University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

At length came the joyful news that our moveables
had arrived in port; and provision was at once made
for their transportation to the banks of the Turnip.
But many and dire were the vexatious delays, thrust
by the cruel Fates between us and the accomplishment
of our plan; and it was not till after the lapse of several
days that the most needful articles were selected
and bestowed in a large waggon which was to pioneer
the grand body. In this waggon had been reserved a
seat for myself, since I had far too great an affection
for my chairs and tables, to omit being present at their
debarcation at Montacute, in order to ensure their undisturbed
possession of the usual complement of legs.
And there were the children to be packed this time,—
little roley-poley things, whom it would have been in
vain to have marked—“this side up,” like the rest of
the baggage.

A convenient space must be contrived for my plants
among which were two or three tall geraniums and an
enormous Calla Ethiopica. Then D'Orsay must be

accommodated, of course; and, to crown all, a large
basket of live fowls; for we had been told that there
were none to be purchased in the vicinity of Montacute.
Besides these, there were all our travelling trunks;
and an enormous square box crammed with articles
which we then in our greenness considered indispensable.
We have since learned better.

After this enumeration, which yet is only partial, it
will not seem strange that the guide and director of our
omnibus was to ride

He acted as a sort of adjutant—galloping forward to
spy out the way, or provide accommodations for the
troop—pacing close to the wheels to modify our arrangements,
to console one of the imps who had bumped
its pate, or to give D'Orsay a gentle hint with the
riding-whip when he made demonstrations of mutiny—
and occasionally falling behind to pick up a stray
handkerchief or parasol.

The roads near Detroit were inexpressibly bad.
Many were the chances against our toppling load's preserving
its equilibrium. To our inexperience the risks
seemed nothing less than tremendous—but the driver
so often reiterated, “that a'n't nothin',” in reply to
our despairing exclamations, and, what was better, so
constantly proved his words by passing the most frightful
inequalities (Michiganicé “sidlings”) in safety,
that we soon became more confident, and ventured to
think of something else besides the ruts and mud-holes.

Our stopping-places after the first day were of the

ordinary new country class—the very coarsest accommodations
by night and by day, and all at the dearest
rate. When every body is buying land and scarce
any body cultivating it, one must not expect to find
living either good or cheap: but, I confess, I was surprised
at the dearth of comforts which we observed
every where. Neither milk, eggs, nor vegetables were
to be had, and those who could not live on hard salt
ham, stewed dried apples, and bread raised with “salt
risin',” would necessarily run some risk of starvation.

One word as to this and similar modes of making
bread, so much practised throughout this country. It
is my opinion that the sin of bewitching snow-white
flour by means of either of those abominations, “salt
risin',” “milk emptin's,” “bran 'east,” or any of their
odious compounds, ought to be classed with the turning
of grain into whiskey, and both made indictable offences.
To those who know of no other means of
producing the requisite sponginess in bread than the
wholesome hop-yeast of the brewer, I may be allowed
to explain the mode to which I have alluded with such
hearty reprobation. Here follows the recipe:

To make milk emptin's. Take quantum suf. of
good sweet milk—add a teaspoon full of salt, and
some water, and set the mixture in a warm place till
it ferments, then mix your bread with it; and if you
are lucky enough to catch it just in the right moment
before the fermentation reaches the putrescent stage,
you may make tolerably good rolls, but if you are five
minutes too late, you will have to open your doors and
windows while your bread is baking.—Verbum sap.

“Salt risin”' is made with water slightly salted and

fermented like the other; and becomes putrid rather
sooner; and “bran 'east” is on the same plan. The
consequences of letting these mixtures stand too long
will become known to those whom it may concern,
when they shall travel through the remoter parts of
Michigan; so I shall not dwell upon them here—but I
offer my counsel to such of my friends as may be removing
westward, to bring with them some form of
portable yeast (the old-fashioned dried cakes which
mothers and aunts can furnish, are as good as any)—
and also full instructions for perpetuating the same;
and to plant hops as soon as they get a corner to plant
them in.

The last two days of our slow journey were agreeably
diversified with sudden and heavy showers, and intervals
of overpowering sunshine. The weather had all
the changefulness of April, with the torrid heat of July.
Scarcely would we find shelter from the rain which had
drenched us completely—when the sunshine would
tempt us forth; and by the time all the outward gear
was dried, and matters in readiness for a continuation
of our progress, another threatening cloud would drive
us back, though it never really rained till we started.

We had taken a newly opened and somewhat lonely
route this time, in deference to the opinion of those who
ought to have known better, that this road from having
been less travelled would not be quite so deep as the
other. As we went farther into the wilderness the

difficulties increased. The road had been but little
“worked,” (the expression in such cases) and in some
parts was almost in a state of nature. Where it wound
round the edge of a marsh, where in future times there
will be a bridge or drain, the wheels on one side would
be on the dry ground while the others were sinking in
the long wet grass of the marsh—and in such places
it was impossible to discern inequalities which yet
might overturn us in an instant. In one case of this
sort we were obliged to dismount the “live lumber”—
as the man who helped us through phrased it, and let
the loaded waggon pass on, while we followed in an
empty one which was fortunately at hand—and it was,
in my eyes, little short of a miracle that our skillful
friend succeeded in piloting safely the top-heavy thing
which seemed thrown completely off its centre half a
dozen times.

At length we came to a dead stand. Our driver had
received special cautions as to a certain mash that “lay
between us and our home”—to “keep to the right”—
to “follow the travel” to a particular point, and then
“turn up stream:” but whether the very minuteness
and reiteration of the directions had puzzled him, as is
often the case, or whether his good genius had for once
forsaken him, I know not. We had passed the deep
centre of the miry slough, when by some unlucky hair's-breadth
swerving, in went our best horse—our sorrel—
our “Prince,”—the “off haus,” whose value had been
speered three several times since we left Detroit, with
magnificent offers of a “swop!” The noble fellow,
unlike the tame beasties that are used to such occurrences,
shewed his good blood by kicking and plunging,

which only made his case more desperate. A few
moments more would have left us with a “single team,”
when his master succeeded in cutting the traces with
his penknife. Once freed, Prince soon made his way
out of the bog-hole and pranced off, far up the green
swelling hill which lay before us—out of sight in an
instant—and there we sat in the marsh.

There is but one resource in such cases. You must
mount your remaining horse if you have one, and ride
on till you find a farmer and one, two, or three pairs of
oxen—and all this accomplished, you may generally
hope for a release in time.

The interval seemed a leetle tedious, I confess. To
sit for three mortal hours in an open waggon, under a
hot sun, in the midst of a swamp, is not pleasant.
The expanse of inky mud which spread around us, was
hopeless, as to any attempt at getting ashore. I crept
cautiously down the tongue, and tried one or two of
the tempting green tufts, which looked as if they might
afford foothold; but alas! they sank under the slightest
pressure. So I was fain to re-gain my low chair,
with its abundant cushions, and lose myself in a book.
The children thought it fine fun for a little while, but
then they began to want a drink. I never knew children
who did not, when there was no water to be
had.

There ran through the very midst of all this black pudding,
as clear a stream as ever rippled, and the waggon
stood almost in it!—but how to get at it? The basket
which had contained, when we left the city, a store of
cakes and oranges, which the children thought inexhaustible,
held now, nothing but the napkins, which

had enveloped those departed joys, and those napkins,
suspended corner-wise, and soaked long and often in
the crystal water, served for business and pleasure, till
papa came back.

“They're coming! They're coming!” was the
cry, and with the word, over went Miss Alice, who had
been reaching as far as she could, trying how large a
proportion of her napkin she could let float on the
water.

Oh, the shrieks and the exclamations! how hard
papa rode, and how hard mamma scolded! but the little
witch got no harm beyond a thorough wetting, and a
few streaks of black mud, and felt herself a heroine for
the rest of the day.