She had seen her husband when prospered, and flattered by those whose attachments had taken root in worldly considerations only; she had stood by him also when the chilling gusts of temporary adversity had blown the cold damps of cruel reserve and fiendish suspicion about his name and character; and
“When envy’s sneer would coldly blight his name,
And busy tongues were sporting with his fame,
She solved each doubt, and clear’d each mist away,
And made him radiant in the face of day.”
They had spent but a few months in Pennsylvania, the place of their anticipated abode for life, ere Mr. Oatman found it, to him, an unfit and unsuitable place, as also an unpromising region in which to rear a family. He sighed again for the wide, wild prairie lands of the West. He began to regret that a financial reversion should have been allowed so soon to drive him from a country where he had been accustomed to behold the elements and foundation of a glorious and prosperous future; and where those very religious and educational advantages—to him the indispensable accompaniments of social progress—were already beginning to shoot forth in all the vigor and promise of a healthful and undaunted growth. He was not of that class who can persist in an enterprise merely from pride that is so weak as to scorn the confession of a weakness; though he was slow to change his purpose, only as a good reason might discover itself under the light and teachings of multiplying circumstances around him.
He resolved to retrace his steps, and again to try his hands and skill upon some new and unbroken portion of the State where he had already made and lost. Early in 1845 these parents, with a family of five children, destitute but courageous, landed in Chicago. There, for one year, they supported with toil of head and hand (the father was an experienced school teacher) their growing family.
In the spring of 1846 there might have been seen standing, at about five miles from Fulton, Ill., and about fifteen from New-Albany, alone in the prairie, a temporary, rude cabin. Miles of unimproved land stretched away on either side, save a small spot, rudely fenced, near the cabin, as the commencement of a home. At the door of this tent, in April of that year, and about sunset, a wagon drawn by oxen, and driven by the father of a family, a man about thirty-seven, and his son, a lad about ten years, halted. That wagon contained a mother—a woman of thirty-three years—toil-worn but contented, with five of her children. The oldest son, Lorenzo, who had been plodding on at the father’s side, dragged his weary limbs up to the cabin door, and begged admittance for the night. This was readily and hospitably granted. Soon the family were transported from the movable to the staid habitation. Here they rested their stomachs upon “Johnny cake” and Irish potatoes, and their weary, complaining bodies upon the soft side of a white oak board for the night.
Twenty-four hours had not passed ere the father had staked out a “claim;” a tent had been erected; the cattle turned forth, were grazing upon the hitherto untrodden prairie land, and preparations made and measures put into vigorous operation for spring sowing. Here, with that same elasticity of mind and prudent energy that had inspired his earliest efforts for self-support, Mr. Oatman commenced to provide himself a home, and to surround his family with all the comforts and conveniences of a subsistence. Before his energetic and well-directed endeavors, the desert soon began to blossom; and beauty and fruitfulness gradually stole upon these hitherto wild and useless regions. He always managed to provide his family with a plain, frugal, and plenteous support.
Four years and over Mr. and Mrs. Oatman toiled early and late, clearing, subduing, and improving. And during this time they readily and cheerfully turned their hands to any laudable calling, manual or intellectual, that gave promise of a just remuneration for their services. Although accustomed, for the most part of their united life, to a competence that had placed them above the necessity of menial service, yet they scorned a dependence upon past position, as also that pride and utter recklessness of principle which can consent to keep up the exterior of opulence, while its expenses must come from unsecured and deceived creditors. They contentedly adapted themselves to a manner and style that was intended to give a true index to their real means and resources.