Chapter First.
Mr. Duncan's Discontentment. He starts for the West.
Near the Cold Springs, in Lafayette county, Missouri, lived Mr. Duncan,a sturdy woodsman, who emigrated thither with his father, while theMississippi valley was still a wilderness, inhabited by wild beasts, orthe still more savage Indians. His grandfather was an eastern man; buthad bared his brawny arm on many a battle field, and had earned theright to as many broad acres as he chose to occupy. So, at least, hesaid, on leaving his eastern home, after peace had been declared, forthe then verge of civilization--the Ohio. Here the soldier lived to seethe wilderness blossom like the rose, and here he died, grieving thatinfirmity prevented his flying from the din of the sledge hammer, andthe busy hum of mechanical life. Mr. Duncan's father, in the vigor ofmanhood, crossed the Mississippi, and settled at the Cold Springs, aregion then isolated from civilization, as the Ohio was many yearsbefore the white man had planted his foot west of the Alleghanies. Buthe lived to see the silent echoes resound to the shrill whistle of theengine, and luxury with its still but mighty sway enervate the sons anddaughters of the pioneers, until the one quailed at the sight of dangerand the other dosed away the morning in kid slippers and curl-papers.Time claimed its own, and he died; and then his son, the Mr. Duncan ofour narrative, began to turn his attention to the west, as hisgrandfather and his father had done before him. He had married atrapper's daughter, twenty years before, and his family consisted nowof four sons and two daughters, an adopted son, and his brother-in-law,Andy Howe, who had spent his life in trapping, and trading with theIndians.
Lewis, his eldest son, nineteen years of age, was a man in strength,proportion and judgment, cool and prompt in emergencies, but onordinary occasions caring for little else than his dogs, gun and uncle,whose superior knowledge of all that pertained to the forest, made himan oracle among the less experienced.
Edward, a boy of seventeen, passionate and headstrong, but generous andbrave.
Jane, a girl of fifteen, the mother's supporter and helper, highspirited, energetic and courageous.
Martin, a pleasure-seeking, fun-loving, mischief-making lad of twelveyears.
Anne, a timid child of ten years, who went by the soubriquet of thebaby, by all except Lewis, who understood her better and called her the"fawn."
And last, but not least, the son of his adoption, Sidney Young, a nobleyoung fellow of eighteen, whose parents dying left him to the care ofMr. Duncan, who had reared him with as tender care as that he bestowedupon his own children.
"Little Benny," or Benjamin more properly, we must not forget tointroduce, a manly little fellow of eight, who could handle a bow andarrow, or hook and line, and propel a canoe with as much dexterity as ayoung Indian.
Such was the family of Mr. Duncan, when he resolved to penetrate thealmost unknown region of the west. No hypochondriac papa or aristocraticmamma, can I introduce, but a hale, robust yeoman, who looks uponhimself as in the prime of manhood, though nearly fifty years of age,and who boasts of never having consulted a physician or taken a drug.Mrs. Duncan wore her own glossy hair at forty-five, without a thread ofsilver among it, while her step was as elastic, and eye as bright, asin her girlhood. Her cheek was less rounded than it was formerly; butthe matronly dignity and motherly kindness that characterized her,amply compensated for its loss. True types of man and womanhood werethey, whom no dangers or vicissitude could daunt, no trials swervefrom the path of right or _inclination_. Mr. Duncan well knew theundertaking he proposed was not one to be entered into thoughtlessly,or without due preparation. His habits from earliest infancy, of dailyencountering the perils of border life, had taught him this, and withit taught him to love the boundless forest, the dashing waterfalls, andthe deep stillness that retreated as refinement advanced.
"This is no place for me," he said, as he heard of some new innovationon old customs, as having taken place in the vicinity. But when afavorite haunt by a small stream was taken possession of, the treesfelled, the brooklet dammed, and a factory set in motion, he for amoment seemed astounded, his eye wandered inquiringly from one memberof his family to another, and finally rested upon Howe, as thoughexpecting him to provide some remedy to stay the hand of innovation.
"It cannot be done, Duncan," said the trapper, comprehending theunspoken inquiry. "We are completely ensnared. Don't you see we aresurrounded?"
"Had they only chosen some other spot for this last shop, or factory,or whatever else you call it, I would have tried to borne it. Butthere--no, it is too much."
"I have news that will be as unpleasant as the mill. The surveyors willpass near here in laying out a railroad to-morrow," said Lewis.
"I will never see it," said Mr. Duncan. "The world is wide enough forall. It may be for the best, that there should be a general revolutionin the mode of manufactures and commerce, but I cannot appreciate it; Iam willing to fall back to the forest to give place to those who can."
It must not be inferred that Mr. Duncan was an illiterate man. On thecontrary, he was well posted on all the great events that transpired,and was conversant with many ancient and modern authors. He hadcarefully instilled into the minds of his children, a love of truth andvirtue, for the contentment and nobleness it gave, and to despise viceas a thing too contaminating to indulge in by thought or practice. Thislove of forest life had become a part of his being, and he could nomore content himself among the rapidly accumulating population thatsprang up around him, than a Broadway dandy could in the wilderness.When driven from his accustomed fishing ground by the demolition of theforest, whose trees shaded the brooklet with their gigantic armsstretching from either side, interlacing and forming an arch above socompact as to render it impenetrable to the noonday sun, he wearied ofhis home, and sighed for the forest that was still in the west. Here hehad been accustomed to resort to indulge in piscatory amusement; withhis trusty rifle, full many a buck and even nobler game had fallenbeneath his aim, as lured by the stillness they had come to quenchtheir thirst at the brook, unconscious of the danger to which they weredrawing near. He had long looked upon this haunt as peculiarly his own,not by the right of purchase, but by the possession, which he hadactually enjoyed many years, until he considered it as an essential tohis happiness.
For Mr. Duncan to resolve was to accomplish. Seconded by his family,his farm was sold, his affairs closed, and May 10, 1836, saw himproperly fitted out for a plunge into the western wilds. Three emigrantwagons contained their movables, each drawn by three yoke of stoutoxen. The first contained provisions and groceries, seeds and grain forplanting, with apparatus for cooking. The second contained thehousehold furniture that was indispensable, beneath which lay aquantity of boards, tent canvass, an extra set of wagon covers readyfor use, twine, ropes &c., and was also to be the apartments of Mr. andMrs. Duncan, and the girls. The third was loaded with agricultural andcarpenter's tools, and contained the magazine, and was appropriated tothe use of Andy Howe and the boys. Two saddle horses, five mules andthree milch cows, with six as fierce hunting dogs as ever run down anantelope, constituted their live stock.
Thus prepared the family bade a glad adieu to their old home to find amore congenial one. I say a glad adieu, for certainly the older membersof the family went voluntarily, and the younger ones, carried away bythe hurry of preparation, had no time to think, and perhaps knew not ofthe dangers they would have to encounter. Youth is ever sanguine, andthey had learned from the older ones to look upon the forest freed fromthe Indians as the Elysium of this world.
Onward to the west the tide of emigration is still rolling. Threecenturies ago, the Massachusetts and Virginia colonies were the west tothe European, three thousand miles over the Atlantic ocean. Brave wasthe soul, and stout the heart, that then dared it. A century laterPennsylvania and New York was the west; the tide was rolling on; stilla century later its waves had swept over the Alleghanies, and wentdashing down the Mississippi valley, anon dividing in thousands ofrivulets, went winding and murmuring among the rugged hills andundulating p
lains. But even the burden of its murmurings was _the_west, still on to the west. And now where is the west? Not theMississippi valley but the fastnesses of the Rocky Mountains. Thatpart we find on charts as the "_unknown_." A valley situated amongmountains, sunny and luxuriant as those of a poet's dream; but guardedby a people driven to desperation. This is now the west.