 | THE EMIGRANTS. Legends of the West |  |
THE EMIGRANTS.
The events of the pleasant little tale which I am about
to relate, occurred some ten or fifteen years ago,
when the western states were yet in their minority,
and pretended not to vie in wealth or population
with their blooming and accomplished sisters in the
east. It is true, that our people had some vague
notions of their own importance, and would sometimes
talk of their birth-rights and their future
greatness, in a strain that would make a stranger
stare. Accustomed to the contemplation of great
mountains, long rivers, and boundless plains, the
majestic features of their country swelled their ideas,
and gave a tinge of romance to their conceptions.
The immense cotton-woods and sycamores that
overhung their rivers, the huge alligator that bellowed
in the stream, and the great mammoth bones
imbedded in their swamps, became familiar standards
of comparison; while their long journeys over
boundless plains teeming with the products of nature,
gave them exalted notions of the magnificence of
their country. One would have thought they were
speaking in parables, who heard them describing
future republic—a speak on the map of the United
States—a sort of out-lot with a cotton field at one
end, and a manufactory of wooden clocks at the
other; yet they were in sober earnest.
The season of the year was that which poets delight
to describe: when the birds are singing their
sweetest notes, and the trees assuming the beautiful
hues of spring. The snows were melting on the
mountains, and the channels of those little streams
which, at a later season, murmured quietly along
their valleys, were now filled to their brinks with
foaming torrents. The Ohio was swollen to a great
flood, filling its deep channel to the brim; and its
tide was crowded with the vessels and passengers
who throng the great avenues of commerce at this
propitious season. Among the boats were many
of that description, in which families emigrating to
the west usually descended the Ohio, before the introduction
of steamboats into general use. These
were large flat boats, unfit to stem the current, and
so constructed as to float with the stream. Though
slow, and unwieldy, they were large, safe, and
roomy; affording space enough for families, merchandise,
and even cattle.
One fine morning, a boat of the kind described
was seen to approach the landing place, at a small
town on the Ohio. The passengers sprung joyously
ashore, as if delighted to escape from their confinement.
It was an English family, just arrived from
the old country. Mr Edgarton, the head of this
thirty-five, sprightly and good looking, but rather
oddly accoutred; for his dress exhibited a whimsical
mixture of fashion and rudeness. He wore cambric
ruffles, a diamond breast-pin, a dandy waistcoat, and
a store of jewelry appended to a gold watch chain;
but his nether limbs were clad in long spatterdashes,
reaching to the knee, a farmer's coarse frock covered
his shoulders, and a great fur cap was on his head.
He was equipped, moreover, with a powder-horn,
shot-pouch and bird-bag, and held in his hand an
elegant double-barrelled gun. We mention these
things to show how difficult it is for men to throw
off their accustomed habits, and to assume those
which are suitable to a change of country or condition.
Mr Edgarton, when at home, was a modest,
and a well dressed man; but in attempting to assume
the guise of a farmer, and the equipment of a hunter,
had jumbled together a grotesque assortment of
costume, which gave him the appearance of a stage
player dressed for exhibition, more than that of a
plain man of business, which was his real character.
His wife was a genteel, handsome woman; a neat
article, and neatly put up; for her dress was as graceful
as herself; and the children, some four or five in
number, looked as fresh and rosy as the morning.
Then there was a maid, a greyhound, a pug dog,
and a parrot, all in good order and well conditioned.
There was another member of the family, whom I
have reserved, as in duty bound, for a separate mention.
This was Mr Edgarton's sister, a fair lady
on so delicate a point, was somewhere on
the right side of twenty. A maiden sister is a very
creditable and useful appendage in any gentleman's
family. If she happens to be young, pretty, sentimental,
and affected, nothing can be more amusing;
while the opposites of these qualities most generally
elevate her into a rational companion. Julia Edgarton
was handsome enough to pass for a beauty in any
country; she was sentimental enough to admire the
beauties of nature, yet not so sentimental as to travel
with a pencil in her hand, or a book in her
reticule; she had just affectation enough to be very
agreeable, for a handsome woman should always
have a slight tinge of coquetry; she had taste enough
to enjoy the writings of Scott, but not so much as
to enable her to dream over the mad rhapsodies of
Byron. In short, she was a sensible, clever girl,
and that is saying as much as it becomes any grave
historian to say of a young lady—especially if there
is any chance that his work will ever be reviewed in
England.
The goods and chattels of this party were numerous,
but not bulky, nor particularly well assorted.
The nick-nacks considerably outnumbered the useful
articles—indeed there was no end to those nondescript
contrivances which brother Jonathan very
aptly denominates notions. Of household furniture
there was but little; of farming utensils there was
rather more than a little; the latter consisting chiefly
of new inventions, remarkably neat and useless—
The heaviest article of transportation was
the wardrobe, which was sufficient to have furnished
a respectable slop-shop. The stores of linen and
flannel, the dozens upon dozens of night-caps and
socks, the coats, great coats, frock coats, coatees
and surtouts, provided to suit every occasion and
contingency, were absolutely miraculous.
Although Mr Edgardon was going to farm in
a new country, he had not been a farmer at home.
He was a mercantile clerk in London, who by his
assiduity and good management, had been able not
only to support his family respectably, but to lay
by each year, a small portion of his earnings. He
had never been out of London until latterly, when
beginning to feel independent, he was induced on
several successive holidays to make excursions into
the country, accompanied by his wife; whereby his
mind was improved, and his thirst for travelling
increased to such an extent, that he ventured at last
to a watering place on the coast, where he spent a
week. He became enamoured of the country, and
began to talk of rustic pursuits and sturdy independence,
fresh air, rosy cheeks, and healthy peasants.
His wife thew aside all her songs, except such as
treated of cottages and love, innocence and rural
felicity. He determined to study agriculture, and
immediately purchased “Speed the Plough,” “The
Farmer's Boy,” “The Cotter's Saturday Night,”
and “The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain,” all of
which he read with such delight and advantage,
London for the pure air of the country. While in
this state of mind he heard golden accounts of the
back settlements in America, and was easily persuaded
to emigrate to the land of promise. Of his
voyage across the Atlantic, and his journey from
the sea-board, I shall not speak, as they were like
most other voyages and travels, very dull and tiresome.
They had been floating for many days
down the smooth current of the Ohio, when they
found it convenient to halt for a few hours at the
rude hamlet to which we alluded above.
After sauntering through the village, the members
of our voyaging party were about to re-embark,
when a person approached them, and without the
ceremony of an introduction, inquired civilly of
Mr Edgarton, if he would accommodate him with a
passage in his boat. Surprised at the abruptness of
the salutation, the eyes of the whole party were
turned towards the stranger. He was a young man,
apparently not more than twenty-one years of age.
His athletic form was clothed in the common
dress of the western hunter. A loose hunting shirt
of blue cotton, trimmed with yellow fringe, and
confined about his waist with a broad leathern belt,
set off his person to the best advantage. From one
shoulder was suspended a powder-horn, from the
other a huge leathern pouch, in the belt of which
rested a long knife. There was nothing remarkable
in his appearance except that his form towered
above the ordinary height, and that a rifle which he
an ordinary weapon, and seemed fit only for the
grasp of a giant. His cheek had the flush of youth,
his eye was mild, and his countenance open and ingenuous,
yet the rifle and the hunting-knife gave
him so much the appearance of an assassin, in the
inexperienced eyes of the Englishman, that the latter
was not a little startled at being addressed by such
an apparition with:
“Pray sir, can I get the favour of passage down
the river in your boat?”
The first sensation of a travelling Englishman
which is awakened on such an occasion, is that of
pride: and Mr Edgarton being quite indignant at
being asked to take a passenger, replied coldly,
“Mine is not a passage boat?”
“So I supposed from her looks; she seems to be
rather a crazy kind of concern: but I am not
particular about that; I can put up with any thing.”
“We have no wish to increase our company,”
said the Englishman.
The young man looked surprised, and seemed to
think himself rudely treated; his eye brightened, and
the colour deepened upon his cheek; but without
making any reply, he turned on his heel and walked
away.
The boat was again shoved out into the stream,
and floated heavily on its course. Nothing worthy
of note occurred until the following evening about
sunset, when, as they drifted near the shore, our
emigrants beheld on passing a little head land, a deer
he was drinking. They came upon him so suddenly,
as the boat turned the wooded point behind
which he had been concealed from them, that on
first discovering him, they were near enough to distinguish
all the lineaments of his fine form, and
even to see the flashing of his dark eye, as he gazed
for an instant at the boat. It was but an instant,
when he turned to fly; but at the same moment the
report of a rifle was heard, and the graceful animal,
after a few leaps, fell upon the sand. The hunter
who had been concealed in a tuft of willows that
overhung the river, now sprung from his covert,
and approached his victim. As he advanced, the
deer discovered his enemy, and starting nimbly
to his feet, prepared to avenge himself. He swelled
with rage, madness flashed from his eye-balls, and
all his motions showed that a momentary ferocity had
banished the timidity of his nature, and overcome
the sense of pain and of weakness. The boatmen,
who knew with what vindictive and desperate
courage a wounded deer will turn upon his assailant,
gazed in silent anxiety, as they beheld the hunter,
standing alone upon the sandy beach, exposed to
the assault of the enraged animal. As the furious
beast rushed upon him, with his head down, and
his sharp antlers thrown forward, the hunter stepped
nimbly aside, and for that time avoided the deadly
thrust; while the spectators loudly shouted their
applause. But the active animal was not to be thus
foiled, and suddenly turning, he rushed upon his
with his fore feet, then rising quickly upon his
hinder legs, he continued to jump upon the prostrate
hunter, striking so rapidly and violently
with his fore hoofs, that the blows were distinctly
heard as they fell in quick succession on the
ground. But the hunter lost none of his presence
of mind under these appalling circumstances, and by
dint of rolling and dodging, contrived to avoid his
adversary's blows, until, watching a favourable moment,
he suddenly sprang up, and threw his left
arm round the animal's neck, while with the right
he plunged his long hunting-knife deep in its side.
Curiosity, as well as concern for the fate of the
hunter, now induced some of the boatmen to jump
into the small skiff which usually accompanies such
boats, and to row to the shore. They soon returned,
bringing the hunter and his spoil, and our travellers
were not a little surprised to recognize in the former,
the same young man who on the day before
had solicited a passage in their boat. The meeting
was equally unexpected to him, and he would have
returned immediately to the shore, had not Mr
Edgarton pressed him to remain, with a cordiality
which sufficiently atoned for his former rudeness.
The young stranger, whom we shall call Logan,
was a native of Kentucky, who had been reared in
the practice of all the athletic exercises and sports of
his country, while his intellect had been cultivated
by the best instruction which that region afforded.
His fine form and vigorous understanding corresponded
high degree that hilarity of disposition, and ease of
manner, which so often distinguish his countrymen.
Having studied law, he had determined to emigrate
to a newer state than his own, and had reached the
Ohio river, when the accidental loss of his horse,
and the want of means to purchase another, induced
him to proceed on foot. He accordingly sold his
saddle, bridle and other equipments, and having
purchased a rifle and hunting-shirt, was about to
renew his journey, when the boat of Mr Edgarton
stopped at the village in which he happened to be.
Disappointed in his attempt to procure a passage,
he manfully threw the small valise containing his
wardrobe over his shoulder, and struck into the
woods about the same time at which the English-man's
boat departed; but as the latter floated with
the current round a circuitous bend of the river,
while Mr Logan pursued a shorter path which led
across the country, they met again as we have
stated.
Where all parties are disposed to be pleased with
each other, cordiality is quickly established. The
family of Edgarton, accustomed to the excitement
of a city life, and to the enjoyment of the various
expedients by which the idle hours of persons in
easy circumstances are amused in the British metropolis,
began to tire of the silence and monotony
of the forest, and the confinement of a boat. To
them, therefore, the accession of an agreeable member
to their party, was not an unimportant event;
person whom he had before treated with so much
indifference, was a gentleman of easy manners and
cultivated mind, than he felt his curiosity awakened,
and feelings of kindness springing up in his bosom
towards the stranger. As for Mr Logan, he was
infinitely amused at the odd ways of the emigrants,
their strange notions about matters and things in
America, and especially with their cultivation and
intelligence in other respects, as contrasted with
their total ignorance of this country, and the childlike
simplicity with which they wondered at every
thing that attracted their attention. Besides, Miss
Julia Edgarton, as we said before, was a very pretty
young lady, and as we did not say before, sang like
a nightingale, and talked like a book; and having
been for some time deprived of all society but that of
the married pair, the children, pug-dog and parrot
aforesaid, was of course delighted, however unwilling
she might be to confess it, to obtain a more
suitable companion, and altogether disposed to exert
her powers of pleasing in his behalf.
Thus organized, the party began to realise the
pleasures of travelling—those pleasures which ever
await such as have sufficient taste and good temper
to enjoy them. The Edgartons displayed their
books, their engravings, their nick-nacks, and exotic
curiosities, and endeavoured to edify the young
American with descriptions of the magnificence and
the wonders of London; while the latter was equally
communicative in relation to his own country, and
were passing. In the mild serene evenings, as the
sun sunk behind the western hills, and the long
shadows of the forest extended quite across the river,
they would sit on the deck gazing at the rich hues
of our noble forest trees, and listening to the song
of the mocking bird, or the distant notes of the
boatman's bugle. Sometimes Edgarton would take
his flute, or the ladies would sing. Logan derived
pleasure from these amusements; but they were not
sufficient for his inquisitive mind and active habits.
He often took his rifle and wandered along the shore,
keeping pace with the boat, and returning loaded
with game; and sometimes prevailed on the ladies
to accompany him in the skiff, and to visit the cabins
of the settlers.
The difference of character between the two gentlemen
who were thus thrown together was striking
and amusing. Both were amiable and honest men.
Edgarton, enervated by a city life and sedentary
habits, felt severely all the little privations and inconveniences
of the journey; accustomed to a certain
round of duties and enjoyments, he was keenly
sensitive of the slightest encroachment upon his personal
comfort, and selfish in his exactions of attention
from all around him; and, proud of his native
country, was offended if others did not flatter his
national vanity. His habits were formed in a land
abounding with artificial luxuries, where all the arts
which promote comfort or facilitate business exist
in high perfection, and where money can purchase
which the most fastidious can require. He was
now in a country where many of these comforts
and luxuries could not be purchased, because they
did not exist, or existed only in the possession of
those who would not barter them for money, and
where the stranger could only procure them from
the hospitality of the people. But too proud to
accept that for which money would not be received,
too reserved to cultivate the acquaintance of strangers,
he passed through the country without acquiring
any knowledge of the character of its inhabitants
or rubbing off any of his own prejudices, and
suffered many privations which a little affability on
his own part would have taught him how to relieve.
Logan had all the freshness and originality of
character so common to the youth of our country.
Accustomed to regard habits and modes of life in
reference to mere usefulness, and to pay but little
deference to mere form, he was prepared to adapt
himself to circumstances, and to take the world as
he found it. Mr Edgarton, though he could not
resist the attraction produced by the intelligence,
amiability and interesting frankness of the manners
of the young American, who seemed as much at
home as if in the bosom of his own family, could not,
on the other hand, divest himself of that suspicious
and repulsive feeling which his countrymen are apt
to entertain towards strangers. Logan, unaccustomed
to the refined deceptions which are practised
in crowded cities, considered every man a gentleman
that appellation, and felt a disposition to cultivate
the acquaintance of any such whom he might meet;
while Edgarton, who buttoned his pocket flaps, and
kept a bright look out at his trunks, whenever a
stranger approached, was continually wondering
that so genteel a young man should travel without
letters of introduction, and that he himself should
be so imprudent as to admit into his family circle a
person of whom he had no personal knowledge.
These opposite feelings occasioned some amusing
interludes in the first scenes of the intercourse between
the parties, who approximated each other
much after the fashion of vessels floating on an agitated
sea, which meet with a jar and instantly recoil,
but which still float along together, and come into
harmonious contact at last when the waves subside.
So the gentlemen in question, after some sharp repartees,
and after their respective nationalities had
bumped and jostled awhile, settled down into amicable
travelling companions, and maintained the
most friendly relations until their arrival at the
place of debarkation, where the Edgartons, finding
that Mr Logan's route lay in the direction of their
own, insisted on his continuing to travel with their
party.
The place at which the party landed was a small
village on the bank of the river, distant about fifty
miles from a settlement in the interior, to which
they were destined.
“Here we are on dry land once more,” said the
let us go to the stage-house, and take our
seats.” Logan smiled and followed his companion.
“My good friend,” said Edgarton to a tall sallow
man in a hunting-shirt, who sat on a log by the
river, with a rifle in his lap, “can you direct us to
the stage-house?”
“Well, I can't say that I can.”
“Perhaps you do not understand what we
want;” said Edgarton, “we wish to take seats in a
mail coach for —.”
“Well, stranger, it's my sentimental belief that
there is n't a coach, male or female, in the county.”
“This fellow is ignorant of our meaning,” said
Edgarton to Logan.
“What's that you say, stranger? I spose maybe
you think I never see a coach? Well, it's a free
country and every man has a right to think what he
pleases; but I reckon I've saw as many of them
are fixens as any other man. I was raised in Tennessee.
I saw General Jackson once riding in the
elegantest carriage that ever mortal man sot his eyes
on—with glass winders to it like a house, and sort
o' silk curtings. The harness was mounted with
silver; it was drawd by four blooded nags, and
drove by a mighty likely nigger boy.”
The travellers passed on, and soon learned that
there was indeed no stage in the country. Teams
and carriages of any kind were difficult to be procured;
and it was with some difficulty that two stout
wagons were at last hired, to carry Mr Edgarton's
family, it being agreed that one of the gentlemen
should drive the latter vehicle, while the other
walked alternately. Arrangements were accordingly
made to set out the next morning.
The settlement in which Mr Edgarton had judiciously
determined to pitch his tent, and enjoy the
healthful innocence and rural felicity of the farmer's
life, was new; and the country to be traversed to
reach it, entirely unsettled. There were two or
three houses scattered through the wilderness on
the road, one of which the party might have reached
by setting out early in the morning, and they had
determined to do so. But there was so much fixing
and preparing to be done, so much stowing of
baggage and packing of trunks, such momentous
preparations to guard against cold and heat, hunger
and thirst, fatigue, accident, robbery, disease and
death, that it was near noon before the cavalcade
was prepared to move. Even then they were delayed
some minutes longer to give Mr Edgarton
time to oil the screws and renew the charges of his
double barrel gun and pocket pistols. In vain he
was told there were no highwaymen in America.
His way lay chiefly through uninhabited forests;
and he considered it a fact in natural history, as indisputable
as any other elementary principle, that
every such forest has its robbers. After all he entirely
neglected to put flints in his bran new locks,
instead of the wooden substitutes, which the maker
had placed there to protect his work from injury;
to start with an air of truly comic heroism.
When they began their journey new terrors arose.
The road was sufficiently plain and firm for all
rational purposes; that is to say, it would do very
well, for those who only wanted to get along, and
were content to make the best of it. It was a mere
path beaten by a succession of travellers. No
avenue had been cut for it through the woods; but
the first pioneers had wound their way among the
trees, avoiding obstacles by going round them, as
the snake winds through the grass, and those who
followed had trodden in their footsteps, until they
had beaten a smooth road sufficiently wide to admit
the passage of a single wagon. On either side was the
thick forest, sometimes grown up with underbrush to
the margin of the trace, and sometimes so open as to
allow the eye to roam off to a considerable distance.
Above was a dense canopy of interwoven branches.
The wild and lonesome appearance, the deep shade,
the interminable gloom, of the woods, were frightful
to our travellers. The difference between a
wild forest in the simple majesty of nature, and
the woodlands of cultivated countries, is very great.
In the latter the underbrush has been removed by
art, or destroyed by domestic animals; the trees as
they arrive at their growth are felled for use, and
the remainder, less crowded, assume the spreading
and rounded form of cultivated trees. The sunbeams
reach the soil through the scattered foliage,
the ground is trodden by grazing animals, and a
may be, it bears the marks of civilization, the lowing
of cattle is heard, and many species of songsters
that hover round the habitations of men, and are
never seen in the wilderness, here warble their
notes. In the western forests of America, all is
grand and savage. The truth flashes instantly upon
the mind of the observer, with the force of conviction,
that Nature has been carrying on her operations
here for ages undisturbed. The leaf has fallen
from year to year; succeeding generations of trees
have mouldered, until the soil has acquired an astonishing
depth and an unrivalled fertility. From
this rich bed the trees are seen rearing their shafts
to an astonishing height. The tendency of plants
towards the light is well understood; of course
when trees are crowded closely together, instead of
spreading they shoot upwards, each endeavouring, as
it were, to overtop its neighbours, and expending
the whole force of the vegetative powers, in rearing
a great trunk to the greatest possible height, and
then throwing out a top like an umbrella to the
rays of the sun. The functions of vitality are carried
on with vigour at the extremities, while the
long stem is bare of leaves or branches; and when
the undergrowth is removed nothing can exceed the
gloomy grandeur of the elevated arches of foliage,
supported by pillars of majestic size and venerable
appearance. The great thickness and age of many
of the trees is another striking peculiarity. They
grow from age to age, attaining a gigantic size, and
all that stands in their downward way, and heaping
a great pile of timber on the ground, where it remains
untouched until it is converted into soil.
Mingled with all our timber, are seen aspiring vines,
which seem to have commenced their growth with
that of the young trees, and risen with them, their
tops still flourishing together far above the earth,
while their stems are alike bare. The undergrowth
consists of dense thickets, made up of the offspring
of the larger trees, mixed with thorns, briars, dwarfish
vines, and a great variety of shrubs. The
ground is never covered with a firm sward, and
seldom bears the grapes, or smaller plants, being
covered from year to year with a dense mass of
dried and decaying leaves.
Such was the scene that met the eyes of our travellers,
and had they been treated to a short excursion
in the moon they would scarcely have witnessed
any thing more novel. The wide-spread and
trackless ocean had scarcely conveyed to their
imaginations so vivid an impression of the vast and
solitary grandeur of Nature, in her pathless wilderness.
They could scarcely realize the expectation
of travelling safely through such savage shades.
The path, which could be seen only a few yards
in advance, seemed continually to have terminated,
leaving them no choice but to retrace their steps.
Sometimes they came to a place where a tree had
fallen across the road, and Edgarton would stop
under the supposition that any further attempt to
drivers, forsaking the track, guiding their teams
among the trees, crushing down the young saplings
that stood in their way, and thus winding round the
obstacle, and back to the road, often through
thickets so dense, that to the stranger's eye it seemed
as if neither man nor beast could penetrate them.
Sometimes on reaching the brink of a ravine or small
stream, the bridge of logs which previous travellers
had erected, was found to be broken down, or the
ford rendered impassable; and the wagoners with the
same imperturbable good nature, and as if such accidents
were matters of course, again left the road,
and seeking out a new crossing place, passed over
with scarcely the appearance of difficulty.
Once they came to a sheet of water, extending as
far as the eye could reach, the tall trees standing in
it as thickly as upon the dry ground, with tufts of
grass and weeds instead of the usual undergrowth.
“Is there a ferry here?” inquired Edgarton.
“Oh no, sir, its nothing but a slash.”
“What's that?”
“Why, sir, jist a sort o' swamp.”
“What in the world shall we do?”
“We'll jist put right a-head, sir; there's no dif
fick-ulty; it's nice good driving all about here.
It's sort o' muddy, but there's good bottom to it all
the way.”
On they went. To Edgarton it was like going
to sea; for no road could be seen, nothing but the
trackless surface of the water; because instead of
to the bottom, he was glancing forward, in the vain
hope of seeing dry land. Generally the water was
but a few inches deep, but sometimes they soused
into a hole; then Edgarton groaned and the ladies
screamed; and sometimes it got gradually deeper
until the hubs of the wheels were immersed, and he
then called to the wagoners to stop.
“Don't be afeard, sir,” one of them replied, “it
is not bad; why this aint nothing; it's right good
going; it aint a-going to swim your horse, no
how.”
“Any thing seems a good road to you where a
horse will not have to swim,” replied the Englishman
surlily.
“Why, bless you,” said the backwoodsman, “this
aint no part of a priming, to places that I've seed
afore, no how. I've seed race paths in a worse fix
than this. Dont you reckon, stranger, that if my
team can drag this here heavy wagon, loaded down
with plunder, you can sartainly get along with that
ar little carry-all, and nothing on the face of the
yearth to tote, but jist the women and children?”
They had but one such swamp to pass. It was
only about half a mile wide, and after travelling that
far through the water, the firm soil of the woods,
which before seemed gloomy, became cheerful by
contrast; and Edgarton found at last, that however
unpleasant such travelling may be to those who are
not accustomed to it, it has really no dangers but
such as are imaginary.
As the cavalcade proceeded slowly, the ladies
found it most pleasant to walk, wherever the ground
was sufficiently dry. Mrs Edgarton and the
children might be seen sauntering along, and keeping
close to the carriage, for fear of being lost, or
captured by some non-descript monster of the wild,
yet often halting to gather nosegays of wild flowers,
or to examine some of the many natural curiosities
which surrounded them. Logan and the fair Julia
lingered still farther in the rear. They were in
that season of life, when acquaintances are readily
formed, and when cordiality soon ripens into confidence.
A few days had sufficed to inspire them
with an interest in each other, which was growing
fast into a tender sentiment. The spring of the
year is supposed to be particularly propitious to the
passion of love. When the birds are singing, and
nature assumes her softest and most beautiful attire,
the fancy becomes excited, the heart awakened to
the influence of gentle affections, and like the flower
buds, the germ of love swells and expands in the
genial atmosphere. Independently of those attractions
of mind and person, in which some individuals
greatly excel others, there is a loveliness in youth
itself sufficiently alluring to create attachment. The
temper is then most apt to be amiable, the affections
ardent and generous, the mind cheerful and unsuspecting.
The cares of life have not clouded the
imagination, nor its disappointments chilled the
fountains of kindness; nature is then arrayed in all
the graces of a distant landscape, in which the
with its delicate hues and deceptive shadows
is alone discovered in the far perspective; and man
is contemplated in the pristine innocence of Eden,
while to the worldly eye he is known in the vices
of a fallen creature.
The sun was about to set when the wagoners
halted at an open spot, covered with a thick carpet
of short grass, on the margin of a small stream of
clear water. On inquiring the reason, Mr Edgarton
was assured that this was the best camp-ground on
the route, and as there was no house within many
miles, it was advisable to make arrangements for
passing the night there.
“Impossible!” exclaimed the European gentleman;
“what! lie on the ground like beasts! we shall
all catch our death of cold!”
“I should never live through the night,” groaned
his fair partner.
“We shall all be heaten up by vild volves or
ungry hingins,” whined the maid.
“Don't let us stay here in the dark, papa,” cried
the children.
Logan expressed the opinion that an encampment
might be made quite comfortable, and the
sentimental Julia declared that it would be “delightful!”
Edgarton imprecated maledictions on the
beggarly country which could not afford inns for
travellers, and wondered if they expected a gentleman
to nestle among the leaves like Robin Hood's
foresters.
“I wisht I hadn't never left Lunnun,” sobbed
the lady's maid, “this comes of hemigratin out of
Hingland to these here back voods. Only to
think of gentle volks and vimmen and children
having to vaunder in the voods, like Rob Roy in the
novel, or Walentine and Horson in the play. Oh!
I shall never live to see the morning, so I vont! do
Mrs Hedgarton let us turn back!”
This storm, like other sudden gusts, soon blew
over, and the party began in earnest to make the
best of a bad business, by rendering their situation
as comfortable as possible. The wagoners, though
highly amused at the fears of their companions,
showed great alacrity and kindness in their endeavours
to dissipate the apprehensions and provide
for the comfort of the foreigners; and, assisted by Mr
Logan, soon prepared a shelter. This was made
by planting some large stakes in the ground, in the
form of a square, filling up the sides and covering
the top with smaller poles, and suspending blankets
over and around it, so as to form a complete enclosure.
Mrs Edgarton had a carpet taken from
the wagons and spread on the ground; on this the
beds were unpacked and laid, trunks were arranged
for seats, and the emigrants, surprised at finding
themselves in a comfortable apartment, became as
merry as they had before been despondent. A
fire was kindled, and the tea-kettle boiled, and
there being a large store of bread and provisions
already prepared, an excellent repast was soon
placed before them, and eaten with the relish produced
closed in, but the blaze of a large fire, and the light
of several candles, threw a brilliant gleam over the
spot, and heightened the cheerfulness of the evening
meal. The arrangements for sleeping were very
simple. The tent, which had been divided into two
apartments by a curtain suspended in the middle,
accommodated all of Mr Edgarton's household; Logan
drew on his great coat, and spreading a single
blanket on the ground, threw himself down with
his feet to the fire; the teamsters crept into their
wagons, and the several parties soon enjoyed that
luxury which, if Shakspeare may be believed, is
denied to the “head that wears a crown.”
The light of the morning brought with it cheerfulness
and merriment. Refreshed from the fatigues
of the preceding day, inspired with new confidence,
and amused by the novelties that surrounded them,
the emigrants were in high spirits. Breakfast was
hastily prepared, and the happy party, seated in a
circle on the grass, enjoyed their meal with a keen
relish. The horses were then harnessed, and the
cavalcade renewed its march.
The day was far advanced when they began to
rise to more elevated ground than that over which
they had travelled. The appearance of the woods
was sensibly changed. They were now travelling
over a high upland track, with a gently waving
surface, and instead of the rank vegetation, the
dense foliage, and gloomy shades, by which they
had been surrounded, beheld woodlands composed
with rich thickets of young timber. The growth
though thick was low, so that the rays of the sun
penetrated through many openings, and the beaten
path which they pursued was entirely exposed to the
genial beams. Groves of the wild apple, the plum,
and the cherry, now in full bloom, added a rich
beauty to the scene and a delightful fragrance to
the air.
But the greatest natural curiosity, and the
most attractive scenic exhibition of our western
hemisphere, was still in reserve; and a spontaneous
expression of wonder and delight burst from the
whole party, as they emerged from the woods and
stood on the edge of a prairie. They entered a
long vista, carpeted with grass, interspered with
numberless flowers, among which the blue violet
predominated; while the edges of the forest on
either hand were elegantly fringed with low
thickets, loaded with blossoms—those of the plum
and cherry, of snowy whiteness, and those of the
crab apple, of a delicate pink. Above and beyond
these were seen the rich green, the irregular outline,
and the variegated light and shade of the forest.
As if to produce the most beautiful perspective, and
to afford every variety of aspect, the vista increased
in width, until it opened like the estuary of a great
river, into the broad prairie, and as our travellers
advanced, the woodlands receded on either hand,
sometimes indented by smaller avenues opening
into the woods, and sometimes throwing out points
the irregular outline of a shore as traced on
a map.
Delighted with the lovely aspect of nature in
these the most tasteful of her retreats, the party
lingered along; until they reached the margin of the
broad prairie, where a noble expanse of scenery of
the same character was spread out on a larger scale.
They stood on a rising ground, and beheld before
them a vast plain, undulating in its surface so as to
present to the eye a series of swells and depressions,
never broken or abrupt, but always regular, and
marked by curved lines. Here and there was seen
a deep ravine, or drain, by which the superfluous
water was carried off, the sides of which were
thickly set with willows. Clumps of elm and oak
were scattered about, far apart, like little islands;
a few solitary trees were seen, relieving the eye as
it wandered over the ocean-like surface of this
native meadow.
A few more hours brought them to the place of
their destination. Mr Edgarton had as yet no
house, nor any spot selected for his residence. In
choosing a neighbourhood, he had been directed by
the advice of some English friends; but he had now
to exercise his own judgment in purchasing land and
erecting buildings. He found the inhabitants kind
and hospitable, especially in giving him such advice
and information as his situation required; and many
eligible spots were pointed out to him, on the vacant
however, drop where he may, considers it his prerogative
to know more about the country than its
own inhabitants, and our emigrant wisely concluded
that he was the best judge of his own business. He
looked for a picturesque spot. Unacquainted with
the nature of soils, or the business of farming, he
imagined that rural occupations could be carried on
as successfully at one place as at another, and having
pleased his eye in the surrounding scenery, was
satisfied that he had found all that was necessary to
happiness. His fancy was attracted by a long arm
of the prairie, reaching back into the forest to the
vicinity of a large rivulet. In the depth of this
recess he placed his house, so that its front commanded
a view of the widening vista, while its
sides and rear were embowered in woods. In vain
was he told that the prairie, at this point, was low
and flat, that the soil was a cold sterile clay, and
that the surface being concave retained the water.
He could drain it: the most dreary morasses had
been reclaimed in England. In vain was he told
that the rivulet in the rear of his house annually
over-flowed its banks, leaving standing pools, and
creating noxious vapours. He would convert these
inundated lands into meadows, and become a benefactor
to the country by abating a nuisance. His
little cottage was soon reared upon the spot at which
he intended, at some future day, to build a splendid
mansion, and the delighted man, surrounded by
scenes as beautiful as the most romantic fancy could
What was to be done next? Fields were to be
enclosed, grain to be planted, and stock to be purchased,
and our farmer's notions of either of these
operations were so vague, that he was unable to
take the first step without advice. The neighbours,
whose admonitions had been already rejected, were
applied to, and gave the desired information.
Books were also consulted, and at length Mr Edgarton
matured a plan of operations. A plan of the
farm was laid down upon paper. Here was to be a
garden, and there a lawn; here an orchard, there
meadows, and there corn-fields. The requisite
lanes, fences, and ditches, were dotted off with
mathematical accuracy; plans of the mansion, the
ice-house, the dairy, the barn, &c. were drawn separately;
Miss Julia, who had a pretty taste for
drawing, coloured them all very handsomely, and
they were shown to visitors with no small degree of exultation.
The next thing was to put these splendid plans
into operation; but Mr Edgarton now found, to his
surprise, that it was almost impossible to procure
labourers. The first settlers of a new country are
farmers who do their own work, and but few persons
could be found, who would work for hire.
With great difficulty a few men were employed at
extravagant prices; the buildings were deferred until
another year, and the enclosing the fields commenced.
Planting was out of the question, because
but for this also the season was unpropitious, and
after a vast expenditure of labour and money Mr
Edgarton found that he had scarcely advanced a
step towards accomplishing the herculean task before
him. We shall not weary the reader with a
detail of all his bad speculations, in buying horses
that turned out to be unsound, cattle that ran away,
and were never again heard of, and sheep that were
incontinently eaten up by the wolves; nor shock
the feelings of the sympathetic by reciting the dismal
fate of numerous broods of chickens and goslins,
nurtured by the tender assiduity of Miss Edgarton,
and which fell an easy prey to the cunning fox and
the audacious raccoon. Troubles thickened on
every side; the sturdy peasantry afforded no society
for the polished inmates of the cottage, and the advantages
of rural felicity began to be doubted. Often
did Mr and Mrs Edgarton wish themselves
back again in their snug back parlour in London;
and as often did the pretty Julia wish—to see Mr
Logan, who was understood to be figuring at the
bar of a neighbouring county.
Summer came, and the little cottage, which
served for parlour, kitchen, and hall, was found to
be oppressively confined and hot. Nor was this all:
while the salubrious region around was blessed with
genial breezes, the dreadful malaria hung in baleful
clouds over the dwelling of Edgarton. The rivulet
was dried up by the fervent heats of the season,
leaving along its former channel a few stagnant
who, from their musical propensities and sanguinary
dispositions, might be imagined to sing, as they
hovered around this ill-fated family,
I smell the blood of an Englishman,
And dead or alive I will have some.”
soon followed by the pestilence itself. The summer
wore away, and the autumn found the family of
Edgarton writhing under burning fevers. Mr Edgarton
was first attacked, and in a few hours, was
prostrate, helpless, and delirious. Burning fever,
raging thirst, and intense pain, seemed to threaten
a speedy and excruciating death. The sallow death-like
complexion, the blood-shot eye, the throbbing
arteries, and the distortions of the countenance of
the sufferer, filled the minds of his trembling family
with the most agonising apprehensions. Now it
was that the helplessness of their solitary condition,
impressed their hearts with terror. Their nearest
neighbour resided at a distance of several miles,
and they had no domestic. To the females, the
idea of losing a husband and a brother, their dearest
relative and only protector, was sufficiently
mournful—but when they reflected that he might
expire for want of assistance which they knew not
how to procure, the thought was full of agony.
But women are not apt to yield to despair, when
the objects of their affection are in danger; and
while Mrs Edgarton assiduously attended the sufferer,
the nearest house for assistance, although the way
led through the forest by a dim path with which
she was little acquainted, and the approach of night
rendered the attempt somewhat dangerous. She
succeeded, however, in procuring a messenger, to
go in search of a physician. Before medical assistance
arrived, which was late the next day, Mrs Edgarton
had taken the fever—then the children, one
after another, until Julia was left alone, the sole
nurse of all whose blood was kindred to her own
in the new world.
Week after week rolled heavily away. The Edgartons,
parents and children, still withered in the
grasp of the pestilence. Julia, pale and worn down
with fatigue and watching, was their devoted nurse.
Giving up her whole heart to this duty, with that
intensity of affection and singleness of purpose, of
which woman is alone capable, she had become
skilful in the management of her patients. A physician
came as often as his duty to others would permit;
the neighbours were kind, but they were few,
and their own cares often called them away. Then
came the long, the solitary, the anxious hours, when
poor Julia, left alone with her heavy charge, had
need of all her fortitude to support her. The invalids
underwent many changes; some grew better
and others worse alternately; hope was excited one
day by the favourable symptoms of one, and, on
the next, the danger of another created thrilling
alarm. At last there came a trying crisis. The
breathed his last, in the arms of Julia. The rest of
the family were lying, some insensible, and all unable
to rise. Not another human being was near,
and, as Miss Edgarton wept over the corpse, she
was bowed under a sense of hopeless despondency
that seemed to wither all her energies. All the
fond hopes that had so long cheered the path of duty,
were destroyed—the angel of death had entered the
dwelling—one victim had fallen—and the others,
all, all, appeared to be hovering on the brink of
the grave. It was evening when this melancholy
event happened. The sun was setting. Julia went
often to the door, and looked over the prairie in the
eager hope of seeing some human being; but none
appeared. Night came, and she was alone with the
dead and the dying.
At last her agony became insupportable, and she
left the chamber of disease, for the purpose of refreshing
herself for a few moments in the open air.
As she stepped out of the door a brilliant light
attracted her attention, and she discovered to her
surprise that the southern horizon glowed with a
resplendent blaze, which threw its radiance over
the whole landscape, and rendered every object as
distinctly visible as at noon-day. The prairie was
on fire! The novelty of the spectacle could be
equalled only by its splendour. The fire itself was
not yet visible, in consequence of the rising ground
that intervened, but the spot where it raged was
distinctly indicated by a strong and vivid glare,
Above were seen heavy volumes of smoke rolling
upwards in masses of inky blackness, tinged with
a fiery redness on those parts which were exposed
to the reflection of the element. The fore-ground
of the scene was a prairie, covered with dried and
yellow grass, illumined with a fearful and peculiar
radiance. Here and there stood a solitary tree,
tinged with light on one side, and throwing from
the other a shadow of supernatural light across the
plain. The forest on either side was thrown back
into a deep shade, which bounded the prospect, except
where here and there a point of timber running
out into the prairie like a cape into the ocean, became
exposed to the full glare of the fire, and presented
its hues and outlines distinctly to the eye.
All was still and silent; no animated object was seen
upon the plain, not a sound was heard except that
occasioned by the conflagration—a low incessant
roaring, resembling the distant but tremendous rush
of waters.
The fire had now reached the most elevated grounds,
and was seen advancing, in a long line, fanned by
a breeze from the south. Its march was slow but
fearfully regular. Then the breeze died away and
was succeeded by a calm. The smoke now curled
upwards for a short distance, and then descended in
thick volumes upon the plain, discolouring the atmosphere,
and giving a red and ghastly hue to the
surrounding objects.
Julia Edgarton gazed at this scene with intense
lively feeling of admiration; and she watched with
timid wonder the progress of an element always
awful when raging uncontrolled in its splendid and
terrific majesty; but when the flame was seen extending
across the whole plain, and advancing
towards the dwelling that contained the helpless
objects of her affection, heart-sickness and unconquerable
panic filled her bosom. In another hour,
perhaps, that dwelling would be surrounded by the
flames, and they must all perish together. Her first
impulse was to fly; but the selfish thought was instantly
banished, and she resolved rather to die than
forsake her charge. A slight noise drew her attention,
and looking round she beheld several animals,
that she knew to be wolves, crouching upon the
ground, and glaring upon her with their fierce eye-balls.
By a sure instinct they had scented the
house of death, and waited for their prey. Julia
rushed distractedly into the house.
“Aunt,” said one of the little girls, “is the sun
rising? oh how cheerful the light is!”
“Oh! the dreadful flame!” groaned Mr Edgarton,
whose senses were quickened to an exquisite acuteness,
“I see it! I hear the dreadful roaring! The
fiends are preparing their tortures! oh my God, why
did I not seek thee before it was too late!”
Julia was stricken to the heart by these words.
Like most rational and well disposed persons, she
had always entertained a respect for religion, but it
had formed no part of her education, and had seldom
the world, and surrounded by the dreadful ministers
of death, she was convinced of the solemn truth,
that no hand less powerful than that of an Almighty
God could bring relief. In vain had she exerted
her tenderness, her ability, her heroism—in vain
had she relied on herself. The words of her
brother sunk into her heart, “Why did I not seek
thee before it was too late!” She dropped upon
her knees, and for the first time in her life prayed
with earnestness and sincerity. A calm resignation
followed the performance of this act of duty, and
although no supernatural hand was seen stretched
out to snatch herself and those who were dear to
her from the jaws of death, she felt that courage
was given to her to abide the event. As she rose,
her hand was grasped with a gentle pressure, a
tender voice pronounced her name, she turned, and
sunk weeping with joy and gratitude upon the
shoulder of Logan.
He bore the afflicted girl into the open air, and
having assured her that the danger from the fire
was much less than she apprehended, she had courage
to contemplate again the terrific scene. The
line of flame was advancing slowly towards the
house, extending entirely across the plain in front,
and into the woods on either side. As it rolled on,
the flames were seen darting upward, like agitated
waves, and the spectator could scarcely resist the
idea that a sea of flaming liquid was spreading its
boiling and foaming billows over the land. The
sounds of the conflagration, as deafening as the din
of a tempest. On it swept until it reached the
beaten ground in the vicinity of the house, which
afforded no fuel, and here the flame separated into
two divisions and passing along on either hand,
swept away the fences, the stacks, and other combustibles,
leaving nothing but the solitary cottage
and its wretched inmates upon that wide spread
and smoking plain.
Julia acknowledged her gratitude to God, and felt
that, although in a land of strangers, and surrounded
by dangers, she had now one Friend whose hand is
mighty to save those who put their trust in Him.
On the following morning Mr Logan made arrangements
to procure assistance for this afflicted
family. The deceased infant was decently buried,
and the rest of the family carefully removed to the
houses of the neighbours, where skilful attention
and pure air soon restored them to health. Mr
Logan remained with them, and having convinced
his friend of the futility of his agricultural schemes,
easily induced him to remove to the village where
he was settled himself, and to invest the remains of
his fortune in merchandise. The change was a
happy one. Mr Edgarton, embarked in a business
for which his education and talents fitted him, succeeded
to the utmost extent of his hopes. Health
and cheerfulness smiled again at his fireside. The
interesting Julia became Mrs Logan; both families
are now in easy circumstances; and the members of
never fail to ascribe praise to that Providence,
which conducted them in safety through the perils
of the ocean, the wilderness, and the pestilence, and
gave them a pleasant home in a land of strangers.
| THE EMIGRANTS. Legends of the West | |