USA > Indiana > Historic Indiana : being chapters in the story of the Hoosier state from the romantic period of foreign exploration and dominion through pioneer days, stirring war times, and periods of peaceful progress, to the present time > Part 6
USA > Indiana > Historic Indiana : being chapters in the story of the Hoosier state from the romantic period of foreign exploration and dominion through pioneer days, stirring war times, and periods of peaceful progress, to the present time, centennial ed. > Part 6
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The food the frontiersman ate was simple as the rest of his living, but his vigorous exercise gave him a prodigous appetite. Housewives varied in the ex- cellence of their cooking then, as now. Corn-pone, hominy, roasting ears, beans, pork, venison, and game were the universal articles of diet. Wheaten bread, tea, and coffee were luxuries seldom seen. Sassafras tea and spicewood tea had to take their place, but the pioneer had the best of syrup and sugar, from the maple trees in the forest. To supply variety for the table, and to take the place of desserts that were no longer obtainable, many new experiments were tried. Sorrel was made into pie, and acorns used for flour. Wild fruit and nuts were eagerly gathered in season and stored for winter. Perhaps no country ever produced a greater variety of wild fruit and berries than the wide, fertile bottom lands of the Wabash and its tribu- taries. Wild plum trees and crab-apples, gooseberries,
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strawberries, blackberries, and raspberries, paw-paws (the Indiana banana), persimmons and haws, as well as the many varieties of woods grapes, were gathered by the early settlers, through the years that they were waiting for cultivated orchards. An idea of how plentiful wild game was may be formed from a list of the fur-bearing animals which were hunted for their pelts by the trappers. Bear, deer, buffalo, lynx, wild-cat, opossum, beaver, otter, marten, raccoon, muskrat, and mink were found in great numbers in Indiana. Black, gray, and prairie wolves were so numerous and trespassed so persistently until late times, that the Legislature granted a bounty on wolves' scalps, to encourage their extermination. Buffalo were in such vast herds that the Indians were known to have killed hundreds in a season, to obtain the price of two shillings which they received for the hide! Deer were often shot from the doorstep by the settlers, while wild turkey, pigeons, pheasants, and quail were everywhere. Fire-hunting the deer was a favorite way of killing that animal, which was so much in use for meat and pelt. The hunter would go along the stream in his canoe, with a pine knot or torch flaming from the bow of the boat; when the deer came down to the water's brink to slake his thirst, the light would "shine his eyes," and, startled, he would stand im- movably gazing at it while the rifle of the boatman laid him low. The white men learned from the Indians their manner of curing the meat of the deer. It was called jerked venison. An old-timer said that a "hunk of venison" almost invariably hung from the rafters, near the chimney-jamb, in every cabin; and when "a neighbor man" from any number of miles around entered for a visit, he would draw out the
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universal hunting knife, and slice off a portion of this smoked venison to chew on as the conversation progressed.
Whiskey was invariably offered to a guest in those times. Total abstinence was an innovation of later years, and the farmer who did not supply his field hands with liquor was considered too stingy to work for. There was plenty of this home-made liquid, that was often so cheap that in summer it soured and in winter it froze! "Two fips" a gallon was the price paid for this beverage.
The settlers had great difficulty in securing salt for their food, and to preserve their game. It was the one cash article of commerce, along with powder. Pilgrimages were organized to go to the "licks," in large companies, as a guard against surprises by the Indians. Once arrived at the salt springs, the men camped about until they had evaporated enough salt for a year's supply. One of the perquisites claimed by the Indians, from the government, in settlement of treaties, was their "annuity salt."
The desirable qualifications of a settler were muscu- lar strength and a homely hospitality. One old-timer is glorified in the memory of an early chronicler as a man who had killed more deer, wolves, and rattle- snakes, caught more fish, found more bee-trees, and entertained in a hospitable manner more land-hunters, trappers, and traders than any other private citizen between Vincennes and south of the Solamonie.
After the settler had raised all the provender needed for "man and beast" on his own place, the remainder was bartered down the river, for other necessities. The more enterprising and industrious he was, the more he had to exchange for these luxuries.
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The first thing the settler could produce to realize money from was fattening pigs on "oak and beech mast," nuts and acorns, and shipping the pork to New Orleans. Later when a sufficient clearing could be made, and crops raised, he had begun to be a farmer.
At this time a cabinet official of the government referred to the Wabash as marking the uttermost bounds, on the west, of the civilization of the republic.
Neighborhoods grew up, schools were gradually started, and "meetings" were held, when the itinerant preachers came around on their circuit of the isolated settlements. One of the characteristics of the early days was the liberal hospitality connected with the religious meetings. Wherever the associational, syn- odical, or quarterly meetings were held, each settler of the immediate neighborhood would provide for a score of people that might come from a distance. Long shelves of pies and cakes would be baked, and great quantities of spring chicken, mashed potatoes, corn-pone, succotash and hot biscuits would be provided. As the "meetin' broke," the mother in Israel would go about among the congregation, and gather up a dozen or more of the attendants from the more remote settlements, and take them home to dinner with her.
The social pleasures of the earliest days were largely connected with the helpful neighborhood assistance in the homely, necessary tasks of the frontier. If a new cabin was to be built, the neighbors assembled for the house-raising, for the logs were too heavy to be handled alone. When a clearing was made, the log-rolling fol- lowed. All the men for miles around came to help, and the women to help cook and serve the bountiful meals. Then there were corn-huskings, wool-shear- ings, apple-parings, sugar-boilings, and quilting-bees.
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Each of these community tasks was the occasion for a prodigal feast and a visit. Then the isolated house- holds came together for much-needed companionship. After the hard work was over, these rugged laborers were still equal to wrestling matches, shooting for a prize, pitching quoits, tug of war, lap jacket, or any of the tests of strength or skill on which the frontiers- man prided himself. Even in the work itself, they "chose sides" and made their labors a contest, to see which could outdo the others. When husking corn they would sit in a circle on the barn floor, so that they could play "brogue it about" (as children play pass the thimble) while they were at work.
Sleigh-riding to the singing-school, or the spelling- match, was the great joy of the winter months, as soon as there were roads made through the forest. For rude, unconventional enjoyment, there have been few pleasures that have atoned for hard labor on the part of the young, equal to the bob-sled with its wagon bed full of country folk, gaily singing as they sped through the clear frosty night. And then the friendly rivalry of the spelling-match at the end of the ride! Ranged in two long lines under their leaders were the contest- ants, who had been chosen for their knowledge of the columns of the blue-backed spelling-book. The swains and belles of the district spelt each other down, until the best speller was left standing in his or her glory, the object of parental or family pride-for all of their elders were either in the class or ranged around the walls. Of equal social importance was the singing- school, taught by the local "singing master"; tuning fork in hand, and without any accompaniment, he trained the whole neighborhood in reading "buck- wheat" notes, and singing the hymns from the Sacred
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Melodeon, or the Missouri Harmony. The little log schoolhouse, or church, would be crowded for these occasions. The classes were divided into the treble, tenor, and bass singers; few of the older books recognizing the alto and baritone parts. The churches reaped the benefit of this practice, in the improvement of their congregational singing. A wedding was also the occasion of all-day hospitality to every one far and wide. While waiting for the ceremony the young fellows used to "run for the bottle"-that is, race their horses for a stake, which was a bottle of whiskey, and then stand treat. Generally the country fiddler came in the evening, and there was a dance on the rude puncheon floor by the light from the fireplace. With swooping flourishes on his violin, his foot patting the accent, and at the same time calling the figures in uncouth buffoonery, the fiddler set merry feet to flying, to the tune of Old Zip Coon, Jay Bird, Old Dan Tucker, or Possum up a Gum Stump. The dancing was as vigorous as the music. There were "opera reels" and "French fours" and maybe a game of "hunt the squirrel." There was little glide in the movements: high steps and a flourishing swing, with a jig or a "hoe-down" thrown in, was good form in those days. Whitcomb Riley gives the spirit of those parties in his old fiddler's monologue 1 :
"My playin's only middlin'-tunes picked up when a boy,
The kindo'-sorto-fiddlin' that the folks calls "cordaroy."
The Old Fat Gal, and Rye-Straw, and My Sailor's on the Sea,
Is the old cowtillions I 'saw,' when the ch'ice is left to me."
Riley, James Whitcomb, Poems, 1888.
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And so I plunk and plonk and plink, And rosum-up my bow, And play the tunes that make you think The devil's in your toe."
The roystering element among the Hoosiers of the backwoods as well as the better families were extremely fond of dancing, and as they were a vigorous, outdoor lot of people their dancing was suited to their natures. The gay ones cut "pigeon wings" or threw in an extra double-shuffle to fill out the measure. Some of the "calls" for the square dances were the product of the wits of the frontier (each neighborhood had its own caller), and for their very crudity are worth pre- serving. We give one as an example:
" Balance one and balance eight, Swing 'em on the corner like you swing 'em on the gate Bow to your lady and then promenade, First couple out, to the couple on the right, Lady round the lady and the gent solo, And the lady round the gent and the gent don't go. Ladies do-ce-do and the gents, you know, Chicken in a bread-pan, pickin' up dough. Turn 'em roun an roun, as pretty as you can, An' why in the world don't you left alaman. Right hand to partner and grand right and left, And a big, big swing, an' a little hug too, Swing your honey and she'll swing you, Promenade eight, when you get all straight.
First couple out to the right- Cage the bird, three hands round- Birdie hop out and crow hop in, Three hands round and go it agin; Alaman left, back to partner, an' grand right an' left,
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Come to your partner once an' a half, Yellar canary right, and jay-bird left, Next to your partner and all chaw hay, You know where an' I don't care,
Seat your partner in the old arm-chair."
There were some circles where dancing was not approved of, and with these, the chief amusements were forfeit games and marching plays. The frontier youth played with vigorous zest, "We're marching down to old Quebec," "Old Dusty Miller," "I suppose you 've heard of late of George Washington the Great," "Come, Philander, let's be a marching," or "Oh! Sister Phœbe, how merry were we, the night we sat under the juniper tree, the juniper tree high ho," with scores of others that were sung to simple airs, while marching with rhythmic motions similar to the quadrille or the Virginia reel. Kissing was less ta- booed than the dance. The forfeit games, like "Build- ing the bridge," "Picking cherries," "Drop the handkerchief," "I want no more of your weev'ly wheat," "Chase the squirrel if you please and catch your love so handy," and dozens of others, were the same as are still played by children.
The field sports of the border would be the envy of present-day sportsmen. Besides the daily chance shots at game, for food, there were most exciting neighbor- hood hunts for wolf, fox, wild hogs, and bear, that re- quired mettle and muscle, and the chase was some- time kept up for days, and much game bagged.
Horses and cattle were most necessary to the pioneers but they were often deprived of their valuable live stock by the bite of poisonous snakes. This occasioned another pursuit; in the early spring days when the warm sunshine began to awaken nature, and great
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Historic Indiana
numbers of snakes would crawl out of winter hiding, the frontiersmen would collect themselves into bands and go forth to slay these enemies, often killing hun- dreds in a day. As to snakes, says an old settler, there was no end to them. Like Pharaoh's frogs of old, they were everywhere, in the forest, yard, house, and among the children. They were met by willing hands and welcomed to hospitable graves.
Young people of the present time can hardly realize that wild beasts were really plentiful within the State, but a couple of true stories, told by Colonel Cockrum, will show that such animals were apt to turn up at almost any place in the woods. In 1817 Joseph Lane-who was afterwards a General, a United States Senator, and a Vice-Presidential candidate-had taken a contract, in partnership with some other young men, to raft several hundred logs down the Ohio to Mr. Audubon's saw-mill, which was over the river, at Henderson, Ky. It was the same Audubon who was, afterwards, the great ornithologist.
"We had landed our fine raft of poplar logs," writes General Lane, "near the mill; and while the raft was being measured, we went to the shanty near by, to eat our dinner. As Mr. Audubon went back to the mill, two large black bears and a small one ran out of the mill, and into a clump of bushes near by. The engineer started up the mill machinery, the saw being an up and down gear. When the men got ready to commence sawing, they dis- covered that a young bear was under the carriage, with his head fast in a grease pot, which was much smaller at the top than in the middle. The bear had got his head in and could not get it out. When one of the men caught it by the leg, it set up a screaming, strangling noise and the two old bears rushed to its rescue. All of the em- ployees made it convenient to get out of danger. I climbed
WAYNE-
FRANKLIN
SULLIVAN
'RIPLEY,
EARBORN,
KNOX
DAVIESS
ORANGE
WASHINGTON!
CLARK
J
PIKE
GIBSON
HARRISON
POSEY
PERRY
WARRICK
A Map of Indiana in 1817. From an old print.
JENNINGS,
JACKSON
ILAND JEFFERSON, SWITZER.
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up a centre post to a crossbeam. The bears had the mill all to themselves. They tried to get the young one away; would roll it and try to make it go, without much success. The engine was running, the saw going up and down. The larger bear was rubbed by the saw; in a minute he threw his paws around the frame it ran in, and such a pounding as that bear got! He kept his hold until he was exhausted, and fell down near the saw blade, which touched his shoulder. He jumped up and made a grab for it. In less than a minute his life was sawed out of him. In the frantic efforts of the old mother bear to release the cub, she pushed it off of the platform on a pile of logs; which broke the pot, released the cub, and he ran off with the rim of the kettle around his neck." 1
Another tale that Colonel Cockrum tells, is of two young boys who came out west in the early twenties, to visit their uncle, Robert Stockwell.
"A neighbor, who was wise in the lore of wild animals, took the boys out on a longed-for hunting trip. They had gone five or six miles from the village, when they spied a large bear running away from them. Mr. Johnson instructed them to tie their horse to a tree, go to a place he pointed out, and not move from there, on any account, until he returned. On walking around, after waiting a long time, they saw two little animals wrestling much as boys do, rolling and tumbling over each other. They did not have the least idea what they were, but slipped up as close as they could and made a rush to catch them, which they found hard to do, as the little cubs were much more nimble than they looked. They chased them round over chunks and brush. Finally one of them ran into a hollow log and the younger boy crawled in after it. The older boy finally caught the other little bear, when it set up a whining
1 Cockrum, W. M., Pioneer Hist. of Ind., page 511. Oakland City, Ind., 1907. 6
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noise and at the same time scratched and bit him. In a few minutes he heard the brush crackling, and looking up, saw the old bear coming at him with full force. He let the cub go and climbed up a little tree, fortunately too small for the bear to climb. She would rear up on the tree as though she intended to climb it, and snarl and snort at the boy, who was dreadfully scared. About this time the little boy in the log had squeezed himself through, so that he could reach the other cub, whereupon it set up another cry. The old bear left the treed boy and ran to the log, and over and around it, uncertain where the noise came from. She commenced to tear away the wood, so she could get to her cub, for she was too large to get more than her head in the hole. The boys were thus imprisoned for more than two hours, when a shot was fired not far off. The boy up the tree set up a terrible hallooing, and Mr. Johnson soon came in sight. A second shot soon killed the old bear. The young bear was caught, and tied; and the little boy came out of the log, dragging the other cub, which they also took home for a pet." 1
In ye olden time, stump speaking during a political campaign was a great social feature and drew the whole countryside together; for the Anglo-Saxon must hear all there is to be said on politics. An old settler writing of these canvasses said that the population was so . sparse in the district in which their candidate for Congress was electioneering that it extended from the Ohio River to Lake Michigan, but it contained more Indians, wolves, and wild varmints than voters.
Trading was a feature of every assembling of the people, social, religious, or political. They stood about the church doors before and after "meetin'," or
1 Cockrum, W. M., Pioneer Hist. of Ind., page 511. Oakland City, Ind., 1907.
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around the public square on "court day," to dicker about the articles they needed; for then barter was universal, owing to the dearth of currency. An editor announced that he would take his pay for subscriptions in corn, ginseng, honey, flour, pork, or almost anything but promises. The articles advertised for sale which could be had "for cash only" were powder, shot, whiskey, and salt.
One of the greatest privations of the pioneer's exile was the absence of letters from home. There was no post and every one was dependent upon chance travellers to "fetch and carry mail." When any one was going on a journey it would be known, and the whole region would bring letters for him to take with him, for postage on a letter cost forty cents. Many of these missives from the frontier were written with a quill pen, dipped in pokeberry juice for ink. It was a great thing, wrote an old lady in later times, when the pioneers began to get mail regularly twice a month. Sounding his horn, the postman approached on horseback, and every one came trooping out of the house hoping to get a letter from "back east." Sometimes he would be several days behind time, on account of high water. It often happened that the postmaster had to spread the mail out in the sun to dry.
The loneliness of their isolated situation made the pioneers very hospitable in their welcome to visitors. One of them writes of the attendance at a land-sale; if men had ever been to the same mill, or voted at the same election precinct, though at different times, it was sufficient for them to scrape an acquaintance upon. Very soon it would come to be known which house- wife, on a trail, was the best cook and housekeeper, and that cabin would be singled out as the goal for
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Historic Indiana
the day's journey. In this way some of the best families began to "keep tavern." If they did not make a charge, hospitable people were imposed upon by a class of travellers who invariably "sponged their way," as it was termed, for an entire journey. There were men who profited greatly by the "likker sold, and set up reg'lar." To be able to sell liquor, a man must have a tavern license, certifying that he was a free- holder, and that he had two spare beds and two stalls, that were not necessary for his own use! Many wayhouses where the owners would not dispense liquor needed no license and advertised their places as "pri- vate entertainment." The usual charges were twenty- five cents for a meal and a "fip" for a "dram." The patrons that the tavern host welcomed came on horse- back. Their boots had been well tallowed to resist water, and their legs were swathed in leggins of green baize. They generally dismounted grimy with dust, or bespattered with mud; and were met on the long low porch by a boy with a pair of moccasins or "pomps" in which their feet were shod, while their heavy boots were dricd by the great open fire. The merchants and professional men carried a brace of pistols, and across their horse was a pair of saddle-bags. In this receptacle, now obsolete, the gentleman could stow away all of his papers, law books, bottle of bitters, an extra pair of horseshoes, and wearing apparel for the journey. They rode good horses, which often had to be "tethered out" on grass at night for lack of stable room. Other guests of the inn were wagoners, driving oxen or mule teams over the heavy roads to the river towns where they shipped the loads of produce to market. Each tavern had to provide large yards for the wagoners, and for hogs being driven overland.
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The accommodations for travellers, in these early taverns, were very primitive, a near-by stream or the pump and a "roller towel" doing duty for a bath, and high feather beds welcoming the weary to rest. Some of these hostelries were noted for the prodigality of plain food and good cheer which was offered to the patrons. Card-playing and toddy, in an upper room, were very general where the landlord was not a temper- ance man. Then the wee small hours saw lands and chattels change hands, as the game waxed in interest.
Memories of old signboards that used to creak on the corner of these historic buildings come back to old settlers. We are told of one that was fashioned like a gate, and on the pickets was printed,
"This gate hangs high and hinders none, Refresh and pay, then travel on. "JOHN FERNLY."
On another notable work of art, which was executed for a tavern on the National Road, there was a portrait of General La Fayette in full uniform. We are told that the board on which it was painted was not long enough for the heroic scale on which the picture was begun, so the legs were cut short and the feet put on where the knees should have been! Red House Inn on the old State Road had for its sign a warhorse rampant and fully caparisoned for battle. The recent War of 1812 with England suggested the sign for another tavern-the painting represented an eagle picking out the eyes of a lion. Like the old "Buck Horn Tavern," which in the palmy days of the National Road is said to have kept over a hundred guests of a summer night, by the aid of the hay-mows and covered wagons of the movers, no hostlery of log cabin days would ever
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care to acknowledge that there was not room for one more.
Religious meetings in those days were thronged by young and old, wherever a travelling preacher gave out an "appointment" to speak. Some came in ox- carts, others on foot, but mostly the people came on horseback, two and three on behind each other. From eight and ten miles around they flocked to hear the gospel. Marriages were solemnized all along his circuit, and funeral sermons were preached for all the departed who had been buried without any religious rites, in the preceding months since a minister had come that way-even if the remaining bereaved one had been consoled by a subsequent marriage.
Generally these preachers were very practical in their exhortations. The eccentric Lorenzo Dow an- nounced his subject as Repentance.
"We sing, 'while the lamp of life holds out to burn, the vilest sinner may return.' That idea has done much harm and should be received with many grains of allow- ance. Let me illustrate. Do you suppose that the man among you who went out last fall to kill his deer and bear for winter meat, and instead killed his neighbor's hogs, salted them down, and is now living on the meat, can repent while it is unpaid for? I tell you, nay. Except he restores a just compensation, his attempt at repent- ance will be the basest hypocrisy. 'Except ye repent, truly ye shall all likewise perish.'" 1
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