USA > Michigan > Ingham County > Lansing > Past and present of the city of Lansing and Ingham county, Michigan > Part 2
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we were doomed to disappointment in our anticipation of fair weather, for when we awoke in the morning, we found it had snowed about four inches deep and was still snowing. Of course having nothing to pro- tect us from the storm, our bed and all our clothes were covered with snow. We had left our clothes just as we had laid them off on re- tiring the night before. My pants were right side up, just as I had stepped out of them, after slipping my hands down over my heels. Not having any other clothes unpacked, we shook the snow off the best we could, and put them on wet and cold. The fire not hav- ing gone out we rolled the smoking brands together and soon had a rousing good fire. My wife, whose courage was equal to the emergency, with a cheerful heart, singing her favorite hymn, "Am I a soldier of the cross ?" etc., soon had our breakfast in readi- ness. With thankfulness and appetites only equaled by our resolution, we ate a good hearty breakfast. There was no need of any of the quack medicines of today to aid the digestion. Plenty of exercise and pure air was all sufficient. Under the bright sun- shine of the next day the snow disappeared. but the finishing of the house did not pro- gress very rapidly. All the lumber we used for the purpose, except the few boards of our goods boxes, which were patched to- gether for a door, was made with the axe, the beetle and wedges, the froe and the broad axe. This you may well understand was no small undertaking. But with the anticipation of having a home of our own and a farm-the height of our ambition- we worked with alacrity on the outside, days, and hewing plank for a floor and mak- ing furniture evenings. A bedstead for in- stance, was made in one corner of the house, by boring a hole with a two-inch auger into the log in the side of the house, the proper distance from the floor, and from the corner
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for the length and another into the log in the end of the house. the proper distance from the corner for the width. Then with poles inserted in the holes in the logs as above described, and into one post, formed the framework for our bedstead; for bed- cord, poles were placed, one end on the long pole and the other end fastened to the house opposite. A great statesman said that "eter- nal vigilance was the price of liberty :" equally so is success to the pioneer the price of persevering industry. A bountiful Prov- idence blessed our efforts, and in a few weeks we had our house about finished; and now, after more than thirty-five years have passed, sometimes in prosperity, blessed with all the comforts of life, in good business and circumstances, surrounded with all the privi- leges of the best society. I look back to the building of that house and that winter, as the happiest days of my life.
About the middle of November there was a family of about forty Indians went into winter quarters some forty or fifty rods from our house, whose acquaintance we soon made, or rather they made ours. The reader may say, "Well, I wouldn't have liked that;" neither did we at first. But after a few days, in justice to the red men of the forest, I must confess, we enjoyed their company. We swapped our flour for their venison, of which we had a plentiful supply all winter. Among them there was a squaw, old, sick and feeble, the mother of several generations. Nearly every day my wife went to their wigwam and carried the old grandmother a cup of tea, a piece of toast or cake, or something of the kind, which was duly appreciated by the Indians, from the oldest to the youngest. As she would enter their wigwam from day to day. the tall, stalwart Redmen would gather about her, straighten themselves up to their full height, and with much gusto and em-
phasis, exhibiting their gratitude, exclaim, "Nechin squaw" (good woman). I believed them and the more I learned of the Indian character. the more I was confirmed in the conviction that those Indians would have laid down their lives in defense of that "Nechin squaw."
After going to Ann Arbor for a store of provision to last through the winter, a jour- ney of four days with my ox team, the bal- ance of the winter was spent in chopping down the forest trees. It was interesting and animating to see the tops of the trees thrash to the ground and delightful music to hear the sound echo through the woods. The deer, for the country was literally alive with them, would come into the clearing, bounding along with their white and gray flags hoisted, to pick the buds and small twigs from the tops of the fallen basswoods and sugar maples. One evening about sun- down thirteen in a drove gave me a short call. During the winter, notwithstanding my inexperience, I succeeded in getting about ten acres chopped, and in the spring, about one-half of it into crops of corn, potatoes and oats. The potatoes for seed cost one dollar and seventy-five cents per bushel. I earned the money by cutting and splitting rails at fifty cents per hundred. By work- ing fourteen hours very hard, I could make one hundred rails-three and one-half days for one bushel of potatoes; I often think of this when I hear men, about the street cor- ners of our villages, complaining of hard times; "can't live on such low wages," etc.
As intimated before, the little money we had brought with us had been expended, and now, the middle of May, our store of pro- visions was exhausted, and how the larder was to be replenished without money, was a question of the gravest importance, and one not so easily solved. All had to be trans- ported: flour from Buffalo, potatoes and
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meat from Ohio. Everything was held at ruinous prices ; flour at fifteen dollars per barrel, pork thirty cents per pound, potatoes not to be had, or if found at all, at two dol- lars per bushel, and nothing to be bought within forty miles, and work for even a day at any price not to be heard of within thirty or forty miles, south or east of Ann Arbor. To leave the wife and baby in the wilderness from fifteen to twenty miles from a laid out road (for as yet we had no civic organiza- tion) and to go so far way for fifty cents per day (that was the highest price paid for common labor) in order to pay for enough provisions at such high prices, to last until harvest, was enough to try the courage of even an Ingham county pioneer. We had earnestly considered several propositions. Onė was to take my little family, with a few of our goods, and start for the south- east part of the State. But how could we travel? There were no provisions that we could carry with us, for we had nothing but small potatoes, on which we had alone sub- sisted for nearly three weeks. We had been like Micawber, waiting for "something to turn up," until we had only little over one peck left, and too honest to steal and too proud to beg. However, we claim no credit for not stealing or begging, for we met with no temptation. The whole country was nearly as destitute as ourselves. Again, if we left the crops we had planted, which had cost us so much toil, and on which we had placed so much dependence, they would all be destroyed and we should have no provi- sion for the coming winter. It seemed like abandoning all our fondly cherished hopes of home and farm. With every proposition. there were found strong objections. But the time for action had come. We had waited for "something to turn up" until we could wait no longer. My wife, whose faith and courage admitted of no fears or doubts, arose
one bright morning, on which we had agreed to decide on what course should be pursued, with a cheerful, hopeful counte- nance, saying she would stay at home and take care of the little we had, and I might take the team and go after some provisions, for she felt an assurance that all would be well and turn out for the best, for Provi- dence always favored the brave.
Being thus encouraged by my ever-con- fident wife, I started with full hopes of suc- cess, but how it was to be attained, I had not the remotest idea. That day I went to Dexter and put up at the old Washtenaw House. It was a long day and a longer road to travel with a yoke of oxen on a hot day. I arrived there about sundown, having had only three or four roasted potatoes for din- ner, that I had brought from home. To say that I was hungry was no exaggeration. I called for supper with as much independ- ence and ate with just as good a relish as though I had the money to pay for it. Af- ter supper I found Mr. Millard, the owner of the old Dexter mill, who had the only flour on sale in the village. He had that day received a few barrels from Detroit. I told him of my situation-of the wife and baby, way back in the wilderness, of the few pota- toes I had left as their only subsistence, and offered to give security on my oxen or wagon or both, until harvest. I could then get work and pay, but I could not talk money down. At this he turned upon his heel, and as he left me said "No flour to sell" with such emphasis, such a manner and tone of voice, as chilled and blasted and settled all hopes of relief from that source. I then went to two or three grocery stores in search of something to sustain nature until harvest. A little whiskey, some tobacco, and a wheel- barrow load of some other groceries consti- tuted their stock in trade. There was noth- ing for me, no, not one pound of anything
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I wanted. On my way back to the hotel, thinking of the situation in which I had left my little family, and the prospects before me, of being able to afford them relief, I must confess the clouds began to gather around my mind. On arriving at the hotel, I found a young man there who had built a shop by the help of a brother, and com- menced in the wagon business. He was quite forward in making my acquaintance, told me his business, and on being informed of my former occupation, at once proposed a co-partnership. He said he had no family, that mine could live in the shop chamber and he could board with me and furnish the provisions ; that we could live on the fat of the land. He was especially anxious after seeing my wagon, of my own make and fin- ish. I began to feel that this proposition was the faith of my wife realized, and re- tired to rest with buoyant hope, yet some- what exhausted in body and mind. It had been a day of fatiguing, tiresome labor, and anxiety, and when I laid down to rest tem- porarily relieved, Morpheus soon had do- minion over me. At another interview in the morning, arrangements for co-partner- ship were consummated, and I felt greatly re- lieved. A great burden of anxiety was re- moved from my mind-my wife and little one were provided for, at least for the pres- ent. High hopes were revived. Already in anticipation, I began to see a prosperous business growing up, but alas! judge of my dismay, my blasted hopes and prospects blighted, when my anticipated partner in- vited me to drink with him. On being re- fused he walked up to the bar saying he "believed he would take something." The bartender seemed to understand his wants and handed down a bottle containing (judg- ing from his looks and his actions after he had swallowed a glass full) the same kind of brandy that I have heretofore described.
He had just poured down the glass of water to quench the raging fire in his throat, when I walked over to him and frankly and in decided tone told him that he could consider our arrangement ended; that drink had scared me out. He undertook to explain but my mind was fixed. It was of no use, I could never consent to risk my little all with a man that could stand under as big a drink as that, or that would drink at all.
By this time the breakfast bell called us to fat pork and bread, and as they were just out of butter that morning, we were very generously and kindly permitted to sop our bread in the fried pork dish, for which we of course voted thanks. But the enjoyment of the breakfast was occasionally interfered with by the thought trespassing on my mind, "How is this hotel bill to be paid?" Notwithstanding such unwholesome and un- pleasant questions, I ate a good hearty breakfast and was the better prepared to meet the great, the present, ail-absorbing question of providing for my family. I went from one little business shop to another, with the vain hope of seeing some- thing by which I might bring about the ob- ject of my mission. Mr. Millard had the flour, but it did me no good. I could not ob- tain it without the money, and money was as far out of my reach as the flour. I confess that my courage began to fail, and perhaps I should have given up in despair, but for the encouraging words of my wife. "Providence always favors the brave." And I knew, too, that our case was morning and evening pre- sented to the throne of Heavenly grace, which had its influence in inspiring confi- dence in ultimate success. It was now about nine o'clock in the forenoon and still no bet- ter prospect than when I first arrived the night before. My condition was even still worse, for my hotel bill stared me in the face. With a feeling of despondency, I went
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out to the open shed of the hotel, in which stood my wagon and seated myself on the board across the box. I thought of my fam- ily, of the circumstances in which I had left them, the prospects of relief and the hotel bill. I had made every effort in Dexter that gave the least promise of success. Then I thought whether I should go on east to Ann Arbor, or go south. All of these subjects and questions were one by one being turned over in my mind and mentally discussed and especially the last two questions. I was so deeply absorbed in thought that I had be- come almost unconscious of everything else. Just at this moment I was aroused by a man driving under the shed a pair of light, nice ponies, before a large heavy lumber wagon, only fit for oxen. It was H. H. Norton, now a resident of and well-known citizen in Livingston county, of this State. As he drove under the shed, he called out, Norton- like, "Hallo! sir, I want to trade wagons with you. Is that wagon yours, sir? It is just such as I want, and mine is better for you to use oxen with than yours-it's stouter, will you trade, sir?" Mention has previously been made of this wagon, finished up in the best style, nicely ironed, painted, striped and varnished. It was just what he wanted for his fine small horses. As I read in his countentnce that he was in the right mood to give me a good trade, if I managed well, my heart fairly leaped with joy at the prospect of relief. A ray of light had burst forth. The clouds that had gathered so thick and almost impenetrable on my mind were breaking away. My wife's faith was not in vain ; her prayers were about to be answered. I told him I made the wagon in the State of New York, of selected timber for my own use ; that I could be induced to part with it only by the most absolute necessity and a big price. I asked him thirty dollars to boot. He laughed at me, claiming that his wagon was
worth more to me to use with oxen than my own. But he offered me ten dollars; I should, of course, traded for that, if I could get no more, but I was determined to make him pay the last dollar possible for his fancy, for it was parting with one of my idols. After considerable bantering and equal di- viding on both sides, he paid me twenty dol- lars and we exchanged wagons. Mr. Nor- ton was just the right man in the right place. With a thankful, bounding heart, I received the money and the way I squared myself up to the bar of the hotel to pay my bill was a caution to poor folks. The landlord had been ignorant of my circumstances. I then went , to Mr. Millard and showed him my money. O, what a change had come over the man! How obliging! How anxious to assist the "pioneer !" With what tender sympathy he spoke of the dear wife and child way back in the woods! O, how glad he was to be able to accommodate me with some flour. But alas, there was no other way; I was obliged to buy my flour of the kind, tender-hearted man, which he well knew. But this radical change in Mr. Mil- lard's deportment was very easily compre- hended-he was a merchant and in hopes of selling me some goods. My feelings toward him were not of the most friendly type. He could not have sold me any goods. neither could he have sold me flour, if any other man in the village had any flour on sale.
With some flour, one pound of tea, a few pounds of pork bought of a farmer, one bushel of oats for seed at a cost of a dollar and fifty cents, some heavy cotton sheeting to make my wife an every day dress ( which she colored with butternut bark) and a piece of bread for lunch on my way home about noon, with feelings of inexpressible grati- tude and greatly encouraged. I thought I could see the hand of an overruling Provi-
2
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dence in bringing about the means of relief. My oxen, too, understood something about the situation, for they seemed to walk with more than usual quick and lively step. I arrived home just at the dawn of day. In the clear, bright May morning my wife had heard the sound of the wagon rolling over the roots of the trees, and in her anxiety to know the result of my journey, met me nearly half a mile from the house. Seeing her some distance off, I cried out "All is well, we can now have bread." Our meeting was one of rejoicing. All nature was alive. The gobbling of hundreds of wild turkeys chimed in strange chorus with the multitude of birds of every hue and smaller size. All were rejoicing, and conspired to enliven and arouse to renewed hopes of future success in obtaining a home and farm in Michigan.
I need not say that under such inspiring circumstances, we enjoyed our breakfast of bread and meat as we never had before. Soon after this our cow that I had bought of Samuel Ives of Unadilla, the winter pre- vious, became a new milch cow. We then had plenty of milk and butter and were fully provided for.
Nothing of special interest transpired un- til near the close of June. We had employed our time in chopping down and clearing away the forest, for it was heavy timbered land. I think, of all the work a man ever did, chopping and clearing land will give him the most voracious appetite. It seemed so at least to me, for our stock of provisions were nearly exhausted. It had become evi- dent that our supply would not carry us to harvest. It may be inquired why I did not kill some of the abundance of deer, turkeys and other game, with which the woods were literally alive? Perhaps I can answer this most satisfactorily by relating an incident. I generally carried a good rifle with me when I went into the woods. At one time
when looking for my cattle, I saw a very fine deer, feeding on some grass near the edge of an open marsh. By moving a few steps to the right, I brought a very large elm tree in range between me and the deer. I walked carefully up to the tree. The deer was unconscious of the great danger that threatened its destruction, and was still gently picking the heads from the marsh red tops. With great care I examined the cap on the tube of my gun lock, and saw there was powder in the tube. All seemed to be in readiness and in the best possible order. The deer was only about four rods off and standing perfectly still, and with a rifle car- rying a one-half ounce ball and as good as any in the State, I felt sure of some venison for the first time, of my own killing. I took deliberate aim at his broad side, resting against a three and a half foot elm tree. Bang went the gun and away went the ball, and the deer, too, at the highest speed, with his white and gray flag at full mast, leav- ing me with an empty gun and the full con- viction that hunting was not my gift. Not- withstanding, I could not, like the Indian, support my family with my rifle, yet there was nothing now very discouraging, for some of the oldest settlers about Ann Arbor and Dexter were about to commence their haying and work could be obtained at some price. With health and this fact in view there was no fear of suffering, and it would require but little to carry us through the winter.
One bright morning, full of hope I started to find work, inquiring at every place where there was any apparent prospect. I found none that wanted to hire until I arrived at Henry Warner's in the Township of Dexter, who is now well known as a successful breeder of Short-horn stock. He had com- menced haying that day and would give me work at seventy-five cents per day in haying
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and nine shillings per day in harvesting, and would let me have a hundred pounds of flour as cheap as I could get it in Dexter village, which was seven dollars and fifty cents. Flour had been higher but had fallen in price, it being just on the eve of harvest.
What do you think of that, you men who are laying around idle, letting your families go half fed and half clothed, trying to form associations to protect labor when you can obtain the high prices of present day? I very gladly accepted Mr. Warner's offer, and next morning went to work with a good will. But O! The haying tools in my in- experienced hands. The scythe would lop in and it would point out. But Mr. Warner was the same high-minded, honorable, jovial man then that he has been ever since and has my thanks for his kindness to me. He laughed at me but showed me how to mow. He said that if my strength and skill equalled my will, I would be a good man to hire. I worked three days in haying and four and a half days in wheat harvest. Now let us see how many days' work one hundred pounds of flour cost. One day's walking twenty-five miles, seven and a half days' haying and harvest, one day to go home af- ter my oxen, one day back to Mr. Warner's and another to go home again-just eleven and one-half days. My father had been a pioneer in the State of New York, and I of- ten called to mind the observation he made after every effort and argument had proved unavailing to dissuade me from coming west : "Ah, he has but little conception of a pioneer's life; of what it is to make the first break in the wilderness." By this time I was quite willing to indorse the statement.
We had almost daily visits from the Indi- ans, and often had very laughable plays and jokes with them. They were always ready for fun, from the oldest to the youngest, and en- joyed it the best of any class of people I ever
saw. They were ever ready to practice a joke and just as ready and willing to take one. I might relate numerous anecdotes of them but will content. myself with but few. One morning we heard, as we supposed, a fawn bleat in our fallow that had been burned over. We ran with all speed to catch the young deer, but a young Nichee had played a joke on us. He hid among the black logs and with a small bone taken from a deer's leg, made a noise like the bleat of a young fawn, which they could do to such perfection as to decoy deer within range of their rifles. This mode of hunting often practiced by the Indians in the proper season of the year. When we were within a few yards of the young redskin he jumped up, hooted, hallooed, laughed and bounded into the woods. The next day some ten or a dozen Indians and squaws came where I was at work, full of laugh and play and in derision would say "gemokman catch fawn." They stayed an hour or so, perfectly jubilant, jok- ing me about catching the fawn. One day, twenty or more of them, men, women and children came into my house. I well knew by their hilariousness that they had come to play. One, a tall athletic young Indian, came up to me asking me for some tobak, saying, "Nichee no tobak." I replied, "co- wene Nichee penintee tobak." I had seen a plug of tobacco in the bosom of his blanket. Whether they had much or little they would always beg all they could. After disputing a while, working around near the door, an opportunity presenting. I snatched his to- bacco from his blanket and ran out doors and round the house, the young Indian after me at the top of his speed. The rest of them sallied out of the house and formed a ring, giving me plenty of room, to witness the race. They laughed, hooted, skipped, hop- ped, jumped and did anything that an In- dian could do, to express their delight; and
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when the young Indian gave up the race, they crowded around him and by every means in their power and in a variety of ways, ridiculed him. One would go lame, another would walk, representing an old man, and so, each in his own way, accord- ing to their ingenuity, made fun of his in- ability to recapture his tobak from the Nee- chin Gemokeman, and he, too, felt chagrined at his defeat. Similar sports were of fre- quent occurrence with the Indians. Such were my feelings for the redskins, that I deeply lamented when the government drove them off west.
The season of 1837 was a very early one, and vegetation came forward very rapidly. We had plenty of potatoes, beans, etc., un- usually early, more so than any year since. It was a blessing most undoubtedly designed for the special benefit of the pioneer. As soon as the corn was well glazed, my wife invented a way of procuring most excellent food from it in a novel yet a very nice easy way, by husking the ear and cutting it off the cob on a jack-plane, by turning the plane bottom side up on a table, taking the ear of corn in the hand and shoving it over the plane against the edge of the iron. It will make much better samp or hominy than corn ground in a mill, for in this way you get only the sweetest part of the kernel. The nearest mill being at Dexter, new corn meal would sour before we could get it home. So, again it will be seen, that necessity is the mother of invention. We enjoyed life and health admirably up to October, when I was taken sick with ague and fever, and before anything occurred worthy of note, or I re- covered, our first year of pioneer life in In- gham county came to a close.
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