University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

The year 1781 was remarkable in the history of Kentucky for the immense
emigration from the east into its territory of unmarried females. It
appears, in looking over the records of the time, as though some mighty
barrier had hitherto kept them in check, which being removed, allowed them
to rush forward in overwhelming force, like to the pent up waters of some
stream when its obstruction suddenly gives way. Whatever this hitherto
obstruction or barrier may have been, we do not pretend to say; but the
fact itself we record as we find it chronicled in history. The result of this
influx of females into a region almost wholly populated by the opposite sex,
was one, as will readily be perceived, of great importance to the well being
of the embryo state; and was duly celebrated by the rising generation, in a
general jubilee of marriages—one following fast upon another, like drops of
rain in a genial summer shower; and, to extend the simile, with an effect by
no means less productive of fertility, in a long run, to the country round
about.

A wedding in those days was an affair of great importance to the neighborhood
of its location; and was looked forward to by old and young—the

latter in particular—as a grand holiday of feasting, dancing and general festivity.
Nor can this be wondered at, when we take into consideration the
fact, that, in the early settlement of the country, a wedding was almost the
only gathering, as they were called, which was not accompanied with some laborious
employment—such as harvesting, log-rolling, and the like. Occasionally
there might be dissatisfaction felt and expressed by some, who, from
one cause or another, chanced to be left out of the almost general invitation;
in which case a special resentment not unfrequently followed. This was
accomplished in various ways—sometimes by felling trees, or placing other
obstacles across some narrow portion of the horse-path by which the wedding
party were advancing, thereby causing considerable delay for their removal—sometimes
by ambushing and firing a volley of blank cartridges at
the party in question, so as to frighten the horses, by which means more or
less were frequently injured, in being thrown to the ground—and sometimes
by shearing the manes and tails of the horses themselves, while their owners
were being occupied by the feast and the dance, and the gay carousal of the
occasion. But to proceed.

The morning of the day set apart by Isaac Younker, as the one which
was to see him duly united by Hymen's bands to Peggy Wilson, came in
due time—as many an important one has both before and since—without
one visible sign in the heavens, or otherwise, to denote that any thing
remarkable was about to happen. In fact it might be put down to the
reverse of all this; for, unlike the generality of wished-for days, it was
exceedingly fair, balmy and beautiful. The sun rose at the expected time,
large and red, and saluted the hills and treetops, and anon the vales, with a
smiling light, as though he felt exceedingly happy to greet them again after
a calm night's repose. The dew sparkled on blade and leaf, as if with delight
at his appearance; a few flowers modestly uncovered their blooming heads;
a few warblers of the forest—for although autumn was nearly half advanced,
some yet tarried their journey to the sunny south—sung gleesome songs;
and altogether the morning in question was really a delightful one.

The family of the Younkers were stirring betimes, in making the necessary
preparations for their departure, and looking out for the expected
guests; who, according to the custom of the period, first assembled at the
residence of the groom, to proceed thence in company with him to the mansion
of the bride, which place they must always reach in time to have the
ceremony performed before partaking of the dinner prepared for the occasion.
For this purpose, as the distance to the house of the fair intended
was not unfrequently considerable, they generally came at an early hour as
possible; and as Isaac's fair Peggy was not likely to be visible short of a ten
miles' ride, his companions for the journey accordingly began to appear in
couples before his father's dwelling ere the sun was an hour above the hills.

Isaac, on the present occasion, stood ready to receive them as they rode
up, arrayed in his wedding garments, which—save a few trifling exceptions
in some minor articles, and the addition of five or six metal buttons displayed
on his hunting frock in a very singular manner, and a couple of knee
buckles, all old family relics—presented the same appearance as those worn
by him during his ordinary labors. And this, by the way, exhibits another
feature of the extreme simplicity of the time—and one too highly praise-worthy—when
the individual was sought for himself alone, and not for the
tinsel gew-gaws, comparatively speaking, he might chance to display. Neces,
sity forced all to be plain and substantial in the matter of dress; and consequently
comfort and convenience were looked to, rather than ostentatious
show. All at that day were habited much alike—so that a description of the

costume of one of either sex, as in the case of their habitations, previously
noted, would describe that of a whole community.

“Let the reader,” says a historian, in speaking of the manners and dress
of those noble pioneers, “imagine an assemblage of people, without a store,
tailor, or mantuamaker within an hundred miles; and an assemblage of
horses, without a blacksmith or saddler within an equal distance. The gentlemen
dressed in shoepacks, moccasins, leather breeches, leggins, linsey
hunting-shirts, and all home-made. The ladies dressed in linsey petticoats,
and linsey or linen bed-gowns, coarse shoes, stockings, handkerchiefs, and
buckskin gloves, if any. If there were any buckles, rings, buttons or ruffles,
they were the relies of old times—family pieces from parents or grand-parents.
The horses were caparisoned with old saddles, old bridles or
halters, and pack-saddles, with a bag or blanket thrown over them—a rope
or string as often constituting the girth as a piece of leather.”

But to our story.

Since leaving Isaac in the preceding chapter, after his important announcement,
as therein recorded, he had been by no means idle. The two days
immediately following had been spent by him in riding post-haste through
the surrounding country, to inform his friends that he was on the point of
becoming a married man, and require their presence at the appointed hour
and place of ceremony. The balance of the time (Sunday of course
excepted) had been carefully husbanded by him in making all due preparation;
and he now stood before his expected guests with the air of one, to
use a common phrase, who has not been caught napping. For each, as they
rode up, he had a friendly salutation and familiar word; and inviting them
to dismount and enter, until the whole number should be arrived, he led
away and secured their horses to the neighboring trees.

In due time the last couple made their appearance; and having partaken
of some refreshment, which was highly recommended and presented by Mrs.
Younker herself,—whose tongue, by the way, had seen no rest for at least
two hours—the whole party, in gleeful spirits, prepared to mount and set
forth on their journey. Even Algernon, as he assisted the graceful Ella
into her saddle, and then sprang lightly himself upon the back of a high
mettled, beautiful steed by her side, could not avoid exhibiting a look of
cheerfulness, almost gaiety, in striking contrast to his habitual gloom. And
this too produced a like effect upon Ella, who, mounted upon a fine spirited,
noble animal, and displaying all the ease and grace of an accomplished rider,
with her flushed cheek and sparkling eyes, seemed the personification of
loveliness. Her dress was exceedingly neat, of the fashion and quality worn
in the east—being one she had brought with her on her removal hither.
A neat hood, surmounted with a green veil, now thrown carelessly back and
floating down behind, covered her head and partially concealed a profusion
of tasty ringlets.

The company at length being all mounted, Isaac took it upon himself to
lead the way; for the reason, as he alledged, that having travelled the
ground oftener than either of the others, he of course knew the best and
nearest path to the abode of Peggy Wilson. Algernon as groomsman came
next with Ella, followed in turn by the father and mother of the groom, and
then in double file by the whole company—talking, laughing and full of
glee—to the number of some fifteen couples. Turning the corner of the
house, they forded the streamlet previously mentioned, crossed the valley,
and ascended by a narrow horse path the opposite hill—leaving the cane-brake
some distance away to the left.

In those days a road—or at least such a highway as we of the present so

denominate—was a something unknown; a few horse-paths, so termed, traversing
the country in various directions—narrow, oftentimes obstructed,
and sometimes dangerous—being the only substitutes. Over one of this
latter class, as before said, our wedding party now wended their way, in high
good spirits; sometimes in a brisk trot or gallop, where their course lay
open and clear—sometimes walking their horses very slow, in single file,
where the path, winding across craggy bluffs, among rocks and trees, became
very narrow and unsafe. Twice, on this latter account, did the gentlemen
of the company dismount and lead the horses of their partners for some
considerable distance past the stony and dangerous defile, by which means
all accidents were avoided. When they had reached within a mile of their
destination, Isaac drew rein and all came to a halt. Turning upon his saddle,
with the air of a commander of some important expedition, he sang out
in a loud, shrill voice:

“Well boys and gals, here we ar—this here's the spot—who's a going to
run for the bottle?”

“Whoop! yaho! give way thar!” was the answer from a couple of
voices in the rear; at the same instant, two young men, separating from their
partners, came bounding forward, on two blood horses, at break-neck speed.

“Stop!” thundered Isaac, as they came tearing up to where he was sitting
astride his beast; and obedient to his command, the two individuals in
question reined in their impatient steeds, hard abreast, close by his side.
“Well, ef you arn't a couple o' beauties, then jest put it down that I don't
know,” continued Isaac, eyeing them cooly from head to heel, with a half
quizzing, comical look. “You'd both on ye avearge two decent looking
fellers—for whar Seth Stokes is too long, Sam Switcher arn't long enough;
and whar Sam Switcher's got too much, Seth Stokes han't got nothing.”

A roar of laughter, in which both Seth and Sam joined, followed Isaac's
closing remarks; for besides partaking of the ludicrous, none could deny
that his description was correct. The two worthies in question were certainly
two very singular looking beings to be brought together for a race,
and presented a most laughable appearance. The one bearing the poetical
appellation of Seth Stokes, was long, thin and bony, with sharp features,
and legs that reminded one of a carpenter's compass; while his companion,
Sam Switcher, was round-favored, short in limbs and stature, and fat almost
to corpulency—thereby forming a contrast to the other of the most striking
kind.

As soon as the laugh at their expense had subsided, Isaac again sang out:
“Squar your hosses' heads thar—get ready, boys—now clippet, and don't
keep us long waiting the bottle! for I reckon as how some on us is gitting
dry. Yehep! yahoa!” and ere the sound of his voice had died away, down
came the switches, accompanied by a terrible yell, and off went horses and
bottle-riders—over stumps, logs and rocks—past trees and brush and whatever
obstacle might lie in their course—with a speed that threatened them
with death at every moment; while the others remained quietly seated on
their ponies, enjoying the sport, and sometimes shouting after them such
words of encouragement as; “Go it, Seth!” “Up to him, Sammy!” “Pull
up, legs!” “Jump it, fatty!” so long as the racers were in sight.

This race for the bottle, as it was called, was a peculiar feature for displaying
the horsemanship and hardy recklessness of the early settlers; as a
more dangerous one, to both horse and rider, could not well be imagined.
That the reader may form a clear conception of what it was in reality—and
also to destroy the idea, if any such may have been formed, that it existed
only in our imagination—we shall take the liberty of giving a short extract
from the author already quoted. In speaking of the foregoing he says:

“The worse the path—the more logs, brush and deep hollows, the better
—as these obstacles afforded an opportunity for the greater display of intrepidity
and horsemanship. The English fox-chase, in point of danger to
the riders and their horses, is nothing to this race for the bottle. The start
was announced by an Indian yell; when logs, brush, muddy hollows, hill
and glen, were speedily passed by the rival ponies. The bottle was always
filled for the occasion, so that there was no use for judges; for the first who
reached the door was presented with the prize, with which he returned in
triumph to the company. On approaching them, he announced his victory
over his rival by a shrill whoop. At the head of the troop he gave the bottle
first to the groom and his attendants, and then to each pair in succession to
the rear of the line, giving each a dram; and then putting the bottle in the
bosom of his hunting-shirt, took his station in the company.”

In something like a quarter of an hour the clatter of horses feet was heard
by the company, the rival-racers presently appeared in sight, and all became
anxiety to learn who was the successful runner. They were not long kept
in suspense; for advancing at a fast gallop, the riders were soon within
speaking distance, when a loud, shrill whoop from Seth Stokes announced
that in this case success had at least been with the long, if not with the strong.

“How's this, Sammy?” cried a dozen voices, as the rivals rode up to the
party.

“I don't exactly know,” answered the individual addressed, shaking his
head with a serio-comical expression; “but stifle me with the night-mar, if
ever I'm cotched riding a race with death on horseback agin.”

This allusion to the bony appearance of his companion, caused a roar of
laughter at the expense of the winner, in which he good-humoredly joined.
According to custom, as previously mentioned, the bottle was presented first
to Isaac, and then passed in regular order through the lines—Algernon and
Ella merely putting it to their lips without drinking. When this ceremony
was over, the party resumed their journey, no less merry on account of the
whiskey, and by half an hour past eleven o'clock, all drew rein before
the door of Abijah Wilson, the father of the fair intended.

Here another party, the friends of the bride, were waiting to receive
them; and after some few introductions, much shaking of hands and other
demonstrations of joy had taken place, the anouncement was made, that the
squire was ready to perform the ceremony. Instantly all talking was suspended,
the company proceeded to form into a half circle, and then all became
silent and solemn as the house of death. Isaac presently appeared
from behind a coarse temporary screen of cloth, hung up for the occasion—
the house having no division save a chamber over head—leading the blushing
Peggy by the hand. (a rosy cheeked, buxom lass of eighten) both looking
as frightened and foolish as could reasonably be expected. Behind the bride
and groom came Algernon, in company with a dark eyed, pretty brunett,
who performed the part of bridesmaid. Taking their several places, the
squire as he was termed—a man of forty—stepped forward, and said a few
words concerning the importance of the present event—asked the necessary
questions—joind their hands, and pronounced them man and wife. Then
followed the usual amount of congratulations—good wishes for the future
happiness of the married pair—kissing of the bride, and so forth,—in all of
which proceedings they differed not materially from their successors of the
present day.

About half an hour from the close of the ceremony, the guests were invited
to partake of a sumptuous dinner, prepared expressly for the occasion.
It was placed on rough tables made of large slabs, supported by small, round
legs set in auger holes; and though there was a scantiness of dishes—and

these in the main consisting of a few pewter-plates, several wooden trenchers,
with spoons of like material, interspersed with some of horn—and though
the scarcity of knives required many of the gentlemen to make use of those
carried in their belts,—yet the food itself was such as might have rejoiced an
epicure. It consisted of beef, roasted and boiled—pork, roasted and fried—
together with chicken, turkey, partridge and venison—well flanked on
every side by bread, butter and cheese, potatoes, cabbage and various other
vegetables. That it was both acceptable and pallatable, needed no other evidence
than the hearty joyous manner in which each individual performed
his or her part, and the rapidity with which it disappeared. The desert
was composed of two or three kinds of pies and puddings, washed down
(at least by those who chose so to do) with whiskey. Great hilarity prevailed—particularly
after the introduction of the bottle. Immediately dinner
was over, the tables were removed, the fiddler was called for, and the dance
commenced, which was to last till the following morning. The dance was
opened by Isaac and the bridesmaid, with another couple—beginning with a
square four, and ending with what was termed a jig. From this time forth,
until the party separated, the poor fiddler experienced but little relaxation
or comfort—unless in being encouraged, occasionally, by a refreshing salute
from the lips of Black Betty; a being of no greater intellect, reader, than a
bottle of whiskey.

Some two hours after dinner, the father and mother of Isaac announced
their intention of forthwith returning home; and although seriously pressed
to tarry longer, shortly after took their leave of the company;—Mrs.
Younker adding, as a farewell speech, “That she hoped to gracious,
Peggy 'd jest make Isaac as good a wife nor she had Ben, and then thar
wouldn't never be no need o' having trouble;” and wound up by quoting
the Rev. Mr. Allprayer as the best authority on the subject. Younker stood
by her side, calmly heard her through, and then shrugging his shoulders
with a very significant expression, walked away without saying a word, to
the infinite amusement of the whole assemblage.

As to Algernon, he seemed to take no delight in what was going forward;
and though he participated somewhat in the dance, yet it was evident to all
observers that his mind went not with his body, and that what he did was
done more with a design of concealing his real feelings, than for any amusement
it afforded himself. When not occupied in this manner, or in conversation,
he would steal away, seat himself where he was least likely to
be observed, and fall into a gloomy abstracted mood, from which, when suddenly
roused by some loud peal of laughter, or by the touch and voice of
some person near, he would sometimes start and look around as one just
awakened from a frightful vision. This gloomy abstraction, too, appeared to
grow upon him more and more, as the day settled into night and the night
wore on, as though he felt some dreaded calamity had been hanging over,
and was now about to fall upon him. So apparent was this toward the last,
that even the most careless began to observe, and make remarks, and ask
questions concerning him; and some even proceeded to inquire of him regarding
the state of his health. His answers to all interrogatives now became so
brief and abrupt, that but few ventured to address him the second time.
Whatever the cause of his present gloomy state of mind, it was evidently
not the ordinary one—at least not wholly that—for never before had Ella
(who was in the habit, since their acquaintance, of observing him narrowly)
seen him in such a mood as now. It was, perhaps, one of those strange
mental foresights peculiar to certain temperaments, whereby the individual
is sometimes warned of impending danger, and feels oppressed by a weight
of trouble impossible to shake off.

This serious change in the appearance of Algernon, was not without its effect
upon Ella. Naturally of a tender, affectionate and sympathetic disposition, she
could not feel at ease when another was suffering, and particularly when that
other was one standing so high in her estimation as Algernon Reynolds. Naturally,
too, possessing light and buoyant spirits—fond of gaiety where all were gay
—she exhibited on the present occasion the effect of two strong but counteracting
passions. Her features, if we may be allowed the comparison, were
like the noon-day heavens, when filled with the broken clouds of a passing
storm.—Now all would be bright and cheerful, and the sun of mirth would
sparkle in her eyes; and anon some dark cloud of dejection would sweep
along, shut out the merry light, and cast its shadow drearily over the whole
countenance,—or, to use language without methapor, she would one moment
be merry and another sad. Toward the last, however, the latter feeling
gained the ascendancy, she appeared to take no further share in the meriment
of the dance, and had any watched her closely, they might have guesed
the cause, from the manner in which she from time to time gazed at the
pale face of Algernon.

Meantime the dance went bravely on, Black Betty circulated somewhat
freely, and the mirth of the revellers grew more and more hoisterous. Taking
advantage of a slight cessation in the general hilarity, about nine o'clock
in the evening, and while the fiddler with some of the party were engaged
in partaking of refreshment, Seth Stokes, encouraged doubtless by the inspiration
he had received from the whiskey, stepped boldly into the middle
of the appartment with the
bottle in his hand and said:

“Jest allow me, my jollies, to give a toast.”

“Harken all! A toast—a toast—from the long man o' the bony frame!”
cried the voice of Sam Switcher. A laugh, and then silence followed.

“Here's to—to Isaac and Peggy Younker, two beauties!” continued Seth.
“May thar union be duly acknowledged by the rising generation o' old
Kaintuck;” and the speaker gravely proceeded to drink.

“Bravo! bravo!” cried a dozen voices, with a merry shout, accompained
by great clapping of hands,—while Isaac, who was sitting by his new wife,
arose, blushed, bowed rather awkwardly, and then sat down again.

“Isaac! Isaac!—A toast from Isaac!” shouted a chorus of voices.

Isaac at first looked very much confused—scratched his head and twisted
around in a very fidgetty manner,—but presently his countenance flushed,
and a smile of triumph crossing his sharp features, announced that he had
been suddenly favored with an idea apropos. This was instantly perceived
by some of the wags standing near, one of whom exclaimed:

“I see it—it's coming!”

“He's got it!” said a second.

“I knew it.—I'd ha' bet a bar-skin he'd fetch it,” cried a third.

“Out with it, Ike, afore you forget it,” shouted the fourth.

“Hold your jabbering tongues!” cried Isaac, in vexation. “You're enough
to bother a feller to death. I'd like to see some o' the rest on ye cramped
up fur a toast, jest to see how you'd feel with all on 'em hollering like.” A
hearty laugh at his expense was all the sympathy poor Isaac received.

“Give us the bottle!” resumed Isaac. “Now here goes,” continued he,
rising and holding Black Betty by the neck. “Here's to the gals o' old
Kaintuck—God bless em! May they bloom like clover heads, be plentier
nor bar-skins, and follow the example o' Peggy, every mother's daughter on
'em!—hooray!” And having drank, the speaker resumed his seat, amid roars
of laughter and three rounds of applause.

By the time this mirth had subsided, the fiddler struck up, and the dance
again went on as before. Some two hours later the bridesmaid, with two or

three others, managed to steal away the bride unobserved; and proceeding
to a ladder at one end of the appartment, ascended to the chamber above
and saw her safely lodged in bed. In the course of another half hour the
same number of gentlemen performed a like service for Isaac—such being
customary at all weddings of that period.

During the night Black Betty, in company with more substantial refreshment,
was sent up to the newly maried pair some two or three times; and always
returned (Black Betty we mean) considerably lighter than she went;
thus proving, that if lovers can live on air, the married ones do not always
partake of things less spiritual. About three o'clock in the morning, Algernon
and Ella took leave of the company and set out upon their return—he
plending illness as an apology for withdrawing thus early. The remainder
of the party kept together until five, when they gradually began to separate,
and by six the dancing had ceased, and the greater portion of them taken
their departure. Thus ended the wedding of Isaac Younker—a fair specimen,
by the way, of a backwood's wedding in the early settlement of the
west.