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So, backward I muse on the dream of my youth ;

Ye peace-giving hours ! O, where did ye flee!

When the Christian neglected his pages of truth,

And the Great Spirit groaned, on the banks of Maumee !


Oppression has lifted his iron-like rod,

And smitten my people, again and again ;

The white man has said their is justice with God—

Will he hear the poor Aborigine before Him complain ?

Sees he not how His children are worn and oppress'd ?

How driven in exile ?—I, can He not see ?

And I, in the garments of heaviness dress'd

The last of my tribe, on the banks of Maumee ?

Ye trees, on whose branches my cradle was hung,

Must I yield you a prey to the axe and the fire ?

Ye shores, where the chant of the pow-wow was sung,

Have ye witnessed the light of the council expire ?

Pale ghosts of my fathers, who battled of yore,

Is the Great. Spirit just in the land where ye be ?

While living, dejected I’ll wander this shore,

And join you at last from the banks of Maumee.


CHAPTER XVIII


CHRISTIAN MISSIONS


Just when the first religious teacher set foot in Northwest Ohio is not well established. That it was a priest of the Roman Catholic Church is reasonably certain. La Salle was always accompanied by priests on his journeys, and his visit may have been the initial occasion. Many of the earliest priests did not keep records of their journeys, and for the lack of these there is many a blank in the history of pioneer missions.


When Champlain reported that the New World traversed by him was peopled with savages, who were "living like brute beasts, without law, without religion, and without God," a great religious zeal was awakened among the Catholic clergy of France. The Gray Friars, as the Recollects were called, first answered the call. Finding the field too vast for themselves, the Jesuits were brought to their aid. Jesuit priests and teachers spread over all the country of the Great Lakes among the copper-colored aborigines, preaching whenever and wherever it was possible. The Jesuit fathers wrote detailed narratives of their wanderings and their efforts to carry the cross to the savages of the wilderness. These reports are known as the "Jesuit Relations," and they describe in detail stories of sufferings and hardships, and occasional instances of martyrdom, which are almost unsisurpassed in the history of the human race. The Jesuits "illumined the career of New France with a poetic glamour such as is cast over no other part of America north of Mexico," says a writer. The "Relations" reveal much concerning the early history of the aborigines of the old Northwest Territory.


The first recorded instance of missionary effort within our territory of Northwest Ohio was in 1749, when the Jesuit fathers, Pierre Poitier and Joseph de Bonnecamp, undertook to evangelize the Indians living along the Vermillion and Sandusky rivers. The earliest permanent religious chapel within the limits of Ohio was erected near Sandusky, in 1751, by Father John de la Richardie, who had journeyed from Detroit to the southern shore of Lake Erie. During the exciting period of Pontiac's Conspiracy, these missionaries were driven from the Sandusky, and services aftersiwards were very irregular. In fact, from that time until 1795, no positive record is found of the activities of Catholic missionaries within this section of Ohio. As the "Jesuit Relations" make no mention of the Sandusky mission, it is fair to conclude that it was dependent upon one at Detroit. At the time of the Jesuit pilgrimages, the Ohio country was so shaken and torn by the Iroquois conflicts that the Ohio tribes had no settled habitations, and this probably accounts for the lack of mission efforts among them. In the year 1796, the Rev. Edmund Burke was sent from Detroit to the Indians living near Fort Miami. In this neighborhood, and within the limits of the present Village of Maumee, he constructed and occupied a log house as his chapel. Here he resided for a time, ministering to the few Catholic soldiers in the fort, and endeavoring to Christianize the Indians in the neighbor-


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hood. His efforts met with little success, so that he remained only about a year. From that time no priest was stationed in this tersiritory for a score of years.


In a letter written by Father Burke from the "Miamis" to Archbishop Troy, the following passage occurs : "I wrote from Quebec, if I rightly remember, the day before departure for this country ; am now distant about five hundred leagues from it, on the western side of Lake Erie, within a few miles of the Miami fort, lately built by the British government. * * * I'm here in the midst of Indians, all heathens. This day a grand council was held in my house by the Ottawas, Chippewas and Pottowatomies. These people receive a certain quantity of Indian corn from the government, and I have been appointed to distribute it. That gives me a consequence among them which I hope will be useful, as soon as I can speak their language, which is not difficult.


" This (is) the last and most distant parish inhabited by Catholics on this earth; in it is neither law, justice nor subjection. You never meet a man, either Indian or Canadian, without his gun in his hand and his knife at his breast. My house is on the banks of a river which falls into the lake, full of fish and fowl of all sorts; the finest climate in the world, and the most fertile lands. * * * Next summer I go on three hundred leagues towards Mackina, or Lake Superior, where there are some Christian Indians, to see if I can collect them." This letter is dated February 2, 1796. From this and other indications it is clear that the time of his sojourn in this vicinity was from the February of 1795 to the February of 1796, while the allusision to the British fort definitely fixes the place. We know, therefore, the exact place and time of Father Burke's visit to the Indians of Northwestern Ohio.


In the famous treaty at the Foot of the Maumee Rapids, made in 1817, the following reference to the Catholic converts is made:


"Some of the Ottawa, Chippewa, and Pottawatomie tribes being attached to the Catholic religion, and believing they may wish some of their children hereafter educated, do grant to the rector of the Catholic church of St. Anne of Detroit for the use of the said church, and to the corporation of the college at Detroit for the use of the said college, to be retained or sold as the said rector and corporation may judge expedient, each one-half of three sections of land to contain six hundred and forty acres of land on the River Raisin at a place called Macon, and three sections of land not yet located, which tracts were reserved . for the use of the said Aborigines by the Treaty of Detroit in 1807. And the Superintendent of Aborigine Affairs in the Territory of Michigan (Governor Lewis Cass) is authorized on the part of the said Aborigines to select the said tracts of land."


The Friends, or Quakers, early became interested in the Indians of Northwest Ohio. As early as 1793, a commission from that religious body started to attend an Indian council on the lower Maumee River, in company with the United States commissioners. They reached Detroit, but did not succeed in getting any farther. The impressions which these men gained of the West could not have been very flattering, for a diary has been left by them. Nathan Williams, "an intelligent man especially in Aborigine affairs" in a friendly way expressed fears to the Friends while in Detroit, that they would be either killed or kept as hostages if they ventured to the council. "And truly," wrote Jacob, "I am not astonished at his idea, considering the spectacles of human misery he is almost daily presented with, and the humours he hears—where tribes of Aborigine warriors have so frequently passed with their disconsolate prisoners, and with poles stuck up in


HISTORY OF NORTHWEST OHIO - 203


front of their canoes, some with fifteen, others with thirty scalps suspended on them in trophy of their courage and victory." During their wait of several weeks, the Friends sought opportunities to preach both to the whites and the Indians. They met Blue Jacket, the celebrated Shawnee chief, and he gave them a very friendly greeting, for, said he, "he had heard that they were harmless people who did not fight." Concluding that there was no hope at this time for their .work, the Friends returned to their eastern homes.


In 1798, a belt of wampum, and ten strings of white beads, with a speech attached, was sent by a number of Indian chiefs to the yearly meeting of the Friends held in Baltimore. Appended to this letter were the names of Tarhe the Crane, Adam Brown, Mai-i-rai, or Walk-on-the-Water, and a number of other chiefs. They invited the Friends to visit the Wyandots and Delawares at their villages on the Sandusky River. When the designated .representatives of the Friends arrived at Upper Sandusky, in the following year, they found shocking and terrible scenes of drunkenness, and were subjected to indignities. Tarhe himself was not able to meet them for a day or two because of his intoxicated condition. They were then informed that the council would not meet for ten days, when the matter of instruction in religion and agriculture would be taken up. Presents were given and the meeting ended. These men then returned at once to the East without any satisfactory result for their long and tedious ourney. Nothing was heard from the Wyndots in response to this visit.


In the winter of 1803si4, Tarhe and about a hundred hunters went to the head waters of the Mahoning River to hunt bears. Because of the heavy snow and their own improvidence, they were reduced to beggary. Then it was that they made another appeal to some Friends living a score of miles distant. This appeal, written by a white man in the camp, reads in part as follows: "Brothers, will you please help me to fill my kettles and my horses' troughs, for I am afraid my horses will not be able to carry me home again. Neighbors, will you please to give if it is but a handful apiece, and fetch it out to us, for my horses are not able to come after it. (Signed) Tarhie." After their immediate needs were supplied by some of the nearest Friends, there came another writing, which was in part as follows: "Brothers, I want you to know I have got help from some of my near neighbors. Brothers, I would be glad to know what you will do for me, if it is but little. Brothers, if you cannot come soon, it will do bye and bye, for my belly is now full. * * * My Brothers, Quakers, I hope our friendship will last as long as the world stands. All I have to say to you now is, that I shall stay here until two moons are gone. Tarhie." More food was then supplied to these red children by the generous hearted Friends. ' The good name of the Society of Friends had spread by degrees to many western tribes. In 1796 Chief Little Turtle visited Philadelphia with Captain William Wells, as intersipreter, and endeavored to enlist the assistance of the Friends in civilizing the Miamis living at Fort Wayne and in its vicinity. No imsimediate result followed, but the matter was not dropped. Some agricultural implements were forwarded, and a letter was received from the Indians several years afterwards :


" The Little Turtle's Town, (Eel River, Indiana) Sept. 18, 1803.


"To Evan Thomas, George Ellicott, and others, Brothers and Friends of our Hearts: We have received your speech from the hand of our friend Wm. Wells, with the implements of husbandry that you were so kind to send to his care—all in good order.


"Brothers, it is our wish that the Great Spirit will enable you to render to your Red


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Brethren that service which you appear to be so desirous of doing them, and which their women and children are so much in need of.


"Brothers, we will try to use the articles you have sent us, and if we should want more we will let you know it.


"Brothers, we are sorry to say that the minds of our people are not so much inclined towards the cultivation of the earth as we could wish them.


"Brothers, our Father, the President of the United States, has prevented our traders from selling liquor to our people, which is the best thing he could do for his Red Children.


"Brothers, our people appear dissatisfied because our traders do not, as usual, bring them liquor and, we believe, will request our Father to let the traders bring them liquor, and if he does, your Red Brethren are all lost forever.


"Brothers, you will see from what we have said that our prospects are bad at present, though we hope the Great Spirit will change the minds of our people and tell them it is better for them to cultivate the earth than to drink whiskey.


"Brothers, we hope the Great Spirit will permit some of you to come and see us, when you will be able to know whether you can do anything for us or not.


"Brothers, we delivered you the sentiments of our hearts when we spoke to you at Baltimore and shall say nothing more to you at present. We now take you by the hand, and thank you for the articles you were so kind to send us.

(Signed) "The Little Turtle, Miami Chief. "The Five Medals, Pottawotami Chief."


At a meeting held in 1804, it was decided to make a visit to the Miamis, in order to decide on the best course to follow. Four men were named as a committee for this visit, and they made a little more progress than had any of the other emissaries dispatched to the Maumee Basin. Philip Dennis was left with the tribe as a permanent instructor. This was the first serious effort to instruct the aborigines of the West in agriculture, and it was not very successful. When the novelty had worn away, the warriors refused to work.


In 1802 a deputation of Shawnee chiefs, including Blackhoof, visited the White Father at Washington. On their return they stopped at Philadelphia and renewed their acquaintance with the Quakers. They were treated with great kindness, and were given many presents. Missionaries were sent to teach them agriculture, and instruct them in the Christian precepts. But the expenses had become so great that the work was necessarily curtailed.


At the close of the War of 1812, the work of the Friends again commenced among the Shawnees at Wapakoneta in a permanent form. A dam was constructed across the Auglaise River, and a flouring-mill and sawmill were erected for their instruction and benefit in 1819. The expense of building and operation of the mill was borne by the Society of Friends, while the corn of the Indians was ground free of toll. The women soon learned to bake bread, which was much easier than pounding hominy. The Indians were furnished with plow irons and taught how to cultivate corn, beans, pumpkins, etc. Cows were furnished them, and they were taught how to use them. As a result of their work, the aborigines in that neighborhood began to improve and to build better homes. They wandered away after game less and less, and turned to the rearing of domestic animals.


The faithful and devoted Friends worked diligently and faithfully without compensation. Many times they divided the last morsel of food with the needy Indians, whether the subjects of their alms were worthy or unworthy. An annual payment of $3,000 did not keep starvation and want away from these improvident people. This annuity was hon-


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estly paid them, so long as John Johnston remained as agent, but his successors were not always so honest. They taught the Bible and religious ethics by example, as well as by word, and they instructed in the industrial arts to as great an extent as possible. A school in manual training was organized, which was the first school of its kind in Ohio. Friend Isaac Harvey moved there in 1819, and took charge of the work. He was a man of good judgment and good policy, and got on very well with his charges. It was not long until the holdings of the Indians around Wapakoneta numbered 1,200 cattle and as many hogs, which speaks very well indeed for the work done among them.


Much superstition existed among the Shawnees. Soon after Harvey's arrival, it was aroused to an unwonted pitch by The Prophet, brother of Tecumseh. A half-breed woman of the tribe, named Polly Butler, was accused of witchery. One night Harvey was startled by the hasty visit of Polly, who came with her child to his house, asking protection from the Shawnees, who were seeking to put her to death as a witch. "They kill-ee me! they kill-ee me!" she cried in terror. They were taken into the house by Harvey, who at once strangled a small dog accompanying them, that it might not betray their whereabouts. The next day Chief We-os-se-cah, or Captain Wolf, came and told Harvey about e occurrences and the resulting excitement, hereupon Harvey showed him of the sinfulness of such proceedings. "We-os-se-cah went away much disturbed in mind, but soon returned and, intimating that Harvey knew the whereabouts of the woman, was told that she was out of their reach; and if they did of not abandon her with desire to put her to death, he would remove his family and abandon the mission entirely. We-os-se-cah desired Harvey to go with him to the Council House, where twenty or more chiefs and head men, painted and armed were in session. Harvey went to the United States Blacksmith, an important man with the aborigines, on account of his keeping their guns and knives in repair, and took him and his son along as interpreters. Upon their entering the Council House, where some of the Indians were already in their war paint, Chief We-os-se-cah commanded the Council 'to be still and hear,' whereupon he repeated what had transpired between Harvey and himself, which caused great commotion.


"Harvey then addressed them in a composed manner through the interpreter, interceding for the life of the, woman who had been so unjustly sentenced to be put to death. But seeing them determined to have blood, he felt resigned and offered himself to be put to death in her stead; that he was wholly unarmed and at their mercy. We-os-se-cah stepped up, took Harvey by the arm, and declared himself his friend, and called upon the chiefs to desist, but if they would not, he would offer his life for the Qua-kee-lee (Quaker) friend. This brave and heroic act of Harvey, and the equally unexpected offer of this brave chief checked the tide of hostile feeling. The chiefs were astonished, but slowly, one by one, to the number of six or eight, they came forward, took Harvey by the hand, and declared friendship. 'Me Qua-kelee friend,’ they would say. After a short discussion among themselves, the Council to a man, excepting Elskwatawa (The Prophet), who at this moment sullenly slunk away, came forward and cheerfully offered their hands and friendship. They promised if the woman was restored to her people, that she would be protected; and they called on the blacksmith to witness their vow—and he became surety for its fulfillment. It required considerable effort to assure the woman of her safety, but eventually she returned to her dwelling and was not afterwards molested." This was the


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first successful effort to arrest the custom of destroying life for witchcraft of which we have any record.


It was in 1830 that the mission schools came under the charge of Henry Harvey, who removed with the tribe to the West, and remained there a number of years. The Indians were greatly attached to him and his family. When he decided to return to the East, the Indians were greatly affected. Every day they were visited by some of them. A large council of the tribe was held to consider the situation. Finally a delegation of the leading chiefs came to his house. Let me give you this scene as described by Mr. Harvey himself :


"A few days afterward, all the chiefs, except George Williams, came early in the morning to see me. They told us, on their arrival, that George Williams (a chief) had been sent a few days before to deliver a message and bid us farewell, on behalf, and in the name of the whole nation; but now they had come on their own account, as the chiefs, to pass the day with us, 'and to talk over all their old matters with me, as we were going to leave them, for which they were very sorry, because we had been with them so much ; but they supposed we wanted to go to our home, and our friends and they must give us up. They then proposed to me that we should go into the yard to talk, as it was a pleasant day, and they would spit so much in the house.


"I had their horses put up and fed. There were about twenty chiefs and counselors present. We spent a happy day together, and I gave them a good dinner. In the afternoon they saddled their horses, and tied them near the bars, and then returned to where we had been sitting. When evening drew near I observed them become very solemn and thoughtful, and conversing among themselves, about returning home. Soon they divided something among themselves that looked like fine seeds, which John Perry had wrapped in a cloth.


"They then loosened their hair and clothes. Henry Clay, one of the chiefs, who acted as interpreter, informed me that they were now ready to return home. They wanted me to have everybody but my wife and children, to leave the house, and for us to arrange ourselves in order, according to our ages, so they could take a last look at each of us, and bid us farewell. Henry came to the door, looked in, saw us all standing in order on the floor, and then returned to the others, when they came into the house, one after another, according to their stations. John Perry came first. Each one, as he reached the door, put something into his mouth (the seed I suppose), and chewed it. John Perry first took my hand, and said 'Farewell, my brother.' Then taking my wife by the hand, said, 'My sister, farewell.' Tears streamed down his aged cheek, as he bid our children adieu, talking all the time in the Shawnee language. The others followed in the same way. Some of them were crying, and trying to talk to our children as they held them by the hand. The children cried the whole time, as if they were parting with one another. The ceremony lasted for some time. When they were through, every one started directly, and mounted their horses, John Perry leading, and the others following in order, one after another, they set off for their homes across the prairie. Not one looked back, but they observed the same order as if they were returning from a funeral. This was a solemn time for us. Here were the celebrated Shawnee chiefs, great men among the Indians, some of them called in time past brave warriors, now here in mourning, in tears, and all this in sincerity, and for nothing more than parting with us. They surely did love us."


The courage and faith of the missionaries who stepped out into the wilderness is truly wonderful. "With my wife and seven small


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children," says one, "I went into the wilderness to seek an opportunity of preaching Christ to the Aborigines without a promise of patronage from any one, looking to Heaven for help and trusting that God would dispose the hearts of some, we knew not whom, to give my family bread while I should give myself wholly to the service of the heathen."


The Protestant missionary work was begun along the Maumee on or about the year 1802, when the Rev. D. Bacon, under the auspices of the Connecticut Missionary Society, visited this region. With two companions he set out from Detroit for the Maumee River in a canoe, and was five days in making the trip. He found here a good interpreter by the name of William Dragoo, who had been with the Indians since he was ten years of age. Upon arrival at the mouth of the river, he found most of the chiefs drunk at a trading post above, and then concluded to pass on to Fort Miami, where he stored his belongings. The next day he returned to the mouth of the river, where most of the chiefs were still drunk. Little Otter, the head chief, was a little more sober than the rest, and he replied in friendly terms that Mr. Bacon should have a hearing with the tribe. Owing to the death of a child, another period of debauch followed, and the missionary was delayed still longer. Some tribal dances were taking place among the Indians on a bluff facing the river. Here e turf had been removed from a space about by 40 feet in size, in the middle of which ood a painted pole with a white feather on e top. Around this pole the conjurers took eir stand, and the dancers whirled about em. On each side were bark roofs, under hich the weary Indians rested and smoked their pipes.


After about ten days' delay, Mr. Bacon ured a hearing for his cause, which he eloquently presented. But he found many objections. One of the most potent was that they ould subject themselves to the fate of the Moravians, if they should embrace the new religion. One objection, says he, "I thought to be much the most important, and the most difficult to answer. It was this : That they could not live together so as to receive any instructions on account of their fighting and killing one another when intoxicated. Two had been killed but a few days before at the trader's above ; and I found that they seldom got together without killing some ; that their villages there were little more than places of residence for Fall and Spring, as they were obliged to be absent in the Winter on account of hunting, and as they found it necessary to live apart in the Summer on account of liquor ; and that the most of them were going to disperse in a few days for planting, when they would be from 10 to 15 miles apart, and not more than two or three families in a place. To remove this objection, I acknowledged the difficulty of their living together while they made such free use of spiritous liquor; and proposed to them to begin and build a new village upon this condition, that no one should be allowed to get drunk in it ; that if they would drink, they should go off and stay till they had it over, and that if any would not comply with this law, they should be obliged to leave the village." Becoming convinced that any further attempt he then might make would be fruitless, Mr. Bacon abandoned the field and journeyed on to Mackinac.


The Presbyterian Church was the next denomination, in order of priority, to send missionaries into Northwest Ohio. The Synod of Virginia made some fragmentary efforts at missionary effort along the Sandusky among the Wyandots, but they never really obtained a foothold in that region or with that tribe. At the opening of the nineteenth century, the Rev. Thomas E. Hughes made two missionary tours throughout these regions. On one of these journeys he was accompanied by James Satterfield, and on the other by Rev. Joseph Badger. One of these early missionaries, in


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speaking of the Indians on the lower Maumee, writes as follows :


"My interpreter advised me to go with him to see them that evening; and I had a desire to be present, as I supposed I might acquire some information that might be useful. But I thought it would not be prudent to be among them that night, as I knew some of them were intoxicated and that such would be apt to be jealous of me at that time, and that nothing would be too absurd for their imaginations to conceive, or too cruel for their hands to perform. But as a son of the head chief was sent early next morning to invite me down, I went to see them. I had the greater desire to go as this is their annual conjuration dance which is celebrated every spring on their return from hunting, and at no other time in the year.


"Mr. Anderson, a respectable trader at Fort Miami, told me that they had been growing worse every year since he had been acquainted with them, which is six or seven years; and that they have gone much greater lengths this year than he has ever known them before. He assured me that it was a fact that they had lain drunk this spring as much as fifteen days at several different traders above him, and that some of them had gone fifteen days without tasting a mouthful of victuals while they were in that condition."


It cannot be said that the Presbyterians ever gathered unto themselves a very large following among the Indians of this section. Their principal station was along the lower Maumee, about half way between Fort Meigs and Grand Rapids, then called Gilead. There the mission owned a farm, a part of which was a large island, and ministered unto the Ottawa tribes. Upon this was erected a large mission house and a commodious school building. It was established in the year 1822. The aim of the missionaries was to make the mission as near self-sustaining as possible, and to benefit the Indians in every way. The children were given board and clothing, educated and trained in farming. The report of this mission, published by the United States, in 1824, gives the number of members of the mission family as twenty-one. Some taught domestic science, others instructed in agriculture, while others attempted to instill book learning and religious truth into their pupils. It was allowed $300 every six months from the congressional fund for the civilization of the aborigines. The only ordained missionary for this faith was the Rev. Isaac Van Tassel, although there were several assistants. Among these were Leander Sackett, Hannah Riggs, William Culver, Sidney E. Brewster, and Sarah Withrow.


The mission church was organized in 1823 with twenty-four persons, nine of whom were aborigines. All were pledged to abstain from the use of spirituous liquors. The mission closed in 1834, when the Indians were removed to the West. At that time there were thirty-two pupils in attendance at this school. Fourteen of these were full-blooded aborigines, and sixteen of them were recorded as mixed blood. The records reveal that the whole number which had been under instruction at this station during the dozen years of its existence, most of them for brief periods of time, was ninety-two. While the aborigines did not antagonize the missions directly, the general attitude of the warriors, and the large number of drunks among them, particularly at the time of the payment of the annuities, kept up an excitement of blood and evil that greatly detracted from the quiet influence which the missionaries attempted to throw around their pupils and converts. It was such things as these that made the work of the Christian missionaries one of such great difficulty. White men and half-breeds would continue to sell the "firewater" to the Indians, and even bribe the Indians to keep their children from the schools. It is thus easy to see how difficult it was to establish a school among a people


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naturally wild and fierce, and with children who had never been restrained or had their freedom interfered with in the least. To ask them to desert the free woods, abandon their sports of hunting and fishing, to relinquish the joy of paddling their canoes, or riding their horses or running races, and sit in a close class-room six hours a day for as many days of the week, and listen to two long, old-fashioned Presbyterian sermons on the seventh, was asking a good deal. It is not surprising that the children themselves resented it even without discouragement from their natural guardians. Many would leave between two days, after a few days' experience. But the missionaries and the teachers persisted, and the attendance gradually increased. Most of those that remained took to education readily enough, but they absorbed the religion sparingly and rather doubtingly.


The widow of Rev. Isaac Van Tassel has given an account of the mission, from which I quote the following:


"It has been said that the Maumee Mission was a failure. If the hopeful conversion of


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about thirty souls, and the triumphant deaths of at least nine of these, who were known to the missionaries to have died trusting in the Saviour, besides much seed sown, the result of which can only be known in the light of eternity, was not worth the few thousands expended there, then might the mission be called a failure. The Indians were at first shy and distrustful; they could not believe that white people intended them any good. As they became acquainted, however, they were very friendly, and never gave us any trouble by stealing or committing any depredation. They were always grateful for any favors bestowed on them by the missionaries. A mother once came to the station to beg a water-melon for her sick son ; she gratefully received it, and the next time she called brought us a quantity of nicely dried whortleberries, for which she refused any compensation ; other similar incidents are within my recollection. In the fall of 1826 a young Indian came to the station, saying that his friends had all gone for their winter's hunt, and left him behind, because he was sick and could not travel; he appeared nearly gone


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with consumption ; he begged to be taken in and permitted to sleep by the fire in the children's room, and to eat what they might leave. While his strength lasted, he was anxious to make himself useful, and would cheerfully offer to do any little chores which he felt able to do ; but he was soon confined to his bed. He gladly received instruction through the interpreter, and some of the larger boys, who had hopefully become pious, often prayed with him. We never carried him a dish of food or a cup of cold water without receiving his emphatic wawanee, wawanee' (thank, you, thank you)."


After the close of the mission school, Rev. Isaac Van Tassel and his wife continued to live in the buildings for several years, and conducted a boarding and day school for the children of the white settlers, who were then beginning to come in increasingly large numbers. The noted Methodist mission to the Wyandots has been described in the chapter devoted to that tribe. The Baptist Church conducted a mission for several years at Fort Wayne, with Rev. Isaac McCoy as the missionary in charge. This denomination doubtless conducted some religious services within Northwest Ohio, but no regular mission under its auspices was ever established here. The Fort Wayne mission was opened in 1820, with a school for both white and Indian youths, and was removed about 100 miles northwest three years later, at the special request of the Pottawatomis, who donated a section of land for its use.


CHAPTER XIX


THE LIFE OF THE PIONEER


"Who are they but the men of toil,

Who cleave the forest down,

And plant, amid the wilderness,

The hamlet and the town."


Do you enjoy romance and tragedy If so you will luxuriate in the early annals of Northwest Ohio. There is scarcely a foot of soil in this section which could not relate its tale of heroic deed or daring adventure. When the Americans began their incomings, the greater part of it was nothing more than one wilderness. The " call of the wild" enticed men of roving dispositions and devotees of adventure in large numbers. These men delighted in the wild woods and the free prairie; they gloried in all the primeval scenes of nature. The deer, the turkey, the bear, and the painted savages as well—all possessed charms for these restless spirits. Some of them were attracted by the very troubles and dangers that repelled others.


The greater part of the Sandusky and Maumee basins were covered with majestic forests. Unless one has visited similar scenes, it is difficult to picture in one's mind the effect of such scenes. " The most interesting sight to me," says a traveler of the early days along the Sandusky, "was the forest. It now appeared in all its pristine state and grandeur, tall, magnificent, boundless. I had been somewhat disappointed in not finding vegetation develop itself in larger forms in New England than with us; but there was no place for disappointment here. I shall fail, however, to

give you the impression it makes on one. Did it arise from height, or figure, or grouping, it might readily be conveyed to you ; but it arises chiefly from combination. You must see it pressing on you and overshadowing you by its silent forms, and at other times spreading itself before you like a natural park; you must see that all the clearness made by the human hand bear no higher relation to it than does a mountain to the globe ; you must travel in it in solitariness, hour after hour, and day after day, frequently gazing on it with solemn pause and looking for some end without finding any, before you can fully understand the impression. Men say there is nothing in America to give you the sense of antiquity, and they mean that, as there are no works of art to produce this, there can be nothing else. You can not think that I would depreciate what they mean to extol ; but I hope you will sympathize with me when I say that I have met with nothing among the most venerable forms of art which impresses you so thoroughly with the idea of indefinite distance and endless continuity of antiquity shrouded in all its mystery of solitude illimitable and eternal." Great oaks would arise a hundred feet and more above you, with a splendid crown of verdant foliage. The trees formed avenues, galleries, and recesses in their groupings. At times they stood before you like the thousand and one pillars of one vast and imperishable temple dedicated to the Maker of All Nature. All that art has done in our finest gothic structures is but a poor and weak imitation.


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“ . . . . . . the thick roof


Of green and stirring branches is alive

And musical with birds, that sing and sport

In wantonness of spirit; while below

The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,

Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shades

Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam

That waked them into life. Even the green trees

Partake the deep contentment ; as they bend

To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky

Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene."



It was amidst such scenes that the immigrants began to appear. Some were men who had pioneered in other sections farther east, and moved because civilization had begun to encroach upon them. They came in by twos and threes. The individual, unable longer to endure the discomforts of the civilization which had begun to hamper him, moved out to enjoy—to him—the comforts and conveniences of the wilderness. At first he frequently consisted only of himself, his dog, and his gun. A little later he probably consisted of himself, several dogs, one wife, and many children. Still later a neighbor or two of precisely the same definition was added to the above named concomitants. Many of the early pioneers brought with them little but large families. Some had many chickens, a few hogs, or a cow, while others had no more stock than the horse or yoke of oxen that had brought them on their long and toilsome journey in their one wagon. Some even came on foot, carrying their little all on their backs over the mountains and through the wilderness.


The most prominent and outstanding feature of the wilderness was the deep solitude. Those who plunged into the bosom of the forest abandoned not only the multisonous hum of men, but of domesticated life in general. The silence of the night was interrupted only by the howl of the wolf, the melancholy moan of the ill-boding owl, or the frightful shriek of the stealthy panther. Even the faithful dog, the only steadfast friend of man among the brute creation, partook of the universal silence. The discipline of the master forbade him to bark or move, but in obedience to his command, and by the aid of his native sagacity, he was soon taught the propriety of obedience to this severe regulation. By day there was little noise. The gobble of the wild turkey or the sound of the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech tree did much to enliven the dreary scene, but there were not so many singing birds as there are today. Many of them have come in with the clearing of the forests and civilization in general.


Exiled from society and its comforts, the situation of the forest adventurers was perilous in the extreme. The bite of a serpent, a broken limb, a wound of any kind, was a dreadful calamity. The bed of sickness, with. out medical aid, and, above all, to be destitute of the kind attention of a mother, sister, wife, or other female friend was a situation which could not be anticipated by the tenant of the forest with other sentiments than those of deepest horror. There are no narratives of more thrilling interest than those which describe the perils and hairbreadth escapes which some of the early adventurers in North. western Ohio encountered. But these were not the only dangers. There were wild creatures in human form, with dusky skins, who added to the dangers of the wilderness. Many, indeed, were the tragedies wrought by these painted savages of the forests. The farmer plowing in his field, the wife singing over her household tasks, the red-cheeked, laughing children romping through the orchard—these were the victims of a war whose ferocity and desolation are hardly equaled in the history of any land. Armed conflict is the most ter. rible of all experiences, but there are variet


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even of war. The antagonism of armies is in itself a spectacle grand to contemplate. The carnage of the battle is frightful. But the war which has for its object, not the destruction of a military force, but the desolation of the isolated fireside, the outrage of pure womanhood, the embitterment of helpless childhood, is the incarnation of fiendishness. It is harming the harmless and taking advantage of the helpless. It is wreaking vengeance upon innocence. It is the climax of unrestrained brutality ; it is the handiwork of demons themselves.


Picture to yourself, if you can, the frantic, maddening, and inconsolable grief of a husband, returning at sunset from wearisome toil in the primeval forest, to discover the little cabin home that had represented so much labor only a heap of embers, and to find his precious wife a mutilated corpse, instead of a savory supper prepared by her loving hand. Conceive, if it be possible, the heartrending anguish of a mother, as she witnesses with horrified eyes the yelling fiends sink the murderous tomahawk into the skull of her sleeping infant, or, worse yet, beholds her children, the joy and pride of all her life, ruthlessly torn from her impotent arms, and carried captive to the distant wigwams of the savagcs. Give full play to the imagination and conjure up a vision, if you are equal to the task, of the tearful sorrow, the blighting loneliness of a childish heart, as the little fellow, running in innocent glee to summon his father to the supper, finds the unresponsive form of his sire stretched beside the half-chopped log, forever stilled to his supplications. Take such instances as these, measure the waves of agony which arise within a single human heart, then multiply this result by the hundreds who suffered thus at the time of hid' we write. The accumulated sum of human sorrow will mount up to the firmament itself.


Some of the prisoners were rescued from the Indians. Then it was that joy and happiness returned to the desolated homes. Charles Johnson, a Virginian of some prominence, was made a prisoner by the Indians on the Ohio River in 1790, and, with a female prisoner named Peggy Fleming, was brought to Lower Sandusky (Fremont). In a publication by him, issued in 1827, he says:


"When we reached Lower Sandusky a great degree of consternation prevailed there, produced by the incidents of the preceding day and the morning then recently passed. The Cherokees who had possession of Peggy Fleming had conducted her to a place where they encamped, within a quarter of a mile from the town. It was immediately rumored that they were there with a white female captive. The traders residing in the town instantly determined to visit the camp of the Cherokees to see her. Among them was a man whose name was Whitaker, and who had been carried into captivity from the white settlements on Fish Creek in Pennsylvania by the Wyandots in his early life and though naturalized by his captors retained some predilections for the whites. The influence which he had acquired with his tribe was such that they had promoted him to the rank of a chief and his standing with them was high. His business had led him frequently to Pittsburg, where the father of Peggy Fleming then kept a tavern in which Whitaker had been accustomed to lodge and board. As soon as he appeared he was recognized by the daughter of his old landlord and she addressed him by name and earnestly supplicated him to save her from the grasp of her savage proprietors. Without hesitation he acceded. Whitaker had won the sympathy and friendly cooperation of Tarhe, the principal chief, by the ruse that Peggy was his sister. Tarhe went immediately to the camp of the Cherokees and informed them that their prisoner was the sister of a friend of his and desired as a favor that they would make a present to him of Peggy Fleming,


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whom he wished to restore to her brother, but they rejected his request. He then proposed to purchase her; this they also refused with bitterness, telling him that he was no better than the white people and that he was as mean as dirt. He was greatly exasperated and went back to the town and told Whitaker what had been his reception and declared his intention to take her from the Cherokees by force, but fearing such an act might be productive of war between his nation and theirs, he urged Whitaker to raise the necessary sum for her redemption. Whitaker with the assistance of other traders at the town, immediately made up the requisite amount in silver brooches. Early next morning, attended by eight or ten warriors, Tarhe marched out to the camp of the Cherokees, where they were found asleep, while their forlorn captive was securely fastened in a state of utter nakedness to a stake and her body painted black, an indication always decisive that death is the doom of the captive. Tarhe, with his knife, cut the cords by which she was bound, delivered to her her clothing, and after she was dressed awakened them and throwing down the silver brooches, the value of her ransom they bore off the terrified girl to his town and delivered her to Whitaker, who after a few days sent her disguised to her home at Pittsburg under the care of two trusty Wyandots."


The narrative proceeds to state that the Cherokees were so incensed at her rescue that they entered the town, threatened vengeance, walking about painted as for war. All the whites, except Whitaker, who was considered as one of the Wyandots, assembled at night in the same house, provided with weapons of defense, continuing together until the next morning, when the Cherokees disappeared.


BUILDING A HOME


In the earliest settlements the first thing erected was a blockhouse, and around this were grouped the rude cabins of the pioneers. For this reason, a number of the primitive communities were grouped about the military posts scattered over this section. It was a absolutely necessary to have some such shelter and garrisoned retreat near, since the fierce. In


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dian was ever lurking somewhere in the forest, ready to scalp and slay the white man with whom he was at war. The rifle was ever within reach of the early settler, and the woman understood how to use it as well as the man. In the forest it was a constant companion, and at night it remained near the couch and within easy reach. After the victory of General Wayne the dangers from the aborigines greatly lessened, and the pioneer was able to pursue his course with decreased external dangers. But the danger had not entirely disappeared, for, as late as 1815, two men were tomahawked in their cabin near Turkey Foot Rock, on the Maumee, and later in that summer another man was shot and scalped by the savages on the site of Maumee. From this time the ax became an even more potent weapon than the rifle. With its keen edge the pioneer felled the forest, erected his domicile, put up his church, and the primitive mill. Before its sound, and the open spaces that followed its work of destruction, fled the fierce wolf and panther, as well as the savage children of the forest,—escaping into the gloomy precincts of the more distant wilderness. These pioneers who cleared up the forests were brave men and women. They were patient and industrious, provident and frugal. There was no dross, for that had been eliminated in the process of evolution. The vicious had generally drifted on with the receding frontier. Those who remained were able to put their hand either to the helm of state or the handle of the plow. Many of them had little education, but they possessed a passion for learning in the broader sense. They revercnced virtue, were quick to resist oppression and wrong, and were instilled with a deep reverence for religion.


When a new immigrant arrived in a community, the great event of the neighborhood was the "house-raising." This was a time for co-operation, and it was an occasion for making merry. Men gathered from miles around with axes and teams. One party would formulate themselves into a gang of wood-choppers. It was their duty to fell the trees and cut them into the required lengths. Others "snaked" them by means of teams and a chain to the selected spot. Here they were assorted and placed in convenient places for the builders. One man would search the nearby woods for a tree from which the clapboard shingles might be fashioned. It was necessary that the wood have a straight grain, and the tree must be of goodly size. The clapboards were split three or four feet long, and used without shaving. Another party would prepare the "puncheons" for the floor. These were simply logs, with one side hewn and split with a broad-ax. This spirit of co-operation was one of the most marked traits of the pioneers. They were generous with the little that they possessed, and were always willing to share with a neighbor. A man would walk for miles through the woods to notify a neighbor that a letter awaited him at the postoffice. Frequently the letter might, have postage unpaid amounting to 25 cents, and he would not have that amount of money with him, for even quarters were scarce. He was ready to go twenty or forty miles for a doctor when a neighbor's family demanded such services.


The preliminary work for a new cabin usually required a day, and the second day was devoted to the "raising." The logs were duly notched and laid one upon the other. One opening was left for a door, one for a window, and still another for the broad chimney, which was built on the outside of the cabin. Plaster and pieces of wood were employed to fill in the chinks between the logs, which not only made it weatherproof, but the whiteness added to the appearance; the clapboards were held down by logs securely fastened. Not a single nail was used, and wooden pegs were employed in their stead. Some of these old cabins may yet be found in use, but most


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of those still standing have been abandoned and remain as relics of a day that has passed. A crude table, some three-legged stools, and a primitive platform to answer as a bed, completed this house in the wilderness. When glass was not to be obtained, greased paper admitted a dim light through the solitary window. Many of the cabins had no window, so that the only light was secured through the open door and down the broad chimney. As these were extremely wide and frequently low, they would admit as much light as a small window. A hickory knot or the great "dip" afforded light. The days were filled with toil, and light was not needed long, for the pioneers quickly retired to rest.


The cooking was done by the pioneer women on the open grate. The chicken or turkey or joint of venison was roasted before this fire, by being suspended and turned from time to time until thoroughly done. A crane was there on which a pot was hung for boiling. Potatoes, both Irish and sweet, were baked in the ashes. Although the ashes had to be brushed off, this manner of cooking was better than the method in use today. The variety of food was limited, but it was wholesome. Corn was a great staple, and was served in many ways. It was made into hominy or boiled into mush. It was cooked into corn pone, or in round balls as corn dodgers. White bread was indeed a luxury in those days, and, had it not been for the abundance of game, the pioneers would have starved for the lack of meat. As it was, game was so plentiful that they did not have to go far beyond their


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little clearings to secure a supply of meat for the hungry mouths at home. Honey was a luxury easily obtainable by locating the bee-trees. The hollow trunks sometimes contained hundreds of pounds of this delicacy. But the fircplace was most cheerful in winter, when a great blazing fire of logs burned in it. A string attached to the latch and threaded through a small opening in the door enabled friends without to raise the latch and enter. "You will find the latch string out," was the common form of invitation. This string was usually kept drawn within, however, in order to prevent the sudden and unwelcome intrusion of foes. The loft of these cabins often had port-holes for observation and defense, and it was also used as a place for sleeping, as the family increased or guests were quartered in the house.


The clearing of the forest was one of the earliest tasks that confronted the pioneer. Until this was done little could be grown. The small brush was grubbed out, and the trees less than a foot in diameter cut down. The larger trees were "girdled" by an ax, cutting through the bark and sap-wood. The tree would then put forth no more leaves, so that it made little shade. To cut down all the trees and burn them up would have entailed upon the settler untold labor. Amid such surroundings the first crops were planted. Dead limbs would soon begin to drop, but the trees sometimes did not disappear for fifteen or twenty years, and the trunk would then fall in whichever way the wind or its own weight would throw it. Great fires would sometimes arise in this deadened timber, for the half-rotted bark and sap-wood were like tinder, and a spark was enough to initiate a blaze.


Another plan frequently adopted was that of "slashing." For this work an expert was ways employed. I quote a description from ioneer writer :


"The slasher carefully studied his field of operations to ascertain which side the prevailing winds would strike with the greatest force. Depending now upon his judgment as to the width of the strip which he can surely embrace in his 'windrow,' he commences on the leeward side of the tract, chopping the trees perhaps half, one-third, or one-fourth off at the stump, the amount of chip or `kerf ' taken out depending upon the inclination of the tree. Continuing backward toward the windward side of the tract, he thus cuts notches of greater or less depth in all the trees over a tract of about thirty feet in width, deepening the notches as he approaches the windward side of the tract. These notches are cut so that in falling the trees will incline toward the middle of the strip. If, upon finishing the notching of the entire strip, the wind is favorable, the last large tree selected for a `starter' is felled against its neighbor, and so on until a terrific crashing is inaugurated which commands the instant attention of every living thing in sight or hearing. The indescribable crashing may continue for some minutes, if the tract is a long one. The noise is appalling, and only equalled by that immense forest. When all is still, a marvelous change has come over the scene. Where a few minutes before stood a wide expanse of virgin forest, a mighty swath has been cut as though some giant reaper had been mowing the forest as a farmer does his grain. Rising several feet above the earth, there appears a prodigious abatis, which would arrest the onset of the mightiest army. In this manner the slashing progresses, strip by strip, until the entire tract lays in windrows. The brief time required to slash a given tract seems incredible to those who are not familiar with this branch of forest pioneer work. Two slashers accustomed to working together, will fell more than double the area of forest that either one can alone. Good workmen will average about


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one acre per day, if the timber is heavy—and the heavier the better. Two workmen can in company slash twenty acres in nine days."


Harvesting and threshing in those days were laborious tasks. Cradles were used when possible, for they made a wider swath, but a sickle was better adapted to out in and around the stumps. Threshing was performed with a flail, and every tenth bushel was the usual price for this work. The cleaning of the wheat from the chaff was fully as primitive as the other processes. It consisted of passing the wheat and chaff through a coarse sieve or riddle upon the barn floor, while two persons took a sheet between them, and, by a particular flapping of the sheet, produced a breeze that blew the chaff away. It was very arduous, but was the only method in use, except by the larger farmers, who trod out the grain with horses and cleansed it with a fanning-mill.


The pigs of the early days were a sort of a wild beast. The breed was very different from those found on the farms today. They were active, enterprising, and self-reliant ; all they demanded was the undisputed range of the woods, though they could at all times be tamed by food. It was their stomachs that inveigled them into most of their tight places, even to the slaughter pen in the autumn. It was quite common in favorable seasons for the hogs to become fat enough for meat in the woods on acorns and nuts, though it was generally deemed advisable to pen them up and feed them corn for a few weeks before butchering. The young ones were always marked by notches or crops on the ear, each farmer having some special distinguishing mark. They were never fattened to weigh anything like the hogs now raised for market. The meat was thought to be sweeter when not fed so highly. They were. then nearly like the wild boar, whose flesh is so very delicate. They rarely weighed over 100 pounds. In their habits they were ravenous to an extreme, and even ferocious. Their voracity knew no bounds; they would kill and devour the young poultry and lambs on a farm without the slightest scruples. They were a match for the fiercest wolf. The most vicious individuals were the old sews. Sometimes another sows brood would make a light meal for her. The pigs' redeeming virtue was faithfulness to each other, and they would congregate for the common defense whenever one of them was in trouble. Although each farmer had a special mark for his hogs, in their wild state they were so prolific that many of them were practically common property. As to those marked and half wild, some pioneers were exceedingly short-sighted, and sometimes failed to recognize the mark on a neighbor's hog that he had shot.


The women of the pioneer families certainly earned their keep. They were the family doctors. What the pioneer woman did not know about wormwood and pennyroyal, sassafras, sage, and catnip was not worth knowing. A plentiful supply of these and many other herbs was always kept in the loft of the cabin. They turned the flax and the wool into garments for wear. One or two grown-up daughters could dispose of a large supply of these two materials. The best flax was spun into a firm thread, of which skirts and like garments were made. The wool was spun into an average grade for cloth and flannel. A mixed cloth, called "linsey," was manufactured with

a linen warp and woolen filling. This material was generally worn by the women and children. A young woman always considered her wardrobe well supplied when she had a new "linsey" for the winter. When new it was worn to meetin', to singin' school and the "frolics," as most social occasions were termed. There were few homes that did not have a loom and weave at least the coarser fabrics for clothing. If a woman owned one calico dress for special occasions, she was considered a finely dressed lady.


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DUTY AND PLEASURE


" They rocked their children," says Mr. Finley in his autobiography, "in sugar trough or pack-saddle. The cooking utensils consisted of a pot, Dutch oven, skillet, frying pan, wooden trays, and trenchers, and boards made smooth and clean. The table was made of a broad slab. And with these fixtures, there never was a heartier, happier, more hospitable or cheerful people. Their interests were one, and their dependence on each other was indispensable, and all things were common. Thus, united, they lived as one family. They generally married early in life—the men from eighteen to twenty-one, and the girls from sixteen to twenty. The difficulties of commencing the world were not so great; and, as both parties were contented to begin with nothing, there was no looking out for fortunes, or the expectation of living without labor. Their affections were personal and sincere, which constituted a chief part of their domestic happiness, and endeared them to home. The sparkling log-fire in the backwoods cabin, the gambols of half a dozen cheerful, healthy children, and the smiles of the happy wife and mother made an earthly paradise.


"Nothing could excite more hilarity than a backwoods wedding. Most generally, all the neighborhood for miles around were invited; and if it was in the winter, there would be a log-heap or two somewhere near the cabin. Around these fires the men assembled with their rifles; the women in the cabin; and if there was a fiddler in the neighborhood, he must be present at an hour stated. The parson, if one could be had, if not, the Justice of the Peace, called the assembly together, then the couple to be married. After the ceremony was over, and all had wished the happy pair much joy, then, if it could be had, the bottle passed round ; the men then went some to shooting at a mark, some to throwing the tomahawk, others to hopping and jumping, throwing the rail or shoulder-stone, others to running foot-races; the women were employed in cooking. When dinner was ready, the guests all partook of the very best venison, bear-meat, roast turkeys, etc. This being over, the dance commences, and if there is no room in the cabin the company repair to or near one of the log fires; there they dance till night, and then they mostly return home; yet many of the young people stay, and perhaps dance all night on a rough puncheon floor, till the moccasins are worn through. The next day is the infair; the same scenes are again enacted, when the newly-married pair single off to a cabin built for themselves, without twenty dollars' worth of property to begin the world with, and live more happily than those who roll in wealth and fortune."


The arrival of a family in a neighborhood occasioned eager inquiry by the young men as to whether there were any marriageable daughters of the number. The demand was in excess of the supply. The same maiden had sometimes several suitors; and this involved the delicate matter of rejection as well as choice. Sometimes the girls were betrothed before leaving home, and a knowledge of this fact caused disappointment. The parties differed little in fortune, and none in rank. First impressions of love resulted in marriage, and a family establishment cost only a little labor.


The shoes worn in pioneer days would not grace the parlors of the twentieth century. The young ladies of today would not be caught on the street with their feet encased in such creations. Every farmer would purchase enough leather, both sole and uppers, to supply each member of his family with a pair of good, heavy, waterproof shoes, which were made for service rather than ornamentation. The peripatetic shoemaker was then engaged to work up the stock. Like the schoolmaster,


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he frequently boarded around. Journeying from house to house, he would take his seat by the huge fireplace ; there he would measure, cut, and shape shoes for the entire family. His annual visits were anticipated with anxious interest, especially by the little ones, to whom his processes were wonderful.


All was not dreariness in the life of the pioneers—far from it. They had their joys as well as hardships, and they entered into the social spirit far more rapturously than much of the surfeited society of today. When a new cabin was completed, there was always a "house-warming." The neighbors who had helped in its construction again gathered, but not for toil on this occasion. Now there was feasting and dancing that inflamed the blood and quickened the spirits. Cupid was busy at such scenes and the "husking bees" which followed the fall harvesting. At the "husking bee" the ears of corn were pulled from the stalks and heaped on a great pile in the barnyard. On the evening of the "bee" two captains were elected, and these captains chose the men until none were left. The pile was then divided as evenly as possible by a pole, and the work was entered into with great and almost feverish earnestness. While the men were husking the corn, the women were preparing the feast that was to follow. The husking finished, the men appeared with ravenous appetites. Each red ear entitled the husker to a kiss from the damsel he chose, and two more "red ears" generally followed its bestowal. "But," says a frank and honest pioneer, "I never knew it to be necessary to produce a red ear to secure a kiss where there was a disposition either to give or take one."


Singing schools were very popular in pioneer days. They would not take exalted rank today, for the methods of instruction were of the crudest, and the only music taught was from the church hymnal. But they gave an occasion for young men and women to meet nd commingle. The girls usually arrived with their brothers, or family friends, but it was generally understood that they would welcome the company of the proper young man home. In this way acquaintances which developed into matrimonial matches were made. Quilting and weaving parties, sewing and spinning parties also provided means of social intercourse and gossip, for the pioneer women were strictly human. Many other opportunities for gatherings occurred, during which time all cares and troubles were left behind in the locked doors of the one-roomed log cabins.


One thing much in demand in pioneer days was whisky, of which there were sure to be one or more distilleries in each neighborhood. Most of these were small concerns, and their capacity would probably not exceed a barrel a day. But that was enough for a small settlement. The usual exchange was a gallon of whisky for a bushel of corn or rye. When the jug was empty, a boy would be dispatched, perched on a horse together with a bag of grain, to the still-house, and sometimes his orders were urgent. The rugged pioneers were not particular as to the age of the liquor, and frequently drank it the same day that it was made. At "raisings," "huskings," and like affairs, the jug was an indispensable adjunct. It was a sign of hospitality, and the approved manner of taking it was from the mouth of the jug—in that way each man imbibed as much as he wanted. The women would sometimes take it sweetened and reduced to toddy. Total abstinence was very uncommon among these men of the early days. It was considered as one of the necessities of life—a sort of panacea for all its ills, good both in sickness and in health.


It is almost impossible for those of this generation to conceive how universal the drinking habit was among the pioneers. Even in the armies, whisky was generally a part of the daily rations. A chaplain of a regiment of the Continental army complained that the


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men were not punctual at morning prayers. "Oh, I'll fix that," said the colonel. So he issued an order that the liquor ration would hereafter be given out at the close of morning prayers. It worked like a miracle; not a man was thereafter missing.


LEARNING


The early schoolhouses were generally makeshift arrangements. Any old abandoned building would sometimes be pressed into service for that purpose. An old pioneer has left us the following description of the Ohio school of an early day :


"The building was a low log cabin, with a clapboard roof, but indifferently lighted ; all the light of heaven found in this cabin came in through apertures made on each side of the logs, and these were covered with oiled paper, to keep out the cold air, while they admitted the dull rays. The seats or benches were of hewn timber, resting upon upright posts placed on the ground to keep them from being overturned by the mischievous lads who sat upon them.. In the center was a large stool between which and the back part of the building stood a small desk without lock or key, made of rough plank, over which a plane never had passed, and behind the desk sat Professor Glass.”


One end of these rude schoolhouses was an immense fireplace, and it usually took the time of two or three boys to fill its cavernous maw with logs on a cold, blustery day. Just under a window two or three strong pieces were driven into a log in a slanting direction, and on these pins a long puncheon was fastened, which served as a writing-desk for the entire school. There was no such thing as a blackboard, and no apparatus of even the rudest description to assist the teacher in explaining the lesson. Text books were few, and the New Testament was one of the favorite readers. Webster's arithmetic enlightened these backwoods children in the art of "figgers." The term for the year usually lasted about three months. Pugilistic encounters were not infrequent, for the big boys took pride in their muscular strength. Hence it was sometimes necessary in employing a teacher to consider his physical as well as his intellectual qualifications and fitness.


The parents themselves were frequently extremely illiterate. The mother, who read with the greatest difficulty herself, would laboriously instill the rudiments of spelling in her little flock as they grew up, using any old book that happened to be available. The backwoods teachers of this day were of a class by themselves. The directors usually hired the first man who came along and claimed to be competent. Usually little above a tramp, oftentimes addicted to drink, they were more often well informed for the times, earnest and capable. They would "get up" a school by passing around from house to house an article of agreement, proposing to teach certain branches upon certain terms, payable partly in money and party in produce. During the school term, which lasted from ten to fifteen weeks, the teacher "boarded round" in the neighborhood homes. He was regarded as a sort of pensioner on the bounty of the people, whose presence was tolerated because it could not be helped. Nevertheless, he was usually fed on the choicest viands. The teacher might have been a lank and lean specimen of that genus homo, and may have gazed gravely over his spectacles with an assumed look of wisdom, yet he nevertheless enforced discipline with a real serviceable rod, and implanted into his pupils a knowledge of the three "R's" with an iron hand. Grammar and geography were not taught in the common schools for many years afterwards. The paper used was unruled foolscap. Hence every boy was armed with a wooden ruler, and a pencil made of crude lead. With these the paper was ruled to any desired widthing Pens were


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fashioned out of quills, and the cutting of a good pen was an essential part of the art of writing. Ink was frequently made from oak and maple bark, with a little copperas added. One of the efficient and frequently enforced means of discipline was the thrashing, and every schoolmaster was well practiced in the accomplishment. Amid such surroundings, and under such a head, began the comprehensive school system that we now enjoy in the great commonwealth of Ohio. “Readin' and Writin' and 'Rithmetic were taught to the tune of the Hickory Stick."


RELIGION


There was a very decided element of reverence and religion in the pioneer. He may have been a little crude in his religious views and practices, as in other things, but he usually attended church on a Sunday morning. Many thought nothing of walking five miles to meeting, and then returning a mile or two out of the way for the sake of company. Inside the church was a great fireplace, in which a rousing fire blazed most cheerfully on a frosty morning. The sermon was usually lengthy, and of a stern and puritanical nature. If it was night and the sky dark, the people lighted themselves to and fro from the meetin' house with long strips of hickory bark. These improvised torches were held aloft and brightened occasionally by striking against a tree to remove the ashes. Presbyterianism was quite strong in most neighborhoods, .especially among the Scotch and Scotch-Irish, but they had separated into several branches on minor matters of Biblical interpretation. Some were "General Assembly" Presbyterians, and others were Covenanters. Some used the longer, and others adapted the shorter catechism. But all were Calvinists, and the principal point of difference was over the singing of hymns or the Psalms of David. The Methodists waxed strong and gained many Presbyterian converts. Many and contentious were the fiery discussions concerning the freedom of the will and the doctrine of predestination. These controversies were as unending as they were fruitless, and they frequently resulted in anything rather than a feeling of genuine charity and good will.


The climax of religious excitement was reached at the camp meetings and the revival services. The camp meeting brought together everybody in the neighborhood—believers and unbelievers alike. It was as picturesque an occasion as it was serious. The people threw their whole souls into it. It was a real camp meeting in those days, for the people actually lived in tents or improvised huts on the grounds for a week or two. The exhorter would address his congregation, who were sitting on log benches all around him, in a clamorous voice. The hymns were vigorously sung, and it would not be long until there was shouting, jerking, screaming, and leaping, as someone in the audience "got religion." The various emotions manifested were an interesting psychological study. The camp meeting doubtless served to elevate the moral standard of the pioneer communities, and did much to repress and hold in check the lawless element in the neighborhoods. The father of W. D. Howells says : "I shall never forget the terror with which the 'exercises' inspired me. At the first prayer I knelt down with the others; while the tone of supplication of the man who prayed waxed louder and louder. I knew that amen was said at the end of a prayer; and as I was shaking till my knees rattled on the floor with fear, I thought those around me were likewise affected, and were crying amen as an inducement for the brother to stop, when in fact they were only encouraging him. I regarded it as an awful time, and was very thankful when he said amen." Rev. James B. Finley, himself a pioneer preacher of great force, describes some of the camp meeting scenes as follows :


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"Immediately before they became totally powerless, they were sometimes seized with a general tremor, and often uttered several piercing shrieks in the moment of falling. Men and women never fell when under this jerking exercise till they became exhausted. Some were unable to stand, and yet had the use of their hands and could converse with companions. Others were unable to speak. The pulse became weak and they drew a difficult breath about once a minute. In many instances they became cold. Breathing, pulsation, and all signs of life forsook them for hours; yet I never heard of one who died in this condition, and I have conversed with persons who have laid in this situation for many hours, and they have uniformly testified that they had no pain, and that they had the entire use of their reason and powers of mind. From this it appears that their falling was neither common fainting nor a nervous affection. Indeed, this strange work appears to have taken every possible turn to baffle the conjectures and philosophizing of those who were unwilling to acknowledge it was the work of God. Persons have fallen on their way home from meeting, some after they had arrived at home, others while pursuing their common business on their farms, and others when they were attending to family or secret devotions. Number of thoughtless, careless sinners have fallen as suddenly as if struck by lightning."


Times have greatly changed since the days of which we now write. The long string of covered wagons, frequently fifty in one line, loaded with grain for Lake Erie, each with bed and lunch box, which slowly and patiently toiled over the long distance, with its night encampment, its camp fires, and pleasant group of story-tellers, has disappeared. They are now known only by tradition and through historic narrative. The old-fashioned store with its scant stock of staples, with its handy whisky bottle and inviting tin cup, with its quaint salesman who had few words and wore a plain dress, who asked fearful prices for antiquated fashions, has disappeared and is seen no more. Great business establishments with plate glass windows, filled with expensive and fashionable goods, with faultlessly dressed clerks, sometimes ornamented with diamonds, have taken their place. Towering churches have replaced the primitive houses of worship. Fashionable balls have been substituted for the simple "huskings." In everything there has been change, and the expenses have more than kept pace with the innovations. The cost of the modern machine would have shocked the old-timer and driven him to suicide.


A QUEER INDUSTRY


The famous Black Swamp, which covered most, of Northwest Ohio, was a source of much discomfort to the early immigrants. Those already on the ground, however, were not altogether without the business instinct. Among the cultivated industries of that time in certain localities was the furnishing of relief to travelers, chiefly emigrants, whose teams were frequently stalled in the successive "mud-holes." So common had this become that some landlords sometimes provided themselves with extra yokes of oxen, with which to extend the needed assistance. This business came to be so far systematized that the rights of settlers to the "mud-hole" nearest them were mutually recognized. It w told that on a time a certain tavern-keeper, who had long held undisputed possession of a particularly fine "mud-hole," which he had cultivated with special care for the profit it brought him, sold his stand when preparing to leave the country. Regarding his interest in the "hole" as a franchise too valuable to be abandoned, he finally disposed of it, and claimed his right thereto, to a neighbor for the sum of $5, being probably the only case