In the afternoon it began to rain. Travelling was not to be thought of; even had I wished it, these kind people would not have let me go. We chatted away till deep in the night, and it did me a world of good to be able to converse again to my heart’s content in my mother tongue. My host was a Rhenish Bavarian, named Hilger, a builder by trade, and by no means uneducated.
On the next day we had a visit from a neighbor, a man of about thirty-five, with a short green shooting jacket, and a German rifle; but his accent betrayed him to be no German. Hilger addressed him by the name of Turoski. He was a Polish officer, who sought and found in America security against the political persecutions that he would have been exposed to in Europe. He was unmarried, and a little ten-year-old daughter of Hilger’s minded his house. This child was often alone for days and nights together in Turoski’s log-house, miles away from other habitations; yet she cared nothing whether it was the storm or the wolves that howled round the hut.
After a short conversation, Turoski proposed that I should come and stay with him. I passed some very agreeable days with these estimable men, sometimes with one, sometimes with the other. To give my reader an idea of the bachelor-life of an American backwoodsman, I will describe one of the nights that I passed at Turoski’s. Hilger’s daughter had gone home to visit her parents, who lived three miles off, and we two were alone. The Pole’s dwelling was nothing but a simple rough log-house, without any window, and all the chinks between the logs were left open, probably to admit fresh air. Two beds, a table, a couple of chairs, one of them with arms, some iron saucepans, three plates, two tin pots, one saucer, several knives, and a coffee-mill, formed the whole of his furniture and kitchen utensils. A smaller building near the house contained the store of meat for the winter. There was a field of four or five acres close to the house, and another about a quarter of a mile off on the river. He had some good horses, a great many pigs, quantities of fowls, and several milch cows.
Being deeply interested in our conversation, we forgot to prepare any supper, and it was not till the cold made itself felt that we went to bed. It may have been about half-past twelve, when Turoski woke up, and swore by all the saints, that he could lie no longer in bed for ravenous hunger, and that he must have something to eat, even if it were a piece of raw meat. I laughed, and told him to draw his hunger-belt tighter, but he jumped up and gave me no more rest. We made up the fire, which was nearly burnt out, and then held a council as to what we should cook. We had shot nothing, the bread was all gone, and we had eaten our last bit of pork for dinner. What was to be done? Turoski decided the point. The Indian corn of last harvest was in a small building in a field by the river; I was to go and fetch an armful, while he would prepare something in the mean time. The night was dark as pitch; I was often obliged to feel with my feet for the path like a blind man, that I might not lose myself in the forest. When, in the course of half an hour, I returned with the maize, Turoski had killed one of the fowls that were roosting on a low tree, plunged it in hot water, and while he cleaned it I fried the corn; then, while the fowl was being grilled, I ground the corn in the coffee-mill, which by no means reduced it to the consistence of flour. I moistened the grist with water, added a little salt, made a cake of it about three-quarters of an inch thick, and set it in a saucepan cover to bake. So far so good; but I wanted a couple of eggs. There was a kind of shed attached to the house, in which leaves of Indian corn, plucked green, and then dried, were kept as fodder, and here the hens came to lay their eggs. Turoski crept in, and feeling about, soon came to a nest with five, of which he brought away only two, having broken the others in his hurry. Coffee was then made, and we had a very good supper, or rather breakfast, for it was now past two o’clock. But we were not yet to repose in safety; the monster log of hickory, that we had laid on the hearth, flared up and set fire to the chimney: Turoski mounted on the roof, while I handed him some buckets of water, and the fire was soon extinguished. At last we got to sleep, and remained so till the sun was high in the heavens.
My unquiet spirit drove me forth again on the morning of the 7th of February. I took a warm farewell of these kind people, and went in a south-west direction through the forest, hoping soon to reach the high road. The sun disappeared behind dark clouds, but thinking I was sure of my way, I walked quickly on. Who could paint my astonishment at finding myself, after two hours’ walking, in front of the very house I had started from! This was vexatious, but I slipped off again into the forest without being perceived, took out my compass, and made a straight course.
In the evening I shot a deer, but was obliged to leave the greater portion of it, as it was too heavy to carry. Long after sunset on the 9th I arrived on the Arkansas river; the lights of Little Rock shone from the opposite bank, but a strange fantastic scene presented itself on this side of the river, on which I stared with astonishment. An Indian tribe had pitched their tents close to the banks of the river. A number of large crackling fires, formed of whole trunks of dry fallen trees, which lay about in abundance, offering good shelter against the wind; over the fires were kettles with large pieces of venison, bear, squirrels, raccoons, opossums, wild-cats, and whatever else the fortune of the chase had given them. Here young men were occupied securing the horses to some of the fallen trees, and supplying them with fodder; there lay others, overcome by the firewater, singing their national songs with a mournful and heavy tongue. I stood for a long time watching the animated scene.
A tall powerful Indian, decked out with glass beads and silver ornaments, came staggering towards me, with an empty bottle in his left hand and a handsome rifle in his right, and, holding them both towards me, gave me to understand that he would give me the rifle if I would fill his bottle. The dealers in spirituous liquors are subject to a heavy fine if they sell any to soldiers, Indians, or negroes. The poor Indians have fallen so low, and become so degraded by the base speculations of the pale faces, that they will give all they most value, to procure the body and soul-destroying spirits. Though I had but little money left, only twelve cents, I declined the exchange; he turned sorrowfully away, probably to offer the advantageous bargain to some one else, in which case I thought it best to indulge the poor savage, and save him his handsome rifle; I took the bottle out of his hand, filled it, and gave it back to him. On my refusing to accept his rifle, he laid hold of me, and dragged me almost forcibly to his fire, obliged me to drink with him, to smoke out of his pipe, and eat a large slice of venison, while his wife and three children sat in the tent staring with surprise at the stranger. He then stood up, and in his harmonious language related a long history to me and to some sons of the forest who had assembled round us, and of which I did not understand a word. At last as the noise became annoying, I stole away quietly to seek a berth for the night.
When I came again to the ferry on the following morning, the encampment was broken up, and the Indians had embarked on board a steamer, which was to carry them further west. I crossed by the ferry, and had now no longer any cause to be anxious about spending too much money, having paid away my last twelve cents. Rarely has a traveller entered a strange town with so light a purse. My situation in such a place was not at all enviable. The soles of my boots had disappeared, and then the feet of my stockings, so that latterly I had gone barefoot on the frozen ground. Yet my self-confidence and courage did not fail me. My first object was to find a house where I could pass the night, my second to get my boots repaired: I found board and lodging at a German wheelwright’s, named Spranger, for three dollars a week, and although with all my searching I could not find three cents in my pockets, I agreed to the bargain, giving my gun in pawn; then taking my hunting-knife I hastened to a shoemaker’s, who asked two and a half dollars to re-sole my boots, and accepted my knife as a pledge, lending me a pair of shoes to wear till the boots should be finished. When this was all arranged, I looked about for work, and took many a walk in vain.
On the second day, having nothing else to do, I went with Spranger to Von Seckendorf’s farm to saw down some trees that S. required for his business. In Little Rock many had referred me to a Mr. Fisher, who was well known among the Germans, and who at all events would give me work. He had just finished a large frame house, and wanted to make some addition to it. I went to every door in the building to seek some one who could tell me where to find him, but all was as quiet as the grave. I then went to a smaller building, and knocked. As no one answered, after knocking three times, I pushed open the door, and entered. In one corner of a miserable room I found an empty bedstead, with broken legs; carpenter’s tools lay on the table and floor, and a coffin stood in another corner. At the foot of the bed, on the bare earth, lay a man, with his head on one of the broken legs of the bedstead; his right arm was under his head, the left lay across his face, so that I could only see the dark hair; the hands were spotted red and black, I thought from the paint of the coffin. I asked him if he knew where Mr. Fisher was. He gave no answer: I supposed him to be asleep, and he appeared to be ill. I went out again quite quietly, and tried some other doors; but they were all locked, and not a soul to be seen. I went back again to the sleeper, and although I called loudly, and shook him by the shoulder, I could get no answer, and came away much vexed. At length, after a great deal of trouble, I found Mr. Fisher, and had my trouble for my pains, for he had no work to give me. In the course of conversation, I inquired about the man in the hut, and was told that he had died the day before of smallpox: my blood ran cold at the words. The doctor had stated the nature of his disease, and desired that nobody should go near him; and as the man was poor, without a cent in the world, he had shut the door, and never been near him again. The poor fellow had been left to himself for three days, without even a drink of water, and at last had died miserably on the floor. Little Rock is a vile, detestable place in this respect, and the boatmen on the Mississippi have good reason when they sing—
“Little Rock in Arkansaw,
The d——dest place I ever saw.”