Pioneer Life in the West Seventy Years Ago

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This file was contributed for use in the OHGenWeb Ross County by: Elizabeth Rondeau

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Every incident in the story I am about to relate actually occurred: nothing shall be added, nothing intentionally omitted. It shall be a plain unvarnished narrative of pioneer life seventy years ago.

If I cannot apply to my own case the memorable words of Virgil's hero, when relating the downfall of ancient Troy: "Of which things I have been a great part," I can, at least, adopt those other words of his in relating the same tragic event: "Which things I myself saw."

In 1834 my father was the owner of a farm of very moderate fertility situated in Highland County, Ohio, containing 100 acres. His family, at that time, consisted of himself, my mother, and ten children, the oldest seventeen years of age, the youngest eight months.

My parents had felt through life the inconveniences of a meager education, and were anxious that their children should not labor under the same difficulty, and yet they had hoped that the family might be kept together under the parental roof until they could be able to go out and successfully battle with the world without danger of yielding to the temptations which especially beset the path of the young. Sound moral training meant more to them than all else; and they believed that the Christian home, under the watchful eyes of one's parents is the safest place for the young.

To remain where they then lived meant a common school education for each one of their children, and a very common one it was in Southern Ohio seventy years ago.

To pursue the plan they had mapped out for the education of their children would necessitate removal to the of some institution of higher education, which they hoped to be able to be able to do when time should require it. In this case, however, they were disappointed. Their finances proved to be inadequate. There was no alternative. They yielded to necessity; and that, too, cheerfully although compelled to abandon an ideal very dear to them; and yet their yielding did not damp their courage in the least, for they firmly believed that they would yet see the wisdom of what was then meted out to them that when we cannot get just what we wish, it is always wise to be content with the next best thing in reach.

Two or three years prior to this, ten or twelve families had gone west and were sending back glowing accounts of the cheapness of land, the fertility of the soil, and the great advantages offered to young men. Of course, my father's boys were, in his estimation, just the young men the country would need. They therefore resolved to "go West", take their chances, and "grow up with the country."

The farm was sold for $600 hard cash, and the preparation for the contemplated removal began in earnest. The task was not only laborious, but difficult, the more so because it lay entirely outside their experience or that of any one they could consult.

One thing, however, was manifest. A new outfit of clothing from head to foot must be made for each member of the family. These things could not be purchased. They must be made, and that, too, of homespun goods. Here the result of my mother's frugal habits made this possible. Her hands were seldom idle, and never unnecessarily so. Like every industrious farmer's wife she had, in store, manufactured by her own hands, enough strong warm woolen goods to clothe every member of the family. But how was these goods to be made into garments? It was not a light task foe one pair of hands. Indeed it was quite impossible for her, who usually attended to matters of this kind, now that there were so many demands on her time. Her daughters were too young to afford her much aid. A solution of this problem, however, soon presented itself. No sooner were the good neighbors made aware of the situation, than eight or ten of them came to the rescue by tendering their services free until every preparation should be made be made for the journey; and not only did they cheerfully give the labor of their hands, but they brought each day, food ready prepared not only for themselves, but for our family as well; that my good mother might not be compelled to spend her time preparing it. This was the first days of January, when there were not many hours between sunrise and sunset. Accordingly our neighbors' wives and daughters came to our house to assist us before it was light, and remained at work until after darkness set in, some male member of each family coming to accompany them home. Thus it went on day after day, every thing being done to aid and cheer her, who was about to leave behind so many kind friends among whom she had spent more than half her life.

Not a day passed that prayer did not go up from neighboring houses for the welfare and safe keeping of the family soon to leave their midst. The ministrations of these good souls did not abate in the least, until the family were clothed, and the goods packed and loaded in the wagons that were to carry them to the new country. In the latter work, however, they were aided by their husbands and sons. Then when the parting hour came they were there to say, "Good bye, God bless and keep you."

But shoes for so many feet! Where were they to be had and how? There were no stores in those days where the ready made article could be purchased, and if there had been, no money to pay for them. This difficulty was soon met.

During autumn and early winter, it was common in a community of farmers for one of their number to slaughter a beef, and divide the fresh meat among his neighbors, each one sharing equally. When this supply was exhausted, another did the same. This continued until everyone had killed and distributed his beef. In this way they kept in fresh meat - a delightful relief from the salt article which was their only supply during the greater part of the year.

The hides of these slaughtered animals were taken to the tanner (there was one in every community), who made leather of them, returning half the finished product to the farmer and keeping the other half to pay for his labor. The hides of such animals as died from disease were treated in the same manner. From these two sources enough leather was obtained to furnish the family with strong durable shoes. If this supply should happen to fall short of his wants, which it seldom did, the farmer found no difficulty in bartering farm produce with the tanner for all the leather he needed.

From the leather obtained in this manner, my father had, year after year, made shoes worn by himself and family, even the Sunday-go-to meeting shoes. But now this was impossible with the cares pertaining to the journey that was before him. By dint of hard labor, however, continued into the "wee sma' hours" of the night, he was able enabled to make about half the number of required to go around, a brother volunteered to make the remainder. The family were shod for the journey.

But as to hats. No one in that day thought of buying an every day hat, especially for summer wear. The average country boy went bareheaded. Indeed mature men often toiled day after day in the harvest field, under a broiling hot sun with the head unprotected except by such covering as nature furnished them. When a hat was worn in warm weather, it was of home manufacture and made of straw. As a rule something warmer was improvised for winter, but quite frequently the straw hat did duty the year round. Now and then in cold weather a sealskin cap would be seen; not, however, of the beautiful skin of the furbearing seal, but of that of a more plebian seal covered by a short, glossy hair usually black. The six boys were supplied with these at $ .25 each.

We were to be taken to our destination together with such articles as it was thought best to carry with us, (limited, however, by the capacity of the conveyance) in two wagons, one very large drawn by five stout horses, and the other by three; the owner of the five horse team receiving $50 for the trip and boarding and horse feed on his way out. In this wagon were stored such articles of furniture as it would not be necessary to disturb until the journey was completed. In the smaller wagon in bad weather rode my mother and four or five of the youngest children; but when it was not raining, snowing or very cold, only two or three kept her company. In the same wagon was stored bedding, clothes, and food for us during the journey.

The plan was to secure one or two rooms for the night (the number depending on the size and supply at hand), cook our own food, and sleep in our beds spread on the floor. Our horses and cows had usually no shelter.

We rose at four in the morning, fed the animals, breakfasted, were off at daybreak, and kept on our way until nightfall, making no stop at noon, but were content to lunch on frozen bread and meat, munching them as we trudged on our way footsore and tired and that too when the mercury stood below zero. Indeed it marked zero or lower almost daily during half out trip. All we lacked to make up the full measure of suffering that often fell to the lot of the emigrant of that day was the presence of the hostile, murder ous Indian. We met some of them, but they were peaceable, compelled to be so "pet Injins" we boys called them.

At length handshaking was over, goodbye was said amid sobs and tears, and the start was made. It was mild drizzly, and the mud was deep. We made that day, having started late, twelve miles; stopped for the night at a little hamlet, where we secured lodging in a country tavern. There were German emigrants stopping at the same house, and two of the women, being all piled with the ardent, enlivened the evening by singing songs in their native tongue.

Off before day dawned. Still raining lightly and the mud increasing in depth. There were no macadamized roads in those days. Much of the road was a mere wagon road through the forest made by cutting away here and there a sapling and removing such other obstructions as could be readily got out of the way. Streams were not spanned by bridges, but here and there the worst marshes were corduroyed. After a hard uncomfortable day's journey we found ourselves about sunset in Wilmington, Clinton County, and spent the night in very comfortable quarters.

The next point of interest was the Great Miami River, which we crossed by fording at Franklin, and made our way toward Eaton. The day we passed through Eaton a hard rain was on us from early morning, and consequently a stop was made about two o'clock in the afternoon. Our condition was deplorable. The clothes we wore were saturated with water, while the beds on which we were to pass the night and the food we were to eat was little better. The landlady, however, was cheerful and kind, and soon had a blazing fire in a large comfortable room. Any place that was dry and warm was comfortable, for we had been out from early morning in a cold drenching winter rain, and our bodies and limbs were almost paralyzed with cold. Soon, however, with half-dried garments, we sat down to a warm meal, the first food we had eaten since dawn, and forgot all about the hardships of the day. It is always pleasant to feel your condition improving even when under other circumstances, you would not be, strictly speaking, comfortable. No one suffered anything but temporary inconvenience from the exposure.

When morning came, we found the ground covered with snow, the wind blowing almost a gale and the mercury hovering around zero. By no means was the outlook pleasant. The roads were in such condition that travel was well-nigh impossible. They had frozen to the depth of two or three inches with ten of twelve inches of soft mud underneath this crust, which was not strong enough to carry a loaded wagon. We prudently remained under shelter that day - Saturday. Sunday morning came with increased cold. It was not the wish or purpose of my father to travel on Sunday, but the owner of the hired wagon became angry and replied in very emphatic terms, "I have already lost one day and cannot lose another. Do as you please. I will go this morning. You follow when you are ready. If I get to our destination before you do, I shall unload and start on the return journey." In the interest of peace, my father yielded. So we broke camp, and trudged along over rough roads facing a cold northwest wind. The cold had begun in earnest, and continued until the journey ended.

Soon after this, we passed through Richmond, Indiana, and turned west over the National Road, Indianapolis on this highway being the next objective point. This was hard and much smoother than the roads we had traveled up to that point and we made better time, and that, too, with less fatigue.

Before we reached Indianapolis, the feet of the cattle, worn out by the frozen ground, became so tender that it was not a little effort that they were kept along with the wagons. They grew lame and evidently suffered a good deal of pain. To relieve the poor brutes, it was determined that the oldest brother and one four years his junior should take charge of the cattle, and travel along by easy stages - no faster than they were able to go without suffering. This plan having been agreed upon, though with evident hesitation and faint heartedness, the boys were supplied with funds to pay their necessary expenses, and given minute instructions as to how to proceed. They were told to start about ten o'clock each day, move slowly, and stop over for the night not later than three p.m.

The next morning the wagons started about five o'clock leaving the two boys behind. The day proved to be milder, and soon the ground began to soften making it easier for the cattle to travel. Some time sooner than they had been instructed, the boys were off and their charge was pushed ahead by a liberal use of the whip. They made good time and gained somewhat on the wagons. About eight o'clock in the evening, while the remainder of the family sat by the warm fire speculating as to where the poor boys were and what they were doing, the younger of the two bolted into the room and shouted, "Father, where shall we put the cows?" Whereupon a shout of glad welcome went up from every throat in the room. The boys were soon cared for, and the plucky drivers given a warm supper. After that, all kept together.

Three or four miles back from where we were spending the night, a large creek crossed the road. No bridge spanned the stream, and it was coated with thick ice except where the passing of the teams kept the ford open. The poor animals readily entered the water, but persistently refused to leave it. The sensation produced in the water was evidently grateful. No coaxing, no pelting with stones or sticks, could persuade them to move forward one foot. At length the younger of the two boys, becoming impatient at delay, sprang into the water almost to his armpits and hurried them through. He came out dripping wet, and in that condition walked in the cold until he reached our halting place. In a few minutes after leaving the water, his clothes were frozen stiff, and remained so until changed for dry garments at the end of his day's travel, and yet he suffered no inconvenience from the ice bath taken under rather novel circumstances.

At Indianapolis, we turned northward over the Michigan Road, a highway constructed by the United States Government, leading from Indianapolis to Michigan City, situated on the lake of the same name. A vigorous attempt was at that time made to boom the latter town. Many believed that it was the coming city, that it would outstrip Chicago, but human enterprise had decreed otherwise. Today Chicago has grown to such proportions that it could swallow its then rival and feel no inconvenience. For some time, however, a large district of northern Indiana, as far south as the Wabash River, received all its dry goods and groceries through this port whence they were distributed by wagons. Indianapolis had been the capital of the state since 1824. The first state house had just been completed. It was of brick, and in my eyes a wondrous structure. Especially was I struck by the lofty brick columns which guarded the entrance to the halls where legislators sat in solemn council and judges decreed justice. The town gave no promise of becoming the beautiful enterprising city it now is. The railroad whistle had yet to waken the latent energies of its citizens.

Soon after this, an axle of one of the wagons was broken, fortunately directly in front of the home of one who was able to repair damages. He did blacksmith work for those living within a radius of five or six miles, and was a jack-at-all-trades. He kindly let us have a room to lodge in, and with my father's help went to work to repair the broken axle. One day sufficed to repair anew the broken part, and we set out again.

The country was densely wooded; there were few settlers; we often traveled ten or twelve miles without meeting any one, or passing a habitation. The U.S. Government had given the lands adjacent to the road on both sides to defray the expense of opening the road. This appropriation by the government was but a narrow strip as the road was made in the most primitive manner. It was in the strictest sense of the word a "mud road". The streams were not bridged, but the impassable swamps were spanned with corduroy made at times of logs two feet in diameter. The blacksmith just spoken of had nailed to his gate post the foot of a large bear which he had killed a few days before within easy gunshot of his house.

The last morning, when within eighteen or twenty miles of our destination, our father took the lead horse of the three horse team, and hurried on to find some place for a temporary home. The day was mild, the ice softening, and a younger brother and I amused ourselves sliding on the ice near the roadside. While thus engaged, we dropped behind. Finally the ice gave way and let my brother down a foot or so into the water, and in scrambling out he left a shoe at the bottom of the pool. We hunted for the lost article until the wagons were out of sight, and then abandoning the search hurried after them. We caught up and reported the loss stating that it was fully one mile behind us. Two older brothers took the lead horse of the five horse team, and the shoeless boy as a guide and returning to the place secured the shoe. Inasmuch as the distance proved much greater than we had reported it to be, the older brother sent the other two on before on horseback, while he footed it assuring them that he would soon catch up.

But when night was coming on and we were on the banks of the Wabash River he was still behind in the dark. There was no bridge over the river, it was rapidly growing dark, and we must cross immediately in order to secure shelter for the night. The ice in the river had in part broken up, and floating down in large pieces, had lodged in the place of the usual ford, completely obstructing it. Crossing at this point was impossible. There was another ford about a mile upstream, a last resort. This was at what is known as the "Falls of the Wabash" where the water descends twelve feet in one mile, and to add to the danger the bed of the river was covered with large boulders. There we went. It was already dark when we entered the stream; my oldest brother was seated on the saddle horse driving, and I was perched on the "off wheel" horse. I was warned that there was a danger of the horse's stumbling, and was told to hold tight to the harness, which I was quite ready to do. When amid stream, the water shooting past under our feet like an arrow my horse fell and I was thrown from my seat into the river. The driver shouted back, "Joe has fallen into the river", and immediately a chorus of wails went up from the inmates of the wagon. The horse, however, soon recovered its feet, and I came up with her, holding on to the harness. I resumed my place on the horse and sat there for more than an hour in a freezing atmosphere. The occupants of the wagon begged me to join their company, but they were already packed in like sardines, and I thought my cold dripping clothes would only add to their discomfort. I kept my seat on the horse.

When in the water, had I lost my hold on the horse, my body would have been instantly carried underneath the ice, which would have meant immediate death.

We found every hotel in the town crowded and turning away guests. After searching every where for lodging, where there was the remotest probability of being accommodated, we found a family occupying a two cottage, who let us have one room for the night, although the father of the family was sick abed in the one they retained themselves.

The belated brother was still behind and a river of floating ice between him and his friends. It was dark, he was in a region entirely unknown to him, thinly settled, his way through a dense forest, where wolves hunted in packs ready to attack anything, man or beast. Our road at this time passed through a wild region, a reserve owned by the Miami Indians, and used for their hunting ground. Bears and wolves were killed there as late as 1866-67.Mr. B was hunting deer in this reserve in 1848. He came upon five or six bears located in a ravine while he stood on higher ground. He fired on his game, and they scattered in all directions, two of them directly at the hunter. He sprang up a neighboring tree and perched among the limbs, whereupon the bears, seeing him, turned tail and fled in the opposite direction. He averred that the marks of his boot heels where they first struck the tree were ten feet from the ground. The first fright over, he followed his game and bagged three or four of them.

Our mother strove hard to appear cheerful and hopeful encouraging her children by her manner and her words. "Never mind, dears; Harvey knows how to take care of himself, and will soon be here", and yet intense anxiety was plainly depicted on her face. This suspense continued until near midnight when it was relieved by Harvey's opening the door and walking into the room where we were. He came to the river safely some time after dark, and gave a boy ten cents to pilot him over. The ice was slowly moving downstream and they were compelled to leap from one piece of floating ice to another - a thing extremely dangerous. Once safely across he spent an hour or more in locating us. We forgot everything else in the happiness his safe arrival afforded us. On the following morning our father came and reported that he had secured for us a temporary home two miles out. He was fortunate in securing this as the town and country were crowded with immigrants seeking homes, and everything that was at all habitable was eagerly taken. The home to which we went was most uninviting. The house, a log cabin of the most primitive type, stood in the middle of a clearing comprising about ten acres and not a foot of fence on the place. The floor and door were made of puncheons, the latter hung on wooden hinges. The window instead of glass, had paper saturated with oil. The cracks between the logs that formed the walls had not been "chinked and daubed" and the cold rain and snow had easy access, entered without knocking. These we had for almost constant companions, the snow drifting down all over the room. The chimney was an old fashioned tumbledown "cat and stick" affair that seemed to be turned wrong end upward judging from the volume of smoke that constantly poured out into the room, and the fireplace was so carelessly constructed that the house was in danger of burning over our heads. This, however, was the best that could be done, and we were compelled to bide our time until something better would offer. Is it strange that more than one gave vent to their feelings in bitter tears when they constrasted their situation with the pleasant home they had left in Ohio, and recalled the hardships of their journey ending in such a discouraging outlook and extreme discomfort.

In about two weeks we removed to more comfortable quarters and there remained for about two years.

The emigrant of to-day knows nothing of the hardships endured and the dangers encountered by those who sought homes on the frontier seventy years ago. Now he ships his goods by rail, and when they are once loaded on the car, he gives them no further thought until he finds them at their destination, while he and his family board a passenger train, and without even a thought of hardship or suffering, are within a few days set down at any point on the frontier they may desire. Five thousand miles are now made with not a tithe of the fatigue and inconvenience that attended a journey of fifty miles then. Now it is but a holiday trip compared with that of three quarters of a century ago. We of to-day will never know, indeed cannot know, how great a debt we owe to the brave men and women who built the first cabins and cleared for cultivation the first acres in the great wilderness west of the Alleghanies. Hostile Indians, cold, suffering did by no means fill their cup of hardship and suffering; there were other ingredients and they drank them to the dregs, that cannot be known much less appreciated by one who has not lived the life that fell to their lot. And yet they were not unhappy, not lonely amidst what would today be considered extreme discomfort.

A distinguished gentlemen for some time clerk of the United States Senate, was accustomed to aver that the happiest days of his life were spent on the frontier in a cabin so small that he could close the door with his foot while lying in bed. The privations and dangers incident to frontier life, when shared mutually, make us all akin.

In 1807, my grandparents with their family and in company with a number of other families left Abbeville Court House, South Carolina, and made their way to Chillicothe, Ohio. In their route they passed the most rugged and mountainous portions of North Carolina, Tennessee, and Kentucky. They came in wagons via Cumberland Gap, and spent the nights in the forest by campfires without tents. The greater part of their time their horses subsisted by grazing, and their process was slow. Their trip was long and sometimes attended with dangers and always with hardship and suffering. These men were driven out of the South by the increase of slavery. It was the exodus of an entire church of Scotch Presbyterians, and they brought their pastor with them. The Reverend Robert T. Wilson, one of the first presidents (if not the very first) of Ohio University, situated at Athens, Ohio. The invention of the cotton-gin had made slavery profitable and slave labor was in demand. My father was, at this time fourteen years old and bore his share of hardship. Then came the events of 1835, just detailed in my narrative. And yet when more than seventy- five years of age, he said to me, "I would gladly go through all my experience of pioneer life again for the sweet fellowship it engenders, and the kind interest in each other's welfare which makes life so enjoyable."

Say's Dr. Gladden, "Hardships and privations are not our worst enemies. How many of those who lived a hundred years ago where we now live had them for constant companions! The physical privations which they suffered were far greater than the poorest of the poor are now called upon to endure, and their battles with these foes made not paupers but heroes - strong men and brave women fit to become founders of the empire."

September 16, 1903
(Signed) J.L. Thornton
Middletown, Ohio.