University of Virginia Library

FEMALE PIONEERS OF THE WEST;

BY MRS. E. T. ELLET

MRS. McMILLAN.

The Female Pioneers of our north-western Territory, like
the heroines of the Revolution, were formed by early training in
habits of energetic industry, and familiarity with danger and
privation, to take a prominent part in subduing the wild forest to
the advance of civilization. Such a race will probably never
again live in this country; the progress of improvement, art and
luxury having produced a change in the character of American
women, tending to effeminacy and soft indulgence. Not even
a return of the perils of war and the necessity for exertion, could
make a “Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother,” out of the votary
of pleasure, or even one whose life has been devoted to self-denying
duties more gentle than those which fell to the lot of
woman in more primitive days. She has now assimilated herself
to her sisters in older lands by education and habit, losing
the sterner features which belonged to the matrons who nursed
the Republic's infancy. Yet those noble women, now passing
away, are the pride and boast of their descendants; we love to
dwell on their heroic deeds, their patriotic endurance of hardship,
and to compare their homely but honest exterior with the
delicacy and grace of the sex in modern days. It will be a
pleasant task, therefore, to call up recollections of one among
the many whose services, never likely to be rewarded by mention
in history, claim our acknowledgement.

Mrs. McMillan was among the early settlers of the eastern

portion of Michigan. Her removal with husband and children
from a more populous and cultivated region, was a laborious
journey, performed in the same manner with other emigrants,
in a small wagon, laden with a few necessary articles of comfort
for their new home; by slow and toilsome stages—their nights
being passed under some temporary shelter, insufficiently protected
from the attacks of wild beasts, and subject to inconvenience
from night dews, cold winds, and troublesome insects.
Their establishment was attended with the same circumstances
of labor and hardship, which have been described in numerous
other cases. We pass to some incidents that may serve to illustrate
the state of the times, as well as to show the courage and
energy of this high-hearted matron.

In 1813 she was living on the Canada side, in a small house
on the banks of the Thames, a beautiful little river whose bright
waters were often skimmed by canoes of savages intent on plunder
or slaughter. The shrill war-whoop often sounded from the
depths of the woods, causing much alarm to the inhabitants.
Mr. McMillan had left his family to enter into active military
service, and their home was two miles distant from the nearest
neighbor. The country had been kept in a continual state of
alarm by marauding parties of Indians, who did not hesitate to
kill and capture, as well as rob, the defenceless settlers. Mrs.
McMillan suffered the more from anxiety at this critical period,
as in the absence of her husband the care of their young children
devolved entirely upon her, and her sole protection was her
own prudence and energy. One day having heard rumors of
the approach of a hostile party, and being apprehensive of a
sudden attack, she took her infant and walked to the nearest
house in search of information. There she was startled with
the intelligence that the savages had been seen in the vicinity,
and that they had gone in the direction of her dwelling, where

they would probably stop during the day. The matron thought
of the little ones she had left at home unprotected, and a sickening
terror entered her heart. She stayed to hear no more, but
bastened homeward, bearing in her arms the unconscious babe
who might now be all that remained to her. As she came near,
her eyes were eagerly strained for a sight of those beloved ones
who were accustomed to run to meet her; all was silence; and
when she dashed open the door and stood within the dwelling
a scene of desolation met her view! Every article of furniture
had disappeared; the floor was dusty with the track of strange
footsteps, and not one of her children was any where on the
premises.

The alarm and anguish of the mother may be better imagined
than described. The fatal idea had flashed at once on her
mind, that her little ones had been either murdered or carried
away captive by the merciless Indians. What was she to do?
In this terrible emergency she lost none of her self possession,
nor her usual sagacity of judgment. The savages could not
have gone far, and her only course was to cross the river and
seek aid immediately. But how was this to be done? there was
no canoe, nor mode of conveyance; she could not swim, nor
could she leave her helpless infant behind her. She was not
long in discovering a way to overcome the difficulty. Hastily rolling
some logs into the water, she placed two boards across them,
forming a kind of raft, on which she stepped cautiously, carrying
her babe, and managing to hold the frail craft together, while
she guided its course, and reached the opposite shore in safety.
Here her terror and anguish were suddenly changed into joy,
the children had heard of the near approach of Indians immediately
after their mother's departure, and, having taken the precaution
to put the furniture in the cellar, out of the intruders'
way, they had crossed the river to seek protection from the neigh

bors on the other side. The enemy had visited the house, but
had done no mischief.

On another occasion Mrs. McMillan suffered from Indian
depredation. A large party from the different tribes was on the
way to Toronto, and in the course of a single day some two hundred
of them stopped at her house, plundering it of all it contained.
McMillan was still absent, and the mother did not dare
to interfere for the rescue of any portion of her property, lest
she should draw down vengeance upon herself and her innocent
children. The work of spoiling went on, therefore, while they
stood quietly aloof. A fine flock of geese, which she had raised
with care, was on the grass before the door, and the Indians soon
commenced execution among them. Mrs. McMillan started
forward to save her favorites; but a gun was instantly leveled
at her, with the threat of shooting, if she ventured to interrupt
the sport. Like many other matrons of that day, she prided
herself on a handsome set of pewter dishes and plates, which
her industrious scouring kept as bright as silver. Their polish
and beauty pleased the Indians, who tried them by biting, to
ascertain if they were real silver, and the whole stock speedily
passed into the possession of the depredators, who left only a
knife and a tin cup in the house. When the last of the enemy
had passed over the river, the terrified family found themselves
in safety, but exhausted with hunger, while nothing in the shape
of food was left about the place. They were compelled to fast
till supplies could be brought from a distance of several miles.

When the war was over, and comparative quiet established.
McMillan and his family, with two or three others, removed to
Detroit, ascending the river on a large raft. The trials of the
wife were not ended. Straggling bands of savages were still
lurking in the neighborhood of the city, ready for any deed of
robbery or bloodshed. One evening when McMillan had left

his home for a short time, the silence was broken by the report
of a gun, which caused some alarm to his wife and children,
though they were far from anticipating the extent of their calamity.
The father's prolonged absence caused apprehension,
which was terminated by fatal certainty; during the night his
lifeless body was brought home. This blow was severely felt
by the bereaved wife, but a sense of duty to the loved ones dependent
on her, prevented her from being utterly overwhelmed.
It may be imagined, after this sad tragedy, how anxiously passed
the nights in her lonely dwelling. In the middle of one dark
night, the roar of the alarm guns was again heard. The affrighted
mother sprang up, gathered her children hastily together,
and knowing well there was no safety within doors, hurried with
them from the house. The house of a friend at a considerable
distance, offered shelter, but the darkness was intense; the fugitives
lost their way, and ere long found themselves in the midst
of the deep mire for which the roads of Detroit were formerly
so celebrated. More urgent peril, however, was behind them;
they struggled on, leaving their shoes in the mud, and managed
to escape to the house of their friend, where they were received
with kindness. The mother's quick eye, scanning her rescued
group, now discovered that her son, eleven years of age, was
missing! The alarm was given, and the next day men were
sent in every direction about the country to search for him; but
all in vain. It was too certain that he had been captured, and
the distracted mother feared he had been murdered by the relentless
savages. For four long months she endured the tortures
of suspense. She then learned that her boy had been taken
prisoner, and was still held in captivity at some distance from
the city. The sum demanded for his ransom was speedily sent,
and he was restored to the arms of his mother. During his captivity
he had fared hardly, subsisting chiefly on buds and roots,
and never having even a piece of bread. This son is now living
at Jackson, Michigan.

After the termination of the Indian troubles, Mrs. McMillan
maintained her family by her exertions, giving each of her children
a substantial education, with such training as to fit them for
every duty and vicissitude of life. She made enough to purchase
a valuable piece of land near the Presbyterian church, with a
large framed house, which is now known as the Temperance or
Purdy's Hotel. The matron resides in the city with one of her
sons, and is often solicited by those who have heard something
of her romantic history, to relate her adventures in detail, and
describe the life led by many, who like her, encountered the
perils of war in a new country.

Another matron numbered among the pioneers, and belonging
to the olden time, is Mrs. Morgan, still a resident of Detroit.
It was after the season of danger and disaster had passed
that she removed from New York, her youth being spent in
New England; yet her home and affections are in the West,
and she is claimed by its inhabitants, so many of whom she has
entertained with her youthful reminiscences. She was a child
in the Revolutionary struggle, and lived with her parents in
New London, Connecticut. When the news came that the
war had actually begun, her father, like the brave Stark, was
occupied in woodcutting; he unharnessed his team, exchanged
the axe for the gun, and departed immediately to join the volunteers,
leaving the children in the care of their mother. One
characteristic incident is remembered. A neighbor who had
been in the habit of stopping at the house, being suspected of
carrying on a trade clandestinely in British goods, was at length
arrested and imprisoned. Escaping from prison, he fled, but
was pursued, fired upon, and severely wounded. The family,

after one of his visits, were alarmed by the discovery of a handkerchief
striped red and white! This contraband article, which
bore the stamp of its British origin, might involve them in trouble,
and it was accordingly hid; it was supposed to have been left
intentionally by the neighbor, who wished to get rid of so dangerous
a possession. After peace was declared, the handkerchief,
which had become a curious relic, was presented to one of the
brothers of Mrs. Morgan. Her recollections of the home-made
tea, sugar and chocolate, were amusing enough. The leaves
of a plant called the “teaweed” were dried, and sugar was
obtained by boiling corn-stalks, from which a thick juice was
formed. Coffee was made from baked acorns, ground fine; the
chocolate from a plant called saladine, which somewhat resembled
the genuine article. These substitutes for prohibited luxuries
were peddled about the town by an old African named
Juaco, who was quite a conspicuous character in that day, and
assumed not a little of a military air, aspiring to be like Washington
in his carriage.

The alarm of the family when startled one day by a fearful
cannonading, and the sight of an American vessel towing a captured
privateer, was often described. The prize was a Portuguese
vessel, and the captain, who was richly dressed, and the
crew, were lodged in the jails at Hartford, Norwich and New
London.

Some time after the war, the subject of this notice was
married to Mr. Morgan, and settled in the State of New York.
She now lives in Detroit with her daughter, Mrs. C. Brown.
Although seventy-seven years of age, she is still erect in stature,
is able to sew and read without difficulty by the aid of glasses,
and is often heard to declare she “knows too much of the British
ever to like them.”