University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

On the morning of the fourth day, about ten o'clock, A.
M., we emerged from the forest upon a clearing one mile in
length, and a half a mile in breadth: and nearly in its
centre stood Woodville, the capital of the New Purchase—
a village just hewed and hacked out of the woods, fresh,
rough and green. And this identical town, reader, is, we
are informed, somewhere about twenty miles from Glenville—unless
in the contraction of the roads in dry seasons,
when the distance is variously estimated at from sixteen to
nineteen miles. And as we have a letter of introduction
to Dr. Sylvan of the capital, and shall remain here an
hour, it seems the very time to describe Woodville, in and
about which, as the centre of our orbit, we moved for nearly
eight years.

Woodville was now almost three years old; large, however,
for its age, and dirty as an undisciplined, neglected

urchin of the same years, and rough as a motherless cub.
It was the destined seat of a University: hence when Mind
whose remarkable tramp was now being —(hem!)—heard,
halted here in its march some years after, in the shape of
sundry learned and great men, we were all righted up,
licked into shape and clarified. But to day, never were
strange animals so stared at, walked around and remarked
upon near at hand by the brave, and peeped at by the modest
and timid, from chinks and openings, as were we, tame
and civilized bipeds, Mr. and Mrs. C., by our fellow-creatures
of Woodville. Why, we could not then conjecture
—unless because Mr. C. wore a coat and was shaved—or
because Mrs. C. had on no cap, and a cap there was worn
by all wives old and young—a sign in fact of the conjugal
relation—and so it was “suspicioned” if Mrs. C. was not
my wife, she ought to be. N. B. The caps most in vogue
then were made of dark, coarse, knotted twine, like a cabbage
net—and were worn expressly as the wives themselves
said—“to save slicking up every day, and to hide
dirt!”

But here comes Dr. Sylvan, and we must introduce him.
First, however, be it understood that Woodville even then,
had two classes, the superior and the inferior; the former
shaved once a week, the latter once in two weeks, or thereabouts.
At our first meeting, which was accidental, I was
at a loss where to class my friend; and had we not already
acquired some art in decyphering character by studying the
countenance and the mien, and not by looking at the dress,
or rather the want of it, we should have fallen into a great
mistake about this true Christian and gentleman.

Shoes he wore, it is true—but one a coarse cow-hide
laced boot, the other a calf-skin Jefferson, or some other
presidential name. And this latter was well blacked,
though not shiney; but the cow-hide had been two stiff,
stubborn and greasy, to receive its portion. Above the

Jefferson was a stockingless ancle—presumptive, and even
à fortiori evidence that the ancle in the boot was in a natural
condition. Coat he wore none; but he had on a
Kentucky-jean vest, open to its lowest button, and allowing
the display of a reddish-yellow flannel shirt bosom, his
arms being encased in sleeves of thick cotton something,
and all unembroidered. As a rare extravagance, and which
placed him in the aristocratic class of democrats, the
Doctor wore, not carried, a pocket-handkerchief; and he
wore it circumambient,—the cotton bandana going over
one shoulder, and under the opposite arm, and then both
ends met and were tied just above his os femoris. This
luxury, however, was used only as “a sweat rag,” and
not as “a nose-cloth,”—delicate names applied appropriately
to a handkerchief, as it was employed to wipe off
perspiration or to blow the nose. As to the Doctor's nose,
it was, in its necessities, most cruelly pinched and twisted
between his finger and thumb; and these were then wiped
on the rag just mentioned—on the plan of the man that
topped the candle with his fingers, and then deposited the
burnt wick in the snuffers. The operation was certainly
performed with great skill, yet it seemed unnatural at the
time; and it was not till I had seen the governor himself
in a stump speech, and the judge on the bench, perform
the same instinctively and involuntarily, that I came to
regard the affair as natural, and to conclude that, after all,
handkerchiefs were nothing more than civil conveniences.

Such was the leaden casket—the outer man; but reader,
within was a rare jewel. With a little fixing, this gentleman
would easily have adorned and delighted the best
company in the best places. He was a brave soldier, an
able statesman, and a skilful physician; and if not learned,
he was extensively and even profoundly read in his
favourite studies, medicine and politics. His person, disfigured
even by his dress, was uncommonly fine, his countenance

prepossessing, and his conversation easy, pleasant,
and instructive. In the legislative assemblies he
was highly respected, and often his influence there was
unbounded; and happily that influence was usually well
directed. The Doctor, in short, would have graced the
halls at Washington. As a husband and a father, no man
was ever more affectionate; and as a physician, none
more kind, tender, and anxious—indeed he not only prescribed
for a patient, but, as far as possible, nursed him.
A little more moral courage would have made Dr. Sylvan
a still more valuable friend. It was strange, however, that
so brave a man in the field, should have been occasionally
cowed in the presence of political foes—but so it was; and
this was the only material blemish in a man otherwise
good, noble, and generous.

Other citizens may be introduced hereafter; at present,
we shall speak of Woodville itself. This was, as has been
stated, the capital of the New Purchase—the name of a
tract of land very lately bought from the Indians, or the
Abor'rejines, as the Ohio statesman had just then named
them, in his celebrated speech in the legislature:—“Yes,
Mr. Speaker, yes sir,” said he, “I'd a powerful sight
sooner go into retiracy among the red, wild, Abor'rejines
of our wooden country, nor consent to that bill.” The
territory lay between the north and south Shining Rivers
—called sometimes the Shinings, sometimes the Shineys,
from the purity of the waters and the brightness of the
sands—and it contained fine land, well timbered and rolling.
The white population was very sparse, and mainly
very poor persons, very illiterate, and very prejudiced,
with all the virtues and vices belonging to woodsmen.
Among them were very few, indeed scarcely any, persons
born east of the mountains; and our community was a
pure Western one—men of the remote West being by far
the majority of the settlers.

As a tribe, the Indians had themselves “gone into retiracy,”
away beyond the great father of waters; yet many
lingered in their favourite hunting-grounds and around the
graves of warriors and chieftains; and we often met them
in the lonely parts of the wilderness, seemingly dejected;
and now and then they came gliding like sad spectres into
Woodville. The town itself stood on the site of their own
wigwam village. Here they spent hour after hour, with
unerring arrows splitting apples and knocking off six-pences
some fifty or eighty yards distant; and once when
taunted for want of skill, on assurance of immunity,
they gratified and surprised us by sending two arrows
against the ball of the court-house steeple, full seventy
feet high, and with force enough to leave two holes in its
gilt sides—and these, the Doctor writes me, remain to this
day.

The grand building then was this very court-house. Its
order of architecture I never ascertained—it was, however,
most certainly a pile. The material was brick of a
fever-colour; the building being kept under and down by
the steeple just named, which topped off with its gilded
ball and spire, straddled the roof, determined to keep the
ascendency. The vane was an uncommonly wise one,
utterly refusing, like earthly weathercocks and demagogues,
to turn about by every wind; and yet when in the humour
it whirled about just as it pleased, and without any wind—
emblem of our hunters and woodsmen, who seemed to like
the vane for its very inconsistency and independence.
From the road or street a double door opened immediately
into the court-room. This was paved all over with brick,
to cool the bare feet in summer, and in winter to bear the
incessant stamping of feet shod with bull-skin boots armed
to the centre of the sole with enormous heels, and with
the sole and all fortified with rows of shingle nails:—four
such feet were equal to one rough-shod horse. The pave

was, of course, dust sometimes, sometimes mortar. Each
side the door and within the room were stairs. These
were deflected from a perpendicular just enough to rest at
the top like a ladder to a new building in a city; so that
we climbed, ladder-like, to our second story, where several
rooms were found well finished and convenient for their
uses—the sole excellency in the structure.

West from this citadel of justice was the guardian of
liberty—the jail; the close vicinity of the two reminding
one forcibly of a doctor's shop adjoining a grave-yard.
This keep, in its construction, was in imitation of a conjuror's
series of box within box; for first was an exterior
brick house, and then within it another house of hewed
logs. No wall, however, surrounded the prison; hence,
from its only cell prisoners used, through a little grated
window open to the public square, to converse unrestrained
with their friends or attorneys. The consequence uniformly
was a very magical trick, the exact reverse of what
happened with the wizard boxes: for while the piece of
silver conjured from your fingers would most miraculously
be found in the very last of the indwelling series, the condemned
thief or murderer safely caged in our interior cell,
at the very moment the officers wished him to come and be
hung, or some such exaltation, lo! and behold! then and
there—the criminal was not! And at every renewal of this
curious trick, which was two or three times a year, we
were as much amazed as ever!

Getting out was still a little troublesome, more so at least
than not getting in; and so a rowdy school-master of the
Purchase, against whom were charges of assault and battery,
used this preventive. He had given bail for his appearance,
but the day before the trial the following was
inserted in our Woodville paper—the “Great Western
Republican Democrat:”—

“Melancholy.—The body corporate of Mr. Patrick Erin,

school-master of Harman's Bottom, was found lodged in
some brush below the log across Shelmire's Creek. It
is known he left town yesterday in a state of intoxicated
inebriety, and with a jug of the creature, so that as he
tried to cross in the great fresh he slipped off and was
drowned.”

Accounts, indictments, charges, and so on, were all
quashed—and then the day after Mr. Patrick Erin, that
was lately drowned, or somebody exactly like him, was
reeling about the court-yard, pretty well corned, to the
amazement of us all, judge, grand jury, and citizens. The
scamp had written the “Melancholy” for the paper himself,—and
for that time escaped all prosecutions.

Churches at the era of the Searching, if by a church be
meant according to certain syllogisms in school logic, “a
building of stone,” did not grace our capital. But if by
church we understand “a congregation,” then churches
were about as plenty as private houses. We numbered
five hundred citizens, and these all belonged to some one or
more of our Ten Religious Sects—hence almost every
house-keeper had a “meeting” of his own and in his own
dwelling. I fear we were in all things too superstitious,
and that some of us worshipped an unknown God. Indeed
most that was done at most of our meetings, was to
revile others and glorify ourselves. Judge, however, reader,
of the nature of our fanaticism by an instance or two
that occurred when I resided afterwards in Woodville.
I had a neighbour who conducted private prayer, not by
entering his closet and shutting the door, but by opening
his doors and windows, and praying so awfully loud, that
we could distinctly hear and see him too, from our house
distant from his a full half-furlong! But again, some extra
saints, wishing to worship on a high place, used to
resort to the top of the court-house steeple! A peculiar
grumble repeatedly heard thence several evenings in succession,

just after sunset, induced several profane persons
to clamber up to ascertain the cause—and there, sure
enough, were the steeple saints away up towards heaven,
at their devotions!—pity they ever came down to earth
again—they fell away from grace afterwards, and died, I
fear, and made no sign!

Household churches are sometimes very unfavourable
to devotion and elocution, especially if children belong to
the establishment. If such, indeed, are of the class
mammilla, they may be nursed into order: but no apples,
cookies, maple-sugar, little tin cups and hardware mugs of
milk or spring water, can keep quiescent those that are
independent of the milky way. True, they are at last captured,
after eluding a dozen hands, and laughing at nods,
frowns, and twisted faces, and are then hurried out, kicking
away at the air and knocking off a sun-bonnet or two
near the door-way—but then the “screamer!”—and this followed
by the clamour between the belligerents outside—she
administering a slapping dose of the wise man's prescription,
and it exclaiming, indignant and outrageous at the medicine!

In one house where we often went to meeting, the owner
annoyed in the week by customers leaving an inner door
open, posted up within the room and on that door the following,
and in large letters:

“If you please, shut the door, and if you don't please—
shut it any how!”

The preacher did not seem greatly disturbed at the first
glance—but alas!—my weak thoughts wandered away to
the apostolic churches somewhere, and fancied the surprise
of clergy and laity, if by any modern miracle,
this ingenious caution had, late on Saturday night, taken
the place of certain golden inscriptions!

The universal address on entering a house, after a premonitory
rap or kick at the door was—“Well! who keeps
house?” It was a kind of visiting appogiatura to smooth

the abruptness of ingress. Once in a domestic meeting,
we were listening devoutly to the preacher, when a neighbour
came, for the first time indeed, but by express invitation,
to our meeting; and after tying his horse, putting
the stirrups over the saddle and pulling down his tow-linen
trowsers, he advanced to the house and startled both minister
and people by administering a smart prefatory rap to
the door cheek, and drawling out in a slow, but very loud
tone, the usual formula—“W-e-ll—who—keeps—house?”
—when he squeezed in among us and took a seat as innocent
as a babe. Query for casuists—Is it always sinful to
laugh in meeting?

One more, dear reader, from our string of onions, and
we suspend at present the ecclesiastical history. A hostess
who had a church in her house, found her dinner often
delayed by the length of the services, and therefore insisted
that a friend of mine, who was the preacher, should shorten
the exercises, which occasioned the following colloquy:

“Sister Nancy, we must not starve our souls.”

“Well, I allow we'll starve our bodies then!”

“By no means, sister, is that necessary—”

“Well—how in creation is a body to have dinner if a
body aint time cook it?”

“Why, sister, as soon as you hear amen to the sermon
—clap on the pot!”

Sister Nancy ever after obeyed, and so the pork, cabbage,
and all that constitute a regular Sunday mess, were
bubbling away in the prophet's pot about the time the final
hymns, prayers, exhortations, and other appendices to the
regular worship were ended:—a beautiful verification of
the remark, that “some things can be done as well as
others,” and, as may be added, at the very same time too.

As to our private edifices, the description of one will aid
an ordinary imagination to picture the rest. And we select

Dr. Sylvan's; he being of the magnates, and his house
being builded by special order.

This domicile was of burnt clay, rough as a nutmeg grater,
and of no decided brick shape or colour—each apparently
having being patted into form, and freckled in the drying.
It was a story and a fraction high, and fastened at one
end to a wing containing the shop. Here was kept “the
doctor-stuff,” and also the skeleton of Red Fire, and Indian
chief, about whom the reader may expect a story in due
time. Here too was the doctor's rifle and all his hunter's apparel:
for, once or twice a year, our “Medicine” put on his leather
breeches, his leggins, his moccasins, his hunting shirt,
and fur cap, and with that long and ponderous rifle on his
shoulder, shot-pouch and powder-horn at his hip, and tomahawk
and knife in the belt, off went he to the uninhabited
part of the wilds. There he continued alone for days and
even weeks—killing deer, and turkeys, and bears, &c., and
camping out; stoutly and conscientiously maintaining all
was for the good of his health, while it supplied him at a
small expense with fresh meat. My heart always warmed
towards this genuine and noble woodsman thus apparelled!
oh! the measureless gulf between this Man and the Thing
with curled hair, kid gloves, and anointed head!—the
curious, bipedalic civet-cat of the East. I plead guilty,
reader, to a spirit of Nimrod and Ramrodism—ay! again
could I at times, shutting my eyes to the bitter past; again
could I exchange my now solitary native land for the cabin
and the woods! Alas! the doctor's age would now forbid
our occasional hunts together—and Ned Stanley and
Domore —

“Go on with the doctor's house, Mr. Carlton.”

Well, on the first floor were two rooms, and connected
with a Lilliputian half-story kitchen forming an L—as
near as possible. Between house proper and kitchen was
the dining-room, a magnificent hall eight feet wide by six
feet long, with a door on each side opening into—vacancy;

—threats to put steps to the doors made two or three times
a year with great spirit being never executed. Indeed, at
last, Mrs. Sylvan herself declared to Mr. Carlton, that
“there was no use in steps, any way, as the children were
mighty spry, and the grown folks had got used to it.”
And to tell the truth, the little bodies did climb up and down
like lamp-lighters; and I certainly never heard of more
than half a dozen accidents to grown folks, owing to those
stepless doors all the while of our sojourn in the Purchase.
Nor was the space for eating any inconvenience in a country
where families rarely all sat at the same time to the table,
but came to their feed in squads.

The two rooms named contained each several beds,
couches by night, and settees by day. Indeed, even when
the doctor's lady—(an accident that occurred maybe once
in two years)—was confined by a slight illness to her bed
in the day-time, citizens of all sexes on visits of friendship
or business, might be seen very gravely and decorously
seated on the side and foot of madame's bedstead, knitting
or talking—

“Oh! fye!”

Ladies, it was unavoidable; and not more surprising
than when French ladies admit exquisites of the worthier
gender to aid at their toilette. How much of the person
may be exposed in stage dancing and French toilettes, we
have never been well-bred enough to ascertain; but in Mrs.
Sylvan's levee nothing, I do know, could be discerned,
save the tip of the nose and the frill of the cap.

From the rooms doors apiece opened into the street;
and as these were very rarely ever shut, summer or winter,
the whole house may be said to have been out of doors.
In fact, as the chimneys were awfully given to smoking, it
was usually as comfortless within the rooms as without.
But in each of the small rooms a large space was cut off
in one corner for a staircase; each stairway leading to

separate dormitories in the fractional story—the dormitories
being kept apart, as well as could be done, by laths
and plaster. Often wondering at this dissocial wall upstairs,
I once inquired of Mrs. Sylvan what it was for, who
answered,

“Oh! sir, I had it done on purpose—”

“On purpose!—it wasn't accidental, then?”

“Law! bless you, no!—it was to keep the boys and
girls apart.”

Now where, pray, had modesty in the far east ever built
for her two staircases and a plastered wall, and to the discomfort
of a whole family? Yet, vain care! The boys had
perforated the partition with peep-holes; but these were
kept plugged by the girls on their side with tow, so that
their own consent was necessary to the use of said apertures.
Still I was told the syringes from the shop were
often used on both sides the wall, to give illustrations and
lessons in hydraulics, little perhaps to edification, but very
much to the fun of both squirters and squirted: proof that
even among hoosiers and all other wild men, “love laughs
at locksmiths.”

South of Woodville, (distance according to the weather,)
and in the very edge of the forest, were, at this time, two
unfinished brick buildings, destined for the use of the future
University. As we passed to-day in our vehicle, the
smaller house was crammed with somebody's hay and
flax; while the larger was pouring forth a flock of sheep—
a very curious form for a college to issue its parchments—
which innoxious graduates paused a moment to stare, possibly
at a future trustee, and then away they bounded, a
torrent of wild wool, to the shelter of the woods.

The larger edifice was called Big College. Its site was
a beautiful eminence; but it was no more fit for a college
than any other moderately large two-story double house.
The other edifice was for the “master,” and called, very

appropriately, Little College; being a snivelling, inconvenient
thing, like those in Pewterplatter-alley, ranged
each side a gutter,—the whole fragrance and prospect!
We shall resume this subject, saying only now that a most
sumptuous area had been already marred by the ignorance
and paltry cupidity of planners and builders; and among
other irremediable evils, not a grove of forest trees had
been left standing in the campus.

Excellent lands adjacent to the college site had been given
by the Federal Government, for its foundation; the judicious
sale of which, and also of other fine lands elsewhere
seated, it was thought would create a fund of nearly
200,000 dollars: but, until that easy-natured and rather
soft-pated old gentleman, Uncle Sam, shall, at the time of
his gifts, prescribe plans and times of commencing colleges,
and make restrictions to obtain for some twenty-five or
thirty years after the opening of the institutions, and himself
appoint a portion of the trustees, (non-residents even
of the State,) for at least ten years after things are properly
organized, then must we naturally expect waste and
stupid and ridiculous applications and uses of the people's
money. May be, after all, sectarianism is not so bad for
colleges.

Hark!—the rattle of our carriage; so we must hastily
wind up with saying, that east of Woodville was a wilderness,
and uninhabited for forty miles; south, cabins were
sprinkled, on an average, one to the league; south-west,
the same; but north and north-west, settlements and
clearings were more abundant.