Otis James
Benjamin of Ohio: A Story of the Settlement of Marietta
AT HARRISBURG
It was near the close of October when we arrived at the Susquehanna River, at a settlement called Harrisburg, and a very slovenly looking town it was, as I thought, for those who built it, only two years before, had thus far not taken the trouble to uproot the stumps of trees which still stood in the roadways and gave the entire place a wild, neglected appearance.
I was told that the settlement had formerly been called Louisburg, and the only reason I can think of for the change of name is that there can be found a ferry in charge of a man named Harris, and before any houses were built near by it was known as Harris's Ferry.
We remained at this place all night, the women and children going into a log tavern to sleep, while we men and boys made our beds in the wagons, or on the hay in the stable, as best pleased us.
Because of not caring to spend so much money as would be necessary to buy a supper for all our company, only the women and small children partook of the tavern fare, the older girls, the men, and we boys eating our meals in the tavern yard, after having cooked them in the tavern kitchen.
The next day's journey was only thirteen miles, and then we arrived at Carlisle, which was a military station during our war for independence, and where were yet to be found barracks made of bricks, like regular houses. There were two or three shops, and a number of good dwellings, better than one would expect to find even in a town that had been settled so long.
Because we had not been fed overabundantly since leaving that farmhouse where we feasted on buckwheat cakes, Master Rouse decided that we should all have dinner at the tavern, and a bountiful meal it was, although not quite so satisfactory to me as I could have wished, because of the fact that just then Isaac Barker took it into his head to play what he considered a funny trick.
ISAAC BARKER'S SPORT
When a huge platter of meat was being brought on the table, and we were all looking at it with most pleasant anticipations, for it appeared to have been cooked to a turn, Isaac seized the dish in both hands, ran out of the room as if intending to eat it all himself, and the older girls followed him, racing around and around the building with shouts of mirth, while the tavern keeper and his wife looked on in amazement, until Isaac tired of running.
Then he replaced the meat on the table; but by this time it had grown cold, and instead of having hot venison steak, we were forced to eat lukewarm meat, and it is not needed that I should say anything concerning the disagreeable flavor of deer flesh when it has been kept too long from the fire.
There are times when one really wearies of Isaac's sport, and, as Ben Cushing said when we drove away from Carlisle, a little fun now and then is relished by the saddest of men; but when one keeps it up from morning until night, and again from night until morning, it grows wearisome.
UNCLE DANIEL CARTER
When we left Carlisle it was to journey to a settlement called Big Springs, where, much to our surprise and delight, we came upon Uncle Daniel Carter with his three yoke of oxen hitched to a Conestoga wagon, and having as a load all Uncle Daniel's household goods as well as his family.
Uncle Daniel was an old acquaintance of ours, for he lived but a few miles from Mattapoisett and had started for Ohio some two weeks before we left home.
There had been no expectation in our minds that we should meet him on the journey, for it was believed that, moving as slowly as he must with his ox team, he, if not his wife, would grow weary of attempting to gain the Ohio country, and turn off at some inviting-looking point long before having arrived thus far in Pennsylvania.
But the old man was not made of such stuff; he had set out to join Rufus Putnam's company at Marietta, and declared that he would continue on if it took a year to make the trip.
What a meeting that was with the old man and his family! It was like coming upon Mattapoisett suddenly. I had never before realized how much affection one may unwittingly have for his neighbors, until we saw Uncle Daniel outside the log hut where he had stopped for the night, watching us with an odd expression on his face as if doubting whether we should recognize him.
UNCLE DANIEL JOINS OUR COMPANY
Mistress Carter insisted that she and her two daughters prepare the evening meal for all our company, and it seemed much as if we were doing her the greatest favor, when we consented joyfully to share what we had every reason to believe was a goodly portion of Uncle Daniel's scanty store of food.
When the meal was ended, Isaac and Ben Cushing built a lively fire outside the hut, for the night was chilly, and with the children wrapped in their warmest garments, all of us sat, or stretched out at full length, around the cheering blaze, listening to Uncle Daniel's story of his journey, or telling him of that which had happened to us since we left home.
Before we crawled into the wagons that night it was decided, and without any controversy, that Uncle Daniel should join our company, the only question being as to whether the horses would not travel so much faster than his oxen that we could not well keep together.
The old man put an end to any speculation of that kind, however, by declaring that when night came we should find him not far behind us, and he laid plans for the journey of future days, by saying that we were to give no heed whatsoever to him in the morning; he would feed his cattle and be off, most-like before break of day.
"I'll be on hand when it's time for supper, an' don't make any mistake about that part of it," he said cheerily. "I'm willin' to agree that my creeters can't walk as fast as your horses; but they can keep it up a good while longer, an' you'll find it's the slow an' steady that comes out ahead in the long run. So look for your Uncle Daniel before sunset, an' if he fails to show up, then you can set it down as a fact that his wagon has gone to smash, or the oxen have turned tail for Massachusetts."
HARD TRAVELING
Next morning Ben Cushing would have it that we had come upon bad luck in meeting Uncle Daniel, for at daybreak the rain came down in torrents, and speedily the roads, which were none of the best even in dry weather, became like quagmires. Before we were well on our way the wheels of the heavy wagons sank deep in the mud; the women were forced to remain under the covers or withstand the pelting of the rain, and we men, who walked alongside in order to help the horses with their loads, were speedily drenched to the skin.
Mistress Devoll would have insisted that we turn back and remain at the log shanty until the rain ceased; but both Captain Haskell and Master Rouse put an end to any such proposition by saying that now had come the season when we might rightly expect storms, and if we were to delay our journey save at such times as the weather was fair, winter would overtake us among the mountains where we might find it impossible either to go ahead or to retreat.
Therefore we plodded on, and instead of overtaking Uncle Daniel, as Ben Cushing had predicted we should, before noon, we saw nothing of him until night came. Then there was no bad luck in having a cheery blaze in the fireplace of a log tavern, and every arrangement possible made for our comfort, to all of which the old man had attended before looking after his own comfort.
MUD AND WATER
It seemed to me as if the rain fell incessantly, and you can fancy what the roads were after eight and forty hours had elapsed.
In Massachusetts we would have said that they were impassable at the best, and now they had been converted into veritable swamps by the downpour of water, or filled in places with blocks of sandstone over which the wagons could not cross save we all put our shoulders to the hinder part helping the horses along, unless we stopped to clear away the obstacles.
Again the ascents were so steep that the horses from both wagons must be hitched to one in order to get it up the hill, and when we came to the other side it was necessary to put locked chains on the wheels, and, in addition, fasten large logs or tree tops to the back of the vehicles that they might drag behind and thus prevent us from going ahead too swiftly.
And all this was done in a heavy downpour of rain, when the women and girls must of necessity remain under cover, except at such times as it was absolutely necessary for them to alight in order to lessen the load.
As if to add to our discomfort, two of the animals began to show signs of faltering, and Ben Cushing told me confidentially one night when we were halted in the foothills, with no shelter save the body of the wagon, and doing our utmost to keep a fire burning amid the rain, that it was his belief we should not succeed in gaining the river before the poor beasts were entirely worn out.
The way lay over a succession of sharp rises and yet sharper descents, with the road in places falling off so much to one side that we were obliged to fasten ropes to the tops of the wagons, and all of us men lay hold, to prevent them from oversetting.
Such work as this might be necessary more than once in half a mile, we all the while wading knee-deep in the mire, and at times finding it difficult to raise our feet because of the mud.
A STORM OF SNOW
Then came the time when the rain changed to snow, and you can well fancy that if the road was well-nigh impassable before, it was soon in such a condition that one might say it would be impossible to go farther.
Even the children were forced to get out and walk again and again, and I have seen Mistress Devoll and Mistress Rouse stop many a time to pick up their shoes which had been pulled from their feet by the clinging mud.
Fancy such traveling while the snow came down like feathers, weighting every branch of the trees and every bush until they stood far out over the narrow roadway, shedding their frosty burdens upon the passer-by!
It seemed to me that I could see the horses grow weaker with each mile we advanced, and when night came, after we had traveled no more than six or eight miles at the expense of the most severe labor, it was as much as we could do to keep them on their feet until the harness was removed.
This was the time when Uncle Daniel had the advantage of us, for his oxen plowed their way through the mire, giving apparently no more heed to the weight of the wagon than if it had been a child's toy cart, and again and again did the old man unyoke the patient beasts in order to bring them back, at times more than half a mile over a hard road, to help one or the other of our wagons out of the mud, when, but for his assistance, they might have stayed there until the crack of doom, so deeply were the wheels embedded.
I can look back upon many days we spent while journeying from Massachusetts to the Ohio country with the greatest pleasure; but never do I think of the time passed among the foothills, when the weather was so bitter and the way so hard, without real mental distress, for that journey, during at least eight days, was more like some horrible nightmare than a reality.
ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS
If I were to make any attempt at describing our passage across the Blue Mountains, the Middle and the Tuscarora Mountains, it would simply be to repeat what I have already set down. Never once did we find a bit of the road where there was easy traveling, and it seemed to me that either the rain or the snow fell incessantly, until, wearied to the verge of exhaustion by day, we were forced to remain half frozen and wet to the skin from night until morning.
The women and children, if we camped at night where there were no houses in which to take shelter, slept in the wagons, while the men and boys made shift as best they might beneath the carts, getting such warmth as could be had under the few blankets at their disposal and the fires built close by, which were not of much avail because we could find no dry fuel with which to feed them.
Then came a day which I remember more vividly than any other of all that long journey, when we descended the last of the Tuscarora Range, and came to a fruitful valley, which we afterward learned was called Ahwick, where was a small settlement, while here and there, when we were on the higher land, could be seen farms which one might almost say were ready for planting, despite the snow that yet lay deep among the hills.
Master Rouse's wagon was leading the way and Uncle Daniel with his plodding oxen brought up the rear. It was Saturday night; we expected to remain at least two days, at the first place where we might sleep in comfort, and it was necessary we find housing for all, which might not be possible at the small log tavern we had heard would be found on the road a short distance away.
A FRIENDLY DUNKARD
Therefore our party came to a halt at the first promising-looking house, and Master Rouse set about learning what we might expect in the way of entertainment.
The farm was owned by a German named Christian Hiples, who was of that religious persuasion known as Dunkard, and a right friendly gentleman he proved to be.
It really appeared to give him pain because he could not take all our company in and give us the comforts of home; but it seemed to me that he was doing even more than his share when he agreed that Master Rouse and the members of his party should remain there, while the others of us continued on to the tavern.
I regretted sorely that it was not my good fortune to be one of Master Hiples's guests, for I had heard much concerning these people who call themselves Dunkards, during our traveling through the state, and was most eager to see them at home.
Captain Haskell had told me that the Dunkards were Baptists who had been driven from Germany early in the eighteenth century, when they took refuge in Pennsylvania. So far as I could find out, their religion consists in condemning warfare, and setting their faces against suits at law. They have a peculiar belief regarding baptism, which Captain Haskell said has to do with triple immersion. They wash each others' feet before the Lord's Supper, and give to all members of their faith what is called the kiss of charity. It is in their eyes almost the same as a sin to dress other than plainly and cleanly, and from what I saw of Master Hiples's house during the short time we halted in front of it, I came to believe that cleanliness of home and its surroundings is one of the articles of their belief, for I had not seen so pleasing a place since we came out of Massachusetts.
When Master Rouse's family were thus comfortably housed, Mistress Devoll's team, with Uncle Daniel's oxen plodding patiently behind, continued on to a log tavern a short distance away, and the contrast between this place and that where Master Rouse's people were staying was so great that for the first time since leaving Mattapoisett, I was nearly homesick.
MASTER HIPLES'S KINDNESS
We had comfortable quarters, if one judges comfort by being sheltered from the rain and having sufficient heat; but it was far from pleasant at the inn, and as soon as the horses had been properly cared for, I, despite the fact that my legs were weary with long traveling, ran back down the road to gaze with envy on Master Rouse and his family.
The old German was a kindly-faced man, with a long, white beard extending to his waist, and a voice as mild and gentle as any woman's. He had five or six grown daughters, and when I got back to the farm these young women were doing all they might for the comfort of the guests, without hope or expectation of being paid for the labor.
There was, just outside the house, a huge brick oven in the open air, and these young women, aided by their father, were already heating it as if for a cooking bee. Sally Devoll told me it was their intention to bake a large quantity of bread to be given to us when we set off once more on our journey.
Therefore I came to have a friendly liking for these Dunkards, and before we left Ahwick Valley I was fully persuaded they were what might truthfully be called the salt of the earth.
A SURLY LANDLORD
When I got back to the log tavern there was considerable going on in the way of excitement. The landlord, who had but one eye, having lost the other, so we heard, during a fight when he was a younger man, was anything but gentle in manners, and his appearance was such that one felt as if the lightest word would provoke harsh treatment.
Now it so chanced that the racks in his stable had been built by nailing slats up and down at the end of the stalls, and into the places thus formed the hay was thrown from the loft.
Isaac Barker and Ben Cushing were both very careful to see that their teams were well fed, and more particularly was it necessary now since we had with us two horses that were ailing.
When the animals were put into the stalls, after having been groomed and their coats dried, Isaac found that while the innkeeper intended to charge us for a certain amount of hay, the slats at the end of the stalls were placed so closely together that the poor beasts could not get a single wisp, struggle as they might.
Without delay he went to the landlord and told him that some different arrangement must be made in regard to the racks, if our company was expected to pay for hay.
The innkeeper declared that he would conduct his tavern as best pleased him; the hayracks had been built by him, and built to suit him, therefore they would remain as they were. If our horses and oxen were stabled there, then would we pay so much money for each head on account of hay, whether they got it or not, the surly man claiming it was no fault of his if the animals were unable to get what was before them.
You can well fancy that Isaac's temper was aroused by this injustice, and straightway he told the man what he thought of such dealing, claiming that unless the landlord himself was willing to remedy matters at once, he would take the affair into his own hands.
