EARLY DAYS IN LUZERNE COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA (1805-1845)
[Excerpts from an address by the late W. P. Ryman, Esq., of Wilkes-Barré, Pa., before the Wyoming Historical and Geological Society.]
THE EARLIEST SETTLERS AND THEIR IMPROVEMENTS
The difficulties of settling Dallas township were very great. It was comparatively an easy thing to cut a path or road along the banks of Toby’s Creek and find a way even to its source, but to settle there alone, many miles from any clearing, and meet the wolves, bears and other wild animals, which were terrible realities in those early days, saying nothing of the still pending dread of the prowling Indian, was a very serious undertaking.
When a small boy I heard Mr. Charles Harris, then an old man, tell some of his early recollections, which ran back to about the time of the battle and massacre of Wyoming. He told us of the Indians who once came into the house where he and his mother were alone and demanded food. There being nothing better they roasted a pumpkin before the fire and scraped it off and ate it as fast as it became soft with cooking. He also told us about his father’s first settling on the westerly side of Kingston Mountain at what is still known as the “Harris Settlement” about two miles north of Trucksville. He said that his father worked all the first day felling trees and building a cabin. Night came on before the cabin could be inclosed. With the darkness came a pack of wolves, and, to protect his family, Mr. Harris built a fire and sat up all night to keep it burning. The wolves were dazed and would not come near a fire, and when daylight came they disappeared. To pass one night under such circumstances required bravery, but to stay, build a house, clear a farm and raise a family with such terrors constantly menacing exhibited a courage that commands our highest esteem.
Among those who came in the first decade were Joseph Worthington and wife—the latter a daughter of Jonathan Buckley. They came from Connecticut in the year 1806 and settled near Harvey’s Lake. His first house was built of logs, and stood on the hill about a quarter of a mile from the eastern inlet to Harvey’s Lake. When he first moved into that country there was no road from Huntsville to Harvey’s Lake except a bridle path. Mr. Worthington cut a way through and built a house when his nearest neighbor was miles away and no clearings in sight anywhere. Wolves were then very numerous and bold at night, and the only way Mr. Worthington could protect his family from their assaults was for all to climb the ladder to the second floor and pull the ladder up after them. Mr. Worthington used to say that his life during those early days was most lonely and disheartening.
THE VILLAGE STORE
The best of the first stores in Dallas would hardly be dignified by that name now. Only a few necessaries were kept in any of them, and “necessaries” then had a much scantier meaning than now. A few of the commonest and cheapest cotton cloths were kept in stock; the woolen goods used for winter wear, for both men and women, were all homespun. It took many years for the storekeepers to convince the farmers that they could buy heavy clothes of part wool and part cotton that would be as durable and cheaper than the all wool homespun. The time spent on the latter was counted as nothing, and the argument failed. A few other goods of kinds in daily use, such as coffee, tea, sugar, molasses, tobacco, powder, shot and flints and rum were of course necessary to any complete store. Hunting materials and supplies were in great demand. A hunter’s outfit at that time was proverbially “a quarter pound of powder, a pound of shot, a pint of rum and a flint.” The flint was the box of matches of that day. Before the invention of the lucifer match, the matter of keeping fire in a house, especially in winter time, was one of extreme importance in that sparsely settled country. Everyone burned wood then, about there, and fire was kept over night by covering a few “live coals” with ashes in the fireplace. Sometimes this failed, and then, if no flint and punk were at hand, some member of the family had to go to the nearest neighbor, probably a mile or more away, and bring fire. It is not difficult to imagine their sufferings during the winters in this respect. Had food, clothing and other things been plenty and good, this hardship could have been better endured; but they were not, and worst of all, there were almost no means of procuring them. There was an abundance of game and fish for a time, but they did not satisfy a civilized people.
EARLY AGRICULTURE
The only plow in use then was the old-fashioned shovel plow. The only iron about it was the blade, which was about the shape of an ordinary round-pointed shovel. This was fastened to the lower end of an upright post. To the post were attached handles to hold it with, and a beam or tongue to which the team could be hitched. This plow was jabbed into the ground here and there between roots, stumps and stones, and with it a little dirt could be torn up now and then. There was no patent plow in use then, nor could it be used there for many years after we settled in Dallas. Nor could we use a cradle for cutting grain. At that time the ground was so rough, and there were so many stumps and roots and stones, that we had to harvest at first with a sickle.
CROPS AND PIGEONS
Buckwheat was early introduced in Dallas, and was afterwards so extensively raised there that the expression “Buckwheat-Dallas” was frequently used by the way of marking this fact in connection with the name. It is a summer grain and quick to mature. In ninety days from the day when the crop is sowed it can be grown, matured, gathered, ground and served on the table as food, or, as has been often remarked, just in time to meet a three months’ note in bank. Another practical benefit from raising this grain was that, in gathering it, a large quantity of it shook off and was scattered over the fields. This afforded a most attractive pigeon food, and during the fall and spring seasons, and often during much of the winter, pigeons would flock in countless numbers all over that country. They came in such quantities that it would be difficult to exaggerate their numbers. When a boy I used to see flocks that extended as far as the eye could reach, from end to end, and these long strings or waves of birds would pass over so closely following each other that sometimes two or three flocks could be seen at once, and some days they were almost constantly flying over, and the noise of their wings was not unlike the sound of a high wind blowing through a pine wood. They cast a shadow as they passed over almost like a heavy cloud. Often they flew so low as to be easily reached with an ordinary shotgun. The skilled way of capturing them in large numbers, however, was with a net. William or Daddy Emmons was a famous pigeon trapper as well as fisherman. He used decoy pigeons. They were blind pigeons tied to the ground at some desired spot, and when they heard the noise of large flocks flying overhead, they would flap their wings as if to fly away. Attracted by this the flock would come down and settle near the decoys, where plenty of buckwheat was always to be found. When a sufficient number had settled and collected on the right spot, Mr. Emmons, who was concealed in a bush or bough house near by, would spring his net over them quickly and fasten them within. After properly securing the net, the work of killing them began. It was done in an instant by crushing their heads between the thumb and fingers. Hundreds were often caught and killed in this way at one spring of the net. Pigeons were so plenty that some hunters cut off and saved the breast only, and threw the rest away.
THE OLD LOG CHURCH
Of all the occasions in the church, none ever approached such intensity of feeling and excitement as the “revival” or “protracted meeting” season.
These meetings usually began late in the fall, about the time or just after the farmers had finished their fall work. The first symptom usually appeared in the slightly extra fervor which the minister put in his sermons and prayers on Sunday. Then a special prayer meeting would be set for some evening during the week. Other special meetings soon followed, so that, if all things were favorable, the revival or “protracted meeting” would be at a white heat within two or three weeks. In the meantime the fact would become known far and near, and the “protracted meeting” would be the leading event of the neighborhood. If the sleighing became good, parties would be formed miles away to go sleigh riding with this “protracted meeting” as their objective visiting point, often from idle curiosity or for want of something more instructive or entertaining to do. Others went equally far, through storm and mud, in wagons or on foot, from a higher sense of personal responsibility and duty. With many it was a most grave and serious business. The house was usually packed to repletion. Professional ambulatory revivalists, often from remoter parts of the state or county, would stop there on their religious crusades through the land, to attend and help at these meetings. Many of these were specially gifted in the kind of praying and speaking that was usually most successful at such times. It is not overdrawing to say that many times on a still night the noise of those meetings was heard a mile away from the church. In one occasion I saw a leading exhorter at one of those meetings enter the pulpit, take off his coat, hurl it into a corner, and standing in his shirt sleeves begin a wild and excited harangue. After possibly half an hour of most violent imprecations and raving he came down from the pulpit, jumped up on top of the rail which extended down the center of the room and divided the seats on the two sides of the house, and from there finished, and exhausted himself, begging and pleading with sinners to come forward and be converted, and invoking “hell fire” and all the torments supposed to accompany this kind of caloric, upon those who dared to smile or exhibit a sentiment or action not in accord with his.
The principal argument at those meetings was something to excite fear through most terrible picturings of hell, and the length of an eternal damnation and death. Scores would be converted, and many would backslide before the probationary season had ended. Some were annually re-converted, and as often returned again to their natural state. Many remained true to the new life, and became useful and prominent members of the church and community. It cannot be successfully denied that many were reached and reformed at those meetings whose consciences never could have been touched by any milder form of preaching. They had to be gathered in a whirlwind or not at all.
THE SECOND ADVENT
This chapter cannot well be closed without some reference to “Millerism” and the preaching of Millerite doctrines in the winter of 1842-43. It is doubtful if any other religious movement of modern times, and certainly few in all historic time, have ever, in so short a period, awakened so vast a religious excitement and terror as the announcement and promulgation of these doctrines. Ten years before Rev. William Miller, of Pittsfield, Mass., began preaching upon the subject of the second coming of Christ, and claimed to have discovered some key to the prophecies by which the near approach of the end of the world and of the judgment day was clearly shown. His earnest manner and elaborate arguments, apparently fortified with abundant historic proof, had attracted great attention and started many followers to adopt and preach the doctrines, so that, at the period named, the excitement attending it throughout Christendom was at its highest point. The time for this holocaust had been definitely fixed by these modern interpreters. The year was 1843 and February was the month when all things were to collapse and end. Even the day was fixed by some. On that, however, all did not agree. Some fixed the 14th and others the 16th of February, and others still other days in that month for the happening of this terrible event. When we recall that the doctrine found millions of believers in the most civilized centers of the world, and for a time seriously paralyzed business in London, New York and Philadelphia, we will not wonder that with the people then living in the dreary solitudes of Dallas, such a doctrine found ready listeners and willing believers almost everywhere. The old log schoolhouse was not large enough to hold the meetings, and others were started in different places. A very large one was conducted at the “Goss” or “Corner” schoolhouse. The time was getting short, and with the nearing of the fatal day excitement increased. Half the people of the community were in some degree insane. Many people refused to do any business, but devoted themselves entirely to religious work and meditation. These meetings were started early in the fall, and were kept up continuously through the winter. The plan and intention of the leaders was to convert everyone in Dallas township, and with a few exceptions the plan succeeded. Of course there were different degrees of faith. Some were so sure of the dissolution of all things on the appointed day that they refused to make any provisions for a longer existence. One man, Christian Snyder, refused to sell corn or grain, but was willing to give it away to the needy, and only desired to keep enough for the needs of himself and family until the fixed final day. Many of the people spent that dreadful winter reading the Bible, praying and pondering over that horrible interpretation. The memorable meteoric shower which extended almost over the whole world on the night of the 12th and 13th of November, 1833, was still fresh in the memory of almost every adult, and was well calculated to prepare the mind to believe the proofs and prophecies of such a catastrophe. That never-to-be-forgotten rain of fire must have been frightfully impressive even to the most scientific man who could best understand the causes which produced it. It has no parallel in recorded history, and one can quite readily understand how such an interpretation of the holy prophecies, following immediately such a fiery manifestation in the heavens, should find easy believers.
Converts were frequently baptized that winter by immersion through holes cut in the ice, and in one instance, I am credibly informed, when a parent only succeeded in converting a doubting daughter on the night before the supposed fatal day, he took her himself on that bitter cold night to the nearest mill-pond, cut a hole in the ice and baptized her by immersion. The man was personally well known to me, and to the day of his death, which occurred only within the last decade, he remained firm in his faith in similar interpretations of the prophecies, and continued calculating and fixing new dates in the future for the coming of the end of all things. He was never disconcerted by any failures, but seriously accounted for it by saying that he had made a little error in his calculation, and gave you a new and corrected date further on. This man was Christopher Snyder.
An anecdote is told of Harris in connection with the meteoric shower above referred to, illustrating the common belief that the stars had actually fallen from the heavens. On the evening following the shower, Mr. Harris said he could see a great diminution of the number of stars in the heavens, and ventured the belief that a few more showers like the one of the evening before would use up the rest of them. So common was this belief that the stars had actually fallen, so great and memorable was the event, that to this day, among the older men about Dallas, you will occasionally hear men trying to fix the date or year of some long past occurrence, and not infrequently one will say something like this: “Well, I know it happened then because the stars fell in thirty-three, and this happened just so many years after” (or before, just as the case may be)—“now figure it up yourself.”
SOCIAL THINGS
Of “apple cuts” I can speak in lighter vein. They were generally occasions of great merriment.
It has been truly said that a country is poor indeed when it is so poor that dried apples become a luxury. Before the days of cheap sugar and canned fruits, dried apples and cider apple sauce, the latter made of apples boiled to a pulp in cider, were luxuries and necessities both in many places besides ours. Apples were always abundant and cheap in Dallas. In fact, when the forests are cleared away, apple trees are found to spring up spontaneously in some places, and only need a little trimming and protection to become good orchards. This fact was accounted for to the writer by the owner of one such orchard as follows: He said a good many people had marveled at the natural growth of his orchard, and had asked him how he could account for it. “Of course you know,” said he, “that it has always been my habit to give such things a good deal of thought. I could never be satisfied, like most folks, to just sit down and take things as they come without trying to understand them, and I always keep at them until I cipher them out. Now, you see it’s just like this about these apple trees: Some day or ’nuther, probably millions of years ago, this hull country was overflowed by the ocean. That’s plain enough to any man who takes the trouble to think about these things. Well, right about over here somewhere there has been a shipwreck some day, and a ship load of apples has sunk right here, and these apple trees have sprung from the seeds. You know a seed will keep a great while and then grow.”
The work of paring the apples and removing the cores for an ordinary family’s winter supply of dried apples and apple butter, before the days of machines for that purpose, was a task of no little magnitude. All had to be done by hand and as sometimes happened, many bushels had to be so treated. It was a task that would have occupied the working portion of an ordinary family several days, and thus much of the fruit would, from long keeping, have lost its value for cider appliance by becoming stale and partly dried. For this reason there seemed almost a necessity for calling in help sufficient to do the required amount of work in a very short period of time. The apple cut solved this difficulty successfully. When a family had once determined on having an apple cut, it was given out to the nearest neighbors, and from them it spread of its own accord for miles around. Those who heard of it could go if they chose to. No special invitations were required. The apple cut was an evening festivity, and was most “prevalent” just after buckwheat thrashing, when the nights were cool and the roads not very muddy. I am told that in later years it began to be considered “bad form” to go to an apple cut without special invitation; but apple cuts were degenerating then, and they died soon after when the apple parer in its present improved form was introduced.
The old-fashioned apple cut was a very informal affair. Each guest upon arrival was expected to take a plate and knife, select a seat and some apples, and begin work without disturbing anyone else. The “cut” usually lasted for an hour or two. Twenty or thirty people could, and did usually, accomplish a good deal in that time in the way of work as well as say and do a great many of the commonplace things that country people ordinarily indulge in when thus congenially thrown together.
After the work was finished and the débris cleared away, a surreptitious fiddle was sometimes pulled from an old grain bag and started up. “Fisher’s Hornpipe,” “Money Musk” and “The Arkansaw Traveler” composed the stock of the average fiddler thereabouts in those days, and any of them was enough to set all heels, with the slightest proclivities in that way, to kicking in the French Four, Virginia Reel or Cotillion. At some houses dancing was looked upon as improper, and in its stead some simple games were played. The festivities usually broke off early, as all had long distances to go. Dissipation in the matter of late hours could not be indulged in very much, because of the very general country habit of early rising.
The gentlemen did not often forget or fail to be gallant in the matter of escorting the ladies home. Usually the demands of etiquette were satisfied with the gentleman “going only as far as the chips,” as it was commonly expressed, meaning, of course, the place where the wood was hauled in front of the house and chopped up for firewood.
“Going as far as the chips” was an expression as common and as generally understood in that day as going to the front gate would be now. The front gate then was generally a few improvised steps to assist in climbing over the rail fence at some point near the “chips” or wood pile.
“Spinning Bees” and “Quilting Bees” were exclusively feminine industries. With each invitation to a “spinning bee” was sent a bunch of tow sufficient for two or three days’ spinning, which the recipient was expected to convert into thread or yarn by or before the date fixed for the party. The acceptance of the tow was equivalent to a formal acceptance of the invitation. On the appointed day each lady took her bunch of spun tow and proceeded early in the afternoon to the house of the hostess. The afternoon was usually spent in the usually easy and unconventional manner that might be expected when a dozen or fifteen able-bodied women of the neighborhood, who had not seen each other lately, are assembled. This was, of course, long before the newspaper or magazine had reached their present perfection, and before the daily paper “brought the universe to our breakfast table.”
The surest way for a lady to avoid being the subject of comment was to be at the meeting. The gentlemen always came in time for tea and to see the ladies home.
“Quilting Bees” define themselves in their name. They were very similar to spinning bees, except that the work was done after the guests had assembled.
Of “Stoning Bees,” “Logging Bees” and “Raising Bees,” description is unnecessary. The names are almost self-explaining, though just why they were called “Bees” I cannot learn, unless it is because those who came were expected to, and usually did, imitate the industrial virtues of that insect. They were also sometimes called “frolics,” possibly for the reason that the frolicking was often as hard and as general as the work. Strong and hearty men were much inclined to playful trials of strength and other frivolities when they met at such times. This tendency was much enhanced in the earlier days by the customary presence of intoxicants.
These amusements were varied and extended far beyond those above mentioned. They exhibited and illustrate much of the character, surroundings and habits of those early people. They wanted no better amusement. It was, in their esteem, a wicked waste of time and in conflict with their necessary economies to have parties or gatherings of any kind exclusively for amusement, and unaccompanied with some economic or industrial purpose like those indicated above.
The dancing party or ball was a thing of later date, but even when it came, and for many years after, it was looked upon by the more serious people as not only wicked and degrading in a religious and moral point of view, but very wasteful in an economic sense.
Their hard sense taught them that their industrio-social gatherings, together with the church meetings and Sunday-schools, furnished ample occasions for the young to meet and become acquainted, while the elements of evil that crept into modern society elsewhere were there reduced to a minimum.
A THRIFTY STOREKEEPER
A good story is told of Joseph Hoover dating well back in the first half of the century. He went one day to the store of Mr. Jacob R——, in a neighboring town, to get a gallon of molasses, taking with him the jug usually used for that purpose. As it happened that day, the son, Isaac, who usually waited on him, was otherwise engaged, and the father, Jacob, went down cellar to draw the molasses. After being gone some time, Jacob called up from the cellar to Joseph and said that the jug did not hold a gallon. “Call Isaac,” replied Hoover, “and let him try; he has always been able to get a gallon in that jug!”