USA > Illinois > Lee County > Recollections of the pioneers of Lee County [Illinois] > Part 33
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ious to get away from farm life, and if there were more than were neede !! at home there were not so many alluring commercial colleges, clerkships and the like to attract them, so they "worked out" for farmers who had fewer sons-where they often made pleasant additions to the family cir- cle and were themselves benefitted. To these boys and her own children,' as well as mhny from the neighborhood, mother used to read aloud all the books and papers she could get. Her resources were better than most, for our relatives in the east supplied her generously and regularly, and her books and papers went from hand to hand till they were worn , out. It is gratifying, too, to be able to say that among those who lis- tened to my mother's reading not a few took higher and better aims in lite from the taste which her reading cultivated.
Nor did my mother's kind offices in this or other regards end with pioneering days. To the end of her life her favorite text "It is more blessed to give than to receive," was constantly exemplified. The doors of her home and heart were open to all who needed shelter and, comfort, and not a few will unite with me in bearing this witness to her strongest characteristic, and to the fact that father was no whit less kind of heart or sympathetic than she.
Not far from father's little house of the opposite side of the road Mr. Thomas Brown had a little cabin, to which he brought his pretty bride within the first year after mother came west. They were old friends in Newport, and the trials of pioneer life bound them closer to each other. They did not live there very long but removed to Inlet-after that to Franklin Grove-but distance never lessened the regard of the two fam- ilies, and as long as they lived the friendship and interest were mutual and unchanged.
It is with keenest regret that I confess that the memory of my mother's friends of that time is exceedingly dim and uncertain. I can recall names, but when I try to remember particulars or incidents I am at a loss; so that where I would gladly pay a tribute of love and esteem I can say almost nothing. Of Aunt Hannah I recall little except her wonderfully sweet voice which led the singing in "meetings," and that she was very true to her promises, in proof of which I remember hearing that at one time, being in need of funds, she knit pretty baby's caps, very like those silk crocheted ones that little people wear now-and, as she could not have a horse to drive on the day on which she had agreed to deliver them, she walked the five miles to Dixon after dinner, kept her word, received and spent her money and was at home in time to prepare supper. I have heard; too, that Mrs. Heaton, Mrs. O F. Ayres, Mrs,
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Seaman and Mrs. Silas Noble purchased them at fifty cents each. Very pleasant but indefinite memories are woven about all those names, as also those of Mrs. C. F. Ingalls, Mrs. Hannum and all the daughters of "Mother Whitney," especially Mrs. Abram Brown, mother's dear and true friend to her dying day. Another was "Aunt Sarah Trowbridge," a woman with strong mind and wonderful nremory. Her home was on the farm adjoining father's-but house, pleasant orchard, barn and every trace of habitation are gone, and the family, too, are all numbered with the silent dead. Aunt Sarah's long and useful iife closed in a most fitting nranner-one Sunday morning in "Love Feast." She had just spoken, as was her wont, most earnestly to the young people, then referred to her own life as having passed the bouuds of youth and its trials, so that "now all was peace"-she softly repeated the word "peace," as she sunk into her seat, and with its sound her soul went forth to eternal peace. 'Her daughter Lucy, afterwards Mrs. Wiemer, was a very talented woman- many years in advance of her surroundings and associates as a literary woman, and in her views of the work and sphere of her sex. Had she lived the county might have counted her one of its brightest intellectual stars.
Mrs. Ozias Wheeler was another, a woman of frar convictions and most benevolent spirit. Her son, Montraville Flatt, still lives in Dixon. Mrs. Wm. Y. Johnson lived for a nunrber of years in the house recently owned by Mr. Aaron Morris, and I remember her pleasant calls and the admiration with which I regarded her long green veil, which depended from the side of her bennet or shaded her kindly face. "Mother Rich- ards," Mrs. Edson and Mrs. Judge Heaton were dear, dear friends of my mother's, and I have learned in mature years to prize especially two who knew my mother in early days-Mrs. J. T. Little, one of the loveliest women in all the land, and "Aunt Sally" Herrick, whose comfort and counsel has endeared her to many beside myself.
Mrs. Alonzo Mead, who lived near us on the farm where Henry Bothe now lives, was another kind friend. Her daughter, Mrs. Laura Reynolds, is still a pleasant visitor in Dixon at times .~ The other daughter was one of the victims of the bridge disaster-Mrs. Millie Hoffman. Her sons are still living in Dixon and are mentioned elsewhere. Time would fail to mention the "Temperance Hill" neighbors and friends-the Leakes. Moseleys, and others-or the Cartrights, Brandons and many more kind friends of my father and mother. One especially dear still patiently waits the summons to be gone, Mrs. Cephas Clapp, a woman of noble lov- able nature, whose friendship is a privilege and blessing to all within its circle,
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My sister tells me that it is to Aunt Polly Hale we owe the seeds of many plants which she considered "good in sickness and good in well- ness," and so brought with her from her Virginia home. She brought the dandelion for "greens," and burdock for "drafts," catnip for the baby, and tansy, wormwood, yellow dock and narrow dock for dosing grown people, sage, dill, caraway, and coriander for seasoning. The hardier plants took root in the prairie soil, spread rapidly and are hardly con- sidered either useful or ornamental in these days.
She was a very mysterious person to my sister, for, presumably from the folds of her great apron, there had appeared in the family circle on two occasions a wee red-faced stranger, and when, at one time, Aunt Patty was to be asked to tea with other ladies, she entered a most indig- nant protest, assuring mother that "Aunt Polly had better not come, for there were all the babies that could be cared for already." But as Aunt Polly came without her apron the poor child's fears were not realized. Her daughter, Elizabeth Hale, says my sister, "was to mother both Aaron and Hur" staying her weary hands when the battles with care, sickness, trouble, and hard work bore her to the earth; strong-hearted, cheerful in spirit, willing, capable, blessed with virtues enough for three ordinary women as we remember her, the most efficient, and the noblest helper mother-ever had, in those hard days.
I think none of those who have been told of the abundant crops which the prairie soil produced, and the very low prices they brought; have noted the fact that the lack of machinery made it necessary to employ a great many hands, and to make very long days-so that the work of the farmer's wives was much heavier than at the present time. Threshers had to stay two or three weeks, lunches were sent to the field twice a day in haying and harvest, and for the men who took the grain to a distant market.
All the meat was killed and cured on the farm, sometimes as many as thirty hogs at once. I remember the great tray, four feet square, in which the sausage meat was chopped with a whale-knife, (something like a spade but smaller and straighter.) One year mother prepared a barrel of sausage in skins, packed it in lard, and sent it to Chicago, as her "venture," with the grain, she got-a calico dress that faded! At one time one of the children had no shoes, and mother had to put her in a high chair because it was so cold.' Some "movers" stopped over night, and offered to sell a pair, which their child had outgrown, but mother had no money. Turning to a bag of pieces which hung near to find something to wrap about the little feet, she saw through her fast falling
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tears, some money tucked in the top of the bag, and with it she bought the shoes. Probably some traveler they had entertained had taken this unobtrusive way to;repay them, and it seemed like a special providence to find it just then.
At another time they had had no flour for a long time, only corn meal. A neighbor sent word that he was going to mill the next day and would get flour if they wished. But they had no money and mother cried with disappointment. Just at night two men rode up and asked. accommoda- tion for the night, and, contrary to the usual custom, paid for it, just the price of a sack of flour. A man was started on horseback at daybreak to catch the neighbor and send for the flour.
At one of these times, too a,rough man to whom father was indebted (though the debt was not yet due) attempted to possess himself of moth- er's cherished silver spoons saying as he seized them from the table "They'll sell for something." Father took them from him, but mother did not dare use them again until the debt was paid by my good grand- father.
My father came west with the intention of becoming a farmer and giving up the medical work, which had been so severe a tax upon him and mother in Newport, but it was simply iuhuman to refuse to give what aid he could to the sick and suffering in the new country. He was far too warm hearted to consider personal comfort when weighed against such odds.
So it came about that in less than a year he was riding all about the country, over the trackless prairies, fording streams, or getting "sloughed," in a practice far more extended and difficult than that of the city had been. Sometimes in a sickly season he got scarcely any rest, except in his buggy, and his faithful horse learned to go from place to place with the reins lying loose on his back or to find his way home in storms with unerring fidelity, when, as father said, he could not "see his own hands, or tell which way they were going."
He often had to be not only physician, but nurse, cook, surgeon, den- tist, lawyer, or even housemaid when he found families all sick and need- ing these varied services. The enduring regard of the friends of those days proves beyond question that he filled all the offices acceptably, though his rewards were very often of a very unsubstantial character.
Mother often supplemented his work, going with him, sending pre- pared food, or taking his place in milder cases or on alternate days, but sometimes she had to sacrifice personal comfort or even more that he might minister to those in greater need. I remember one story which
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well illustrates this. She was not well one day in early spring when father was sent for to go to Buffalo. He would be obliged to stay all night, for the roads were bad, so he placed things within her reach, left her with a wood fire, and two children in the bed with her, the month-old baby and one two years old, promising to stop at Aunt Hannah's and have her come down for the day and night.
For some reason Aunt Hannah could not come till late afternoon, so she was alone all day, and a strange sickness came on her, probably due to the room growing cold. The ice was going out of the river at Dixon, so father could not cross and had to come home in the afternoon and reached there before Aunt Hannah. Mother was just conscious enough to hear him exclaim, as he opened the door, "My God! mother, are you dead?" and knew no more for many hours. Had he been able to cross the river she probably would have died before help reached her.
But if I cannot recall stories of pioneer friends with their names, there are many which have no title that crowd upon me as I write, for they were household words, or bribes by which I was induced to sew patch- work and hem towels, and so familiar that a certain bedquilt will bring them to my mind as vividly as a photograph the original.
There is one-of the women who sat in her rocking chair in the back of the ox cart and knitted placidly all the way from Inlet to Dixon. Of the man who had only eleven eggs when he started to town, so put the old hen in the basket-when he got there the dozen was complete. Of another who always said he "was as honest as the times would admit."
Of the old Kentucky woman who was visiting an elderly lady and her daughter one day and heard the former say that her false teeth did not fit comfortably and she must have new ones soon. Before she left she asked the daughter to "ask maw if she'd let her have them air teeth when she got her new ones, false teeth's so stylish!"
Of the peddler who offered his hand to one of the early schoolma'ams but was refused politely. He responded at once that she "needn't feel so bad about it, 'twouldn't put him back more'n two weeks, there was another girl he could court up in that time!"
Of the first maid mother employed-who had never seen a carpet and didn't dare step on it, "Thought it was bedspreads."
Of the girl mother saw on her first Sunday out in Illinois-who wore a bobbinet lace cape made with a darning needle and knitting cotton, and evidently felt herself the belle of the assembly.
Of the old clock (I have it still) for which father paid one hundred
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bushels of oats at ten cents a bushel,'and Sister Mary's calico dress which 1 cost forty dozen eggs.
Of the only Indians I ever saw. It was one day in spring, when mother sent me to the postoffice (at which dignity we had but recently arrived). It was kept by Squire Wheat at the place now owned by Mr. John Allwood Mother told me to hurry home, and would give no reason when I asked for it. But I did not obey, I am ashamed to say. The old squire did not find any mail for us in the little cupboard, about the size of an old-fashioned mantel clock, which served as postoffice, and I stopped to play with "So'fy" Curtis (where Mrs. Matthew Schippert lives now). But conscience pricked too much for me to enjoy to the full the remarka- ble new editions of "Mother Hubbard" and "Dame Trot" which her ped- dler father had just brought her, and I started down the road toward home just in time to meet a great wagonload of Indians, who, in charge of an agent, had been to some point east for their stipend from the gov- ernment.
My frightened face provoked one of them to point his bow-unstrung and endwise-toward mc, and I was sure I felt an arrow in my heart. I screamed in a way that must have rivalled a warwhoop, and ran like a veritable Indian down the road. How they laughed and yelled! I can hear it yet, and I never shall forget the surprise with which I found my- self really alive and unhurt when I came out of the faint in which I fell at my mother's feet.
There is a favorite story of my father's which I had nearly forgotten until reminded of it by hearing it repeated by Mrs. Geo. Morris, and as it is tou good to keep, I transcribe it as nearly as possible in her words. It slightly transcends my township boundary, but the reader will forgive that when he hears the story.
"When the financial crash of 1837 sent so many eastern people to the west, what would now be known as a syndicate, froin Buffalo, took a large tract of land not far from the N. W. depot in Dixon. Among the men employed was a Gus Hawley, who had been a merchant in Buffalo. His collapse had been so sudden and so complete as to make a frontier wardrobe an impossible attainment, and as to oxen, I have an idea he hardly knew what they were. He was blessed, however, with a happy-go- lucky nature and the spirit which makes the best of everything, and he accordingly did so. His first day in the field was a memorable one, both to him and his friends. Arrayed in all the glory of fine broadcloth, ruf- fled shirt-front and patent leather boots, he appeared at the 'helm' of a breaking plow with four yoke of oxen. To avoid mistakes (and perhaps
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to help him to appear calm,) he had carefully noted the names of the oxet on a card, which he carried in one hand, while he flourished his ox-whip or goad in the other. This dazzling vision burst upon the delighted . company which had assembled as much to gaze as to assist, like a me- teor, and his cheery voice calling, as he carefully consulted the card, at each name, "Gee Buck! and also Bright!" can better imagined than de- scribed.
The older settlers will remember the way prairie grass cut feet and shoes and hardly need to be told that he did not go out in his patent leathers next day. I have never heard, though, that the hilarious spec- tators of his first attempt took up a collection to replace them by more serviceable foot gear; in part payment for their enjoyment, but it would have been a very proper thing to do. Some member of this same party was left in charge of the log house and the cattle while the rest of the men were up the river after timber. The syndicate had left him nicely provisioned, but when the party returned they found he had become tired of bachelor's hall and gone to the hotel, exchanging their provisions for his board.
Bachelor's hall was not made any more pleasant by this exchange, at least, for the others, and Thanksgiving Day found them out of all sup- plies but salt pork and corn meal. But early in the morning that great- hearted woman and admirable cook, Mrs. Welty, appeared at their door with her husband, bent on giving them just cause for thankfulness. Their wagon was loaded with good things, even to the pies, ready for the table, and as Mrs. Morris says, 'My father (P. M. Alexander) solemnly affirms that he never tasted a better dinner in his life,' which is only another proof of the ability of the pioneer woman to meet any and every emerg- ency; and that Mrs. Welty could do so, all the old settlers and their child- ren will abundantly testify."
Having overstepped the limit of my township, I think I will give a story told me by Miss Elizabeth J. Shaw, which illustrates another phase of pioneer work, namely-invention.
She says that her father bought the first McCormick reaper in Sanga- mon county, and McCormick himself, came out to oversee its workings. 'The first day's attempt was a failure. Hundreds of men had gathered to witness it, and the anxiety of the inventor must have been very great. But when the machine would not work he left it in the field, entered the house and threw himself in a chair. There he sat, speechless and mo- tionless, for many hours (if I remember correctly it was twenty-four), heeding nothing, touching neither food nor drink. Then he rose, went
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to the machine, and took a small part to a place for repairing-of some similar shop. He soon returned, and the machine on starting again worked admirably. Mr. Shaw started across the field with a fine young ·team of Norman colts. His man, a stalwart Kentuckian over six feet in height, stood on the "table" at the rear of the machine to "rake off," but the team, unaccustomed to such following, took fright and ran at the top of their speed the entire length of the large field, cutting the grain faster than McCormick expected, no doubt. Our Kentuckian kept his post, however, and never missed a bundle the whole distance, but when Mr. Shaw drew up the panting horses at the boundary fence, he mopped his prespiring face and called out: "Good Lord, Mr. Shaw! If you're goin' to drive that way you'll have to git another hand! I can't stand it to rake so fast."
Quite a contrast to this story is the next one which comes to my mind of the time when mother and aunt Hannah were coming from Chicago in the stage, each with two children, and came to Blackberry Creek at nine o'clock in the evening in a pouring rain, and found it so swolleen that crossing was out of the question unless help came. Here my sister supplements my memory by telling how a inan came from a farm house near, with a yoke of oxen and a wagon, to which they were all transferred. He told them "as long as the oxen walked they needn't be skeered, but when they begun to swim they must hold on to the seats hard!"
At every flash of lightning they could see the swift, dark water rushing by them, and filling the wagon box, then the heads of the oxen, and the man holding the yoke, as he walked or swam by their side. They were badly "skeered" but they "held on hard," and they came safely to land. Then the oxen went back and piloted the stage over, and they re-entered it. An hour later they found the road so rough that they could no longer endure it, and by alternate persuasion and threats of complaint to the au- thorities, they secured a halt, and the poor drenched driver sought shel- ter in the stage, with them. 'To soothe the frightened children and prob- ably to keep up their own sinking hearts, the two mothers sang hymn after hymn, until day break. They found that they had been driving in a circle over a field where rails had been laid preparatory to fencing. No wonder it was rough. But I imagine a more tired, wet and weary comp- any never entered good Mrs. Hannum's house than they were, nor a more thankful one. She rested and comforted them, as she did everyone, good soul, and the next morning they reached home.
But I think the story that I liked the best of all, though I invariably
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shed a few tears over it, was that of mother's first visit to her R. I. honie, in 1843, and with that I will close this rambling paper.
This was five years after mother came west, and a baby girl and boy had been added to to the circle. This boy was the first grand-son in either family, and there were seven girls before him, so he was proudly named for the two grandfathers and my father said mother must "go east and show them what could be raised on prairie soil." -
After many contrivances they decided that the grain which would feed the family for a year could be sold for enough to pay her fare. Aunt Hannah was to go too, and she had a load of tobacco to sell for hers. They rode to Chicago in a lumber wagon in August and met the men just outside of the city (my sister says that until the last few years she has been able to recognize the spot). One man reported that "wheat was lower and he had used some of the money-no use to come so far and not have any fun," and the other's account was very similar. Regrets or re- proofs were alike useless, so they drove to the wharf of the little steamer "Buffalo," not far from where South Water street now is. On the way they counted their precious funds and found them all too little to go as they had expected, and their hearts trembled with fear. But mother's courage rose and she said, "Aunt Hannah! I'm going home to see my mother if I crawl on my hands and knees! we'll take deck passage," and they did.
The Captain very kindly explained to them the necessary provisions for such a place-perhaps appreciating the fact that they were unused to it-and gave them carriage robes to supplement their traveling shawls in the rough "bunks." He also gave orders to have tea and coffee made for them (for deek passengers "boarded themselves") and often took the older children-my two sisters, Mary and Parthenia, and William and Mary Anna D'Wolf-for a walk on the upper deck. The little girls in their calico sunbonnets, were soon on the best terms with both cabin and deck passengers, and had far more consideration, I imagine, than if they were to travel in like guise today.
Five days in the crowded steamer, six on the equally wearisome canal, then, on the seventh night at midnight they had to change boats. Wil- liam, though ten years old, cried like a whipped school-boy, the weary baby moaned sadly, the rain poured in torrents, bending the sunbonnets over the faces of the little girls, and to crown all mother lost her shoe in the mud of the tank.
She spent all the time she dared looking, and had just given up, when a kind-hearted man came up with a lantern: and found it for her. As it
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was the only pair she had (she had made them herself) it was very grate- fully replaced. At Albany they were again delayed, but here they found cars and reached Springfield that evening. The cars stopped at night then, just as stage coaches did, and that night they slept in a "real bed" for the first time, to the children's great delight.
Counting their funds very carefully in the morning they found they could make the rest of the journey in a first-class car, and the delightful exchange was made. The little sunbonnets had been consigned to moth- er's basket. the baby's sweet face was tear stained, the mother's dresses soiled and rumpled, their bonnets in ruins, their overtaxed nerves ready " to give way-but what mattered all this? They were in New England! Already they could see the blue Narragansett, and when, on the eigh- teenth day from Illinois, they were set down at the door of the old home, mother used to say, "There was a feeling of rest and thankfulness in my heart such as I never expect to have again until I reach the home of my Father in Heaven."
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