My father, not being satisfied with his forty-acre farm, in the Genesee Valley, but being desirous of more extended land dominion, and inflamed with the glowing description of the fertile prairie and wooded plains in Southern Michigan, made a trip to that territory in the summer of 1831 and purchased in St. Joseph County two tracts of land of 160 acres each—one being on what was afterwards called Sturgis Prairie; the other, in what was known as the Burr Oak Openings. St. Joseph County, now one of the most populous in that great State, then had less than two hundred people within its large domain. Near the center of the prairie, which contained five or six sections of land, there were four or five log houses—the nucleus of a thriving town now existing there. There was also quite a pretentious block-house, manifesting the existence of the fear that the perfidious savage,—like the felon wolf,—might at any time commence the dire work of conflagration and massacre. There were many Indians in that section of the country. They belonged to the then numerous and powerful tribe called the Pottawattomies. Southern Michigan is a level and low country, abounding in small and deep lakes and sluggish streams. These lakes and streams were literally filled with edible fish. Deer and wild turkeys, also the prairie chicken, pheasant and quail, were abundant. Strawberries, cherries, grapes, plums, pawpaws and crabapples—as well as hazelnuts, hickory nuts, black walnuts and butternuts—were everywhere in the greatest profusion in the woodlands. It was a paradise for Indian habitation. I cannot omit from this a slight digression—the statement that, having lived on the frontier most of my life and having become acquainted with many Indian tribes, their habits and customs, they do not, like the tiger, or many white men, slaughter just for the love of slaughtering, but for food and clothing, alone; hence, game was always plentiful in an Indian country. The buffalo, those noble roamers over the plains, and which a century or less ago, existed in almost countless numbers, have nearly disappeared. The destructive fury and remorseless cupidity of the white man have done their work. The indian and the buffalo could and would, judging by the past, have co-existed forever. Now the doom of annihilation awaits them both.
In the spring of 1832 we started for our new home in the wilds of Michigan. Our outfit consisted of a wagon loaded with household goods and provisions—two yoke of oxen and a brood mare of good stock. We reached our destination in a little over a month. I say "we" and "our" because I wish it to be understood that I took my father and mother and elder brother along with me to our western home, for I thought that they might be useful there. I distinctly remember but two incidents of that journey; of not much importance, however, in the veracious history of a life. I became bankrupt in the loss of a jack-knife that a confiding friend had given me on the eve of our departure, with which I might successfully whittle my way through to the land of promise. I was inconsolable for a time. I had lost my all. My father, to alleviate my grief, promised me another. So true is it that faith in a promise, whether human or divine, assuages grief, lifts the darkening cloud, and often opens up a fountain of joy.
We had to cross Lake Erie on our journey. The not over-palatial floating palace in which we embarked was struck by a storm. She pitched and rolled and lurched in the tumbling and foaming waters. The passengers, save myself and some of the crew, as I was informed, lurched and foamed at the mouth in unison with the turbulent waves.
I was confined, for fear I might be pitched over-board; but I felt no inclination to join in the general upheaval. Since that time I have journeyed much on the lakes and on the ocean, in calm and in storm, but have ever been immune from that distressing torture.
We arrived at our destination on the first of June. There was no house or building of any kind on the land purchased by my father. By the kindly invitation and permission of a Mr. Parker, a pioneer in that country, we were permitted for the time being, to transform his wood-shed into a living abode. My father immediately commenced the cutting and the hauling of logs for a habitation of our own; but before he had completed the work he was summoned to join forces then moving westward for the subjugation of Blackhawk and the hostile tribes confederated under him, who were then waging a ruthless war on the settlers of Illinois. Any signal success by this wily chieftain, and his confederate forces might, and probably would, have vastly increased the area of conflict and conflagration. Indian fidelity as a general rule, is a very uncertain quantity. There are, I am glad to say, many noble individual exceptions, but perfidy is the general trait. Vigorous action was taken by the Government for the subjugation of the hostile tribes and for the capture of Blackhawk. This was accomplished in the early summer of 1832.
On the morning after my father's departure I accompanied my mother to a spring about a quarter of a mile from Mr. Parker's house, where we obtained water for domestic purposes. Mr. Parker's house was on the southern edge of the prairie which was fringed by a thick growth of hazel, sumach, plums, crabapples, wild cherries and fox grapes. This fringe was narrow and only extended back from two to four rods—beyond which was the open timber. The trail to the spring was in the open timber, but close to the inner circle of the copse. Nearing the spring, we saw, skulking near the outer edge of this thicket fringe, five Pottawattomie warriors. They seemed to be somewhat agitated and were intently observing the movements of the white soldiers and listening to the roll of the drum and the call of the bugle. My mother hesitated at first, but went on to the spring, and, having filled her pails with water, we went back with quickened steps to the house. Shortly after, these warriors came to the house. Mr. Parker, who imperfectly understood their language, succeeded, however, in explaining to them the meaning of this martial array, and they left, seemingly well satisfied. We saw them frequently afterwards and often purchased from them choice venison, turkey and other game birds, as well as fish, for a mere trifle. But those were troublous days and full of dire apprehension to the lone settler. Every night a few, principally old men, would gather at Mr. Parker's house, and when the door was closed and securely fastened, the light extinguished, the few men would lay down with their loaded rifles by their side. The door was not opened in the morning until a careful reconnoissance had been made through the port-holes, of the surrounding country. Apprehension has in it as much of terror as actual danger. The one is continuing—the other but momentary, and the one usually increases in its fervor, while the other disappears with its cause.
My father returned after an absence of about two months. He won no military glory—he saw no hostile indians—Blackhawk and his confederates having surrendered before the hostile country was reached by the command to which my father belonged.
Peace having been secured and confidence restored, father proceeded diligently in the erection and completion of a double log house on his own domain.
I love to think of that old log house with its hewed puncheon floors and thick oaken doors, where my youth was spent. It was a home of peace, of comfort, of plenty and prosperity. Its site was a beautiful one on a knoll near the great military road leading from Detroit to Chicago, and about midway between those cities. The next spring my father, my older brother and myself accompanying him, went to the nearby timber land and got two hundred young sugar maples, black walnuts and butternut trees that were presently planted in concentric circles around that home castle. My father did not believe in drilling ornamental trees into rank and file, like a column of soldiers. He had faith in Nature's beauty and did not think it could be improved by man. Nature should be subordinated to man's will only when cultivation becomes an essential element to the growth, which as a general rule holds only when the tree or plant or shrub is not indigenous to the soil.
In the fall of that year I was prostrated by a large abscess in the right groin. I could neither stand on my feet, nor sit in an upright position. A pallet on the floor, or in some shady nook outdoors when the weather was propitious, was my favorite, and for most of the time my lonely, resting place. On the morning of which I am about to write, my mother was urging my father, as the abscess by its color indicated that it was ripe for the surgeon's lance, to go for a doctor to examine it and my condition, and if proper, to open it and let out the long accumulated poison. The nearest doctor lived some thirty miles away, but my father, yielding to my mother's persuasions, concluded to go. Before he had arisen from his seat at the table he requested my brother to bring in some stove wood. Boy-like, brother piled up such a quantity on his left arm that he could not see over it, and, bending backward, he came into the house seemingly oblivious to my location, tripped against me and fell, striking the end of the wood upon the abscess. Effectually, but not in a very scientific manner, this opened it. I swooned away, and it was sometime before consciousness returned to me. As proof of my brother's surgical skill, a star-shaped scar over an inch in length, remains today. There were some mitigating circumstances, however, in this surgical work:—it saved a lonely journey and a large doctor bill. He received no compensation—but otherwise—for his effective treatment, and the resultant benefit.