We heard Fourche le Fave very highly spoken of, and particularly the land in its neighborhood. We went to look at the place, and were well received by a settler there, Mr. Kelfer. He rode over the country with us, showed us every thing that was to be seen, and did all in his power to make our visit agreeable. We could not see much of the land for snow, but K. assured us that it was very good, the pasture excellent, and the shooting also good. K. seemed likely to make a pleasant neighbor, and we soon came to terms. There were two dwelling-houses, with two fields not far apart, belonging to an American named Wilson, who was, as usual, willing to sell. In half an hour the matter was settled, 250 dollars, Arkansas paper currency, being paid for the whole. There were two other fields, making altogether about thirteen or fourteen acres of arable land, fenced in. The house furthest from the river was a very good one.
It has to be noticed that this was Congress land; that is, it belonged to the United States government, and the first settler on it has a prior right to purchase it, called in American law “preëmption right.” The advantages of this system to the settler are as follows: he may settle on the land and cultivate it as his own, no one having a right to turn him off, till it has been surveyed and announced for sale in the Government Gazette. He then has the right of purchasing a quarter section, or 160 acres, or even as little as forty acres at the rate of a dollar and a quarter an acre, even though another should bid a larger sum for it. This right Wilson transferred to us with his “improvements.”
After concluding the purchase, we all came to Little Rock. Rutkin and Keen went to Louisiana to bring over the families, while Haller and I bought provisions, and returned to Fourche le Fave. Little Rock was much increased and improved since I first saw it two years ago, but the place never pleased me.
Our house being near the river, we required a boat, partly to carry out goods from Little Rock to the place of destination, thirty miles up the Arkansas, and forty miles up the Fourche le Fave, and partly to carry us occasionally across the river. We obtained a very good one for ten dollars, loaded it with flour, potatoes, coffee, sugar, some carpenter’s tools, and a puppy that had been given me, and which I meant to break in, and rowed away in good spirits towards our new home.
We entered the Fourche le Fave on the evening of the second day, hoping to reach a house, said to be about seven miles up the stream; but we could not find the smallest spot fit for a human habitation, and landed on a projecting rock, quite tired, between nine and ten o’clock. As it had rained all day, this was the only clean spot we could find; and the stone was so small that we were obliged to rest our feet in the boat, to keep them out of the water.
Next day it rained harder, and we were very glad to get to a house before dark, where we were in some measure protected from the tremendous rain. I say in some measure, because the roof was none of the best, the rain dropping on my face and neck; luckily, before dark, I had espied an old cotton umbrella in a corner (no common article in a block-house), and slept comfortably enough for the rest of the night under its shelter.
We arrived next evening at Kelfer’s farm, where we were hospitably received, and reached our place of destination on the day following. The four naked walls looked dreary enough at first, but we soon made ourselves comfortable. We had nothing to do but to repair the fences, and wait till the weather was cold enough to preserve meat, and to buy and kill pigs for both families for the winter. Soon after our arrival, I had happened to fall upon the slippery bank of the river, and tore open my left hand, and afterwards, as I was chopping a plank with my tomahawk, not being able to hold it properly, it slipped, and I smashed one of my fingers. Haller tore up one of my shirts to bind the wound, and as I could now for awhile do nothing else, I attended to the cooking, which was carried on as follows: first, we had a cask of wheat flour, of which I made bread for every meal; secondly, corned pork, cut in thin slices and fried; and lastly, coffee. The sugar was kept in a paper parcel on a shelf, and each helped himself. At dinner, a glass of whiskey was substituted for the coffee. After about three weeks, being in a rage with something, I threw the fryingpan out at the door, whereby its handle was broken, and it was rendered by no means more convenient to cook with; then Haller one day made a false step, and stumbled on the coffee-pot, which, in consequence, had to be stopped with a little paste every morning. The washing-up I found more disagreeable than the cooking.
Meantime, my hand had got better. The weather set in very cold, and we resolved to kill and salt the pigs we had bought, weighing about 200 pounds each. A young American, whom we had engaged to help us, cut down a large sassafras tree, and hollowed out half a dozen troughs, five for the meat, and one for the lard.
The neighbors were called in to help, the pigs driven into the enclosure, shot, stuck, scalded, cleaned, and carried into the house. Not having any large caldron to scald them, it was done Arkansas fashion. A cask with the head out was half sunk in the earth, and filled with cold water, and a large fire was made close by and covered with stones. When these were hot enough, they were thrown into the water, and the cask covered with a blanket. The water was soon hot enough for our purpose: the pig was dipped once or twice in the water, and five or six pairs of hands soon removed all the bristles. By evening all was finished, and part of the fat laid aside, out of reach of the dogs, for making soap. The good people who came to help us, now set-to to drink, assisted by Haller, so that in the course of an hour and a half, none of them knew exactly whether he was standing on his head or his feet. As soon as they were all screwed up, I laid one in each trough, and left them to repose. Before it came to this, Haller and the young American had sworn eternal friendship, clasped each other round the neck, mutually supported each other to prevent their falling on the stupid staggering ground, till at last they went down like a couple of flour-sacks. Next day the pigs were cut up, salted, and suspended in the smoking house. In the evening we went to our next neighbor to borrow a caldron, to melt down the fat; but when I went to get it, a large quantity of fat had vanished, not through the dogs, but through wolves, whose trail I plainly traced through the soft sand near the river, not fifteen paces from the house; but enough was left for our purpose.
I was now well enough to shoot again, and had good sport with the turkeys, rising before daybreak, stationing myself near their roost, and remaining quite still till early dawn, then imitating the voice of the night-owl. The indignant turkey begins to gobble with great force, and betrays his whereabouts; by creeping noiselessly near his perch, he may be easily knocked over before broad daylight. If the day should be too far advanced for the sportsman to gain upon him unperceived, he must crouch behind a fallen tree, or other cover, and use a decoy-pipe, made from the second bone of the hen turkey’s wing, split a little on both sides. One end of this he applies to his mouth, keeping the other end in the hollow of his hands. As soon as the cock hears it, he flies down, gobbling furiously, and struts towards the sound, with his wings trailing along the ground, his comb and wattles in full bloom, and his tail spread out. He sometimes will come so near that the sportsman is obliged to give a short whistle to check him, because it is very difficult to hit him in the right place with a single ball when his feathers are all ruffled. On hearing the whistle he pulls up short, looks round suspiciously, and utters a warning K-t-t-t. Now fire, or good-by turkey. This sport was so attractive, that I hardly let a morning pass without bringing home a turkey; but it was long before I was perfect in my practice, and I lost many a shot by a false note, or heedless noise.