A few years since I visited Niagara Falls. Before leaving Buffalo a friend admonished me to avoid looking upon the descending floods until I should reach Table Rock, as this precaution would give me a more satisfactory impression. These instructions were more easily given than observed. I found it required no small share of nerve to pass down the near bank of the river with the eternal roar of its waters pouring into my ears, cross over Suspension Bridge, spanning the rushing tides below still tossing and foaming as though an ocean had broken from its prison, and then pass up the other bank, in full view of the cataract, and not look upon it until my feet were planted on Table Rock. But from that hour to the present, I have never regretted the effort, for therein I learned the importance of position, when face to face with any great question. The position gained, I raised my eyes upon Niagara Falls. I need not say my whole being was thrilled. There lay the great "horse shoe" full before me, and I seemed to stand upon its outer crest and look down into its deep chasm, where the angry waters wrestled with each other in their wildest frenzy. Then the floods from either side, that had seemed to sweep around the chasm and hug the shore, as if in mortal terror, despairing of escape, rushed upon each other like two storm fiends. The war of waters was most terrific. The very earth shook. Locked in deadly embrace, and writhing as if in direst agony, the mighty floods plunged the abyss, while far above floated the white plume of the presiding genius of old Niagara. The impression upon me was overwhelming. I saw Niagara Falls from the right stand-point. Whether I was equally fortunate in my early views of the Itinerancy is a question that will find solution in the following pages.
I decided, however, to go West. My father and the balance of his family had been looking enquiringly in that direction for several months, and I now agreed to accompany them.
It was our purpose to make Dubuque, Iowa, the point of destination, as the founders of that city, who were relatives, had visited us in the East and had given us glowing accounts of the city and the adjacent portions of the State. With this purpose in view we landed at Racine. The Madison, a crazy old steamer that could lay on more sides during a storm than any water craft that I had ever seen, landed us on a pier in the night, and from the pier we were taken ashore in a scow. We reached Racine in June, 1844. Racine at that time was a very small village, but, like all western towns, it was in the daily belief that, at some time in the near future, it would be a very large city. We spent the Sabbath and enjoyed the pleasure of attending religious services in a school house. The pastor of our church at the time was Rev. Milton Bourne, of the Rock River Conference. We were favorably impressed with Racine, and especially with the evidences of civilization it afforded, in the fact of a school house and the establishment of religious services.
At Racine we engaged a man to take us, six in all, with our trunks to Delavan. The roads were almost impassable. The rains had fallen so copiously that the streams overflowed their banks, the marshes were full and the prairies inundated. With a good team, however, we made an average of about fifteen miles a day. Our conveyance stuck fast in the mud eighteen times between Racine and Delavan. Sometimes we found these interesting events would occur just in the middle of a broad marsh. In such case the gentlemen would take to the water, not unfrequently up to the loins, build a chair by the crossing of hands, as they had learned to do in their school days, and give the ladies a safe passage to the prairie beyond. But woe worth the day if the wheels refused to turn, as they sometimes did, in the middle of some deep, broad mud-hole. The light prairie soil, when thoroughly saturated, is capable of very great volatility and yet of stick-to-it-iveness. While the team and wagon, buried deeply in the mud, found the soil as yielding as quicksand, the passengers, on alighting, were no more fortunate. To make the chair and wade ashore with its precious burden, at such a time, involved a very nice adjustment of balances. If the three went headlong before they reached the shore, each received a generous "coat of mail" of the most modern style.
We reached Delavan in due course of travel, where we remained several days. The Sabbath intervened. My father preached in the morning, and I held service in the afternoon. On Monday a council was held. Since our feet touched the soil of Wisconsin, our ears had been filled with the praises of the country, and especially the counties of Dodge and Fond du Lac. By the time we had spent several days at Delavan, and were ready to move on toward Iowa, this clamor had become so decided in its tone, that, as a result of the consultation, it was decided that two or three of us should go up through Dodge and Fond du Lac counties. Not with the expectation that our destination would lie in that direction, but it was thought advisable to know what had been left behind, in case we should not be pleased with Dubuque.
Leaving the balance of our company at Delavan, we started on foot on our tour of exploration. Keeping our eyes and ears open, we were ready to go in any direction in quest of the promised "Eldorado." Like all "land seekers" of those early times, a few things were deemed essential to make a location desirable. These were prairie, timber and water. But with us one additional requisite must not be ignored. We must also find a "water power." With all these objects in view, the line of travel became perplexing and described a good many angles, but the main direction lay through East Troy, Summit, Watertown, Oak Grove and Waupun. At the last named place we found a few scattered log houses, and, within a radius of five miles, perhaps a dozen families. The location was beautiful. With its prairie of from one to two miles in width, skirted on the north by groves of timber, through which ran the west branch of Rock River, and fringed on the south by extended openings, it took us captive at once. Passing up the stream two or three miles we found the looked for water-power, and abundance of unappropriated lands. By setting our stakes on the crown of the prairie, and making the lines pass down to the river and through the belt of timber, sufficient land of the right quality could be secured for the whole family, including, also, the desired water-power. To decide upon this spot as our future home, was the result of a brief consultation. All thought of going to Iowa was now abandoned. Obtaining a load of lumber, which was all that could be secured for either love or money, a shanty was immediately erected for the accommodation of the family. Was it a providential intervention that assigned us our home and field of labor in this new and rapidly populating portion of Wisconsin, rather than the city of Dubuque?
Society in its formative state needs, above all other agencies, the salutary influences of religion. To provide these and give them efficiency among the people, the presence and labors of the Gospel ministry, and the establishment of churches, are a necessity. To secure these at the outset requires the emigration of ministers from the older States as well as people. Perhaps the motives of neither class in coming will always bear a thorough scrutiny; yet who shall say that their coming is not under the general direction of Providence? Nor is it improbable that the hasty steps that seem to bear the unwilling servant from the presence of the Master are the very ones that most speedily bring him face to face with his duty.
CHAPTER II.
The Young Itinerant.--In a Lumber Mill at Waupun.--The Surprise.--An Interval of Reflection.--A Graceful Surrender.--The Outfit minus the Horse and Saddlebags.--Receives Instruction.--The Final Struggle.--Arrives at Brothertown.--Reminiscences of the Red Man.--The Searching Scrutiny.--The Brothertown People.--The Mission.--Rev. Jesse Halstead.--Rev. H.W. Frink.