a rude hollow, scooped
with sticks and the hands of the widowed husband
and his sons. The preparations were completed
and the dead lowered on the afternoon of the
second day. At midnight a troop of famished
wolves attacked the holy spot, and but for the rifle
of the husband, would have torn its sacred con-
tents from their rude repose. The next day he
felled the nearest trees, and laid them in the form
of a vault on the spot. And this it is which greets
the traveler's eye so many miles away on the
untenanted prairie !
The grove has since retired and left the tomb
alone ! a bold and solitary mark on the high line of
the horizon. The plain below is still unchanged.
It is the same rich, green expanse in summer ; the
same bleak, howling waste in winter. It is now
skirted with farms under the edge of the wood-
lands.
One cabin has sprung up in its midst, on the
bank of the stream. But it is forsaken and dilap-
idated. Its door is gone, and the rough planks
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 283
which made the floor have been used as fuel, by
emigrants who have encamped near it. Its small
cellar yawns dismally in the face of the curious
traveler who looks within.
CHAPTER V.
Such were some of the incidents of early life on
the frontiers of prairie land! Yet the hardy set-
tlers came and dotted the little groves with their
cabins and inclosures ; their domestic animals in-
creased rapidly on these rich pastures ; and in a
few years from the time the first dwelling was built
on the border of a prairie, considerable herds of
cattle and large droves of horses might be seen
frolicking and feeding on it. The early settlers
were particularly fond of the latter animal. Living
as they did, in the vicinity of abundant and deli-
cious game, they cared comparatively little for the
flesh of domestic animals. They used the ox less
for draught too, than the agriculturist of the east-
tern states do. The turf of their fields once broken,
they have little further use for them. Their motion
is too slow to suit the quick and changing desires of
the frontiersman. His work must be done quickly,
and at brief periods. He is not the steady, pa-
tient laborer of twelve or fifteen hours. If his
seed is to be put in the earth, he plants a few
acres, then mounts his fleetest horse, and rides to
the neighboring town to address his fellow citizens
in behalf of his own or his friend's claim to some
political office ; or he takes his rifle and pursues
the deer, or hunts the grouse or quail.
Thus swift horses are the most valuable stock of
these people. Beauty, however, is rarely combined
with fleetness, and the best are generally short-
284 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
lived. This is attributed to the early period at
which they are trained to service, to the random,
uncertain character of their labors, and perhaps
not less than either, to the exposures they endure
for want of shelter and proper care.
For a western settler will live many years on
his farm, without ever having a bam, or other out-
building of any kind, except a very small corn
crib, and sometimes a stable, the dimensions of
which correspond better to those of a poultry
house, than anything else. If barns are built, they
come along after many years, under the head of
admissible luxuries. The threshing is done in
the open air upon a piece of ground made hard
by repeated treading, in the vicinity where the
grain is usually stacked. The horses and horned
cattle run out all winter ; and from the little care
that is taken of them, look miserably, long before
the spring herbage comes to their relief. The
coats of the latter, particularly, stand up like the
hairs of the caterpillar, and shake in the wind,
making their poor owners look as if suffering under
fever and ague.
The country bordering on Rock River, in
nearly its whole length, is one of the most beauti-
ful that can be imagined. The stream itself is a
clear and generally rapid current, running over
ledges of lime rock or beds of fine gravel and
sand. Its banks are beautifully diversified with
grove and lawn, which sometimes form natural
parks of many miles in extent. The trees of
these lands are principally the white, black, and
red oak, interspersed with the elm, hickory, and
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 285
biltternut in small numbers. There is rarely any
undergrowth, unless it be of wild flowers, or fruit-
bearing shrubs and vines. The blackberry is very
abundant in some, and in others the mandrake is
found in great profusion. . The grass is of sparser
growth among the trees than on the prairies, and.
the clean turf, spread beneath the lightly woven
boughs, is a charming spectacle to the eye, and
still more tempting to feet that love to stray amid,
beautiful solitude. When I visited this region, it
was the heyday of nature. Midsummer among
these cool copses, green lawns, and swift streams,
is a joyous season, and if to these one adds a
small cabin filled with the pleasantest friends,
books and pictures, and surrounded with a few
families of the choicest society, it will not be dif-
ficult to understand why I often wish that the
eastern potentate could have made his ten days'
experiment without his august retinue in the little
town of C . But no paradise is ever entered
without some previous struggles which serve to
heighten its enjoyments. Perhaps they could not
be complete without these preparatory contrasts.
Theologians so affirm, and the assertion is not desti-
tute of a strong resemblance to truth, in my own ex-
perience on this occasion. Certain it is, that if the
strength of the one is proportioned to the intensity
of the other, I had a just claim to all the delights
which surrounded me at C . To reach them,
I had endured a solitary ride of three long summer
days, (think of that, for a lady with a tongue !) over
scorching plains on which not a drop of rain had
fallen for many weeks. The feet of four horses
and the wheels of a heavy coach consequently kept
a dense cloud of dust afloat, which, although it
may have seemed to the lookers-on very majestic,
marching over the prairie, to lend a sort of halo to
286 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
our progress, by no means contributed to the com-
fort either of the outward or inward person.
Our dining place on the first day was at the
principal hotel in the flourishing town of North-
ampton. It (the town I mean, and the hotel may
as well be included, for it is the only building in
it) is nestled pleasantly among some hazels and
scrub oaks, on a little elevation, which you ap-
proach by a winding road from below. The
face of the hill is quite bold as you come up
from the south ; and on its brow are perched the
remains of a windmill, which some speculating
settler, not having the fear of Don Quixote before
his eyes, had erected there, in the hope, which ap-
pears to have been vain, of realizing filthy lucre or
corn meal from its labors. You ascend the hill,
and, at the same instant, are quite astonished to
find yourself before the piazza of a house, which
a tall sign-post points out as the " Northampton
Hotel."
If sign-boards were, like title-pages, any indica-
tion of the fare to which they direct, the table of
this house would afford you fewer delicacies than
most of its guests find upon it. The artist seems
to have been been a severe lover of the useful,
and to have told his story in the plainest of all
possible black letters, upon the dirtiest of all
white surfaces. I did not notice whether any of
the characters were inverted, or had turned their
backs upon their neighbors, a thing not uncommon
in that country of large freedom; but I think I am
safe in saying, that the title-page of this house was
not an illuminated one. The same cannot be said
of the room to which the guests are ushered.
There is nothing very striking in its furniture,
finish, or proportions, on first entering; but its
beauties grow upon the eye ; and you experience
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 287
some astonishment, on looking about, to find your-
self in a sort of stereotyped picture gallery. I
scarcely know to what school these efforts belong.
That they are original does not admit of question,
but whether the artist excelled in coloring or com-
position, whether his pictures are allegorical, his-
torical, or merely representatives of nature in her
ornithological, zoological, and floral creations, I
must leave to virtuosi to determine. It was a
problem with me, after I had spent a considerable
part of two hours in examining them, and it still
remains so. They are executed in red, green,
and blue, on a plaster surface, and consist of a
great variety of vines, curiously interwoven and
knotted, on which are perched as various a collec-
tion of birds. I judge of the variety of the former
from the different colors of the leaves only, for
none of them seemed to be in flower. Some
gloried in green stalks and blue leaves, while
others donned the extraordinary altogether, and
sported leaves "done in" Spanish brown, from
stems " done in" blue; others combined all these
colors, and, twined and grouped as they were,
presented a lively and pleasing effect. There was
but one point in the room where the artist con-
descended to enlighten his admirers ; this was on
the lower face of the stairway. Two heavy cir-
cular lines, the outer red, the inner blue, inclosed
a large sanguinary figure, which more resembled
the beeve's hearts, without the appendages, as
they are exposed in market, than anything else in
nature with which I am acquainted. On its upper
surface were perched a pair of birds, apparently
young eagles, in hot combat, for their ferocious
talons were lacerating the heart, and their beaks
interlocked, with such amazing fierceness, that if
the hold of one had yielded, his antagonist must
288 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
have been precipitated, in terrible disorder, to the
ground. Eight letters were delineated between
the concentric lines; they were at equal distances
from each other, and a full period of most vivid
green succeeded each. These letters were an
immense puzzle. I read them from all points ;
from above, from below, from the sides, from the
points forty-five degrees from the horizontal and
vertical lines ; but all to no purpose. I was about
abandoning the enterprise in despair, and had
taken my pencil to copy the curiosity, for the
benefit of learned societies, both native and foreign,
when I found that the letters L. O. V. E., written
on a straight line, spelled a word with which I
was tolerably familiar ; and, a key once obtained,
I was not long in unlocking the ring which con-
tained the mystery. It was a beautiful solution,
and the performance of it raised no trifling degree
of complacency in my own mind, as well as res-
pect in that of the host for my sagacity. He con-
sidered the Love Ring one of the best jokes that
could be enjoyed at the expense of his guests, and
laughed as heartily at each explanation of the
mystical letters as if they were perfectly new and
contained the essence of all wit.
I could start no reasonable supposition, explan-
atory of this artistical phenomenon, except that
some impoverished Titian had wandered thither,
and being unable to defray in money the expense
of a sojourn, had at the instance of the thrifty land-
lord turned his genius to account upon the walls
of the reception room.
The hostess meanwhile plied her vocation in the
neatest of all kitchens, directly back of this room.
Three or four sturdy children shared the apart-
ment with her, and from time to time engaged in
the discussion of various questions of authority and
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 289
domestic polity, on which they appeared to have
adopted opposite opinions. The warmth of their
arguments occasionally brought the maternal palm
somewhat smartly over the meatus auditorius, and
led the parties to abandon their respective points ;
but always with a look which said plainly, " See
if I don't give it you next time."
Opposite the hotel stood — and I presume still
stands — the skeleton of a large house which had
been erected some two years before, and had pro-
gressed in a most singular manner to a state of
partial completion. It was partly roofed, partly
inclosed at the sides, partly plastered ; some of
the floor was laid, one chimney almost finished,
some of the windows were in; the cellar was
partly excavated, one or two doors were swinging
on their hinges ; a picket fence extended two-
thirds the length of the yard, and the climax was
crowned by a gate that stood agape about midway
between the extremities. The enterprising owner
had abandoned it at this stage of its erection, and
offered it for sale as " a large house in the beauti-
ful and flourishing town of Northampton." I trust,
for the credit of the place, it has found a purchaser.
CHAPTER VI.
We left our artistical landlord, and the next
stopping-place was twenty-two miles away. There
the night was to be spent, in case any amicable
arrangement to that effect could be made with the
muskitos who had previous possession. The land-
lady too, as I had learned, was rather testy, and
on my arrival, I found it even so. She had come
originally from New York ; but twenty-five years
of frontier life had sharpened many points of a
19 Bb
290 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
character originally salient, and the absolute do-
minion which she held over the comfort of those
who sought her roof, the only one for twenty-seven
miles of road, had made her capricious and impe-
rious in the extreme. Nothing, she asseverated,
could give her greater pleasure than to entertain a
lady or gentleman ; and who should know such
better than she, who had come from the city of
New York ! Having learned therefore the cue,
it was not difficult to stimulate the good woman's
love of pleasing, so as to secure her most courteous
hospitality. Her own room was tendered me, with
a flowing bowl of water and an ample brown
towel, for making a toilet, after the dusty ride.
Just as this was completed, we were all summoned
to the tea table, which was laid with a snowy cloth,
under an open shed attached to the rear of the
house, and looking directly into the grove.
The sun was just setting, and the long shadows
falling aslant the grass would have made a delight-
ful accompaniment to our delicious supper, had
not certain admonitory twinges about one's feet
and ankles put sentiment to flight, and given warn-
ing of more serious troubles yet to come.
It was very warm ; and how we were to exist
during the night with the sleeping rooms closed so
as to exclude these marauders, was a problem
which I could solve on no other supposition than
that muskito-bars surrounded* our beds. To as-
certain whether this item should enter into the
anticipations of the evening, I put the proposition
to our hostess in a general and abstract form, that
where these insects were so numerous, it was a
great luxury to sloep under the bars and listen to
their wailings, while you were perfectly secure
from attack. She assented heartily, and added
that she wished all her beds were thus provided ;
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 291
but that, from one cause and another, she had de-
layed furnishing any but her own ! This announce-
ment effectually quieted all my hopes of rest for
that night.
" How long have you lived here, madam %\[ I
ventured to ask.
" Twenty-one years."
" And how long have you kept a public-house V
" Ever since we came."
" And the muskitos have divided the spoils with
you all that time V
" Yes."
" How far is it to the nearest town V
" Eight miles."
" How often do you go there 1"
" Once or twice a week."
" How much does the muskito-bar cost a yard ]"
" Two bits and a pic, or three bits."
I made no comment at the close of this conver-
sation, and may add here, that at every step I felt
as if I were walking over a mine that might spring
at the next, and add a discordant bass to the mus-
kito tenor that by this time had gathered its full
strength for the night. The good woman, how-
ever, in respect, as Captain Dalgetty would say,
I had resided in her favorite city and should prob-
ably return to it ; and in respect, moreover, of the
assurance of the driver, given aside, that I was "a
right smart lady," for my husband had gone a very
long journey to the west (though how this fact
demonstrated his friendly assertion I could never
clearly perceive), bore the questioning with the
most obtuse good nature. I almost wished, when
I saw how pleasantly she took it, and felt my face,
neck, hands, and feet swelling and burning under
the stings of the rapacious legions, that she had
warmed a little. She remained cool, however, and
292 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
offered me the choice of two rooms, one on the
upper floor, under the western slope of the roof,
which had been closed all day, and consequently
afforded about as rational a prospect of repose on
a July night as the engine-room of a steamboat.
It contained three beds and not over a million of
muskitos. Each of the former she pledged her-
self to have occupied by the females of the house,
who would, she reasoned, share the depletion to
which otherwise I alone should be doomed. The
apartment beneath this contained one bed, a post-
office, and, as nearly as I could guess after escaping
from it, something more than ten times the number
of muskitos that had tendered their services in
the one above. The bed was curtained with thick
chintz, from which she argued the muskitos could
be expelled by the smoke of a few chips laid
upon a shovel of coals, after which, nothing could
be more easy than to fasten the curtains with pins,
and so enjoy uninterrupted repose.
The circumstance on which she most congrat-
ulated me in this case was, that I could make the
little apartment within so tight that the muskitos and
even the air would be effectually excluded. The
good lady, therefore, stood quite aghast, when at the
close of her harangue I asked, with a kind of des-
perate resignation, to be lighted to the upper room !
Here I did service, turning, smiting, and groan-
ing, until a rap at the door, just as the clock struck
one, announced that some fellow-sufferer had
grown desperate, and abandoned the attempt to
sleep.
" Is the lady kyur" cried the voice at the door,
in a tone by no means indicative of the tranquillity
essential to rest on a summer night, " who is going
north in the stage 1"
" Yes."
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 293
" Well, it will be ready in fifteen minutes."
" But you were not to start till daylight."
" '1 I shouldn't, but I reckon we may as well be
going, as to stay here and be bled to death by
these muskitos."
It would be superfluous to add that the closing
substantive was preceded by one of the strongest
compound adjectives which the language affords.
In fifteen minutes, therefore, we were on our way
from the residence of the New York landlady.
I had almost forgotten to add that she had a hus-
band — an intelligent, but very quiet, good-natured
man, whom one would almost expect to find set
down among the fixtures, if the premises were
offered for sale. He had evidently preserved his
thrift and industry, notwithstanding his early res-
idence in the country ; for his fields were well
fenced, his crops luxuriant, and a fine growino-
orchard lay in front of the house.
At eight o'clock we arrived at the beautiful little
village of Princeton. Here we breakfasted, at the
first really filthy house I had seen on the route,
and this was unequivocally so. There was no
disguising the table-cloths, the soiled dishes, the
buried floor, or the untouchable towel ! that was
handed me to make my morning ablutions. The
court was in session here ; and amono- those sum-
moned to the breakfast-table, I recognized several
legal gentlemen from different parts of the state.
Some of these had many inquiries to make in
reference to the Oregon expedition ; the answers
to which made me known as connected with one
of those who had accompanied it.
I afterwards experienced the benefit of this in-
direct introduction to the company, in the loquacity
of the new driver, whose first greeting after we
left the town was delivered from a face inverted
bb2
294 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
beneath the right-hand corner of the coach roof,
" I reckon now you'd be right glad to see your
gentleman this morning."
As I was looking out in an opposite direction
at the time, the familiarity of the address startled
me rather suddenly from my contemplations ; a
fact which led him to " allow that it would not do
for me to go such a journey, if I was as easy scar'd
as that." On my assuring him that I was only a
little surprised, and could not conceive how a lady
should be alarmed while she enjoyed his protec-
tion ; he said he " expected I was about right,"
and expressed a warm desire to see the man or
men who would offer any harm to a passenger of
his, more especially if that passenger were a lady.
As no one appeared to brave this defiance, he
resumed his upright position, and in a moment
more the horses dashed off at full speed down the
long " bluff" which borders the valley of the Bureau
Creek. Occasionally in our rapid progress, I
caught a glimpse of the precipice, on the brow of
which the road winds; but on we went, sometimes
hanging over it, at others, bounding against the
bank on the opposite side. When we gained the
level ground, the inverted face again appeared
beneath the roof.
" I expect you're from the east V
" Possibly."
" I allowed you was, 'cause no western woman
would ever a rode down that bluff at that rate
without screamin like thunder. I druv ten years
in Kentucky, and four here, and I never carried a
western woman that didn't holler like a painter
every time I jolted her a little, or put the horses
up faster than a trot."
" Then you prefer, I suppose, to have eastern
ladies ride with you ?"
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 295
" Yes, that's just what I do : if there's anything
on airth I hate, it's hearin a woman scream."
Having expressed his choice in these gentle terms,
he returned to the perpendicular and drove on.
We soon mounted the opposite bluff, emerged
from the beautiful grove which crowns it, and
entered on the prairie, over which the remaining
sixteen miles of this stage lay. It is a high swell-
ing plain, large tracts of which were covered with
the rosin weed, then in full flower; this plant is
well known to the inhabitants of the prairies as
affording a very pure white gum of a delicate
flavor when chewed. Its leaves are very long, and
about the width of a hand ; they are cut in narrow
scallops from the edge almost to the centre. They
all spring from the root just where it rises above
the turf, and the stalk shoots out from their centre
to the height of four or six feet, and then it unfolds
from one to three flowers of a bright yellow hue,
very similar in form to the common elecampane
of the eastern states. This plant used to be the
Indians' compass and dial. It was now just begin-
ning to deposit its gum in little, pure, transparent
globules on the stalk, and my friend on the box
proposed to halt a few moments, and give me an
opportunity to test its excellence. Deferring my
desire, however, to accept his proffered indulgence
to the requisitions of the government, whose agent
he was, I prevailed on him to proceed, expressing
at the same time an intention to make the experi-
ment at a more fitting time.
CHAPTER VII.
One hour more brought us to the point of wood-
land where stood the next " stage-house." It had
296 LIFE IN PHAIRIE LAND.
consisted originally of one small cabin of rough
logs, which in due time increased to two. They
stood in friendly contiguity, and were united by
their roofs. In the shady passage between, at the
time of our arrival, the hostess was seated, with
an apron full of green peas, which she was ejecting
from their lawful premises, with one of the most
forbidding scowls I ever beheld on the face of
woman. What could have happened ] I was very
thirsty, but who could ask even a cup of water
from the owner of such a face 1 She kept her eyes
studiously fixed upon her task, apparently deter-
mined to afford me no opportunity to express my
wants, or exchange a word of conversation with
her. I was quite chilled, and began to feel ex-
ceedingly uncomfortable at the prospect of the
half-hour's stay which I had been informed would
be made here. I revolved in my mind every pos-
sible form of address which could act as an emol-
lient to her excited feelings, and at last was about
to make a desperate onset, with my humble peti-
tion, when a couple of children came rushing
around the corner of the lower cabin, full of glee
and merriment. I knew not if she were their
mother, but her face made them shrink back
and hold their breath. It was evident they had
some experience, and that, whatever the cause of
the phenomenon before us, the person who pre-
sented it was not to be tampered with. I spoke
softly to the elder of the two, a little girl of five
years, and asked her to get me a bowl of water.
She was gone a moment and crept back, whisper-
ing, " There ain't no water in the pail, but I've got
the dipper, and I'll show you where the spring is."
I followed her down a path that led to the foot of
a little eminence on which the house stood, and
having slaked my thirst, and gathered both curi-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 297
osity and courage during my absence, I determined
to make an assault on the icy fortifications of the
pea-sheller. The whole affair began to wear rather
a ludicrous aspect after my doubts about the drink
were removed, and now, when I had no favor to
solicit, I perceived that the countenance, instead
of being that of a dangerous woman, was expres-
sive only of vulgar and animal rage, which propri-
ety had not taught her to suppress in the presence
of strangers.
" Madam," said I, " are you the landlady of this
house V.
" Yes, I am."
" Your situation here between two large unset-
tled prairies enables you to make a great many
people comfortable V
" Yes, but I don't allow it's my business to look
after other folks' comfort, when they don't care
anything about mine."
" That depends upon circumstances," I replied.
" If you keep a public-house, you make it your
business to attend to the comfort of people who
visit it, and all well-bred persons will certainly
return your kindness, by consulting yours as far
as possible."
" Well, I don't want to keep tavern. Folks will
stop here to suit themselves, I don't want 'em."
" But, my dear madam, you live in such a place
that people must stop with you, or suffer all the
inconveniences of traveling through an uninhabited
country. One of the greatest comforts known among
civilized people is that of finding a pleasant substi-
tute for your own home, when abroad. You have
traveled enough, surely, to estimate this your-
self]"
11 No ! I never traveled only when we come
hyur, and then we camped and slep' in our wag-
298 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
gons. If other folks 'lid stay at home, as I do,
there wouldn't be no need of having every other
house a tavern!" This was bordering on the
personal.
" But, my dear madam, people cannot always
stay at home. Suppose now, your husband were
to leave you for a few days on business, and to be
taken sick during his absence, and send for you ;
you would wish to go to him. But you could not
encamp on the way, if you were alone, and then
you would want to see kind faces where you
stopped."
"I allow that's a different case," said she, eyeing
me sharply. " Is your husband sick 1 ?"
" My husband is a very long way from home," I
replied.
" Well, that's another thing. If I could know
when folks stopt hyur, that they was obleeged to
go about the country on any such account, I
shouldn't hate to wait on 'em so ; — but I reckon
there's very few that don't go to spec'late or see
the country, as if there wasn't any about their own
homes, or 'cause they're too lazy to do anything
else but ride about."
Just at this moment the horn sounded, and I
was obliged to bid the inhospitable woman a hasty
good morning. She had risen from the task I
found her engaged on, and was standing, pail in
hand, ready for the spring.
" Good morning," said she, " when you come
back this way, may be I'll be looking better than
I am to-day. I had four gentlemen here last
night, and it rained on their beds ; they found fault
with me, and I told 'em they might go farther and
do better if they could. I didn't want 'em Injur.
I had a right smart blow up with one of 'em. Ho
told me we ought to be ashamed to live here five
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 299
years, with a roof leaking, and I told him we'd
live here ten years longer without mending it, if we
chose, and he might go somewhere else for a dry
bed if he wanted one ; for he shouldn't have one
here asrain ! But I see John's team is at the
fence. Good morning, ma'am. I hope you'll
find your husband well." With these words she
suffered me to depart, and went her own way.
About four miles on, we were stopped by a man
emerging from a pleasant-looking cabin to deliver
some message to the driver, who, I had forgotten
to say, was a tall, sardonic-looking, half or quarter
Indian, as silent as the other had been communicative.
The man who hailed him, announced that the day
was very warm ; he nodded assent : that his hoi'ses
sweated ; another nod : that his wife was sick ; he
nodded again : that she had been sick several days;
another nod : and didn't get any better ; still an-
other nod : and that he wanted to send for some
lemons. This time the assent was accompanied by
an abrupt offer to get them. " I reckon you may
get three," said the prudent husband, depositing a
shilling in his palm. " Tell to send me good
ones." Another nod, and we drove off, leaving
the farmer gazing after us with his hand over his
eyes, his teeth entirely exposed, yet still wearing
an expression of profound admiration at the man-
ner in which his silent friend executed a right an-
gle at the corner of his garden.
It was twenty miles from this house to the near-
est settlement, where medical advice or necessaries
in sickness could be procured ; and several miles
to the nearest house where common aid, in case
of accident or death, could be expected. This
good man, however, seemed as nonchalant while
sending for his three lemons, as if he had but to
-dispatch a boy across the street ! So much indif-
300 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
ference do people acquire by living in the wilder-
ness. He had come from the east about eight
years before.
CHAPTERVIII.
At four o'clock we reached the southern bank
of Rock River, at a place called, indiscriminately,
Dixon's Ferry, Dixon, and Dixonville. By the
first of these names it has been known many years,
as corresponding on Rock River, to Fort Clark,
now Peoria, on the Illinois. There is much natural
beauty about the upper part of the town. The
bank of the river is broken, and a bold bluff of
lime-rock rises abruptly to a considerable height
above the lower level, the summit of which is
wooded with open, beautiful barrens. The trees
hang on the brow of the ledge, and wave their arms
pleasantly to those below. A fine spring issues
from the foot of the rock, but I did not visit it.
Opposite this portion of the town is a beautiful
plot of table-land, smooth as a summer lake, which
its owner had converted into eastern capital and
western promises, by consenting to divide it into
town lots. He had paid liberally for an engraved
map, on which the streets were adorned with
trees, and the public grounds with churches and
other lofty edifices. Neither the trees nor churches,
however, seemed to have any very fair prospect
of becoming distinguished elsewhere.
The old part of Dixonville, that around the ferry,
is built upon a bed of cream-colored sand, abound-
ing in fleas. The banks of the river are dotted
with little copses and slightly broken. The north-
ern one rises into a high bluff, which, just below
the ferry, crowds up to the water's edge, and
LIFE IN TRAIRIE LAND. 301
bears upon its face an occasional tree or shrub.
On the southern side, the bluff bends away from
the termination of the ledge, and sweeping inland,
leaves a low track, the rear of which is broken by
bushy gullies that come down from the height
above, and terminate in the sand-bed before spo-
ken of.
I was set down here, at another very filthy
house. But that which so disgusted me on first
entering, I soon found to be one of the least ob-
jectionable features of the establishment. The
landlord was one of that class of people in whom
all national and other distinctions are lost in the
ineffaceable brand of villany that is stamped upon
them. One would never pause to inquire whether
he were American, English, Irish, or Dutch.
You felt conscious of the presence of a villain ; one
of those universal prowlers, whose business it is to
prey upon society, and who, when it will be most
advantageous, prosecute their schemes alone, and
when otherwise, surround themselves with a gang
of ruffians, whose less disguised vices form a bar-
rier between their leader and public indignation.
He had a calm, imperturbable face, which, when-
ever he saw that his designs were detected, as-
sumed an expression of the most profound meek-
ness and resignation, as if its owner would say, I
know your thoughts wrong me, but what then ? I
can bear even that !
I asked to be shown at once to a private room,
and furnished with water and other things neces-
sary to comfort, after a very warm and dusty ride.
He escorted me to one adjoining the parlor. "But
sir," said I, observing boots, hats, et cet., standing
about, " this appears to be a gentleman's room."
"Yes, it is occupied by a gentleman, but he's
out, and won't be here till night."
C c
302 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
"Have you no room unoccupied?" I inquired.
" Beside, there is no lock on the door!"
" You need not fear interruption," he replied ;
" I would give you the parlor, but we shall want
to pass through there, and you can spend an hour
here without any fear of being disturbed."
" Very well, sir. Be so good as to send me the
water and towels immediately."
They were brought at the expiration of ten
minutes, by a gross creature, who united the
characters of mistress, housekeeper, and servant,
to the miscreant landlord. Her whole person and
manner were of the most disgusting description.
She deposited her burthen, and then placing a
hand on each side of her ungainly person, posted
herself against the door, and commenced taking a
deliberate survey of myself and my proceedings.
I waited a moment, and finding that she intended
to remain as long as her convenience or pleasure
would permit, inquired if it formed any part of
her orders to remain ] " No ; but didn't I want
some help ?"
" Not at all ; the most effectual way of serving
me will be to remove yourself as quickly as pos-
sible from my sight."
She disappeared, and I barricaded the door
with trunks, chairs, and whatever else I could
place against it. I had scarcely completed the
task, when some person came rapidly up-stairs
and through the hall, and seized the handle of the
door with a violent push.
"Open this door," exclaimed a harsh voice, ac-
companying the words with another push, that
made the fortifications tremble. I now added my
own strength to the other securities, and informed
the person that a lady and stranger was occupying
the room for a very short period only, and that she
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 303
presumed he would, as a gentleman, only require
to be informed of this to be induced to leave her
in peaceable possession ; or, if anything were
wrong, to seek the landlord, who had placed her
there. To this he replied, that any person who
was in his room must leave it in a shorter space of
time than it would be proper to describe ; and
that he would see the landlord where it was sup-
posed to be much hotter than it was there, before
he would go after him on any such business. I
now saw that I had done him great wrong, in sup-
posing him accessible to any arguments that would
touch a man or a gentleman, and, therefore,
changed my ground.
" Sir," said I, " I shall not leave this room until
I am ready, which will be a much longer time
than you name. If you retire, and permit me,
unmolested, to accomplish what I came here for,
your room shall be vacated in fifteen minutes. If
you remain there, I remain here ; and I have, be-
side my personal strength, the aid of two very
heavy trunks, and a rifle, placed against the door
at about the height of a man's head. If you are
not already acquainted with its contents, there is
every chance that you will become so, if you open
this door by violence." Muttering some terrific
curses, he retreated down the stairs, and I pro-
ceeded to make my toilet, in a trepidation which
shamefully belied my stout words. It was com-
pleted in a very short time, but even before it was
done the door was again rudely assailed, and the
inquiry made whether I " was not yet ready." I
replied, that I should leave the room the first
moment after I was ready, and that these visits,
so far from facilitating my preparations, interrupted
them entirely. Again the steps retreated, and, in
a few moments, I removed the trunks and rifle,
304 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
and walked into the parlor. At the same moment
the wretch came up-stairs, and entered his room.
He was a well-dressed, gentlemanly-looking per-
son, and, strange to say, wore a wide crape band
on his hat ! He peered sharply into the parlor as
he passed, remained in his room about the fourth
of a minute without closing the door, and then
disappeared down the stairs, and lounged away the
evening about the bar-room and door of the house.
Everything I now saw convinced me that I was
in a den of the foulest iniquity ; but imagination,
stimulated as it was by fear, did not conceive the
half of what I afterward learnt to be true of the
vile people who consorted there. This place is
the Vicksburg of Illinois, and the enterprising
proprietors of the mail line had chosen the head-
quarters of the gamblers, counterfeiters, horse
thieves, et cet., as the most fitting place of enter-
tainment for their passengers. I afterward learned
that there was an excellent house kept in the upper
part of the town, remote from the pestiferous at»>
mosphere of these wretches, but, being a stranger,
I had no opportunity of profiting by it. The
people who live here are persons whose daily
business is the stealing of horses, the manufacture
of counterfeit money, et cet.; and such was their
strength at the period spoken of, that although the
better population of the place, of which I was in-
formed there was a highly respectable body, held
them in the abhorrence which their acts merited,
they could make no demonstration against them
without endangering their own and the lives of
their families. Sometimes, exasperated beyond all
forbearance by their enormities, the citizens were
driven to some feeble measure of self-defence ;
and, at this time, there was a set of counterfeiter's
tools under execution. But these movements
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 305
generally ended in some tacit compromise, by
which the villains were left to pursue their iniquity
as before.
CHAPTER IX.
One instance of the recklessness in crime, ex-
hibited by the wretches referred to in the last
chapter, was related to me. A settler, who had
opened a prairie farm some miles below the town,
became the owner of a very beautiful pair of
horses. One morning they were both missing.
He at once started in pursuit, went directly up to
the town, and, a few miles on his way, discovered
one of them lying dead by the road-side. It ap-
peared that, for some reason, the robbers wanted
but one, and, as the other followed his companion,
they had shot him down to relieve themselves of
his presence. These, and many more incidents,
evincing the most shocking depravity, were related
to me after I had escaped.
But meantime my desire to reach the resi-
dence of my friends that night, increased every
moment. I therefore sent for the landlord, and
inquired the distance to C . By the way I
should observe that he added to the various call-
ings already specified, some pretensions to the
practice of medicine, and that I had accidentally
heard him speak to one of his comrades in the
passage, of having but recently returned from a
visit to one of his patients, about four miles above
the place for which I inquired. The name, how-
ever, when I mentioned it, seemed entirely new to
him. He mused a moment, and said that really
he could not tell. It might be between twenty
and thirty miles down the river. There had been
20 c c 2
306 LIFE IX PRAIRIE LAND.
a little place settled down there somewhere, about
a year before, perhaps he could find some gentle-
man about the house who could inform me.
" Let the distance be what it may," I said, " I
wish to go there to-night."
" To-night ! that is impossible. We could not
send you there to-night on any terms. In the
morning I may find it possible to take you, or pro-
cure an opportunity for you to go with some per-
son that is traveling that way."
"As you are ignorant of the distance," I said,
" you cannot name your charge until you ascer-
tain it."
" No, though I think it would be reasonable to
say five dollars."
I had paid but six dollars for the previous one
hundred miles. " Do you know the distance to
," naming the place which he had visited that
day.
" Not exactly, but I think it is about — "
" You mean to say that you have never meas-
urecl it with the chain, but having been there to-
day, you could doubtless form a tolerably correct
estimate."
He said that he had spoken of visiting a patient
somewhere in the neighborhood of that place, it
might be within half a dozen miles or so. I replied
that " it was useless to attempt deception in so
small and obvious a matter ; that I would willingly
pay an exorbitant charge to get from his house
that moment ; but as it was impossible, I should
make up my mind to endure a night in it. Let
me hear from you," I said, " at the earliest hour
in the morning, in reference to my departure;
and now, if you will oMnjv me by showing me the
room I am to occupy to-night, I shall reipiiiv
nothing more."
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 307
" You are to sleep here," he replied, " there is
no other room unoccupied."
" But this door has no lock, and if I am to judge
of my security, from that which you promised in
the first instance, I shall sit up all night."
Oh, there would not be the least necessity for
anything of the kind. This was the parlor — it was
never entered but by transient guests, and if any
came, they could be shown to another room. He
begged I would feel perfectly assured, and apolo-
gized in the humblest manner for the interruption
I had experienced in the other room. The gentle-
man who occupied it had not seen him, and he did
not know who might be in it or what they were
doing. He regretted, et cet.
To this I replied, I should place no reliance on
his promise, having found it worthy of none, but
take good care to secure myself, and thus we
parted.
It should be remarked here as evidence of a
degree of civilized feeling among these ruffians,
that they felt themselves wholly unworthy the
presence of a virtuous woman, and never expected
one to appear at table with them. It was not the
custom of the house, so the female before referred
to informed me, for ladies to appear at the first
table.
" And pray where do ladies take their meals," I
inquired, " when they are so unfortunate as to be
obliged to eat here V'
"If they are in a hurry to go, we tote it up hyur
to 'em ; if they ain't, they wait and go to the sec-
ond table !"
" And who sits at the second table T"
" Mr. , the landlord, and I, and the drivers
and so on."
A delightful circle, truly ! I made no attempt
308 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
to get a meal that day, though I had eaten nothing
since early breakfast at P.
Making the best security I could, by placing
the bedstead against the door, I prepared to retire.
The room was excessively warm, and had a
stench which rendered it intolerable, except the
window were thrown wide open. The bed itself
would have been pronounced soiled by a jury of
Irish landladies ; I resolved, however, to make the
best of the necessity which held me there, and
addressed myself to rest with an earnestness which
was well rewarded by seven hours of uninterrupted
oblivion.
CHAPTER X.
In the morning I learned that the good spirits
had sent to my relief an excellent old New Eng-
land farmer, who resided some miles below the
place to which I was bound. He was in a tidy
farm waggon, carpeted with an abundance of new
mown hay, drawn by a pair of fleet horses ; and
more than all, he was an intelligent, honest, high-
minded man, and a pleasant companion on the
ride, which proved to be but twelve miles.
Before I saw him, however, the landlord in-
formed me that he had made the necessary ar-
rangements, and paid the charge, one dollar and
fifty cents. He remarked that it was reasonable,
though more than he should have charged for that
distance, if he had been going alone, and directly
past the place. I paid it, together with his own
bill, which was about the same as one pays at the
Astor House for the same length of time, and told
him that I never paid money more freely for any
purpose than for leaving his house ; that I pre-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 309
sumed, in fixing his first charge he had a just ap-
preciation of my condition, and of the ransom
which any person would pay to be released from
it ; and that, considering the relief which I should
purchase by it, it was a very moderate sum.
Some remarks from my companion, on the way
down, led me to inquire what he had received for
my fare, and on his mentioning half the sum which
I paid, I remarked that the fellow succeeded in
robbing me of seventy-five cents at last !
"Only that!" said he, "you may consider yourself
very fortunate ; that is a small sum for him to let
any stranger escape for;" he added, by way of
vindicating himself, that if he had known it was
a stranger whom he was to convey, he should have
refused any compensation, but that the miscreant
represented me as a woman belonging to the
house, whose fare he was to pay, and, continued
the indignant old gentleman, " I considered any
price too low to induce me to take one of the gang
into my waggon, but it is not safe to come to any
open quarrel with them, so I told them I would
take you for seventy-five cents !"
I hope the beautiful country has been purged
of such a population before this. It was appre-
hended that the town would at some time be
made the theatre of such a scene as was enacted
at Vicksburg. I rejoiced heartily to escape from
it, and still more to reach the hospitable and
pleasant abode of my friend Mrs. P . We ar-
rived opposite the town, or rather the town site, a
little after noon. The southern bank of the river
is low and covered with very tall grass ; but it
rises gradually as it retreats, and finally swells into
a high, rolling prairie, which divides Rock River
from Winnebago Swamp. The northern bank, on
which the town is laid out, rises boldly up from
310 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND-
the water's edge to the height of seventy feet, and is
crowned with a few scattered trees. Two cabins
on contiguous lots, fronting the river, and an unfin-
ished framed house, which will, when the street is
built, be several doors above them, were all the
evidences of town life which I beheld when we
stopped and hallooed for some one to row across
the little canoe which lay moored under the oppo-
site bank, for myself and baggage.
In due time the passage was effected ; and after
a scramble up the steep bank, I found my friends in
one of the aforesaid cabins, and a snug, cheerful,
social little home it was, as any the country af-
forded.
Here, also, were two other ladies visiting — one a
magnificent woman, whose beauty had won her the
title of Queen of the West ; the other, her younger
sister, a shrinking girl, just entering upon woman-
hood, with rare beauty of person and extraordinary
delicacy of character. Here we were all good-na-
tured, all friends, and all sufficiently accustomed to
the unaccomodating necessities of western life, to
make their exactions occasions of merriment, in-
stead of chagrin, or ill-humor. A beautiful coun-
try was about us, we had horses to ride, a carriage
at our service, a boat on the river, a swing between
two tall trees on the bank, books, pictures, &c,
in the house, and the most ample freedom to say
what we would, range where we would, and draw-
amusement, pleasure, or instruction from any of
these sources.
Qur familiarity with these same necessities was
no trifling advantage. When three guests were to
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 311
be entertained in a little cabin having but one
room, which answered the purposes of parlor,
dining and sleeping room, and the smallest of all
practicable kitchens, it will not be difficult for
nice imaginations to conceive that there might
arise certain points on which a strict adherence
to etiquet by all parties might have kept us in
statu quo up to this period. For instance, if we
eould not have yielded in some cases, where guests
in a larger mansion would think it impossible, we
should never have gone to bed, or, once in bed,
we should, by the same rigid construction of the
rules, have remained there to the present day.
There were five of us to sleep, three lady guests,
our hostess, and her husband. There were two
beds, and a most luxurious sofa. The debate on
the first night was, who should take the sofa. It
was cool, capacious, elastic, in all respects but
one the most desirable berth of the three. But
this one, alas ! It was fatal to all visions of dream-
Less sleep, on the cool hair-cloth. It was no con-
stituent part of the sofa, nor of the pillows, nor of
the linen. It did not enter into the composition or
construction of anything in its vicinity. It was
not, strictly speaking, a physical difficulty; neither
was it, whether we consider its own nature, or the
results of its operation on ourselves, in any sense
a moral one. One might, at first, have pro-
nounced it atmospherical ; but this opinion fled,
as did the patience of the sofa sleeper, before the
tests to which he was doomed. It commenced
with a sharp singing tone, which, continuing with-
out the least inflection or variation, except that
caused by the nearness or distance of the perform-
er, grew, in a short time, decidedly monotonous.
Thus it would have lulled one to sleep in the
pleasantest manner, had it not, just as you were
312 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
about dropping off into the land of dreams, sud-
denly changed, from a phenomenon in acoustics,
to one in that peculiar branch of hydraulics termed
" blood sucking." In this stage it was, beyond all
question, unpleasant ; one, two, three, four, or
twenty songs ceased at once, and as many little
hollow needles were instantly inserted into your
hands, arms, or face ; foreign branches fastened,
nolens volens, upon your circulating system, and
drawing off its current without the offer of an
equivalent.
There are few persons so constituted as to
endure, patiently, a succession of such Arab rob-
beries during a whole night ; and hence it was a
question of some interest, who should take this
post. Both beds were protected against these
merciless despoilers by bars ; but any permanent
provision of this kind was impracticable upon the
sofa. After due deliberation, it was resolved that
I should make trial for that night. Accordingly,
having gathered the veils of the company, with
an ample array of darning needles and pins, and
made the most effective outposts which such
divided forces would admit of, I crept cautiously
within, and congratulated myself upon the pros-
pect of repose, sweetened by the war songs of
baffled assailants ; but, alas ! how often are the
grandest anticipations prostrated by the most
trivial agents. My scheme and patience were
alike blown to the winds by the entrance of one
of these minute besiegers. He was soon followed
by a ravenous troop, whose screams of exultation
might, I thought, have awakened the sound
sleepers of tho beds. There was no remedy now
but to begin again : mending would not do. So
I removed tho gossamer roof of my couch, and
sat upright to deliberate on the best means of
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 313
securing myself against these penetrating ene-
mies.
It was all dark, and the deep, steady breathing
of the four sleepers somewhat warmed my temper.
I resolved, however, to make another effort, and,
preparatory to its execution, rose and took a few
turns around the room by way of getting philosophy
in the ascendant. Another array of the veils,
another insertion of the darning needles, another
spreading of sheets, another cautious creeping
under, so as not to disturb the arrangement, was
very soon proved to be equally futile, by a second
irruption of these Lilliputian vandals. Whose
patience could be prolonged after this ? whose
fortitude could bear the painful effects of such a
warfare 1 Scorning all such virtues, I determined,
notwithstanding the heat, to adopt the only sure
defence, that of wrapping head, face, arms, all
but the mouth, in the sheet, and bid defiance to
the exulting enemy. In this native vapor bath
I napped away two or three hours, and, after
one or two short walks, and one or two brief pe-
riods devoted to the widest destruction I could deal
among my untiring foes, morning at last came.
The second night it was proposed that the sofa
should be occupied by our host. I felt it my duty,
notwithstanding the failure of the previous night,
to express the opinion that the veils, et cet., might
be made available in defence ; and accordingly
they were put in requisition. They certainly an-
swered the purpose of permitting us ladies to get
into a quiet sleep. It had not lasted long, how-
ever, when I was awoke by a dense cloud of
smoke, which seemed to be increasing every mo-
ment. My first impression that the house was on
fire, was almost instantly removed; for our host
was stalking the room in the majesty of outraged
Dd
314 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
patience, swinging a large iron kettle filled with
smoking chips. This process is more briefly de-
signated by its technical name of " smudging." It
was performed on the present occasion with great
vigor, and interlarded with frequent apostrophes
to those whom it was intended to put to rout,
and some passages of soliloquy that were very
moving.
" Oh you brown stinging imps, I'll give you
enough this time to lay you up a day or two, I
promise you. I'm not playing with you now, you'll
find, before this smudge is over — (Another furious
swing and a smothered cough). Yes, these women
would sleep if the smoke was so thick you could
cut it ; if I could sleep as they do, the muskitos
might have carried me off into some tree-top and
left me there — (A blow with the palm). You scoun-
drel, come here when my head is right over the
kettle, will you ] — I'll teach you to make game of
me. By Jupiter, I'll smoke you till to-morrow
night at this time, if that's what you want — (An-
other swing). Ladies, I don't think you'll sleep
much longer, if you do, you've got better bellows
than I have — (Another turn or two, swinging the
kettle vehemently). There, you blood-thirsty ras-
cals, how are you now, eh ! all still ] You won't
sing any more to-night, I'll warrant you. Now
I'll see if I can't sleep a little." So saying, he re-
sumed his couch, apparently with every expecta-
tion of undisturbed repose for the remainder of
the night. I was just losing the recollection of this
amusing scene, when a violent blow with the flat
hand again aroused me. " Here again, are you ?
Mars ! what a set of vampires ! If that smudge
has not laid you up, there's no way to do it." By
this time the smoke was very much diluted with
the air circulating through the open doors and
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 315
windows ; the moon had burst through the clouds and
lighted the whole scene within and without. There
was a pause for a few moments, as if despair were
gathering resolution, and then the suffering victim,
enveloped in a sheet, rose and walked out of the
door, muttering that he would try it at the water-
side. He crossed the lawn, descended the hank
of the river, and was absent some ten minutes,
when he appeared again, having apparently made
a fruitless search for a place of rest. His next
resort was the unfinished house, but there it was
no better ; and again the sheeted form appeared
like an uneasy spirit walking up and down.
The whole affair now grew so irresistibly ludi-
crous that it seemed sheer robbery to enjoy it long-
er alone. I awoke my companions therefore, and
while I was endeavoring to convey some faint con-
ception of the scene, lo, the ghostly demonstration
strode again before our eyes. It was greeted with
a simultaneous peal of laughter, but it passed on,
and though our frequent bursts of merriment might
have provoked the return of a less irascible spirit,
it came not back. We were not a little astonished
in the morning to see him appear looking refreshed
and good-humored as any of us. Nor were we less
amused when a day or two after we learned what
resource he had finally availed himself of. Between
the cabins stood a small sleigh with a box so high.
that it would have served for a prison van without
a top. Into this, the persecuted man had climbed,
and spreading his sheet over the top, sat bolt up-
right in one corner, bade defiance to the muski-
tos, and enjoyed for the remainder of the night,
as he asserted, the most luxurious repose.
Such scenes might have lost the power to amuse,
but our " queen" was called away a few days
after, and the sofa was at once vacated, Yet many
316 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
a hearty laugh afterward rang through the pleas-
ant cabin at the memory of those nights. In sober
truth these insects are a sad drawback to the en-
joyment of the fine summer evenings which form
one of the most delightful features of this region.
The hours of sleep can be secured against them
by the use of the bar before referred to ; but they
are a very serious interruption to the delights of
the cool refreshing evenings which follow the sun-
ny days of that open country.
It may not be amiss to remark here that the
climate of the western states differs materially
from that of the eastern in the coolness of the at-
mosphere after sunset. The solar rays acting all
day on these large tracts of level moist ground
draw into the upper regions of the air immense
volumes of vapor which, after the former are with-
drawn, condense and descend in a miniature shower.
The dews are consequently very heavy, and the
nights so cool that nothing like the oppressive heat
of a July or August night in the Atlantic states is
ever known.
CHAPTER XI.
But let us look at the picture of this little town,
or rather of the spot selected for it ; for no town
is yet there. We stand beneath a large tree, just
in the rear of our cabin. This spot commands a
pretty complete view of the " section" on which
the enterprising proprietors confidently hope to
see a goodly city rise. Below us, half or three
quarters of a mile, the river bends northwardly,
and just at the angle a considerable stream pours
into it, which bears the name of Klkhorn. Its
mouth is low and fringed with tall grass and bush-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 317
es, and a few trees, which cut off the prospect in
that direction. At a point a short distance from
the mouth of this creek, rises a natural terrace of
some twenty feet, which sweeps in a crescent form
almost to our feet. The top of this terrace is
crowned with wood, while the semicircular am-
phitheatre inclosed by it, is without a tree or
shrub, and looks a fit arena for the proud savage,
who but recently trod it. Its base rests upon the
river, along the bank of which many dead are bu-
ried, their heads toward the water. Occasionally,
as the earth crumbles away, the skulls roll out and
tumble down, till they rest in a hollow or among
the roots of bushes and trees which fringe the
Water. There is no under-growth in the wood
which borders this amphitheatre, and the grass is
shorter than that which grows on the prairies ; so
that as you look across the surface, the tall straight
trees seem to be set upon a smooth velvety turf,
clean as a fairy temple. We are on the terrace
at the upper termination, where it approaches the
river after its graceful bend to embrace the little
plain below. Above us the trees are more scat-
tered, and can scarcely be called anything but strag-
glers, except at one spot in the open plain, two
hundred yards perhaps from the river, where they
assemble in an oblong hollow form, completely
interweaving their arms over a lovely little bower.
Directly in front of us there is a winding opening
to the prairie beyond. Along this is now a pretty
well wrought road. On the right is the common
field or garden, in which all the settlers have their
crops for this year. On the left deep in the grove
is the residence of the worthy doctor. It has grown,
by the addition of sundry wings and arms, from
a simple cabin to quite a complicated cottage.
The view across the river is open : the prairie
dd 2
318 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
swells from the water's edge away for miles, rising
gradually, and at last bears one solitary tree just
on the line of vision. The stream itself is a clear,
rapid current running over a rocky bed. It abounds
in the finest fish, great numbers of which are easily
taken by the spear after nightfall. The torch-
lights glancing about on the water make a pleasant
feature in a night view from the high banks which
overhang it. So much for the town site ; now for
the town and its inhabitants. It has been already
stated that we have a next door. It is a cabin,
and belongs to the original owner of the lands we
have just described. When they were selected
for a town site, he saw no good reason why he
should not become a citizen, and so remained.
He is a native, and the only one which the place
can boast. But more than this, he is an extraor-
dinary specimen even of his extraordinary genus.
He is some forty-five years of age, was bom and
has always lived in the west ; he possesses a mind
of uncommon natural powers, which has been
strengthened by his mode of life, and adds to this
a great fund of reading. His ability to converse
on books and other topics common in cultivated
society, combined with that species of rudeness
which a life so totally destitute of artificialities
creates in the most elegant minds, makes him ap-
pear eccentric ; but he is not really so. Place
him, even at this age, in a city where he would
be cut off from the free, wild influences of nature
and subjected to the restraint of customs which
men have agreed to pronounce elegant, and though
he might never lose altogether the free bearing of
a man who has communed much with nature and
loved her, he would assume the conventional tastes
of those with whom he mingled, and his eccentricity
would wholly disappear.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 319
His conversational powers are often displayed
in remarks that would be brilliant in any circle,
and he possesses a vast fund of knowledge, drawn
from his fervent love and deep study of nature,
which might well be the pride of more pretending
minds than his. He is now a gentleman of leisure;
the advantageous sale of his property enables him
to spend his time as his tastes or pleasures lead
him. He sometimes visits us, discusses poetry,
science, and polite literature in general. One day
he pronounced, in a very brief sentence, the most
comprehensive and truthful criticism upon his
three favorites, Shakspeare, Byron, and Burns, I
ever heard.
It is painful to add, in qualification of so much
that is admirable, that he has the vice which
nobler minds have not escaped, that of intemper-
ance. Though not an habitual drinker, he some-
times drains the cup too deeply, and then adieu to
philosophy, poetry, and reason ; he is one of the
veriest infants of all the stricken family of the
demon. His home is shared by a wife and one
child, a boy of some four years.
In the unfinished house above, we shall find
nothing but carpenters' benches, bits of boards,
barrels of lime, &c, and as these three embrace
the whole of the upper part of the town, we will
step down the terrace and see what the amphitheatre
contains. Here we find two tenements, one nearly
in the centre, the other below. The latter is rather
a queer affair, even for a new country, and would
be pronounced decidedly so, where necessity was
not the supreme law in architecture as well as
other things. Its body, if it may be said to have
one, is built of slabs in an upright position, and is
roofed with the same material. It forms quite a
spacious inclosure, the interior of which is par-
320 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
titioned with quilts and blankets into several rooms,
each of which is thickly peopled. In this fold
there are three or four families of " Buckeyes,"
who, of themselves, would make a respectable
colony. They came hither from Ohio, early in
the season, and are living in this slab house till
they complete better dwellings. Their journey
was performed in a boat built and owned by them-
selves, and propelled by horses. It is now lying
just opposite the house, half out of water, its prow
thrown up like the head of a dying alligator. It
is constructed very much as our canal boats are,
but seems a trifle higher. The families all bear
one name, and are father and sons-in-law, _or
brothers and sons, I never clearly comprehended
which.
When they concluded to leave the Buckeye
state, they consulted together on the subject, and
determined, in view of their large numbers, that
it would be more economical, as well as more in-
dependent, to perform the journey in some con-
veyance of their own. Land carriage was out of
the question, a flat boat would only float them to
the mouth of the Ohio, a keel boat would be too
laborious, and their last resource was to construct
one which their horses could propel. This was
accordingly done. The families and goods were
shipped, and the strange craft launched upon " La
belle Riviere." For many days she floated down
its majestic waters, her silent way crossed occa-
sionally by the resounding march of the high-
pressure steamboats that crowd them. At night
the prow was turned shoreward, and the little
boat moored under some friendly tree, where a
fire was kindled and supper served. The smaller
members of the flock, who had been confined all
day, could now range the wood, and make ample
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 321
reparation to their ill-used muscles and lungs.
By early daylight the refreshed animals were
again put upon duty, and while the cool dews yet
lay upon the silent valley, they moved onward.
I can imagine few things more delightful than
this primitive, untrammeled progress over these
majestic waters. When pleasure or convenience
led them, they could go on shore ; they could
visit spots never before trodden by the white man,
and sleep in the midst of silence never broken by
sound of civilized life, save the snorting of the
fiery steed that ploughs the water a brief moment
and is gone. Vast, unbroken, majestic nature lay
on either hand of them for many days. At last
they reached the mouth of Rock River, and turned
their little ark into its clear, bright waters. They
landed at C ; lived in their boat till the slab
house was built; and, in this improved condition,
were waiting the still farther advancement of
separate firesides within more substantial walls.
Everything about this rude home wore an appear-
ance of cleanliness and comfort that made even its
plainness inviting. The paths were kept clean ;
the bits of board before the door were well swept,
the children looked tidy, and the old grandmother,
of whose fat, happy face, and clean-starched cap,
I have yet a faint vision, seemed the belle ideal
of a bold-hearted, strong-handed western woman,
sinking into the well-earned repose of ripened
years.
CHAPTER XII.
In tne house above this we shall find a specimen
of a very different class of people, viz., a Massa-
chusetts sea captain. There he stands ; a man of
fifty years ; a little above the middle height, with
21
322 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
a slender person, and a slight stoop which takes
something from his stature. His black hair just
frosted, and his small, keen, black eye dancing and
twinkling beneath the dark brow, like the heat
lightning of a cloudy July night. His dress is
very neat, his motions quick, and his searching
face always clad in smiles. He speaks much to
the point, when he chooses, without a wander-
ing or superfluous word ; and when he does not
choose, will baffle a whole corps of lawyers. His
smile is a genuine bubbling-up of sunlight, which
bursts and is gone, to be replaced by another as
fleeting. He is a great lover of sunshine, and
enjoys in a high degree the ability to produce it
for himself. The early part of his life was spent
on the sea, but circumstances led him a few vears
since to unite with a colony and emigrate with his
large family to the west. His genius seems never
to have fully expanded itself until it reached the
prairies. Not even the briny element he so much
loved brought out all his resources so entirely.
There, while sailing from port to port, his mind
was comparatively unemployed. A severe storm
might occasionally call upon his strength, or make
it necessary for him to assure his passengers that
the weather was delightful, and the ocean never
in a finer state ; but there was little room for the
play of those faculties which find a rich and end-
less field for speculation and thrift on the teeming
prairies. Here he could calculate the amount of
income which every foot of land would yield ; he
could select town sites, lay out the lots and sell
them too, while he was riding along on his ordinary
business ; he could construct imaginary bridges
where sloughs were any detriment to a fine "lo-
cation," and make the most envious neighbor cou-
fess that it was better than if the land were all
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 323
smooth. If his horse was fastened in one of these
places, and the countenances of his companions
darkened, his admiration of everything about him
rose to the highest pitch, and he appealed to them
with a smiling earnestness which could not be
resisted, to say if it were not the finest country
ever beheld by man ! Even while he was strug-
gling through the quagmire, burthened with some
helpless member of his family, he would asseverate
in the most cheerful tones, and with a smile which
nothing could repress, that the country was incom-
parable ; that the very sloughs themselves, with
their deep beds of black soil and water pools, were
one of its best features ; that nothing would be
easier than to construct bridges " athwart" them,
when they would be a delight instead of the trifling
inconvenience which some might think they now
were.
He had already aided in building up one of the
pleasantest little towns in the central part of the
state, had erected a good house for himself, occu-
pied it about three years, and then, yielding to his
love of fresh enterprise, joined this colony, sold his
home, and come into this newer region to begin
again. He has selected a beautiful farm skirting
the river adjacent to the town, on which he is
about building, but his mind is now all absorbed
with schemes for making the town grow into a
large village. Of the success of these he enter-
tains no doubt.
The only other character in this embryo city, is
our host. He is a son of New England, and has
spent a considerable fortune, which was left him
in early life, for the pleasure of beginning anew on
his own strength. He wandered through the
western states a few years ago, when many places
that are now blooming with cultivation were waste
324 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
and solitary ; he built a double cabin in the edge
of a large grove south of the Illinois river, fur-
nished it with a fine library, and other cherished
household gods, and returned one morning in Jan-
uary from a ball, to find it burned to the ground
with everything it contained. He subsequently
opened several farms, and after many years of
bacheloring in the new country, became possessed
with the idea that the presence of the absent one
was indispensable to his happiness. Acting on
this conviction, he left the prairies after the autumn
frosts had fallen, and returned with the flowers the
next spring, bringing a fair girl who had consented
to leave the Granite State and share his prairie
home. This is our accomplished and lady-like
hostess, a highly educated, intelligent, affectionate,
and truthful woman ; one who would have adorned
the most polished circles. She is now the mistress
of this little rude cabin, but her culture and worth,
so far from being thrown away in this inelegant
home, make her shine the brighter ; as genuine
diamonds do in plain setting. She is a fair-haired,
blue-eyed blonde, graceful in every movement, and
only prevented by the extreme slenderness so
universally courted among American females, from
possessing an exquisitely symmetrical figure.
CHAPTER XIII.
Such is the place, and such are the people,
among whom many pleasant days were spent. Our
everyday pursuits and amusements were varied oc-
casionally by a ride to the store and post-office, about
five miles up the river. There were some charm-
ing views on this road ; the river at some points
lay spread out before us in full width, dotted with
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 325
its emerald islands, and notched with the rich
woodtops that bordered it, and at others it retreated
from the view so as to leave only a liquid thread
here and there visible amid the waving green
which embedded it.
In one of these rides we were overtaken by a
shower. It came with a violent wind, and conse-
quently fell at an angle of about sixty degrees, so
that if we had turned our gig and stood still, it
would have protected us perfectly. But in the
plenitude of our wisdom, we decided to seek refuge
in a house about three quarters of a mile distant,
in the precise direction of the storm. We there-
fore faced the wind and rain, urged our noble old
Bucephalus to his utmost speed, and after a most
ludicrous flight of some minutes, bounding and
springing over the knotted turf, arrived, drenched
and starchless, at the door, just as the rain ceased.
One of our favorite out-door amusements was
riding on horseback ; another, sailing in our pleas-
ure-lxrat; another, swinging on the bank of the
river in front of the new house ; another, gathering
mandrakes in the grove. Within, we had Shak-
speare, Byron, Burns, Bryant, and others, in the
poetical line ; some variety of scientific, philo-
sophical, ami sentimental reading ; Hogarth and
Dickens in the witty, and some fine copies of Ital-
ian and Swiss scenery, by way of preserving our
love of the picturesque and rugged in nature.
With all these resources, and a country more
charming than language can describe, it would
have been unpardonable not to be happy. We
were not so guilty.
One of our aquatic excursions was undertaken
for the purpose of spending an afternoon with Mrs.
C, a widow lady, who with her six sons and only
daughter resided about two miles up the river, on
Ee
326 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
the opposite side. They had emigrated from one
of the principal cities of New England, and were
altogether among the most intelligent and valuable
families in society I ever met. Their little dwell-
ing stood about a quarter of a mile from the river,
and was approached by a hard-trodden, narrow
path, through grass rising on each side almost to
the head of an ordinary sized man. When you
emerged within a few rods of the door, the scene
that opened before you was unexpectedly pleasant.
The house stood in a little open glade, on a rising
ground which commanded a fine view of the adja-
cent prairie and groves, and admitted one or two
glimpses of the river, buried among the trees and
tossing grass. An arm of timber from the water-
side stretched up within a few rods in the rear,
and another a little farther off in front of the house.
The building itself had been constructed something
more than a hundred miles from the spot where it
now stood, had been taken apart, moved on wag-
gons, and set up again on this spot. Its various
pieces were nicely jointed and fitted together, so
as to answer admirably for a summer-house. How
it would serve when Boreas came down with his
frost burthen, admitted of some question.
Mrs. C. was a woman who possessed the highest
order of mental elegance, viz., that which is native
and unaffected by outward circumstances. The
hospitality of her plain little home was charming
as it could have been if sumptuous viands had been
served on costly plates, and luxury had waited on
every indolent desire. Elegant without art, wise
without pedantry, amiable without vanity, she was
the model of all that is lovely in woman. Her
sons had inherited much of her excellence and
talent, and were universally beloved. We left
her little cottage at dark, and embarked for homo.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 327
The day had been very warm ; the lightning was
flickering around the southwestern horizon before
we started, and there was every probability that
we might be overtaken by a shower before we
reached our landing-place. There was little
wind at first, but it presently increased, and bore
upward flying masses of black cloud, which ob-
scured the little light given us by the stars, and
left us in darkness, only deepened by the frequent
lightning-flashes. Our little sails, filled by these
gusts, bore us merrily through the rippling waters
till they ceased, and left us to float with the cur-
rent until another came. The banks of the river
were involved in profound darkness, except when
the cloud-lamp burst up for a moment, but the
broken surface of the water reflected innumerable
fragments of light, so faint as to be perceptible
only to an earnest and searching eye. When you
caught them, the water seemed to grow more and
more luminous, till another flash came and de-
stroyed the beautiful illusion.
Our company were merry, notwithstanding the
anticipated shower, and, striking up the " Bonnie
Boat," made the silent woods echo with its cheer-
ing strains. It was a delicious night to be abroad
on the water ; and our spirits were so much exhil-
arated by the scene, that we should have rather
rejoiced than grieved had we been visited by the
shower. We reached our landing place, however,
just as the first large drops began to plash in the
water and patter among the leaves. It was ten
o'clock : the muskitos had sought shelter and
would be harmless while the rain continued to
fall. We opened our doors and windows, there-
fore, and the cool air came in laden with the fra-
grance of reviving nature ; a delightful precursor
of the sweet sleep which was to follow.
328 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
CHAPTER XIV.
The country north of this section of the river is
one of the most beautiful that can be imagined.
Its high rolling prairies are dotted with groves
through which clear rapid streams wind and bab-
ble like those of the eastern states. It was at this
period principally held by the first settlers. A
few late emigrants from the Atlantic side were
creeping in, however, and making claims, as they
are called, on some choice spots ; but the " Suck-
ers" still held the dominion.
This process of making claims is a somewhat
curious matter, and not unfrequently leads to se-
rious disturbance among the settlers. It is gov-
erned by different laws in various neighborhoods.
In some it merely consists in erecting a house or
something like it, in which the claimant or his
agent shall reside for a certain length of time ; in
others he is, in addition to this, required to break
and plant a piece of ground, and in still others,
the latter is alone sufficient. So that you may
sometimes ride through a piece of corn, growing
on the open prairie with no house or other sign of
cultivation or ownership in sight. These claims,
if made according to the governing customs, are
generally as much respected when the land is
thrown into market as a deed conveying the fee
simple. But if the law of the neighborhood has
been evaded in part, or if there be rival claimants,
each of whom have set their marks upon a single
tract, it leads to serious and often fatal strifes. The
emigrant, however, has in all these the advantage
over the first settlers. For as the numbers of the
former increase, the latter retires before them as
the Indian has retired before him. He forms the
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 329
second wave that pours itself .into the bosom of
this wilderness. When the Yankee homes thicken
about him, and farms are opened within two, three,
and four miles, he begins to feel straightened, op-
pressed ; he wants more room, and resolves to sell
to the first Yankee that offers to buy. He does not
wait long; and a bargain being concluded, he stows
his plunder underneath the cover of the large wag-
gon, harnesses his four horses before it, hangs his
" bucket" beneath and his " feed-box" behind, starts
his two cows on in advance, sets his eldest boy on
the right-hand wheel horse, with a single rein in
his hand, and commences his journey westward,
shaking the dust of the Yankee settlements from
his feet. He has often no place in view, but jour-
neys on, always toward the setting sun, for he
knows that freedom such as he seeks has retreated
thither. He travels on, day after day, and grows
more complacent as he gets further off. Some-
times they sleep in the cabins by the way side,
and at others in the waggon and again on the
ground. The females always do their own cook-
ing either by the camp fire, or on the hearths where
they stop. They never complain if the jour-
ney continues for weeks, but relieve its tedium
by walking, driving the cows, &c. I have met
many hundreds of these moving caravans, and
scarcely ever saw an unhappy or anxious face
among them. They love the large liberty of the
wide prairie, they love its sunlight, its waving
grass, its flowers, its lone trees, its groves, its silent
streams. They love the anticipation of making a
new home on the brow of the remote wilderness,
and living there, with half the careless ease of the
Indian and more than has happiness. Their minds
exult in the boldness and freedom of those enter-
prises which demand little practical detail. The
E E 2
330 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
dangers which hung over their early years have
cultivated in them a certain boldness and love of
adventure which find no proper field but on the
wild frontier. The richness of the soil has obvi-
ated the necessity of severe labor, and they have
consequently grown up with habits of indolence
and a want of practical talent, found in no other
free states of the Union. Advancement in the
useful or ornamental arts is a thing almost unknown
among them. The son is content to spend his
days in the rude and comfortless cabin that shel-
tered his sire ; he rides in the same heavy, uncouth
vehicle ; he never bestows any increased care upon
his crops ; even though his eastern neighbor on
the next farm doubles his harvest by it.
His aspirations are equally stationary in the more
important particular of educating his children.
He " reckons " they should know how to write
their names, and " allows it's a right smart thing
to be able to read when you want to." He
" expects " his sons may make stump speeches if
they live ; but he don't " calculate that books and
the sciences will do as much for a man in these
matters as a handy use of the rifle, and a free
range of the prairies." As for teaching, " that's
one thing he allows the Yankees are ju6t fit for ;"
he does not hesitate to confess, that they are a
" power smarter" at that than the western boys.
But they can't hold a rifle nor ride at wolf hunt
with 'em ; and he reckons, after all, these are the
great tests of merit.
With all these peculiarities, and this ignorance
of what is esteemed essential in cultivated society,
these people have strong intellects, bold and
vigorous ideas, and possess a vast fund of know-
ledge, drawn from sources with which a more arti-
ficial society is too little acquainted. They have
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 331
an order of eloquence peculiar to themselves,
rough, bold, and strong, and glowing with illus-
trations drawn from nature as they know her, and
from other sources familiar to their minds. I have
often listened to them with delight, as well as
amusement. They are not so witty as they are
accredited to be ; but their thoughts and figures,
so different from those we are accustomed to hear,
take us by surprise, and produce an emotion of
contrast so strong as to excite irresistible laughter.
Their illustrations are not drawn from the lore
of Greece and Rome, but from the infinitely truer
teachings of nature, amid which they live. If they
have not the artificial elegance which the mighty
minds and associated events of centuries have
given to the former, they have a higher intrinsic
value, and tell more effectually on their assem-
blages than would all the mythology of heathen-
dom.
CHAPTER XV.
The hospitality of the people of the west is ex-
haustless. Such as their homes are, the stranger
is ever welcome to them, and to what they con-
tain. The single room is as freely shared as if it
were twenty, instead of one. The abundant table
is never too small for all that are within hearing
when it is laid. You may feel embarrassed at the
narrow physical limits within which all this is
confined, but your feelings are never perceived or
appreciated by your entertainers. You rise in the
morning and are conducted to the well or spring,
or a bench beside the door, to perform your ab-
lutions (necessarily scanty under such circum-
stances) ; your host, mean while, descanting on some
"haar" or "wolf hunt," on the approaching or past
332 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
harvest ; on the last or the coming election, on.
the merits of a horse, or the "chance of mast"
for fattening pork, the sickness of the last season,
the necessity of burning the prairies to prevent
it, &c.
Within, the good wife has meantime commenced
her preparations for your -morning meal. The
first step in this, as in all other meals, is to place
her large, two gallon coffee-kettle at the fire. Next
she lays the covers of two small iron ovens upon
the blazing logs, removes some coals to the hearth
with her large wooden shovel, and introducing its
blazing- edge to the ashes in the comer, ascends
the ladder with a tin or earthen vessel. Presently
she reappears with meal for her dodger. This is
made by wetting the meal with cold water, and
mixing it with a little salt to the consistency of a
thick batter. It is then taken in the hand and de-
posited in three or more oblong cakes in the angle
of the skillet ; the cover is put over, a few coals
thrown upon it, and so much of breakfast is in
progress. If you are a southern or eastern guest,
or particularly respected for any cause, the next
step is to make a mixture of wheaten flour, cold
water, lard, and salt, and cut it into small cakes,
which are deposited in the other skillet. Then come
the meats, which, with the corn dodger and coffee,
are the essentials of all meals among these people.
Morning, noon, and night sees from one to three
varieties of this article on every well-spread table.
All this time the coffee is maintained in the most
vigorous ebullition. The table is laid at intervals,
the dodgers and " hot cakes" watched, and when
all is done, the coffee is drawn back and settled
with an egg ; the ashes are turned from the covers ;
the cakes taken up on plates ; the meats dished ;
the hearth brushed ; and some few little matters
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 333
of taste about the room regulated ; and then you
are invited to the table. The coffee, it must be
confessed, is execrable, and can only be disposed
of by the aid of the rich cream, which is not often
spared. The hot cakes, as might be expected, are
solid and of a deep leaden hue ; the dodger is in-
comparable ; the quails delicious ; the grouse or
deer equally so ; but the bacon insufferable. This
is pretty nearly your bill of fare for the day. You
have fruits or sweetmeats and pudding added at
dinner ; and fresh baked cake at tea. But at each
meal you have all the meats of the first, with one
variety, replaced sometimes by the domestic fowl,
and sometimes by fresh baked pork. All the food
of each meal is cooked at the time it is to be eat-
en ; and the first step of this long process is to
place the "coffee-kettle" where it shall come to
the boiling point as speedily as possible. The
western people have an unconquerable aversion
to food that is not served hot and fresh from the
cooking vessel. They would look with contempt
upon the most sumptuous hospitality of eastern
tables, if one of the staple dishes had been cooked
on the previous day. No bread is ever found in
their houses ; they make a large loaf in their iron
ovens which is fermented by what they call salt-
rising ; but it must be eaten warm, and is then
only tolerable to an eastern palate.
As might be expected from this excessive use
of coffee in its worst form, from the great amount
of animal food, and some other causes belonging
to the climate which these greatly aggravate, they,
for the most part, wear complexions of a faint yel-
lowish brown. Their skin has little appearance
of life, and looks more like a soiled lemon-colored
glove than the membrane of mingled red and white
which of right belongs to them.
334 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
CHAPTER XVI.
The morals of these people partake strongly of
the characteristics already named. They are too
magnanimous to be often mean, too free from ava-
rice to be often dishonest. A little fraud or shrewd
trick played upon a Yankee they consider a com-
mendable evidence of superior sagacity ; a thing
to be exulted in rather than repented of. Their
passion in trade is for the never-sufficiently-to-be-
prized horse, and a considerable part of their petty
litigation grows out of this class of transactions.
Indolence is one of their worst vices ; for it leads
to many others. This, however, I am bound to
say, is confined to the male sex. The females can-
not be indolent if they would, and this for a num-
ber of reasons ; one of which is, that the females
of all newly settled countries have many kinds of
labor to perform of which they are relieved in older
regions by the greater perfection of machinery
and architecture, and the presence of a larger pro-
portion of their own sex. Another is, that the
western country is visited by great numbers of
single men ; strangers, who are dependent for all
the domestic offices on the women of the region
or neighborhood in which they stop. This has
been a very important item in the labors of these
females for the last fifteen years. But the male
population may be pronounced unequivocally in-
dolent. On a bright day they mount their horses
and throng the little towns in the vicinity of their
homes, drinking and trading horses till late in the
evening. It is not extraordinary to see two or
more of them come to blows before these festival
days end.
They are prompt to redress an injury by legal
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 335
process when the law affords it; when not, by
personal strength. It is, however, due to them to
say, that they are equally prompt to make repa-
ration when it is demanded in an honorable man-
ner. They have little love or charity for the
vices that stain artificial society. Duelling is
rarely defended, licentiousness is little known, and
theft is scarcely conceived of among them.
Respect for the Sabbath and for religious obser-
vances generally, is not very widely spread. Few
churches are sustained, and but little expenditure
incurred for the support of religious institutions.
The prevailing faiths or forms of worship are the
Methodist and Campbellite. There are others of
course, but these are by far the most numerous.
Without attempting any invidious distinction be-
tween these beliefs, it will certainly be adhering
to truth to say that the latter are generally the
more intelligent people, the former the more hon-
est. The pulpit oratory of both is quite peculiar.
I heard many of their " Circuit riders," and sev-
eral of the settled clergy of the Methodist church,
and am bound to say, that before I had this expe-
rience I should have considered any true descrip-
tion ironical or libelous. Among them all there
were but one or two that deserve to be designated
by any other name than that of the most arrant
ranters. Their efforts bore no comparison with
those of the stump orators and disputants of deba-
ting clubs, lyceums, &c, which you may hear
every week in the small towns settled by western
people. Like most empty speakers, these preach-
ers have an abundance of furious action, a bellow-
ing utterance, and a tone which renders it extremely
difficult for the possessor of a cultivated ear to
preserve both gravity and patience through one of
their interminable harangues.
336 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
The primitive style of their meetings, and the
motley and heterogeneous appearance of the peo-
ple who assemble, makes them one of the most
striking novelties to the curious observer of West-
ern life and manners.
The Circuit rider embraces in his field of labors
from thirty to one hundred miles of country. His
meetings are called in school-houses and churches,
when held in towns or thickly populated neigh-
borhoods, and in the cabins of the settlers in
more primitive regions. His audience are seated
on boards, the ends of which rest upon chairs, or,
where these are not to be had, on blocks of wood
of convenient height. One chair is always reserv-
ed for the speaker, in which he sits until the con-
gregation is assembled. He then rises, takes his
position behind it, drops his flag handkerchief upon
its back, and reads a hymn, repeating each couplet,
the better to aid the memory of the singers, most of
whom are without books. Thus commence the ex-
ercises of the occasion. The singing is followed by
a long incongruous prayer. After this, the text is
announced, and the sermonizer launches at once,
without preface, into the utterance of some of the
many things which he intends to communicate.
I remember becoming wearied with one of
these harangues, which was more vapid than usual,
and finding great relief in a study of the motley
group around me. There were mothers present,
with infants of all ages, from four weeks upwards.
One of these, about four months old, was curiously
clad. It wore a dress of coarse brown English
merino, sleeves short, and ruffled at the elbow,
with plain footing about a nail in width. 1 inter-
red that it had been originally white, not from any
evidences then visible, but from the fact that i
never saw it colored in the shops. On the head of
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 337
this child was a calico cap of the coarsest texture
and colors, trimmed profusely with an orange and
green ribbon of some antiquity. My next neigh-
bor on the other hand was dividing her attention
between the sarmont and an infant of some six
weeks, dressed so grotesquely as to be irresistible.
A light cloak of blue cotton material partially
covered a dress of green and black calico of the
largest stamp ; the head was covered with a cap
of the finest cambric linen, exquisitely wrought,
and trimmed with a faded black lutestring ribbon,
about two inches and a half in width. The mother
wore one of the ancient scoop bonnets, natural
hose, a calico dress, and a cape of different color
and figure. Directly in front, sat a young lady,
the belle of the settlement, and withal not a little
of a coquet, as I afterwards learned. She was
clad in a dress which had once been printed, but
yielding to the pressing solicitations of the rubbing-
board, had parted with its colors, and was now
passing for white. Each of its large threads was
distinctly visible. Her neck was dressed in a
very coquettish style, with a bright red bandanna
handkerchief drawn tight over the shoulders,
and fastened with a pin, and a long pink ribbon,
which flowed nearly to her cowhide boots. Her
hands were naked and empty ; a tasty calico apron
being made to do duty in place of a pocket-hand-
kerchief. Her head was covered with the soiled
remnant of an ancient green calash, the bridle of
which enabled her to play off many effective
glances upon the stricken "fellers" in her vicinity.
Such ludicrous varieties of dress were inexhausti-
ble, and afforded a rich field of observation while
the orator was floundering through his subject ;
which on this occasion was an argument on the
immortality of the soul. He had not approached
22 Ff
338 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
this abstruse question without feeling its importance,
and making due preparation. His mind had evi-
dently been refreshed by the recent perusal of
some elementary treatise on the science of astron-
omy, which has been supposed by other great
minds to afford some evidence on this and kindred
questions. How this evidence was borne did not
very plainly appear from this discourse ; the prin-
cipal use made of his knowledge being to propound
to his audience the questions found at the bottom
of the page ; and after a due pause, to answer
them himself. Half an hour's exercise of this kind,
abounding in the grossest and most ridiculous
blunders, convinced the gaping assemblage that
Brother A was not only " a powerful smart
man, but one of mighty larnin."
It was safe then to return to the original question,
which every one had forgotten, but which, at the
end of the lesson, he seemed fortunately to remem-
ber. After some well-rounded sentences in his
loudest key to prepare their minds for the tremen-
dous question, he said, drawing himself up with a
dignity and complacency which no words can con-
vey, "Now, my friends — What is the Soul V
A most impressive pause followed this interest-
ing inteiTogatory. Every mind, save those of the
dashing coquet and her rival admirers, was bent
on it ; the house was awfully silent for the moment ;
but the answer enunciated in a measured tone and
manner, " My brethren, soul and body is enonemous
terms," carried my gravity by storm and let down
the rapt audience with such a sudden substitution
of plain fact for sublime inquiry, that there was an
instantaneous shuf lling of feet, drawing up of bent
forms, and exchanging of smiles, which said, " That
is it, but we could not have said it so well."
When this sermon was over, an elderly sister,
LIFE IN PEAIRIE LAND. 339
who had exulted at every sentence, asked my
opinion of it. To the reply that I thought Mr.
A possessed a fine voice, she rejoined — " Ah !
he's a powerful smart man. We thought Brother
," naming his predecessor, " was as good as
anybody could be, but Brother A is a heap
ahead of him. Where on airth he ever gets larnin
to answer the questions he's always askin, I can't
see; I reckon he must read a power of books."
But notwithstanding the ignorance of these men
and the often ludicrous character of their discourses,
their presence and services are of great value to
the communities among whom they minister. That
most of them are honest men, there is no doubt.
The arduous and slavish character of their duties,
compared with the exceeding small salaries which
they receive, are testimonies in favor of their in-
tegrity, which no candid mind can reject. Nor can
the value of their ministration, indifferent as it is,
be doubted. Among the people whom they teach,
religion is a simpler and more genuine emotion
than in other states of society, where its rites and
appliances constitute so much that is the subject
of thought, envy, prejudice, and opposition. They
have little of the vanity that poisons more refined
Christianity. The stirring housewife sets her little
cabin in order for the meeting, and her neighbors
prepare to come in with far purer and more in-
tense religious emotions, than the plumed and
jeweled dame arrays herself to visit the splendid
edifice thronged with the votaries of fashion and
wealth. There is a sublimity and beauty in the
stem simplicity of these gatherings — the rough
cabin but one small remove from the handiwork
of nature, whose broad and silent kingdom is
spread around — the honest sympathetic faGes
and hard hands that clasp each other with no
340 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
feigned warmth, that commend their bond of
union more strongly than magnificent piles, and
pealing bells, and sounding organs. Theirs is the
simplest action of the religious faculties. The
solemn story of the Cross and the teachings of
Him who suffered on it, bring them together to
worship, adore, and love Him. The motives to a
false profession of religion are also fewer here
than in a more complicated state of society. The
vices of this condition are not such as would be eith-
er concealed or aided by the cloak of hypocrisy.
They become professedly religious because they
are, or at least think themselves, actually so ; not
because it will enable them to cheat in trade with
greater impunity, or rob their neighbors' widows
and orphans, on the strength of long prayers and
a stereotype solemnity of faces. Religion is re-
garded by them as a source of happiness merely,
not of gain or standing, or as a license for fraud.
However simple and imperfect, then, the
ministration of their wandering clergy, it must
command the respect and complacent regard of
every honest and reflecting mind. Its fruits are
the budding and blossoming of Faith, Hope, and
Love in the wilderness. Religious institutions
and observances have greater beauty and force
here, where man is restrained by few motives ex-
ternal to himself, than where he is under the
numerous obligations and restraints of a more
artificial condition. These bold, daring people
are brought into the church from a freedom and
responsibility to themselves alone, scarcely more
circumscribed than those enjoyed by the savage;
and the strength and harmony of the christian code
are beautifully demonstrated by the submission of
such character to their guidances. There is be-
sides a fitness in the relative condition of the min-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 341
ister and his people which renders him in every
respect an object of their highest regard, and se-
cures to his teachings the most unbounded rever-
ence. His ignorance is never discovered by them.
His blunders, when he ventures beyond his usual
aim to exhort or denounce, instead of exciting in-
dignation, disgust, or mirth, only stamp him as a
man of wonderful learning. There is no discrep-
ancy between their expectations and his abilities ;
and his position, therefore, becomes ridiculous only
to better cultivated minds. These .he does not pro-
fess to instruct. He is not sent for their benefit ; if
they participate in what he has to dispense it is
their own choice ; and the liberality with which
he offers it should certainly secure him against
ridicule. As the Yankees increase in the settle-
ment where he officiates, he willingly retires and
leaves them a minister of their own choosing. It
must not be understood that the description I have
given has no exceptions. There are men officia-
ting as servants of Christ in these wild regions who
possess an eloquence and strength that would ren-
der them eminent anywhere ; men whose oratory
is clothed with the richest imagery, whose every
figure is a flash from the glowing altar of nature,
whose fervid emotion and lofty sentiment kindle
and elevate the soul.
CHAPTER XVII.
As my departure was now a fixed event, we
began to cast about for a choice between several
little excursions in the neighborhood, which yet
remained to be performed. " You must go to the
store with me once more;" said Mrs. P., " and to
thj) council-house and burying-ground above Cap-
FF2
342 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
tain S's. farm ; and take another evening ride on
horseback; and — do whatever else is possible."
No objection being made to these propositions,
they were allowed to stand as the order of pro-
ceeding for the remaining five days. The next
afternoon was devoted to the shopping. Tom was
driven to the door at dinner time, and left at our
service. As soon as the house was set in order,
and dresses changed, a duty which, among west-
ern housekeepers, belongs to the afternoon instead
of the morning, we took our seats and drove off
over the beautiful road already mentioned as lying
along the river.
Our shopping was rather incongruous, consisting
of the entire variety usually collected in a country
store, viz. : dry-goods, groceries, hardware, crock-
ery, and glass-ware, et cet. Litle Nell must have
two frocks and an apron, and Hamlet a cravat.
There must be half a dozen new tumblers, two
butter plates and six bowls, a tin pepper-box for
the kitchen, a new water-pail, some darning and
tape needles, three or four deep dishes for pump-
kin pies, a jug of molasses, a paper of ginger, a
pound of tea, seven of coffee, a few nails, and a
stone pot for the winter butter. These were put
up in the smallest possible compass, and even then
it required no little ingenuity on the part of the
polite and energetic shopkeeper to demonstrate
that we could get them all home in the gig. They
were, however, stowed in, and then it required as
much care to finish the demonstration by keeping
them there ; but we succeeded, by picking up one
or two parcels when they fell, carrying the glass
and crockery in our laps, and bracing the pail fill-
ed with promiscuous articles between our feet.
Our next and only remaining excursion was to
the burial-ground and council-house of the Sauks,
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 343
on the bank of the river, about a mile and a half
above the town. The trail to this lay immediately
on the margin of that beautiful section of the river
before spoken of. Unbroken views of the entire
stream, followed by glimpses, smiling through
waving tree-tops or swelling grass, continually pre-
sented themselves. The trail lay along the very
verge of the high bank, save where the latter bent
from a straight line. It was deep-worn, and showed
that many a swarthy foot had trodden its narrow
bed. Occasionally, under a clump of bushes or the
overhanging boughs of larger trees, were two or
three graves, their rude outlines nearly effaced by
the storms that had beaten upon them and the lev-
eling hand of time. Where the soil had crumbled
from the face of the high bank, a ghastly skull,
rolled from its dreamless slumber, lay half way
down the descent, arrested in its fall by the roots
of shrubs or trees.
The council-house is simply a circular area some
eighty feet in diameter, artificially elevated by a
terrace, perhaps four feet in height. Its surface is
strown with bones, the remains of feasts that have
been celebrated here. It is in a beautiful spot. A
fine growth of young trees secludes it from the
river, so that those who are upon land may be
perfectly acquainted with the movements of friends
or enemies on the water without being seen them-
selves. More interesting to me were the graves
thickly strown along the verge of the bank. Some
had fallen in and partially revealed the skeletons
sitting upright, their decayed canoes, which had
rudely served in place of coffins, crumbling and
dissolving about them into the earth whence they
had sprung. I know not that this particular spot
has been the theatre of great events in the history
of the people who have now disaj>p eared' forever.
344 LIFE IN PRAIIUE LAND.
from it, but I know that its rare beauty, in the still
autumn day when we visited it, seemed to me fitted
to foster the wild melancholy which so deeply
tinctured the character of its decayed sovereigns.
Yet many a tide of excitement had swept over this
lovely spot, if it had not burst and spent its rage
there. A few miles above was the principal seat
of the Black Hawk war, the last faint struggle of
the red men of the north to retain their ancient
realms. A few miles below was the village of the
Prophet — the man who communed with the Great
Spirit, and interpreted to His children His will
concerning them. Along this very spot had wan-
dered excited warriors, cunning " medicine men,"
and wondering women, in all the variety of emo-
tion inspired by their several conditions. Rage,
hatred, love, and sorrow had been born and buried
here, deep in the bosom of past centuries ; while
the solitude and grandeur of the wilderness was
unbroken by sound or sight of civilization. The
strength and freedom of the past were in sad
contrast with the weakness and humiliation of the
present. Formerly thousands of proud and fear-
less men ruled these beautiful wilds. Now how
different ! I had seen, a few days before, the mis-
erable, degraded remnant of their race that still
lingered in these pleasant haunts. Drunken, poor,
clothed in tatters, begging of those who dwelt in
their former home the fire that had consumed their
souls — nay, offering to barter their wives and chil-
dren for it ; they were a painful spectacle — a sadder
ruin than the crumbling temples and broken idols
of Eastern lands.
The war which a few years before had swept
over these plains, had been the last struggle of a
chieftain and hero, vainly seeking to infuse into his
perishing people a spirit that would lead them to
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 345
contend against a mighty race. But the elo-
quence that warmed their hearts did not restore
their brave dead, nor increase the number of their
living warriors. A little band of savages against
a nation of armed men ! a handful of withered
leaves upon the tempest !' They could have but
one path before them ; and they have trodden it.
Westward it led them, and now their ancient coun-
cil-houses are deserted ; their hunting-grounds
bloom under the hand of the agriculturist ; their
tombs crumble and sink away beneath the plow ;
the smoke of their lodges no longer curls on the
breath of morning ; their hunting-dances are no
more seen at evening ! All that remains of them
tells of a race that has dwindled from power and
the strong majesty of freedom, to humility and
wasting feebleness.
The story of the Indian is a melancholy one. I
have often pondered upon it, with a sympathy that
would not be hushed by the voice of reason ;
though it proclaimed that they had fulfilled their
mission, and must pass away. A fair land abound-
ing in all that would contribute to the highest
condition of civilized life, was the lawful estate of
civilized man ; and when he came to claim it, it
was not the office of the savage to dispute his right.
I mourn not so much the fate of the Indian, as the
indecent, the fraudulent precipitancy with which it
was consummated by our selfishness. We had
room and time enough to have waited more pa-
tiently, while Nature was finishing in her own way
the plan she had begun. And assuredly, while we
congratulate ourselves upon the wide extent of our
territory, our complacency must be somewhat qual-
ified by the reflection that, in our haste to possess
it, we have rudely expelled the original owners
from homes which they loved and venerated ; that
346 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
we have chosen our own time to bid them disap-
pear from a heritage around which the very fibres
of their hearts were twined in love and reverence
for the dead who were sleeping there, and for the
living beauty and majesty that overspread it.
We need not clothe their departure in poetical
garb, to make it touch the heart of flesh. The In-
dian, with all his pride and independence of char-
acter, with all his energy and daring, with all his
veneration for the ashes of his dead, all his keen
sense of the great, the free, and the beautiful in
nature, all his fond pride in the magnificent hunting
grounds where he had been born, and where he
hoped his dust might rest, when his spirit should
be set free in that scarcely more beautiful region
pictured by his imagination ; the Indian standing
in the attitude of one who bids farewell to all these,
and is about to flee before the superior craft and
strength of enemies whom he despises, and yet
cannot resist, seems to say, " All this have I loved,
and still love ; all this did my forefathers, before
they slept, give to be mine forever ; yet now the
Great Spirit asks it for his pale-faced children, and
will not be denied. The arms of our warriors are
palsied before them ; the bow refuses to send its
arrows to their heart ; they outnumber us like the
sands upon the shore of the great blue waters, or
the leaves of the summer forest ! a destiny is await-
ing us which we cannot avert ! It bids us depart,
and come hither no more. I hear it in the winds.
It speaks to me from the depths of the storm, and
whispers in the sunshine ! It tells me that this
shall no more play around my lodge ; that I must
meet death far hence, and be content to tell my
children of the former glory of the red man."
One must feel that these leave-takings were
fearful events in the life of a being all impulsive
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 347
and unreasoning as the Indian was. How the fierce
heart must have wrung and resisted, while it panted
for the wasted strength that once would have se-
cured revenge ! And then how must it have
refused to quail and retreat before a power unfath-
omable, undefinable indeed, but one whose repre-
sentatives yet commanded no respect, inspired no
dread J
CHAPTER XVIII.
During the season following that in which the
events described in the last chapters occurred, I
visited various parts of the state. Some of my
journeys were made alone — others, in company
with a brother. They were always attended with
great fatigue, but often with a novelty, either in
the manner of accomplishing them, in the events
that befel us, or the characters that fell in our
way, which amply repaid the inconvenience.
Once I remember, at two o'clock on a bitterly
cold morning, we found ourselves with six other
persons, exclusive of two on the outside, crowded
into a coach originally calculated for six. Our
progress on this occasion, beside being extremely
uncomfortable, was attended with no little danger,
the weather having suddenly changed during the
night, and sheeted the whole country with ice.
The coach, consequently, stood at all angles to the
horses, and seemed every moment to become pos-
sessed with a sudden fancy for exploring road-side
slopes, or the foot of any little swell we chanced
to pass. The horses, too, were in all positions ;
now up — now down — now half-way between
both ; and on each recovering, seemed more
alarmed and uncertain than before. Under the
excitement occasioned by all this variety, it will
348 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
readily be credited that we did not suffer greatly
from the intense cold or the keen winds, biting as
they were. The morning dawned and found us
in a deep wood, from which we emerged just as
the sun showed his fiery disk in the stern, cold
sky. There was an immense stretch of prairie
before us, a great part of which had been burned
late in the autumn ; and now its black bosom was
covered with one entire coat of the frost-mail.
One rarely sees a more impressive spectacle
than was produced by the flood of strong red light
that was poured over this immense mirror. The
naked summits of the swells, black as ink by con-
trast with the surrounding brilliancy, looked like
so many sable monsters stretched upon the plain.
These, and the color of the charred surface, per-
fectly visible through the transparent ice where the
light did not fall upon it, and the myriad hues of
red and green, purple and gold, which the in-
equalities and our uneasy motion caused to be
reflected to the eye, made one of the most gor-
geous displays conceivable. Fiercely, therefore,
as the winds swept around us, no objection was
made to throwing up the curtains, that we might
have free view of this wonderful spectacle.
" It will soon pass away," said a gentleman,
whose head, covered with a woolen net cap, had
for the last two hours been dancing in very in-
convenient contiguity to the shoulder of my com-
panion.
" There will be another change in the weather,
gentlemen ; and before night we shall have little
ice to complain of, or I'm no prophet," he mut-
tered, after a pause ; his head resuming its old
motion, and his eyes fast closed again. It seemed
suddenly to become a matter of great interest with
each of the seven persons inside, to ascertain
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 349
whether the alternative suggested were afterward
to become a matter-of-fact or not ; for all eyes
were instantly turned upon him. Apparently they
brought their owners to very different conclusions :
some turned away with entire indifference, as if it
were of the least possible consequence that such a
prophecy had been uttered ; others looked again to
the cold glaring sky, and stretched their heads from
the coach, as if to catch the wind anew and form
an estimate of its character ; while others shrunk
deprecatingly into their wrappers or buffalo robes,
and seemed to say, " Heaven send it may be so !"
These few words of conversation, and the
strong light, roused the ninth inside passenger
from his slumbers, and caused him to raise his
head and look deliberately about, to the no small
astonishment of those who had not seen him be-
fore. He was not, what the reader will anticipate,
a baby, about to announce, in the usual way, that
his slumbers were at an end, and that other people's
must consequently terminate too ; but a noble, great
pointer dog, with large liver-colored ears, fine in
texture as a French glove, lying over his white
clean face. He had been nestled at my feet all
night, keeping them as warm as if I had been at a
bright fireside, or in my own bed. He became a
favorite at once, but not so his master, who was a
young man in a flashy dress, with the swaggering
air of one who says, " If you talk of men who
have seen the world, look at me."
About an hour after daybreak we stopped to
breakfast, on fried quail, bacon, leaden biscuit,
dodger, and the most abominable coffee, if one
might judge from its color and odor, and the
rapidity with which the company followed my
example of a glass of cold water. Our meal over,
we journeyed on ; the prophetic gentleman settling
Gg
350 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
himself comfortably in the back corner, repeated
his prophecy, in a tone clearly intended to be one
of defiance to any who should be so presumptuous
as to dispute him. No one seeming disposed to
do it, however, he fell off into his old state, which
led the owner of the pointer to remark, that " if
he went on that way all day, the weather might
change as many times as it liked, and he would
not be the wiser for it."
Notwithstanding the keenness of the winds,
which swept over the great prairie, the warmth of
the sun soon melted the ice from its surface ; and
the cold abating, by slow degrees we found our-
selves, at dinner time, thirty miles forward on our
route, and little troubled with ice indeed ; for the
wheels were rolling in the soft black soil, thawed
to the depth of two or three inches.
The morning had worn away in the discussion
of politics, the future prospects of "the west," the
condition of the banking system, and the Internal
Improvement bill. On all these topics there was
the usual diversity of opinion, — one gentleman
holding it to have been demonstrated, that the
party then in power was the most intelligent,
patriotic, wise, and pure body of men who had
ever been entrusted with the destinies of the
state ; another, with the same sources of know-
ledge, holding, with equal pertinacity, a directly
opposite opinion. All agreed, however, that "the
west" was a great country; but one thought its
greatness would be materially enhanced, and the
wheels of its prosperity thrown forward a century
at least, by carrying out the liberal system of
internal improvement already projected ; while
another pronounced it the last evidence of folly
which the people had to oxpect from their legis-
lators. One regarded the destruction of banks as
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 351
equivalent to the total extinction of all the sources
of wealth in the nation ! Earthquakes, floods,
tempests, conflagrations, were nothing in com-
parison with it. Another thought it the measure,
of all others, best calculated to secure the pros-
perity, welfare, integrity, almost the salvation of
the people.
And thus they talked. My four-footed friend
occasionally looked up and snuffed the air, while
these discussions were going on, but he evidently
felt that the interest of the scene was a poor com-
pensation for the effort he was obliged to make,
in struggling through the forest of limbs that
hemmed him in below. When darkness came on
we were within a few miles of the capital of the
state. The winds blew warm from the south, the
mud had deepened, the sky was overcast, and
there was every promise of rain before the follow-
ing morning. Our prophet had congratulated
himself many times on the certainty with which
he had foretold the coming storm ; and though, in
this case, the " shadow cast before " had been a
severe attack of rheumatism, nearly disabling him,
yet he evidently would rather that its severity
should be redoubled, than that his sagacity should
prove to have been at fault.
We reached the city long after nightfall. Ex-
cept in a few public places, it was pitchy dark.
The black streets received no light from the cloud-
ed heavens ; and looked themselves, like a more
dense continuation of the same darkness that reign-
ed in mid air ! The stage drove to a large and
well kept hotel, the name of which I now forget,
where we stopped for the night.
After supper I was ushered into a drawing-
room, where three or four highly dressed ladies,
and as many gentlemen, were sitting at cards and
352 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
backgammon. They were evidently playing to
wear away the evening, not from love of the games.
In the intervals of the games, they carried on a
desultory conversation ; and more inane or point-
less efforts of the kind, it has seldom fallen to my
lot to hear. The ladies were engrossed with " the
perfectly beautiful style" of something that had
lately made its appearance in the fashionable world ;
and the sole theme of their thought and speech
was how it would become them, or certain persons
of their acquaintance ; where it could be had and
what was its expense.
When all possible changes had been rung upon
these various branches of the momentous subject
and all varieties of opinion expressed, one took
up a Jeremiad over the loss of her piano ! She
was " immeasurably grieved that pa should have
thought it expedient to come west without it. Not
that she was very fond of music (a confession, by
the way, which was entirely superfluous, consider-
ing that her auditors were possessed of eyes), for
she was not, but it was an accomplishment that
she prized very highly, and she was certain that
now, when she was so far removed from everything
that could confer the smallest happiness on a re-
fined mind, she should feel the loss much more
painfully. In short she felt quite positive that
when they came to be settled in their new home,
she should be very wretched in consequence of
this loss ; to say nothing of the thousand other ele-
gancies which she had been compelled to resign
in coming to this dreadful country. Her com-
panions listened with an expression of respectful
sympathy for hor sorrows, and she was evidently
fast working herself into tho belief, that a more
unhappy and self-sacrificing female did not live,
when the door opened, and an elderly lady of fine
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 353
mien and most intelligent countenance walked into
the room.
She took a vacant chair near me, and, after lis-
tening a moment to the foolish lamentation still
pouring forth at the table, turned and addressed
herself to me in a few commonplace remarks. I
replied, and very soon found myself in earnest
conversation with one of the most intellectual and
affable women I had ever met. She was a stranger
like myself, but her observations on the country,
the character of its inhabitants, and the effect
which life in it was calculated to exert upon dif-
ferent classes of persons, evinced a mind gifted
with strong powers of perception, keen discrimi-
nation, and exalted feeling.
" I have never, said she, " been more entirely
convinced of the empty and worthless character
of our plans of female education at the east, than
when I have seen the subjects of them transplant-
ed to this beautiful country. They unfit females
for everything like a natural or useful life. AH
things must be artificial about them. In truth they
become, while passing through these systems, as
nearly artificial themselves as a work of the Cre-
ator can. Instead of preparing them for any of
the duties and pleasures of life, they go far toward
destroying whatever natural capacity for these
may have been originally possessed. The more
finished and prolonged the process, the more com-
plete is the destruction of all power or wish to be
useful, or to reap enjoyment from any but the
most false and unnatural state of society."
" You are severe," I replied, " nor can I deny
the justness of your remarks, lamentable as is the
truth they contain."
" Yes ; lamentable indeed, when one considers
the vast interests periled by it, and the ruin, dis-
23 gg2
354 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
honesty, and faithlessness which grow out of it.
I never see a young female pining over the empty
sorrows created by these artificial wants, but I
think with pity on the stern and real griefs which
wait to follow in their time — the sore trials sure to
be multiplied a thousand-fold in consequence of
this very condition of her mind — and tremble for
the weak purpose and fainting integrity with
which she must meet them. And what is worst of
all," she added, after a moment's pause, " I fear
there is in the present state of society little rational
ground for hoping that it will be better."
" I must be permitted to differ with you there,"
I replied. " I entertain strong hope that a remedy
will soon be sought for this very evil."
" Your youth will account for that," said she,
with a smile. " When you have lived as many
years as I have, and seen men persist in the
wrong course when the right seemed plain as the
path of the sun, you will have less confidence in
signs that promise reform. If by that time you
have lived much in society, and reflected on its
interests, you will have seen that the reform of a
wide-spread evil like this, is slow as the growth of
mountains."
** I grant it is slow, painfully slow, to those who
see its need. But every moral movement, be it
individual or associated, is governed by laws ; and
once jn progress, much hope is to be entertained
that if it be not consummated itself, it may lead to
others that will equally effect the object. The
first step toward the remedy of any evil, is that we
become convinced it is such. This conviction is,
I think, taking pretty general hold on society, in
reference to the presont mode of educating females.
And as more rational views of the duties and ob-
ligations of woman get abroad, may we not expect
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 355
that a better preparation for them will be de-
manded %"
" To a certain extent, but I have less confidence
in the efficiency of reformatory doctrine, and the
force of new truth over old prejudices and long-
indulged habits, than your remarks betray in your
self. Nevertheless, I am willing, nay, anxious to
hope, could I but find that whereon to ground my
hope. Go among the educated classes of females
who have come hither from the east, and you will see
and hear that which will wonderfully depress your
sanguine expectations of reform. Daughters pining
over the absence of the finery in which they were
wont to decorate themselves, and interested in no-
thing so much as what will restore them to their
former outward estate ; mothers grieving that their
daughters are cut off from the opportunities of
education in fashionable schools ; from French,
Italian, embroidery, and music ; mourning over
the loss they will sustain in these things, when the
volume of nature, filled to overflowing with what-
ever is best calculated to stimulate intellect,
strengthen the nobler feelings, in short, develope
the true and the strong in man or woman, is dis-
played all around them. I blush at such folly in
my sex."
" And grieve, I can well believe," said I, " for
the sufferings which, folly as it is, it inevitably
creates."
" Yes, I cannot choose but do so," was the re-
ply ; " though my pity is sometimes, I fear, quali-
fied with too much indignation."
As I was about to lead the conversation in an-
other channel, the door opened, and my brother,
accompanied by one of our fellow passengers, came
in. They had evidently just come from the en-
joyment of some rare joke, in which they seemed
356 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
to think I might participate. It was a personal
adventure that had just befallen a gentleman who
had rode with us during the day. He was a
stranger in the country, one of the corps editorial
of the empire state, on a tour of observation through
the prairies. He had sat all day muffled in his
buffalo wrapper, scarcely speaking, but apparently
having a keen eye and ear for whatever was pass-
ing. On arriving in the city and learning that the
stage-coach would leave before daylight the fol-
lowing morning, he expressed a wish to see some-
thing of the place, and. sallied forth, despite the
storm and darkness, and the remonstrances of his
companions, to look about. He had gone but a
few yards from the door when by some mischance
he fell prostrate in the black mud, not even saving
his face from the unworthy contact. His sudden
reappearance in such melancholy plight, and his
determination, facetiously expressed, to go to bed
and see no more of the city, after having left a
pretty bold impression upon it, was very heartily
enjoyed by his friends.
CHAPTER XIX.
At four o'clock we were again under weigh,
with the rain pouring in torrents through the
black morning upon the blacker earth. Daybreak
found us at the breakfasting place, the first post
from Springfield. The house was one of the bet-
ter class of cabins, and had about it some marks of
age and cultivation, such as fruit trees, and a few
currant bushes. The room which we entered
at once by the outer door, contained a great log
fire, blazing finely, a few chairs, a table, sundry
chests, a Yankee clock, giving the most exaggera-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 357
ted report of time conceivable, two rifles suspend-
ed by wooden hooks from the beams overhead,
a variety of overcoats, et cet., upon the walls, and
two beds, both tenanted.
The entrance of eleven persons, two or three of
whom, the unfortunate outsides, were dripping
and smoking from the storm, and all cold and hun-
gry, was a circumstance so unfavorable to the
prolongation of slumber, that the four sleepers
proceeded forthwith to vacate their beds, and make
ready for the events that might follow our arrival.
In a very brief space of time they joined the circle
at the fire, and as it might be supposed, the new-
. comers were more conversant with whatever was
going on abroad than they who had slept peace-
ably all night, proceeded to question one and an-
other on their several places of departure and
destination, how long they had been on the road,
how the traveling was, whether the storm was
likely to continue all day, and if not, when it
would cease. All these inquiries being duly an-
swered, and sufficient time having been taken to
collect themselves, after being so suddenly awak-
ened, they proceeded to complete their toilets.
The instruments wherewithal it was accomplished,
were a small iron skillet, on a bench beside the
back door, certain parti-colored pocket handker-
chiefs — their own personal property, and a small
wooden comb, a part of the personal estate of the
oldest member of the party.
When the processes of washing, drying and
combing were severally completed, they reentered,
seated themselves at a little distance from the fire,
and one of them drawing from his pocket a book,
proceeded to read inaudibly, the others maintaining,
meantime, a profound and studied silence. The
peculiarity of the affair was explained in a mo-
358 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
ment by one of our company whispering " Mor-
mons."
The landlady looked aghast when she saw the
number of guests for whom she had to prepare
breakfast, but she nevertheless stirred about with
a right hearty zeal, setting on her quail, chicken,
pig, dodger, and biscuit. The table was ready
in a short time, and our cloaks, overcoats, &c,
being cast upon the unmade beds, we gathered
about it. The scarcity of chairs threatened at first
to be a very serious inconvenience ; but what with
mustering one or two small ones, aud as many
with broken limbs from the kitchen, and moving a
large chest to one side of the table, we were all at
length seated ; though at such unequal heights as
almost caused the smile, with which each regarded
the rest, to break into a broad lausjh. The grood
woman — and a really good and gentle woman she
was, notwithstanding her rude, poorly furnished
cabin, and coarse attire — made many apologies,
and seemed quite overwhelmed to find herself the
entertainer of so many strangers.
" It was a new thing," she said ; " they were not
prepared for it; the passengers had always break-
fasted at the next house till the day before, when
some difficulty having occurred, she had been ap-
plied to for accommodation. If it continued, they
could be better prepared in a few days to make
travelers comfortable." There was so much willing-
ness in her manner, and such apparent truth in her
apologies, that we all felt disposed to receive them
with the utmost kindness. Just as she had delivered
them, a waggish lawyer, seated on the opposite side
of the table, in one of the small chairs, his head
just visible above the board, looked up and asked,
" How long have you lived here, madam V and
when she replied ••' Seventeen years, sir," looked
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 359
down at his low seat with an expression so sug-
gestive of the disparity between the length of time
and what it had produced, that several incipient
bursts of laughter were just faintly heard, but sup-
pressed to be indulged on a more fitting occasion.
"I don't know," he added, when, the meal over,
we were seating ourselves in the coach ; " I may
err in judgment, but it seems to me that chairs
ought to have grown taller than that, in seventeen
years!"
All day the rain poured dismally down, and our
progress was very slow. Before nightfall, how-
ever, we reached the town at which we were to
part from our fellow passengers, and go on in an
" extra." We had yet sixty miles to accomplish,
and hoped by making forty the first day, to reach
our place of destination before the second night.
These same " extras " at the west are sometimes
curious specimens of their genus. Ours, in this
instance, was a farm waggon with slender bars of
wood fastened along inside the box as substitutes
for springs. They answered the purpose, how-
ever, exceedingly well. The roads were now so
heavy — and as we proceeded northward, where the
rain had not extended, were covered with so deep a
coat of snow — that we advanced much less speedily
than we had hoped. Having obtained directions we
set out about two o'clock to cross a considerable
prairie, beyond which was a grove, and still be-
yond, a house, at which it was proposed to
spend the night. We went on slowly, toiling
over the snowy plain, not a little perplexed fre-
quently with the number and obscurity of the
diverging tracks, and finally altogether at a loss to
know whether we had followed the right one or not.
But if wrong there was no remedy till we should
meet some traveler or reach a house, of either of
3G0 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
which there was no sign whatever. Immense flocks
of crows screamed and cawed from the low shrubs
and woods skirting the plain, or wheeled with a
kind of chilled and dismal motion through the cold
air above our heads ! Darkness began to creep
on, and still no sign of life or human habitation !
Chilled and weary, our situation became at last ex-
tremely uncomfortable. The miles seemed length-
ened to leagues, and our uncertainty much increased
whatever else was disagreeable in the prospect
before us. At last we reached the grove which we
seemed to have been an age in approaching. We
entered, and the road still led on with nothing more
to cheer us than the plain had offered, except a
partial protection from the bleak winds ; and even
this was more than counterbalanced by the in-
creased darkness.
At last, however, just as the night began to con-
ceal the road from view, we found ourselves upon
the high bluff of a small stream with a mill below,
and a little cabin faintly visible on the opposite
height. To our great joy we had reached the
spot where we proposed to take up quarters for
the night. The long hill was descended, the
stream forded, and the opposite summit at last
gained. When we arrived at the house, there was
still just light enough to render visible two huge
emigrant waggons standing; near the door.
" Those immense waggons and the small house
augur ill for our prospects of rest here," said my
brother. " Nevertheless, we will try."
The driver halted, and was about alighting to
make inquiry, when a man appeared at the door.
" Friend," said the last speaker, " can we find rest
with you to-night 1 We are cold and very weary."
The man cast his eye at us, for a moment, as if
to assure himself of the right number, then at the
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 361
waggons, and then, turning quite around, took a
deliberate survey of the height and general dimen-
sions of the cabin. This done, he once more faced
us, and rolling his quid of tobacco in his cheek
once or twice, replied, " Wall, I reckon you'd find
it considerable snug in thar," making a backward
motion with his head, to signify that he meant in
the house. " Thar's my family, besides the man
that's runnin the mill, and a right smart one it is ;"
(whether this was a compliment to the family, the
mill, or the man who was running it, we were left
to conjecture;) "then you see thar's the movers
that come in these hyur" — pointing to the wag-
gons — " and another man, a sort of lawyer, I reck-
on, that come on that beast, and allowed he
couldn't git any further, nohow, 'kase he'd had a
shake gitting through the grove."
Of course we had seen our fate long before this
statement of difficulties was completed, but it would
not do to leave the man while making it, and,
moreover, we were desirous of getting some infor-
mation as to the road and prospects for entertain-
ment beyond.
" The road," said he in reply, " I reckon you'll
find right bad; thar hain't been much rain lately,
but thar's a right smart of snow, and it's about half
melted now. That makes wheelin heavy."
" How far is it to the next house !"
" We call it a smart three mild and a half — it's
good that ; nearer four."
" Is it probable we can stop there 1"
" Wall, that's just what I can't tell you, nohow.
The old man has got a nice place thar, but his
woman ain't always so accommodatin as she
mought be."
The driver had drawn his reins and the horses
advanced a step or two, when he called out, M You
H H
362 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
hain't got such a thing as a bed in the waggon, I
reckon 1 ?"
" You are right," replied K — " we have not."
" I just allowed, if you had, you mought find a
place in thar to spread it down ; the nights is so
dark and cold, that's all."
CHAPTER XX.
Plunging once more into the blackness that had
now almost become palpable, we journeyed on,
floundering through mud pools and patches of
half-melted snow, shivering, hungering, sometimes
groaning and sometimes laughing, till at last a fee-
ble light was descried in the distance, and visions
of a bright fire and warm supper began to float in
our despairing minds. We were favored with the
most liberal of all opportunities to indulge these
pleasant anticipations, for the approach to this
cheering beacon threatened to be interminable.
" ' A good four mild,' indeed !" said the driver;
" he might well say that. It's nearer six. In a
night like this, it would measure seven, with any
chain and compass I ever saw. But they say all
things have an end, and I s'pose this ride will, by
and by ; I wish it would come sooner, that's all."
It did come at length. We stopped opposite
the light, for the outline of the house was perfectly
lost in the thick darkness and fog. A loud halloo
brought the " old man" to the door.
" Can we stop with you to-night, friend ?" said
K — . " There are three of us — my sister, and a
driver, beside myself."
11 1 reckon," was the laconic reply.
We were just rising on our benumbed feet to
avail ourselves of the privilege thus equivocally
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 363
granted, when he darted suddenly back, and re-
turning after an instant, said, " My woman ain't
willin to it."
A parley now commenced, not exactly in dero-
gation of the "woman's" prerogative to say so, if
she chose, but inquiring into her reasons, and
faintly suggesting whether it was quite kind to
refuse strangers, already so much fatigued, and in
such a night. She presented herself to answer in
person, and seemed, at last, to compassionate our
condition somewhat, for she inquired again, how
many we were, and being told, asked if any two
could sleep together.
" O yes," was K — 's reply, " the driver and I could
occupy the same bed, if you have not enough for
all. We shall none of us be over nice in such a
night as this, after having ridden forty miles."
" Then you'll want," said the churlish woman,
" two beds, and — "
" Supper," suggested the driver, in an under
tone.
" And some supper," added my brother.
" I reckon you may as well go on to the next
place," she replied, half closing the door, and
looking out from behind it, " 'tain't but a mild
and a half, and they often take folks there." So
saying she latched the door and cut off all chance
of remonstrance.
" That is no western woman," said I, indignantly,
as we drove slowly away. " So churlish and narrow
a heart as that was never born on the prairies !"
Now again we were toiling slowly onward. A
mile and a half! It was, doubtless, true; but
even if double that, there was no alternative but
to go patiently toward it. Dwelling with many
bitter denunciations on the inhospitable and even
rude rejection we had last met, estimating the
364 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
distance we had traveled since morning, and
•weighing the possibility of being compelled to go
on all night, we were quite busily employed, till
the feeble light from the next house glimmered
on our discouraged senses. It seemed a long way
from the road. Two or three sharp halloos, how-
ever, brought some one to the door, and again the
question was put, " Can you accommodate three
persons with supper and beds to-night ]"
"I expect," replied a man's voice; "I'll see
my woman, an' tell you."
" Heaven grant that the woman may be more
propitious this time !" I exclaimed. In a few
seconds he appeared again at the door, with a
cheerful " Yes," and an invitation to " come in !"
We rose to comply with this welcome request.
My brother had already alighted, and I had placed
one foot on the side of the waggon, preparatory to
launching into the unfathomable darkness below,
when the driver suddenly cried out, " Stop a
minute, till I see if he's got a stable. — I say,
friend," addressing himself to the kind host, who
was now approaching with a lantern to light our
way, " have you a good warm stable ? My horses
are very tired and warm."
" Yes, I've got as good a stable, I calculate, as
any man in these parts."
My foot became entangled in my cloak, or I
should have been on the ground in another in-
stant, when he added, " 'Tain't just hyur, it's up
to t'other place."
" And where is the other place V said the
driver.
My heart misgave me !
" Oh, it's just up hyur, about three quarters of a
mild through the grow."
" Three quarters of a mile ! Pray, madam, be
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 365
seated again, and you too, sir; we must try once
more, if you please. Much obliged to you, sir,"
he continued, speaking for the party, " for your
kindness, but I can't think of walking three mile
to-night, and I can't go to bed without seeing my
horses once after they are put up. I would rather
drive them all night."
The settler, whose benevolent visage was now
faintly discernible by the light which he held
over his head, regarded the speaker with some
astonishment, and then replied, with a facetious
sort of grin, that we should have been welcome if
we'd " had a heap more !"
" Its five mild to the next house," he added,
" and I reckon you'll hardly find 'em up when
you get there ; but they'es right clever, and won't
make much account of gittin up if they can take
you."
We jogged on. The kind, cheerful aspect and
demeanor of this man somewhat changed the
complexion of our feelings, and though it was
later than when we left the last house, and the
distance to the next nearly five times as great, we
had derived a courage and spirit for the task that
made it seem comparatively easy.
The ludicrous aspect, also, of the affair, began
now to present itself, and, what with the recollec-
tion of similar adventures, and the comments
which this drew forth, we grew very pleasant,
and had many a hearty laugh long before the five
miles were accomplished. Suddenly, the chance
of passing the house, in the profound darkness, it
being too late for the quiet settlers to have a light
still burning, checked our mirth, and made us
peer into the surrounding gloom with a business-
like feeling, quite in contrast with the careless
abandonment we had just been exhibiting,
II h 2
366 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
" Do you watch one side of the road," said
K — " and I will the other ; and if you see some-
thing that looks a shade blacker than all the rest
of creation, call out."
Nothing could be more favorable to the indul-
gence of fancy, and the seeing of sights, than to be
set on such a watch as this. Darkness is ever
more densely peopled than light, and with such
strange objects, too ! But when you look into a
good dense mass of it, expressly to see some-
thing, your senses all sharpened and awake for
that purpose, what an unlimited license your fancy
has ! The way which had hitherto been solitary,
became at once crowded. Cities, churches with
towers and tall spires, shooting into the clouds ;
fantastic clumps of trees ; farm-houses, large and
generous-looking, like those of the east ; coaches
with four horses ; single waggons and foot passen-
gers ; herds feeding in the adjoining fields ; great
overhanging piles of rock ; rivers and wooded
hills, rose up and spread about us as if by magic.
It was wonderful ! Many times I was on the eve
of calling out, but a little sharper look convinced
me that the object I was regarding was not the
cabin, but something very different, mere foggy
space !
At last ! could I be mistaken ? No ! that was
surely a light gleaming before us, and there must
be the home of the settler ! But what did they
with a light at that hour ] It was certainly ten
o'clock, and only some extraordinary emergency
could keep them astir so late. We were beset
with fears. Sickness, a previous arrival, com-
pany, something which would conflict with our
prospects, was certainly afoot.
Wo reached the door, and called atrain. A man
Stepped quickly out, and, as he did so, revealed a
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 367
great blazing fire and a clean-swept wide hearth,
that redoubled the gloom and cold of the outer
world. " Can we get lodging here, friend ]" was
the anxious inquiry. His first reply expressed a
doubt ; his second a stronger one ; and his third
the almost positive certainty that we must again go
on. But we had been rejected too often to yield
this last hope without some argument. Would he
tell us the reason 1 — some other beside mere con-
venience ; for, as to that, we could sleep almost
anywhere, and go without supper or get it our-
selves. We would be no trouble, if he would let
us come under his roof and rest from our long and
cold journey.
"I should be right glad to 'commodate you,"
he said, in reply, " but — " and he hesitated.
"But what, friend 1" said my brother, somewhat
petulantly ; for, by this time, our patience was
pretty well exhausted.
" Why, the fact is," said the perplexed man,
" my wife is not well ; there's a couple of the
neighborin women hyur, and my oldest boy has
gone for the doctor now."
" Spoken like a man at last," said K — , unable
to suppress the laugh which the honest man's con-
fused and awkward manner provoked. " Drive
on ; we will not force ourselves upon your kind-
ness under such circumstances, if we find no shel-
ter till morning. But how far is it to C — ?"
" Four mild, and you'd better not stop till you
get thar. The roads is tolerable good now, and
you'll find poor 'commodation any whar this side."
" Thank you." And for the fifth time we were
on the way.
" The fates are against us to-night, certainly,"
said K — . " I never knew the jades so perverse
before. I shouldn't wonder now, if there were
368 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
no rest for us till we grot to the end of our route.
How far is it, driver, from this place ahead to — V
" Fifteen miles, I believe, sir, and I've been
thinking that perhaps we may as well go on."
" We'll try our fortunes once more at C ,
and if they are not better we may perhaps think
best to do so."
CHAPTER XXL
The roads proved, as the settler had told us
they were, much better than those we had passed,
and we soon found ourselves before a wooden
hotel, in the principal street of the village. A
bright fire was shining through the uncurtained
windows, and a group of men were sitting and
standing about it, smoking and apparently enjoy-
ing the highest degree of comfort. We alighted,
determined to stop here at all hazards. I followed
K — into the room, and we seated ourselves on
chairs that were vacated for us at the fire. The
apartment was redolent of tobacco smoke and the
fumes of brandy. In one corner was a little
triangular box containing sundry bottles, glasses,
cigar boxes, &c. ; in the opposite one a flight of
stairs leading to the room above. The company,
with the exception of three or four strangers like
ourselves, seemed to consist principally of the vil-
lagers. They were complimenting each other in
various potations of brandy, whiskey, and other
similar beverages, betting on horses and candi-
dates for the county offices, and discussing a nota-
ble wolf hunt that had recently taken place, at
which a fine horse had broken a leg. A few were
more rationally talking over the different methods
of agriculture adopted in the neighborhood, ami
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 369
speculating on the probable results of each. With
one or two exceptions they were all western men,
and, I suppose, they presented very much the ap-
pearance which this class of persons always do in
such meetings. They seemed in the bar-room a
totally different order of beings from the same men
at home. I was pained with the contrast.
We were seated but a few minutes when the
door of an adjoining room opened, a little weazen-
faced man looked in, and after glancing at us, call-
ed out in the strangest of all voices to some one
in the apartment beyond, to " make a fire in the
ladies' parlor !" I was quite astonished. The idea
of a ladies' parlor was so remote from my anticipa-
tions ! Nothing could be more welcome, how-
ever, for the noise and bluster of the drinkers in-
creased and rendered the place anything but agree-
able.
" If there is any other room with a fire," I whis-
pered to my brother, " pray let me go to it." He
followed the man with the wonderful voice, who
returned with him in a moment and told me if I
would just step into the kitchen till the fire was
made in the ladies' parlor, I would find myself
quite comfortable. " Certainly," I replied, " let me
go to your kitchen." I followed him across a naked
dining-room into an apartment apparently bound-
less ; its walls, if indeed it had any, being wholly
shrouded in darkness. Three or four filthy, ragged
servants were crouching and chattering over an im-
mense cooking-stove, on the top of which stood a
tallow candle, the only source of light and heat in
the room. There was no floor, save the black
earth trodden into numerous little hard hills and
hollows ; there was but one chair visible, and judg-
ing from the general aspect of the place, I dared
not sit upon this. The landlord had opened the
24
370 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
door, motioned me in, and retreated with the light,
so that I had no alternative but to stand there in
the black, cheerless room, till some one came to
relieve me. I did not wait long till he returned,
and saying that the fire was burning above, de-
sired me to follow him. I did so, and returning
to the bar-room was ushered up the open flight of
stairs, through two sleeping-rooms, into a third
containing a curtained bed, a Franklin stove in its
centre, a large rocking-chair robbed of one arm
and otherwise mutilated, some half-dozen wooden
chairs of various colors and fashion, and a volume
of dense blue smoke that quite took my breath.
A lamp was standing, as it appeared to me, in a
very precarious position on the stove ; but there
was nothing else on which to place it. The door
closed immediately after I entered the room, and
I was again alone.
Chilled as I had been with the long ride, I was
still trembling with cold, and thought only of get-
ting to the fire. I could be indifferent to every-
thing else if there were a generous fire in the stove.
I walked round in the front. A few blocks and
ends of boards were lying flat upon the hearth,
with here and there a remnant of a shaving between
them. There were no tongs, no andirons, no fire
— not a spark visible. Both the large windows in
front were wide open to permit the smoke to pass
out, the stove-pipe apparently having no connexion
whatever with this office. I took hold of the large
chair, and found my glove whitened with the dust
and ashes lying upon it ! This was the last blow
that my forbearance could endure. Walking straight
to the bed, I took one of the yellow pillow-cases
and rubbed every part of the chair with which my
clothes could come in contact, and then seated my-
self to wait the reappearance of the man who had
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 371
brought me thither. In a few minutes he came,
accompanied by my brother. The face of the
latter was glowing from the warm fire he had just
left.
"What!" he exclaimed, "have you no fire
here 1 What does this mean, sir ] You told me
she had a good fire and was very comfortable.
Do you call this comfort %" slamming the win-
dows down with a force that made them rattle.
" Dear me, sir," said the landlord, making a
violent stir among the blocks on the hearth, " I
told them to make a fire, and I supposed they
had."
" Supposed they had !" replied the other impa-
tiently ; " would it not be as well, if your people
are no more to be trusted than this, to look a little
after the comfort of guests yourself?"
" I try to, sir," replied the little man, meekly,
"but I can't be everywhere at once."
" Well, in any case attend to ladies, when they
come in from such long cold rides as my sister has
had ; never leave one again in such a den as this,
without fire or light, and filled with smoke."
" There, that will do now," the shavings having
been coaxed by the application of the lamp and a
world of blowing, into a feeble blaze.
" Give us some hard wood, that will create a
little heat, and then see if we can have a warm
supper."
" None for me," said I, " I shall sleep better
without it; let me but get warm and I will re-
tire."
" We can give you a good supper, ma'am,"
said the obsequious host, rubbing his hands and
bowing.
" Well, where ] Your kitchen gives poor prom-
ise of that," I replied. " Give me a good fire and
372 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
show me a sleeping-chamber, and I will ask no
more."
" Really, ma'am, I wish — "
" Will you get us some wood," interrupted K — ,
" and leave us to our own choice in other matters !"
"Certainly, sir!" and he departed.
The next morning we were off at a brisk hour,
and breakfasted with the neat hospitable family of
an intelligent Illinoian, about five miles from
C . The warm, cheerful cabin, well lighted
by a couple of windows, the bright fire, the clean
floor, the generous table, and the frank hospitality
of both host and hostess, were in lively contrast
with the disappointment, churlishness, and impo-
sition we had encountered the previous day.
A little after noon we found ourselves at our
place of destination, where the comforts of a hotel,
rarely surpassed in the east or west, amply com-
pensated for the hardshius and toil we had endured
in reaching it.
CHAPTER XXII.
The opening of the following spring found me
domiciliated for a time with one of the pleasant-
est families in the beautiful city of Alton. I say
beautiful, because it was never otherwise to me.
When I first reached it from the north, where win-
ter was still protracting his reign, the foliage of
spring was just bursting its brief bounds. The
days were bright and sunny, and such were wel-
come after my tedious pilgrimages in the more
rigorous north.
The position of Alton is one of much beauty.
It stands at one of the most charming points
on the upper Mississippi ; having its clear, dark
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 373
waters broken by two beautiful, wooded islands
near the opposite shore, and commanding from
the bluffs a fine view of the junction of the Mis-
souri with the farmer stream. Immediately above
the city, terminates a line of limestone bluffs, bold
and towering, which wall in the Mississippi for
near fifty miles. Immediately below, commences
the celebrated " American bottom," which extends
almost unbroken to the mouth of the Ohio. The
town is divided into upper, middle, and lower Al-
ton. The last-named lies along the water-side, and
is the principal place of business. Middle Town
extends back on the heights, and contains some
very picturesque and beautiful spots; and Upper
Town still farther back, and down the river, has
some points that, transferred to canvas, would bear
comparison with the boasted scenery of the old
world.
A considerable proportion of the houses in these
three divisions are built of stone ; the great abund-
ance of-it ort the river rendering it as cheap as
any other material. The grounds are sufficiently
old to be ornamented With well-grown trees, shrub-
beries, &c. ; and in the season when the heights
and broken swells are covered with verdure, few
more beautiful spots are to be found in the country.
In the immediate vicinity of Lower and Middle
Town, indeed within their yet unsettled precincts,
there is great variety of scenery. High, rolling
ridges, divided by deep valleys or round basins,
as perfect in finish as if constructed by rules of
art, diversify the whole surface. The heights are
for the most part covered with the hazel, low shrub
oak, and forest trees. The level grounds between,
are clad with a smooth green turf, set during the
spring and summer with a great variety of wild
flowers. In the vicinity of the town are many
374 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
beautiful groves and tracts of barrens ; and farther
back, are small prairies, divided and bordered by
clumps of trees and clean open woodlands.
Many a charming ride and walk had we through
these natural parks, when they were in their per-
fection of beauty. When the early showers were
over, and the clouds had passed away, we used to
ramble into the groves or barrens and return after
an hour or two with great clusters of the phlox,
painted cap, moccasin flower and geranium, bright
and fresh from their pleasant homes by stream and
tree, to adorn and perfume ours. While we were
gathering them, the quail was running to and fro on
the clean turf, and whistling to the merry breeze;
the robin was singing in the tree trop, and the
brown thrasher performing his seriocomic solo, a
little farther off on the lower branches. The winds
ran wild among the trees, shaking their long arms
and making their lengthening shadows dance upon
the bright sward with a gay motion ; as if the very
genius of mirth were disporting itself in the uni-
versal jubilee.
Oh, glorious were those days ! and beautiful the
life which they inspired in the members of our
little circle ! I have been in many places where
nature had lavished her charms as freely ; I have
visited such alone, and with others, but I scarcely
ever found that harmony between heart and heart
that gave society the power to enhance the emo-
tions which nature inspired. One is almost certain
to feel that it is better to be alone or with one
kindred spirit. We must deny ourselves the
social to enjoy the natural. Because the former
is false, and inharmonious ! Some selfish passion,
some carking care, some worldly anxiety pos-
sesses one heart or more of those you would hu\t>
free, and strikes a jarring chord in your own. The
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 375
flowers are less exquisite, the sunshine less bright,
the breezes less inspiring from that moment. Thus
much of what should be enjoyed is lost. The
dew is first brushed from the flower, then its ex-
quisite colors are dimmed, then it is crushed and
at length wholly lost The plain of life is a dis-
mal waste, on which one sees neither verdure nor
bloom. But with us it was different. Of the few who
knelt together around this festive shrine of nature,
we could have spared no one without pain. All
were free, all harmonious ! The chaste and ele-
vated joy which nature afforded was not frittered
away in pitiful efforts to appear other than we
were, nor in any of the thousand petty cares and
strifes which so degrade the spirit; but seized on
as a boon from heaven, and enjoyed with right
hearty zest and freedom. In such a social atmo-
sphere, and surrounded with such objects, one
feels that to be is a blessing, and wonders that
life could ever have been irksome. The toils and
vexations with which man seeks to enlarge him-
self before his fellows sink into their true insignifi-
cance. We suffer none of them to mislead us at
such a season. We laugh at them, and say in our
hearts, " See, what are all that you can bring, com-
pared to these birds, these flowers and trees, and
running streams, and winds, and storms, and sun-
shine ! These are what God has provided for my
enjoyment. But ye are born of men, toiling, strug-
gling men, whose spirits travail all their lives, and
bring forth monsters to brood upon their death-beds..
Away, we will none of ye ! The earth is a fair
heritage ; and blessings on its Author, it is ours."
Even the cares and anxieties for the absent were
sweetened by the all-prevailing calmness and joy
of the season. Beautiful indeed was life during that
brief period.
376 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Indeed we almost lived out of doors. What
with rides, walks, visits, calls on the few who made
up our free circle, we were very much abroad.
We could not have been too much so. A pleas-
ant proposition was made one evening to forsake
the abodes of men for a whole day and betake
ourselves to the woods. It met with unanimous
approval. We would all go, and take the chil-
dren. It should be an informal turn out ; no-
body should take any care beyond putting a loaf
of bread and a few other plain refreshments into a
basket. We would meet at the " White Cottage,"
and without any preconcerted arrangement drive
into the woods, seeking pleasant places. An entry
made in my diary after our return, will show how
wise we were, and how foolish was the Ethiopian
monarch, when he commanded preparation to be
made for ten days' perfect happiness !
" We started at eleven in high spirits for our
picnic ground ; which, by the way, was not select-
ed. Indeed, the direction we proposed to take was
but vaguely conjectured by most of us. As many as
could be conveniently stowed in Mr. A 's large
farm waggon were thus disposed of, and the rest
followed in smaller vehicles, but all making a
merry band, hailing each other from the foremost
to the hindmost, and exchanging many gay chal-
lenges to marvelous feats when we should reach
our stopping-place.
"Before we started, every appearance of rain,
with which we had been threatened in the early
morning, had vanished, and the sky, softly and
beautifully blue, when Been, was skimmed over
with light, feathery clouds, screening us in the
most friendly manner from the otherwise too ar-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 377
dent rays of the sun. The morning was breezy
and fresh in the green, open wood, and the bright
phlox, and dazzling painted cap, and tender gera-
nium danced and sparkled gaily, as the winds
went by, like careless children who had nothing to
do but revel in the life and beauty about them.
" We rode five miles. Our way, for the most part,
wound along the summit of swells that divided cool,
shadowy ravines, and then descended the height
to the shore of the Mississippi. Here we left our
carriages, took each a portion of the necessary ar-
ticles, and commenced the ascent of another bluff,
Mr. and myself preceding our friends a little,
as a committee of selection. We climbed the hill
for half a mile, and as we rose, that rose before
us ; now a little opening shaded by overhanging
oaks presented itself, and now we were bending
beneath their sweeping branches. Gradually as
we ascended, the prospect widened, until at length,
when the summit was fairly attained, a prospect
burst upon us magnificent beyond description !
i Eureka P exclaimed Mr. A — , and we both felt
that further search would be vain.
" On the very pinnacle of the bluff, the east side
of which was thickly wooded and the west opening
upon the river, we found a little shaded nook, just
large enough to admit our number. Here, after
the vines and light undergrowth had been cleared
away, we spread our white napkins, table cloths,
&c, and laid out our simple refreshments. Two
or three loaves of bread, a bottle of cream, some
golden butter, a trio of cold chickens, and a loaf
of plain family cake of the largest size, constituted
the whole. A committee was now appointed, and
sent out with authority to search the neighboring
hills and hollows for water. Their protracted in-
vestigations had begun to give rise to some anxi-
ii 2
378 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
ety in the more youthful members of our party,
when they returned with a brimming pail of the
purest and coldest water. The thanks of the com-
pany having been tendered them, in a neat speech
by one of the gentlemen, we proceeded to seat
ourselves, in true oriental style, around the cloth.
" Stories, songs, and hymns followed the lunch,
and when these were no more called for, one or two
chess boards were routed from their repose at the
bottom of the baskets, and put on duty by some,
while others strolled out to enjoy the prospect. I
was among the latter ; and rarely indeed had nature
invited more irresistibly, than in the pomp and
glory about me. Behind lay the still wood, into
the green depths of which the younger members
of our party had strayed, in search of flowers, and
whatever else of rare and beautiful mi^ht be found.
Before, and far below us the Mississippi rolled its
majestic waters, now sleeping as placidly in the
misty sunlight, as if they had never tumbled and
rushed in angry floods, terrifying the hearts of be-
holders. Away in the distance, where they shone
and flashed like molten silver, clusters of green
islands sat upon their bosom, the farther ones still,
as if chiseled in emerald, the nearer ones alive with
their tossing foliage. This river had been to our
childish minds an almost fabled creation. A far
away land had given us birth ; a far away clime
had lighted our early years. We had read of the
great rivers, and almost suspended our breath in
wonder at thoir magnitude ; but never dreamed
that our eyes would be favored to look upon them.
And now one was sweeping its silent way two
hundred feet below us, and the other rolling its
turbid waters onward through the dense forest,
only a mile from tho opposite shore ! It seemed
the realization of an impressive dream ! To tho
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 379
left, on the Illinois side, bold rocky bluffs overhung
the waters in which they had been mirrored for
centuries. To the right, the horizon stretched
away in the faint sunlight, until the eye was pain-
ed with the endeavor to define it, and the Missis-
sippi might be seen at intervals, like a silver
thread, shimmering through the green extent. A
light haze rested on the distant hills, mellowing
and softening the landscape with that peculiar tint-
ing which only the hand of nature can impart.
Nothing could be imagined more magnificent
than the entire view, while in our immediate vicin-
ity the bluffs were alternately piled into high con-
ical hills and hollowed into deep ravines, laden
with vegetation, which, tossed by the winds, lent a
peculiar grace and changefulness to the landscape.
Beneath us a precipice, two hundred feet in height,
overhung the water — its face hollowed in so
deeply, that it was only by a somewhat dangerous
experiment that one of the gentlemen, laying him-
self flat upon its summit and looking over, could
see its entire depth ! On its very brow a deep-
worn, narrow track told of the wanderings of the
Indian ! Many a light-hearted troop had filed
along that dizzy height, conscious of perfect secu-
rity, while our tamer blood curdled in our veins if
one of us approached its brink !
" As we sat and gazed from these heights, my
thoughts reverted to the early time, when the
light canoe skimmed those majestic waters ; when,
from the surrounding heights, the council fires of a
mystery-loving and sanguinary race flashed against
the evening sky, and lithe and dusky forms trod
with free step the unsoiled turf! Now all that
had made the life of those scenes had departed !
Only the mortal evidences that they had been,
remained. Rude graves, that had closed long
380 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
years before over those who shared in them, were
piled around us on the summits of the hills. On
one of these a solitary wild rose-bud had unfolded
its delicate petals : but a blight had fallen upon
it, as on the mysterious race whose existence it
shadowed forth ! The bright and glowing green
had faded, while it was yet spring, into the sickly
yellow. The spirit of the departed had breathed
over it in sadness ; no kind hand was near to
cherish it, or remove the cankering rust ; and the
fair rose was already numbered among the fallen.
" A beautiful tale, told that blighted bud, of a
race that had passed away — of a people free as
the waters beneath, and swift as the winds playing
around, who had trodden the very spot where we
were seated ; who had gazed upon the varying
landscape, the bright river, and the far hills, with
feelings we could never know — who had scaled
the beetling cliff, and mocked the eagle in his
flight ; whose war-shout rang through the wild
wood, and over the water ; and whose songs, once
heard there, were now for ever hushed !
" With emotions chastened and elevated by the
scene upon which we had looked, and the recol-
lections with which it was fraught, we reassembled
after our devious ramblings. Conversation, music,
and anecdotes succeeded, till the shadows began
to lengthen on the hill side. Just as the second
lunch was spread, the white signal of a steamer,
far down the river, became visible, curling and
fading on the sunny breeze. Mere speck as she
appeared at first, she was pronounced by the
gentlemen, on her near approach, to be a boat of
the largest size. AVhen directly opposite us, her
distanco was still so great, that the large black
letters on the- whoellnmse looked like a fine lino
drawn across it. She ran close under the oppo-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 381
site shore, and, as the white wreaths rose from
her iron throat, and faded away among the green
boughs, and her hoarse breath sounded faintly
over the waters, she formed a pleasing feature in
a landscape which had been hitherto made up
exclusively of natural objects.
" We had little relish for our second meal. The
sense of mere existence had been such a joy and
blessing all the day, that the common pleasures of
life had lost their power to engage our faculties.
We were merry, but our merriment was not that
which flashes in fitful gleams from the troubled
heart, or breaks forth for a moment to subside on
the recurrence of care into a deeper gravity than
before. It was founded on the deep, full, inward
joy which we had been all the day drawing from
the pure and beautiful world around us. And
when the frequent bursts of laughter, provoked by
the wit of the moment, subsided, they were fol-
lowed by no reproving or half-repentant visages,
but an expression which showed that we were
ready to enjoy the next as heartily. The deep
old wood resounded with our mirth.
"Another report from the water committee was
called for, which those gentlemen very ingeniously
relieved themselves from making, by introducing,
with a very pompous preamble, a resolution that
we ' were not dry.' It was passed by acclama-
tion, and followed by one as formally introduced,
unanimously applauding the acumen, research,
ability, and scientific profundity evinced by this
discovery. When the sun began to peep under
the arch of our leafy bower, we commenced
preparations for our return. The napkins, frag-
ments, et cet., were repacked, and, when all was
ready, we seated ourselves on the turf for a part-
ing song. ' Rosin the Beau' was first sung, in
382 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
full choir, and followed by the beautiful hymn,
' God is good.' We then bade adieu to the fairy
spot, and, taking up the line of march in true
Indian style, we descended the bluff, slaked our
thirst at a delicious spring that gushed from the
bank into a rocky basin below, and then stowing
ourselves into the waggons, were soon on our way
homeward, by the same road, now bright and
checkered with the shadows of evening.
" It was a delightful close to a happy day. I
believe, as we retraced our steps, we each felt that
it was good to have spent it in communion with
nature and our own hearts, under her divine in-
fluences. As we were recounting our adventures
and enjoyments in presence of a person who had
not been of our party, he remarked that as every
sweet had its bitter, he waited to leam what ours
would be. But we had none. The very elements
had conspired with the fair earth and our own
spirits to make it an occasion of unalloyed happi-
ness. At half-past ten we retired, just enough
fatigued to appreciate the luxury of a quiet bed."^
CHAPTER XXIV.
It will readily be credited that one could not
leave a place and society like those I have at-
tempted to picture, without many regrets ; but
the happiest seasons are sometimes the briefest,
and one may not hesitate when duty calls. With
the ripening summer I turned my footsteps north-
ward, and a few days after the picnic found me
in the village which had formerly- been our home.
It had changed little in outward aspect since I
last saw it. I3ut one little knows, when revisit-
ing places which are familiar and seem to the
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 383
eye unchanged, what events may have happened
to those who have never left it, to make olden
haunts and long-trodden paths the entrance to a
world all strange and new. It may be one of
joy which fills the heart, or grief which crushes it.
The streets may be the same, the houses, the gar-
dens, the groves, the fields — nay, the very persons
who dwell among them, unchanged* as to their
identity ; and yet one may have entered a world
of happiness while pursuing his daily ways among
these things, while another has reached the oppo-
site goal. While the heart of the one is rejoicing
in its new-found possessions, and seeing brighter
flowers, and warmer sunshine, and gladder skies,
the other beholds all nature clad in funeral garb.
The winds that breathe around him tell of sorrow,
the sunshine brings no gaiety — all that was wont
to awaken joy and rejoicing is changed. And yet
they are the same !
I had not been long absent from our village ;
yet events, clothed with power to work all these
miracles, had befallen many of its citizens. One
tragical occurrence, that wrapped the whole com-
munity in gloom, had fallen with such a crushing
weight upon the heart of a wife and mother, as
seemed to defy all attempts to heal and raise up
the broken spirit. A husband and father, whom I
have before introduced to the reader, had left his
home on a bright winter morning for a few hours'
sporting, and never returned to it ! His last words,
as he left the door, had been a playful invitation to
his wife to prepare some favorite dish for his sup-
per, for which he promised her a reward that death
never suffered him to pay.
As night drew on and brought him not to the
fireside and table where his beloved presence was
awaited, the expectant wife grew restless at the
384 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
long delay, and often stood beside the window
overlooking the prairie, whence he was to ap-
proach. Twilight came and deepened into night ;
the evening wore away, and supper was at last
partaken without him. The mother, having ex-
pressed some wonder that he did not return, had
been assured by her sons that he had gone to the
house of a neighbor, about four miles away, where
he was wont to stop occasionally in his excursions.
At last the family retired. The heart of the wife
was not altogether quiet, but that, she reasoned,
was because it was so uncommon for him to be
from home. The mere sense of loneliness, not her
fears, she was certain, prevented her sleeping
well. The night was long, very long, in truth, but
then he would doubtless walk home to breakfast.
The morning was mild, and she thought with an
inward smile how pleasant it would be to him, who
so loved the activity of the outer world, to walk
those four miles, breathing the pure air, enjoying
uninterrupted communion with his own thoughts,
and, above all, anticipating a social breakfast at his
own home with those to whom his presence always
gave delight.
She rose early to prepare the morning meal ;
there was no need of this, for the long walk would
make him late ; but then it was pleasanter to be
up and occupied, than lying in bed when she could
not sleep ; and beside, he might rise early and be
there before she expected, and then she should be
prepared for him. So she had a bright fire blazing
a welcome that would greet him a long way off,
in case he should approach before daylight, and
her preparations for breakfast went cheerfully and
pleasantly forward.
Pausing in the door once or twice, she heard at
a distance the howling of wolves, that struck her
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 385
ear unpleasantly, and made her rather hope that he
would not start very early, lest he might encounter
some of them. When they grew louder and quite
dismayed her woman's heart, she thought with
much comfort that there was no probability of his
leaving the house early ; he would be fatigued
with the chase of the previous day and would rest
well, knowing that they would be perfectly easy
about him. Then she wondered that she should
have been so foolish as to think he would be there
early — still she could not help listening whenever
a sound from without met her ear, and once or
twice she started to the door with a bright smile on
her face, for she was almost certain she heard
his footsteps in the path. But when she got there,
the night was black and silent as ever; the low
moaning of the wind, or the dismal howling she
had heard, being the only sounds she could dis-
tinguish.
Daylight seemed long coming ; but then she had
risen early, and being alone must expect this. At
last a few faint streaks be^an to be visible in the
east ; then she summoned her sons that they might
have their cattle fed, and be ready for breakfast,
so as not to keep him waiting a moment ; for the
long walk would have sharpened his appetite.
So the usual stir of the morning commenced.
And very pleasant it seemed to her to have things
going on in their accustomed way. The stepping
in and out as the light gained, the milking and
setting the pail on the table, the straining and
placing it on the shelf where it belonged ; the
fading of the candle, and the assurance which the
broader light without gave her, that he would soon
be there ; the necessity arising from this, of bid-
ding her sons hasten to be ready, was all very
cheerful and agreeable.
25 Kk
S86 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
Finally everything was attended to without, and
the young men came in to wait breakfast. Here
all was ready too, and broad day was on the prai-
ries — a little greyer yet, perhaps, than it would be
half an hour hence ; but she could see a long way
down the plain.
There was no one yet in sight ; but the grove
was only a mile off; he might be in that yet, or
he might when she chanced to look out, be in one
of the many little hollows that cut the prairie. But
she wished now more than ever, that he would
come, for the waiting, when there was nothing to
do, was more tedious than before. The daylight
too made it more wearisome than when it had
been dark. As it wore on and the sun came up —
the sun, that, bright and clear as it was, ought to
have cheered her, she could not but confess to hei
inmost soul a chilly sinking of her hopes.
For now the day was going on as it always did,
and yet he came not. While it was dark there
had been a sort of excited life in her feelings
o
which the full day almost extinguished.
At last she proposed faintly, hoping that her
sons would dissent from it, that they should wait
breakfast no longer ; she half suggested in a slow,
hesitating tone that perhaps their father would not
be there till late, and they would want to be at work.
Then it occurred to one of them that ne would
stop to breakfast where he had spent the night.
He had taken his game there with him, and as his
hostess had been an inmate of their family for some
time previous to her marriage, and knew so well
how to prepare his favorite grouse, and delighted
so in doing it for him too, of course he would
take breakfast with her, and afterward walk home.
What more probable than this I Foolish woman !
she thought, why had it not occurred to her be-
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 387
fore 1 She wondered at her thoughtlessness. But
it was fortunate for them, she said with her own
sweet, patient smile, for the favorite dish of their
father was theirs also, and if she had not expected
him to breakfast, she should hardly have risen
early enough to prepare it. She had forgotten
that she could not sleep !
They ate breakfast. She was a little nervous,
and started once or twice when something like
footsteps were heard about the door; but she
laughed faintly each time, saying how foolish it
was, for he would not be home till ten o'clock.
When the meal was over she set her house in
order, and thought, if it came on to snow, as the
grey gathering clouds seemed to promise, how
pleasant their fireside would be when they were
all there, and the storm was beating without.
Her sons left her to attend to their morning cares,
and she fell into her ordinary state of mind, feel-
ing quite as she did every day, when they were
all out engaged in their various duties.
The short morning wore away, and it was time
to prepare dinner. She was quite surprised when
she noted the hour — he had not come yet, and a
faint gleam of the feeling that had, she must con-
fess it now, dismayed her so in the morning,
returned. But then it was probable he had
stopped on the way for game, and, perhaps, even
now, would be there before her meal was ready.
So she went busily to work, and, as her labors pro-
ceeded, she glanced occasionally from the window
to see if he were near. No ! he was not yet ;
and then she bethought herself, with a suddenness
that blanched her whole face, that she had not
heard his gun all the morning! She almost
opened the door with the intention of communi-
cating this to her sons, as a new and unthought-of
388 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
evidence that they ought to be alarmed. But then
she could hardly persuade herself to do it. They
might laugh, and say it was not strange ; or wonder
that she would suffer herself to be anxious; but
she was still more deterred, though she hardly
confessed this to herself, by her reluctance to give
form or expression to her feelings.
Noon came, but she did not call them to dinner;
they had better dine half an hour later, and be all
together. Beside, their breakfast was late, and
she did not feel the least appetite ! Half-past
twelve — one — and still no return ! Now the
phantom fears that had hovered in her mind,
would no longer be denied their hold. She was
no longer afraid to speak, and act, as she had
been half prompted to do all the day. With her
better defined apprehensions for him, she acquired
more courage over her own emotions. She called
her sons, and requested the younger, after he had
eaten his dinner, to ride down to Fanny's and
see if his father were unwell, or what detained him.
She spoke only thus; for, with all the calmness
she had acquired, she found it impossible to name
the alternative that was lurking in her bosom.
And now came another long period, during
which she must compose her feelings ; though it
was not so easy as it had been in the morning :
there was more expectation now ; and its termina-
tion was clearly before her mind. Her son would
return soon, and then —
He came. She had seen him a long way off
over the naked plain, and felt her blood rush
tumultuously about her heart, when she saw him
alone ! But a moment's reflection taught her that
this was folly ; for, of course, his father would not
be with him ; and then she wondered she had
not thought to send another horse down! But
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 389
why did he ride so fast 1 He was, perhaps,
hastening to relieve her fears ; or — and once
again she made a vain endeavor to supply the
remainder of the sentence. He came on fast and
faster yet ! His horse was almost running ! She
could see that his face was pale ! And then she
turned from the window, and placed one or two
chairs in order that had been left standing — took
up a work basket that was upon the table ; wound
some thread on a spool ; and laid it down again.
The same instant the swift feet stopped at the
gate; the rider dismounted, and, rushing in, pale
and breathless, exclaimed, " Father has not been
there at all !" Then, seeing he had been too
abrupt (though he had only uttered words that
had been on his lips every step of the way home),
he attempted, by some broken speech, to soften
the terrible truth. He mi^ht have been led farther
from home than he intended, in pursuit of some
rare bird ; or he had met with some acquaintance
and gone down to D , a neighboring town
some ten miles distant, or — but here his bewil-
dered tongue refused to furnish another word in
aid of his attempt; and, when he looked mourn-
fully at his mother, he found she had not compre-
hended a word of what he had last said. She was
looking at him with a stony, unmeaning gaze, as if
she had a dim perception of his being there, and,
uttering something which she ought to under-
stand, but did not. He spoke to her in terms of
affection, and, after a little, she recovered, and
looking slowly about her, said, " Go find thy
brother, and then, perhaps, thee had better ride
up to the village, and — inquire," she added, in a
tone below her breath.
He had not been at the village, neither had any
one seen him, but all thought, or, said at least, that
K K 2
390 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
perhaps he would be home that night. It was
probable he would. If he did not they must go
out over the country next morning in search of
him. Meantime a few anxious individuals mount-
ed that night and rode out in various directions,
but neither heard, nor saw anything to report.
Thus the day closed !
Night came on. Night which so much changes
the aspect of the whole world ; which furnishes
new images to the mind, and new energies to the
physical powers ; which brings a cessation of care,
and a release from the burthens we have borne
through the busy day.
But it brought no change to her ! She could
not look so far over the prairie as before the dark-
ness came on, — the prairie over which she had
looked for many, many hours before ; though her
eyes scarcely turned from the great waste since
she sat down. There was but one object, indeed,
that could have stirred the sense, now blind to all
others, and that came not.
I said that night brought no change ; and it did
not. There she sat, sometimes speaking, when
her sons, or one of the kind friends who had come
in to be with her, addressed her ; but her lips only
spoke. At length they persuaded her to seek
some rest. She retired, but lying down it was
just the same. The position and place might
change, but these had no relation to her stricken
soul. The connexion between the material and
the immaterial seemed to have been suddenly sev-
ered ; and the latter to be existing in a time long
past. The body might suffer changes, might grow
old, or be diseased. Bat until the spirit had re-
leased its hold upon that point of time, it could
take no cognizance of these.
Morning came and then hundreds of horsemen
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 391
might be seen, far and near, scouring the plain,
looking carefully through the groves and copses,
searching by the banks of streams and logs, and
then raising themselves up, and looking all abroad,
and then at each other, with countenances that
rendered speech superfluous.
Another night came and went, and no trace of
the absent man could be found. They had looked
for shreds of clothing, for the hat, the gun, any-
thing that could give the faintest clue to the awful
mystery ; but nature refused all evidence, and
left them to conjectures made only more painful
by every disappointment. They had thought the
accidental discharge of his gun might have disa-
bled him, and they should find him somewhere
awaiting the arrival of help. A more terrible sup-
position was, that in this state he might have been
fallen upon by wolves ! but no traces of any such
fearful catastrophe could anywhere be found. He
might have fallen into the stream, but all search
that was practicable in its then frozen state was
made — to no purpose. Other days and nights
passed, but all ended as they had begun ; the
search was fruitless, and at last was gradually aban-
doned. What more could the utmost kindness
do 1 His fate, from the hour when he left the
house with the gay challenge on his lips, was in-
volved in impenetrable mystery. Hope, even won-
der almost died in the lapse of time. But what
were her feelings 1 She had returned at last to a
full consciousness of what had befallen her ! She
had passed from the doubts, fears, hopes, and
dread of the long search, to the terrible certainty
that she was widowed ! But how 1 That was
the most painful of all. Had she smoothed his
dying pillow, had she heard his last kind words,
it were bliss compared to her present torture !
392 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
The most fearful conjectures thronged her agonized
mind. Death, in his most terrible aspect, seizing
on the helpless victim, was ever before her ! Raven-
ing wolves, overwhelming floods, bearing away
their prey despite the fearful struggles for life ;
or, more terrible still, the slow death by starva-
tion, in some possible nook that had escaped the
eyes of those who sought to find her lost husband !
Oh ! who shall ever conceive the agony of that
period, when to know that she was a widow was
a small part of the burthen that pressed upon her
heart, and made its agony almost palpable ! She
had friends with her, kind, gentle, loving friends,
who would have counted no effort too great, could
it have assuaged her grief. But what were these ]
They could tell her nothing. They could not an-
swer one of the many questions which her heart
never ceased to make everywhere and at all times.
Weeks wore away, and though the inquiry
ceased to be first on the lip when neighbors met,
and was followed, when made, with less earnest
conjectures, still it was alive there, pressing its
cankering tooth to the very core of her being.
The rude winds of winter at last began to be
followed, at intervals, by the softer breath of spring.
Nature began to dissolve her icy fetters on plain
and stream. The season of birds and flowers, and
universal beauty, which he had so loved, was ap-
proaching ; the season when their happy homo
was even happier ; when all its pleasant places
were pleasanter. What would they be now .'
On the stream which he had contemplated cross-
ing, four or five miles below his house, was a mill.
It stood in a pleasant spot — for woods and waters
are ever pleasant in the prairie land — and when
the winter ice had disappeared, and the fresh bur-
then of the early spring rushed along within its
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 393
banks, it was cheering to see it come dashing
past the mill, leaping the dam and bearing along
decayed logs, bits of board and fantastic branches,
rearing, plunging, resisting, and anon hurrying
along more madly than the waters themselves.
Here one sunny March day stood a lad, watch-
ing the frolic and haste of the stream as it curled
and foamed along, when suddenly the leaping
current deposited on the verge of the dam, a large
object which, at the first glance, he took to be a
log ! Then the water streaming from some de-
pendent fragments, made him look again with
somewhat of earnest curiosity ! He approached
to get a nearer view ! and then ran as for life to
the house ! In a few moments graver persons
appeared ; took the long-lost body ; laid it rever-
ently in a fit place ; and made preparation for the
legal and decent ceremonies of the occasion.
Though cruelly disfigured and changed, it could
not be mistaken. The strongly marked head
and face would have been recognized anywhere.
And now once more it returned to the home,
almost as much changed as itself. They dared
not let the widow see it at first, and as she was
ever patient and gentle in her grief as well as her
happiness, she did not murmur or attempt to op-
pose their wishes. At length, on the second day,
when her mind was calmer than it had been, and
she had learned to think of him as they described
him in a few words, the gentlest they could use,
as bloated, dark, bruised ! when they had separa-
ted from her mind the idea of what he had been and
brought it by the tenderest means to what he was ;
they led her to his bier.
There he lay, all that she had so loved in her
early youth and sober womanhood, the father of
her sons, the noble friend and protector of her
394 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
past life, the tender nurse, and sympathizing friend
of her sick years, her reliance when misfortune or
sorrow came, her shield, her strong and patient
friend in the adverse trials that had transplanted
them from affluence in the east to toil and com-
parative poverty in the west !
She looked at him, and the blended emotions that
had harrowed and torn her bosom since the day of
their parting, were now all resolved into one simple
and overwhelming tide of grief. There was no longer
doubt, nor fear, nor hope — all had died when she
looked on the mute witness that lay before her.
And a mighty grief, that seemed to strike with iron
fangs into her very heart, took possession of her.
They buried him, and she returned to her
home ! And there, when I saw her several months
after, 6he went meekly about, discharging her
daily cares and duties to her sons, and when she
thought no human eye was upon her, permitting,
as the only relief her feelings could have, without
being painful to others, tears to stream silently
down her pale, suffering face. I never looked
upon grief so touching.
And this mother and her two sons were all that
remained of the family we left on a former page
in such happy and beautiful relation to each other,
and the world around them.
CHAPTER XXV.
The return of my husband was now the event
to which I looked forward. Sixteen months of
perilous wanderings in the wilderness, and upon
the ocean, were now drawing to a close. His
arrival had been joyfully heralded by letters from
California, and last of all, by the public prints,
LIFE IN PRAIEIE LAND. 395
annoucing that it had. been in his power to save the
lives, and restore the liberties of several of his
countrymen and Englishmen, prisoners to the au-
thorities of that misgoverned, but beautiful coun-
try. The period of waiting was prolonged much
beyond what I had anticipated. Days ran into
weeks, and summer was drawing to a close, and
still he came not. At last the third anniversary of
our departed boy's birth, among the last days of
August, brought him. It was early one morning,
just after breakfast, that he came into my friend's
house, following one of the villagers whom he had
met in the street, and who could not forbear play-
ing the startling office of usher on the occasion.
I pass over all that followed, the thousand inter-
esting things to be heard and communicated ; the
welcomes and congratulations of friends, and come
to the time but a few weeks forward, when we
were preparing to leave prairie land and sever all
the sacred ties that bound us to those who were
sleeping in its quiet bosom, and those who still trod
its beautiful surface, full of life and hope.
We visited Prairie Lodge and the resting-place
of those who had been laid in the quiet graves
near it, two long years before. At that distance
of time, I could look calmly upon those hallowed
spots, regarding them as what they really were —
one, the tomb of a woman who had lived, loved,
and suffered — the other, the tiny couch of an in-
fant, whose tender bud of being scarce opened ere
it closed again, to bloom in a more genial world.
They were now objects of faith and hope, not of
harrowing grief; and it was not altogether painful
to linger over them, and train the evergreens and
other plants which I had placed there long before.
The foliage of the surrounding trees and shrubs
had already faded from the high vigor and pomp
396 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
of summer into the sober and gentle beauty of
autumn — the season Mary had so much loved. A
few short weeks, and the leaves would no more
rustle to the gentle winds, the birds would no more
dance in the boughs above, the mellow sunshine
would no longer stream throusrh the trembling:
canopy that softened its stronger glare into a tone
harmonious with the hallowed character of the
spot. All were departing ; and we were going
too ; a few days would see us bid farewell to the
country in which we had enjoyed and suffered so
much; which still contained so much of life and
death, to enchain our affections, and draw from
our hearts in after times strong longings to behold
it once more.
It was late in autumn when we bade adieu to
the little village in which our home had been, and
to the few faithful and beloved friends it contained.
Yet late as it was, nature was still clothed with
the full majesty of her departing grandeur. As
we rode slowly over the high rolling prairies of
the north toward our point of embarkation, I
thought I had never seen the country more mag-
nificent. It seemed inviting us to return. Distant
fires, scarcely kept alive by the gentle winds, crept
lazily over the great brown meadows, curtaining
them i'rom the flood of sunlight that filled the up-
per air, and just veiling the line of the horizon, so
that it seemed an interminable distance away from
us, and from all mortal care and toil — a quiet and
holy region, where, indeed, earth and heaven might
meet without exalting the loveliness and peace of
the one, or lessening those of the other. Never
was prairie land more beautiful to us, than in her
farewell smiles. Never were our hearts more
deeply touched by her charms, than in those duys
when we were passing away from them all.
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 397
The surface of the river, till our steamer broke
it into foam, was smooth as the skies it reflected,
and even then its agitated waters fell off, as soon as
we had passed away, into a soft undulating motion,
that died upon the sleeping shore, as if the repose
of nature were too deep to be broken by man.
Trees, half disrobed of their trembling leaves and
bathed in sunshine, swayed softly to and fro, their
long arms reflected from the still waters with a
distinctness that suggested the idea )f another
creation slumbering beneath !
Myriads of wild fowl sat upon the tranquil
stream, chattering in low tones, and lazily disport-
ing themselves in the genial element. They had
been arrested in their migratory flight by the won-
drous beauty and softness of those days, and now
lingered in the still waters, their dreamy rest bro-
ken occasionally by the panting steamer, and the
more cruel gun of the sportsman on the shore. At
long intervals, these merciless sounds boomed over
the surface, and sent thousands of geese, brant,
and ducks screaming into the air, till the silent
woods and long line of water reechoed to the cry.
These were the only painful features of the scene.
Nature would have been altogether lovely and
gentle in her repose ; but man was there, with his
selfishness and cruelty, to mar it !
Our route lay through the theatre of many of
the most interesting scenes and events in the his-
tory of the race that has now almost disappeared
from these lands — the classic ground of the west !
Legends of mighty deeds, such as make the boast
of prouder nations, fierce hatreds, undying loves,
such as troubadours delighted to sing of the knights
of olden times, float over all these beautiful realms.
There is the " Starved Rock ;" its frowning sides
overhanging the quiet waters — its half-naked sur-
L L
398 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
face strown with the bones of brave men, tender
women, and helpless children ! The storms of
near a century have bleached and wasted them
into crumbling fragments ; for here, so long ago,
a band of warriors retreating with their wives and
little ones, took refuge from their more powerful
enemies, thinking to make their defence good on
the small area, which could only be approached by
one narrow passage connecting it with the main-
land. Here they spent many days, defying their
besiegers, and laughing at their efforts to drive
them from their shelter. Food they had in plenty,
and water ran at the foot of their fort, two hun-
dred and fifty feet below them, which they raised
in buckets attached to bark ropes. One afternoon,
however, a bucket was let down, but when the
Indian would draw it up, it was strangely light!
Twice or thrice, after shooting it a few feet, he
returned it to the stream, wondering that it did
not dip ! At length, weary at being thus foiled,
he drew it hastily to the top of the rock. Con-
sternation seized every bosom ! The rope had
been severed, and the bucket was gone ! The
experiment was repeated at another and another
point with the same result ! Where now was their
hope 1 The base of their rocky fortress was sur-
rounded by the canoes of their enemies ! If they
remained, a death more terrible than the toma-
hawks and scalping knives of their foes could in-
flict was before them. Yet, with their small num-
bers, and their wives and children there, it were
madness to venture a sally. A council was held,
at which it was determined by the warriors to
await some relaxation on the part of their besie-
gers, or some interposition of the Great Spirit in
their behalf. Days passed in this fearful condition.
Mothers with their nursing infants were famishing
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 399
of thirst. Their babes were starving for the food
which their exhausted systems could no longer
furnish ! Strong warriors began to look aghast,
and tremble, as they walked about ! The Great
Spirit was angry with them ; for clouds, charged
with the blessing they so much craved, floated
over them, and poured out their delicious treasures
on the senseless plains and woods around, but
never there. The clear river lay stretched for
miles before them, its waters glancing in the sun,
or maddening their thirst more fearfully when
clouds darkened its checkered surface, making
them look still more cool and inviting. Nay, it
ran at their very feet. When the gusty night- wind
swept over it, they could hear the waters faintly
plash and chime below, and could almost in their
madness have precipitated themselves into them,
from the fearful height, to revel for one brief mo-
ment in their abundance. Sometimes, at the deep-
est hour of night, a vessel would descend the rock,
stealthily and slowly, that no untoward contact
might arouse their cruel watchers, if haply they
slumbered. But vain and infuriating the hope and
effort. It resulted only in the loss of the vessel,
and the more dreadful aggravation of their suffer-
ings. The terrible watch was never relaxed for a
moment of the day or night, and the stern sufferer,
at every failure, could hear the exulting laugh and
the fierce congratulation of those who had caused
it. Then they would heighten his agonies by toy-
ing idly with the water, making it splash and leap
till the victim could almost see the light bubbles
dancing on its cool dark surface. Some of the fee-
ble women and the children died. But they could
not be buried. Their bodies were laid decently
away on the verge of the rock, and then the friends
sat down to wait till they should follow !
400 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
Oh ! what days and nights were those. Mana-
cles on the limbs of the free, proud warrior, the
lighted deathfire, the flashing tomahawk would
have been his paradise, could he but have thrown
himself upon them. To sit in miserable inaction
all the day, he who was like the wind in swiftness
and love of motion ; to endure the raging torments
of thirst and hunger (for the latter had at length
been added to their sufferings) ; to see his wives
and his young warriors sinking and dying around
him ; to make trial after trial for their relief, each
ending in failure, more exasperating than before
— was one of those fearful conditions of human
being, which occur but once in the history of ages,
and form in the annals of nations the proverbial evi-
dences of bravery and fortitude, to which count-
less ages turn back with pride and exultation.
At length, when the exquisite torture could be
no longer borne, and the prospect of an ignomini-
ous death by slow degrees was the only certainty
before them, they determined on a sally. Seizing
an hour, when those stationed on the landward
side would least expect a movement after their long
repose, and causing their women and children to
render redoubled vigilance necessary at the base
of the rock, they armed themselves, and, strong
in the fury which their fearful suffering had pro-
voked, issued silently from the retreat and fell upon
their foes.
The contest that followed was bitter as Indian
hatred and cruelty could make it. It resulted in
the total route and destruction of the Illinois.
From that day they were no more seen in council-
house or battle field. Their name became extinct
or was borne only by a few miserable wanderers
from tribe to tribe. Their bones were left to
crumble on the field, and their enfeebled women
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 401
and children slain within the fortress, whence they
watched the fatal struggle.
Such is the legend of the " Starved Rock [" It
is now, in these tamer days, a curious and inter-
esting object to visitors. Surrounded on three
sides by the waters of the Illinois, it rears its
frowning summit two hundred and fifty feet above
them. The sides are smooth in many places and
overhang the base, looking into the dark mirrror
below, as tranquilly as if they had never formed
an impassable barrier between mortal agony and
all that earth could afford to relieve it. The sum-
mit of the rock is crowned with vegetation ; rich
grasses and a light growth of young trees render
its surface a more agreeable resting-place now
than when the wretched Indian pined and famished
there in the noonday sun. From its top it com-
mands a view of the river for many miles, broken
only here and there, by interposing trees or the
gigantic vegetation that crowds its banks. One
can imagine the unfortunate savage standing on it
and looking out upon those waters which his light
canoe had so often parted around him, with a des-
peration and agony that only the strong pride of
his race could prevent him from uttering in tones
of inexpressible anguish. To me it was a thrilling
and fearful spot.*
But here is Mont Joliet with its fair proportion-
ed valley, and swift running stream — the theatre
where the good French pere planted the first
cross ever reared in these sublime solitudes. The
* This rock is about six miles below Ottawa, on the east side
of the Illinois. It projects far into the stream, and is connected
with the mainland by a narrow passage which could be defended
by a few men against thousands. Thither a band of the Illinois
retreated, after a severe engagement at the north, when pursued
by their more powerful and numerous enemies, the Pottowata-
mies, and then occurred the painful scene described above,
26 l l 2
402 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
tale is longer than I can tell, but it is a beautiful
one — beautiful in its exhibition of exalted virtue,
and its connexion with this lovely spot. It is one
of the most glowing of those old legends that en-
rich the past. The past in the prairie land ! What
romance, what mystery, what uncounted volumes
of thrilling interest sleep in its mighty bosom !
Into these majestic solitudes, ages ago, came the
wandering trapper and the solitary, self-sacrificing
missionary. Here they lived, alone and humbly,
among the proud sovereigns of the land. Their
rude cabins were constructed beneath the forests
that bordered the streams, and there, upon the
margin of the still waters, the former sprung his
trap, and the latter, clad in his long, coarse gown,
the symbol of his faith and calling pendent at his
girdle, preached, for the first time in these vast
domains of nature, the doctrines of the Cross.
Seasons came and went ; tender spring, glowing
summer, ripening autumn, stern winter; and in
them all was wondrous beauty or impressive ma-
jesty ! From fort to solitary fort they floated on
streams, thousands of miles in length, winding their
lazy ways through a country unparalleled in fer-
tility, beauty, and grandeur. Forests, magnificent
in their richness, sublime in their loveliness, hung
upon the margins of these rivers, their dense foli-
age peopled with myriads of gay, glancing birds,
their dark mazes occasionally threaded by the
startling catamount and panther ! Passed these !
and plains, not less impressive in their vastness,
stretched out bofore the eyes of the voyageur, dot-
ted with countless herds of the buffalo, the elk, the
deer, and the antelope, feeding upon their peace-
ful bosoms. Tho gaunt wolf, stealing silently
among thorn, hiding by day, and sending his dis-
mal howl into the silent hours of night, added a
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 403
striking feature to the strange joyousness of such
wanderings.
Nor were these journeys less impressive when
undertaken by land. Their way from post to post
lay in the narrow trail which the Indian had trod
from time immemoriaL Day after day they wan-
dered over these plains, and night after night slept
upon their bosoms, beneath soft skies and gentle
winds. Sunset and twilight, such as Italy would
boast, ushered in their slumbers ; and the grouse,
with his mournful matin song, aroused them with
the dawn, and sent them on their way with hearts
swelling in unison with the world-wide peace and
joy of nature !
What marvel, if they never wearied with telling
the wonders of their new home ! What marvel, if
they spread its fame to far lands, and were content
to die, away in its deep solitudes 1 What marvel
was all this 1 Streams, whose course was equal
to a quarter of the diameter of the globe, were
stretched around them ; storms, whose fearful
wrath made the firm earth tremble, gathei-ed and
burst over them; sunshine and winds, birds and
animals, flowers and fruits, such as only the fairest
regions of the old world would return to unsparing
labor, were here spread over half a continent !
What marvel, if, amid these, they felt that lan-
guage was too poor for their emotions, that fable
could not exaggerate them ?
Amid this magnificence they lived — alone with
the " untutored Indian," sole lord and sovereign of
it all. And wild and free was their life, with its
abundance — its great untried resources — its bound-
less variety. One may well conceive that, with
minds such as they possessed, it was the realiza-
tion of their highest ideal. But it was destined to
vanish! The second era of civilization dawned
404 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
over these majestic realms, and its light dispelled
their dream.
While the streams were yet unvexed by the im-
petuous steamer, and the beaver and otter dwelt
unscared in their early homes ; while the forest
tracts were yet dark with the unbroken foliage,
and wide plains, over which ages were destined to
roll before plow or spade should mar their beauty,
lay spread around them ; came softly, one by one,
the white-topped waggons of the early emigrants.
They had left the dense forests of Ohio and Penn-
sylvania, the undulating hills of Kentucky, and the
old homes of Virginia, for the new and more hope-
ful country which adventurers assured them lay
beyond. Before them the Indian would retreat,
and his white friend must follow. The bond that
linked him to his kind was between him and the
red man. He had lived in his lodge, shared his
hospitality, smoked his pipe, united in his hunts,
scalped his enemies, and cemented still more
strongly their bond of union, by marrying his
daughters. What had he in common with the cul-
tivator of the soil, though wearing a skin of the
same color 1 What had he not in common with
those who retired to make way for him ]
Here nature would be herself no longer. All
her former aspect would fade away beneath the
despoiling hand that labor would lay upon her
charms ; and they must flee to other regions where
the spoilers had not come ; their old haunts by
stream and woodside were forsaken ; the smoke
no longer ascended from their solitary forts and
villages ; the rank grass overgrew their well worn
trails, and the solitude of their familiar places was
deepened by every object which showed that man
had been there and departed,
Slowly, and with many regrets and painful yearn-
LITE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 405
ings toward the land which time and association had
so much endeared, they wended their way to the yet
unbroken realms between them and the setting sun.
Scarcely less a distinct race than these, were
their successors. Their former lives — exposed as
some of them had been by contiguity to savage
neighbors, reared as others were in dependence
upon slave labor, and accustomed as all were to
the plain subsistence afforded by only partial in-
dustry — had begotten in them a love of ease, an
unrestrained freedom which the new country was
well calculated to foster.
To labor with the steady perseverance which
anticipates its reward — to toil for the gain which,
slow in accumulating, smiles only on the later
years of life, was not their mission. Why should
freemen do this, when nature was inviting them
by such pomp and fascination, to come abroad
with her, and enjoy every passing hour. The
first settler could not live far from her; a rude
cabin and a single field were all that he could
brook of separation ; more than these were bur-
thensome to the spirit, and reduced freemen to
slaves ; more was unnecessary in his new condi-
tion. We have already beheld him living thus,
content as if palaces rose around him. But a dark
shadow soon fell upon his home. Files of earnest
men, with hard hands and severe, calculating faces,
pressed toward it from the east. Tales of its beauty,
its grandeur, its freedom, its wondrous fertility,
have reached their far firesides and rocky fields ;
and they are pressing forward to see if such things
really are. When their eyes rest upon the glori-
ous plains and gigantic forests, they exclaim, " This
was no dream ! Here is all that we looked for,
and more than can be described ! We will build
our homes here."
406 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
They sat down beside the second son of nature.
They fenced the plain adjacent to his field ; they
built a cabin, more finished than his ; its smoke
was continually ascending before him ; their axe
"was heard in the neighboring grove, and the brave
old trees, that had tossed their arms in the storms
of ages, fell and were piled into lofty barns, that
were visible wherever he went. If he chased the
deer or hunted the grouse, or was returning from
a visit to a neighboring settlement, there they stood,
the first objects that greeted his vision ; a blight
upon the fair scene whose free aspect he had never
thus marred. They struck his sight unpleasantly.
He liked not these crowded ways of living, nor
the busy sounds that floated with the morning
light from his neighbor's home, nor his earnest toil
in field and wood, nor his large crops, nor any-
thing, in short, pertaining to his toilsome life. The
country was less pleasant than it used to be, when
there were no buildings, no fences, no living things
in sight but his own and nature's.
He begins now to contemplate the possibility
of following those who fled before him, and even
while he is doing it, comes his neighbor's friend
or brother, and proposes to bargain with him for
his cabin and field ! Now indeed, it is time for
him to betake himself to a land of liberty. When
the Yankees, not content with curtailing his free-
dom, his very breath of life — not content with
crowding around him, and making a prison of his
home, come and ask for that home itself — there is
no longer any alternative. Everything admonishes
him that the time of his departure has come ! He
therefore gathers his few worldly goods, and these,
except his horses and rifle, are more than he wishes
they were, and turns from his deserted hearth-
side to seek a more congenial spot, where industry
LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND. 407
and trade have not yet despoiled the fair earth,
or crowded it with busy, thriving homes.
And now in his place succeeds a permanent
population. His old haunts and pleasant ways
are trodden by men, who, while they cast a care-
less eye upon the flying deer, count the resources
of every acre which he scorns.
Broad farms open as by magic on the blooming
plain ; stately houses take the place of the solitary
cabin ; and industry, that counts her gains, has
stretched her transforming arm over all the fair
land. The wild, the free, the mysterious, are
fading beneath her touch. But a power is grow-
ing up where they vanish, before whose might a
continent may tremble. Who shall define the
limits of its growth 1 Who shall conceive what
intelligence and moral purpose may do, when they
seize upon resources such as these, wherewith to
consummate their energies.
Lands, boundless in extent, exhaustless in fertil-
ity, lying under every variety of climate from the
tropical to the arctic; accessible in all their parts
by continuous water-courses of magnitude unpar-
alleled on the globe, containing so much to stim-
ulate the nobler faculties and gratify the senses ;
so much that is calculated to induce a high state
of physical developement and fine perceptions of
the beautiful, the grand, and the true; lands whoso
primeval glory, when it shall have become ancient,
will form the theme of the poet and glow on the
page of the historian ; though too feebly sung and
written to convey to future ages what the present
feels. It must be the theatre of a life larger than
human prophecy can foretell !
When the tide of intelligence shall have swept
from the green barrier on the east, to the bald,
heaven-reared wall that stretches along the west,
408 LIFE IN PRAIRIE LAND.
and from the northern lakes to the gulf; when
the remote tributaries of the great streams shall
have become the commercial channels of the vast
regions which they drain ; and territories equal in
extent to empires renowned in history, and sur-
passing the gardens of the old world in fertility,
shall be overspread by a free brotherhood, united
as to the great purposes of life, and pursuing them
under a liberal and fostering policy — then will be
presented the phenomenon of a life, of which we
can have now but a faint conception. The pent-up,
famishing legions of Europe may find room and
abundance here, when they shall have burst the
fetters that bind them there ! And here may future
tyrants behold how great, and good, and strong, is
man when left to govern himself; free from want,
from oppression, from ignorance, from fear !
But we are departing from prairie land ! The
bright waters of Lake Michigan dance around our
steamer. Blue and dim in the distance, fades the
mellow-tinted shore, its long faint outline trembling:
in the golden haze of the Indian summer ! Fare-
well ! land of majestic rivers and flowering plains
— of fearful storms and genial sunshine — of strong
life and glowing beauty ! Glorious in thy youth
— great in thy maturity — mighty in thy age — thou
shalt yet rival the eastern lands of heroism and
song, in the worship and affection of man ! Thy
free plains and far-reaching streams shall be the
theatre of a power and intelligence never yet wit-
nessed ! Thy countless acres shall glow with
checkered beauty and hum with busy life, when
the generations of those who love thee now, sleep
in thy peaceful bosom ! Land of the silent past
and stirring future, farewell !
THE END.
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