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THE adventurers who first
undertook the task of colonizing North America found before them a
forest, apparently limitless in extent. At its eastern edge they settled
down, and alike in Nova Scotia, in Massachusetts, and in Virginia
proceeded to die of want and starvation. Later corners, profiting by the
lessons which experience and the red men combined to teach, eventually
adjusted themselves to the New World environment and mastered the
problem of survival in the American forest.
For two hundred years the
American pioneer was a forest dweller, engaged in the task of subduing
to civilization the eastern half of the continent; the rifle and the axe
were his indispensable tools, and he was an artist in the use of both.
About the middle of the nineteenth century he emerged from the forest
upon the treeless area of the Great Plains. Here his forest economy
proved useless; a new environment must be conquered and for a generation
his westward advance was stayed. His first conception of the treeless
plains found grim expression in the words, "Great American Desert,"
which as recently as the last decade of the nineteenth century still
adorned the map of the United States in the school geographies. On the
plains of Kansas and Nebraska, as earlier beside the shore of Chesapeake
Bay, the newcomers either starved or beat a forlorn and despairing
retreat.
Gradually, however, a new
economy was learned. The axe gave place to barbed wire, the log cabin to
the sod hut. Subsoil plowing was practiced and the art of dry farming
was mastered. Instead of regarding trees as obstacles to be destroyed,
the settler came to view them as treasures to be cherished, and the
formal birth of Arbor Day symbolized a revolution in the realm of ideas
as sweeping as any America has ever witnessed. The Great American Desert
vanished from the school books, and almost from living memory. For a
generation it was fondly believed that the treeless area had been
conquered and a successful way of life on the Great Plains had been
learned.
More recently, grave
doubt has arisen about the success of the Plains economy. The "Dust
Bowl" is but another name for the Great American Desert and the economic
difficulties of those who dwell within its limits present a problem of
grave national concern. Whatever its issue may finally prove to be, the
conquest of the forested portion of America constitutes until now our
greatest national achievement. Its story has engaged the energies of a
generation of scholars, and almost unanimously historians regard it as
the most significant theme in the nation's history.
The narrative of The Bark
Covered House is a single document underlying this tremendous story. It
relates the experiences of one family among the uncounted number of
pioneers who for two hundred years slashed their way through the
American forest. Humble men live humble lives, and their commonplace
experiences are known only to themselves, and to their immediate
associates. The scholar who seeks to reconstruct the story of such a
life is commonly baffled because no one has bothered to preserve its
ordinary incidents and experiences. Thus the things which are
commonplace to one generation become matters wholly unknown to its
successor. Occasionally, however, someone is moved to record the story
of his life, and if the recorder be competent a precious picture is
preserved for the enlightenment of future generations. Such a picture of
the life of an English family in pioneer Illinois is Rebecca Burlend's
narrative, A True Picture of Emigration, which was reprinted in The
Lakeside classics a year ago. The Nowlin family migrated from the older
East to the Michigan frontier and like the Burlends its story has been
preserved.
For reasons which will
presently appear, however, the complete family saga has been seen by but
few persons outside the immediate vicinity of its origin. One of the few
exceptions to this statement is Mr. J. Christian Bay of Chicago, eminent
librarian and bibliophile. In his charming essay, A Handful of Western
Books (Cedar Rapids, 1935), he discourses thus of the fascinations of
book collecting in general, and of The Bark Covered House in particular:
"Each man has some luck, and deserves it, provided he is game when pure
luck ceases. In all the many auction sales of Americana which we have
had since the Great War, there has figured but one copy, which I luckily
obtained, of a Michigan pioneer narrative entitled The Bark Covered
House, written by William Nowlin and published in Detroit in 1876. To
secure this was indeed luck. A splendid narrative, full of fine accounts
of pioneer life and belief, hard struggles and quaint joys. There are
one or two copies in Michigan, but I never traced a copy anywhere else."
The reasons for the
rarity of the volume become apparent from the circumstances of its
authorship. William Nowlin was a farmer whose formal schooling was
exceedingly meager. Until his twelfth year he enjoyed such educational
opportunities as were afforded by the country school of a century ago,
but the westward migration terminated his school days forever. His
literary associations in mature life must have been extremely slight,
although he enjoyed the good fortune of having as a family friend the
Detroit lawyer and litteratcure Levi Bishop. Among the many services of
the latter to the cause of education, the encouragement he gave toward
printing the Nowlin narrative is not the least. The book was written as
a tribute of appreciation to his parents, and was printed primarily for
distribution to the friends and relatives of the Nowlin family. Probably
the edition was a small one, although one relative thinks he remembers
seeing a considerable pile of the books in William Nowlin's home. The
same informant states that he does not think the author ever expected or
desired to sell any copies. Instead (like Mrs. Tillson's narrative,
which was reproduced in The Lakeside Classics in 1919) it was printed
for distribution to members and friends of the family.
The circumstances
attending the production of a book are always of interest both to
scholars and collectors, and the authorship of The Bark Covered House is
deserving of some attention. William Nowlin was an elderly farmer, whose
busy life had been spent in fields far removed from that of literature,
when suddenly in the winter of 1875, he laid aside his farming tools,
entrusted his livestock to the care of others, and for several months
devoted himself to the pen. Almost every paragraph of his simple
narrative breathes his devotion to the memory of his parents, and this
appreciation was undoubtedly the prime influence which induced him to
enter upon the task of authorship. The immediate occasion for the work
was the near approach of the centennial of national independence.
Everywhere men's thoughts were turned to the past, and to the
achievements which a century of national life had witnessed. The
universal interest in the country's history naturally induced a
wide-spread desire to have it recorded, and in March, 1876, Congress by
formal resolution appealed to the people "to assemble in their several
counties or towns, there to listen to an historical sketch of said
county or town from its foundation," and afterward to file a copy of
"said sketch" with their county clerks and with the Library of Congress.
William Nowlin did not wait for this appeal, nor did he attempt to write
a history of his county; but with affectionate zeal he undertook to
record his parents' story, including therein to considerable extent the
story of the adjoining rural neighborhood. When it had been written, the
manuscript was read and discussed by numerous friends who united in the
verdict that it "should see the light and live for the information of
others."
Despite occasional
crudities, the literary style of The Bark Covered House is good,
harmonizing admirably with the character of the narrative. Is it solely
William Nowun's style, or did he profit from the cooperation of another
in the work of producing it? The answer to this question introduces us
to an interesting member of the Nowlin family, William's younger sister,
Betsey. In the book she is mentioned but twice, and each time the notice
accorded her is brief. Such effacement seems to have been characteristic
of her, for the inscription on her gravestone contains neither her name
nor her age, being confined to the Spartan record "B.B.N. d. Dec. 3,
1915. [Living informants agree that her name was Betsey, although she
preferred to be called Bessie, and one relative who was named for her
(and whom she chiefly reared) bore the latter name.] Yet "Aunt Betsey,"
as she was known in later years, was no shrinking violet; on the
contrary, she was a vigorous, strong-minded woman, possessed of
considerable education and equipped with a remarkable memory. She lived
and died a spinster, and never dreamed of lamenting her single estate.
On the contrary, several informants who knew her well unite in stating
that she never married "because she never found any man she thought good
enough for her." Having no family of her own, she cared for her widowed
mother and aided effectively in looking after the numerous progeny of
her married relatives. One informant, now an old man, still recalls with
mingled feelings the herbal dosing to which in his childhood "Aunt
Betsey" subjected him.
Aunt Betsey Nowlin
undoubtedly shared with William the authorship of the book. The
statements of living relatives and neighbors who were in close touch
with the Now- tins all unite in supporting this conclusion. One
informant states that it was common neighborhood belief at the time that
Aunt Betsey was largely responsible for the volume. Another states that
William would visit Betsey (then living at Nowlin Castle) and talk over
his recollections with her, and that she would reduce them to writing.
Several agree that in certain portions of the book the language used and
thoughts expressed are such as they would expect from Aunt Betsey) but
are not in keeping with William's habits of thought and expression. The
trend of all the testimony the writer has gathered supports the
conclusion that the writing of the book was William's idea and that most
of its contents are attributable to him; but that it was chiefly Aunt
Betsey who reduced the material to narrative form, and that in addition
she supplied an appreciable portion of the contents. In short, she was
William's co-laborer in the production of the narrative.
There is, of course, no
hint of impropriety in this, and one can only speculate on the reasons
which led the brother and sister to refrain from acknowledging her share
in the work of authorship. The strong-willed woman outlived her brother
a quarter of a century, and for several years before her death was in a
state of semi-blindness. Her home in her later years was on Cass Avenue
in Detroit, close to the old Central High School. This is today the seat
of Wayne University, where thousands of students daily enjoy educational
opportunities such as William and Betsey Nowlin in youth could scarcely
have imagined. Yet they made good use of their limited literary talents;
their more fortunate successors can do no more.
However tantalizing the
gaps in our knowledge of Aunt Betsey's literary activity may be, there
is no lack of information concerning the life and character of William
Nowlin. He was a prominent farmer of his community who died less than
fifty years ago, and there are still many relatives and neighbors who
knew him well. All informants agree that he was a fine man and an
excellent citizen. Like his father, he was a powerful man physically,
over six feet tall and weighing well over two hundred pounds. An
incident recalled by one informant illustrates his physical vigor in his
later years. A mechanical hayloader had been brought to the farm, and
William Nowlin was skeptical of its superiority over the older
combination of pitchfork and muscle. He offered to pitch a load of hay
on the wagon in less time than the machine could perform the task, and
in the race which ensued he made good his challenge.
His personality was in
keeping with his physical stature. He bore himself with dignity and was
slow to discuss his personal affairs. He was a kindly man, absolutely
honest, a hard worker, and fair in his relations with his fellows.
Although slow to anger, he was not incapable of it. Another story told
by the same informant illustrates certain of his traits. One of
William's step- Sons was driving the cows home, and unknown to the boy,
William was observing him. The boy had been eating a slice of
watermelon, and was amusing himself by offering the rind to a young
heifer and when the animal sought to seize it in her mouth, suddenly
withdrawing it. The father rushed upon him, and conducted him to a tree
nearby, where he cut a switch and gave the boy a thorough thrashing. In
his presence one did not abuse a dumb animal with impunity.
The economic aspect of
William Nowlin's career presents a well-nigh perfect picture of American
farm life at its best. For years he labored loyally beside his father to
wrest the parental acres from the virgin wilderness and transform them
into a civilized home. Upon marrying, he began life humbly enough upon
the forty-two acres at the south end of his father's farm which his
parent assigned to him. Presently he exchanged this holding (plus $1 50)
for a tract lying half a mile to the westward in Section 33. Here he
made his home for almost half a century, and here his remains lie
buried. As the years passed, he gradually added to his original holding
until he owned the greater part of Section 33, comprising over 400 acres
of excellent land. Through it runs the north branch of the Ecorse,
which, as the narrative relates, is a surface stream subject to violent
overflow. That portion of the farm which was thus overflowed was
periodically automatically renewed, rendering artificial fertilization
un- necessary. So rich was the soil that one credits with c1iculty the
stories that are told concerning it. One man recalls fields of rye seven
feet high and crops of corn so tall that in shocking it the farm hands
would cut the stalks 2½ or 3 feet above the ground in order to enable
them to reach the proper place to gather them together for tying. In
truth it was a "goodly land" to which John Nowlin had led his family in
the spring of 1834.
In later years William
Nowlin devoted much of his energy to cattle raising, conducting this
operation, like all others, with a high degree of efficiency. Each
season he would have a herd of fat steers ready for market, and his
reputation for quality was such that Detroit buyers would come to his
farm to compete for them, the successful bidder shipping them East to
supply the New York demand for meat of fancy quality.
Successful in business,
William Nowlin was no less fortunate in his choice of a wife. She was
his boyhood neighbor and friend, Adelia Travis. Ralph Lord, her nephew,
for whom she played the role of foster-mother from 1877 until her death
five years later, speaks of her with affection and respect. Another
relative characterizes her as "a lovely woman." After her death, William
Nowlin contracted a second marriage, this time with Anna Crandell, a
much younger woman than himself. They had one child, a daughter, who
died while still a baby. Several children of the first marriage had died
years before, but three sons, all mature men, survived him. They did not
long remain on the farm, however, which soon passed into alien hands.
The longest life is but
brief, and the achievements of the most successful man are soon but a
memory. Little more than a century has passed since John Nowlin and his
son, with guns on shoulders, trudged westward from Detroit along the
Chicago Road in search of their new home in the West, and less than half
a century since William resigned the cares of life. Yet how changed the
scene of their labors. The rural village of Dearborn has become a busy
industrial city, the home of perhaps the greatest factory in the world.
The primitive Chicago and Telegraph roads have become superhighways 200
feet wide, along which night and day roll almost unbroken streams of
traffic. Nowlin Castle, the old-age home of the pioneer, still stands,
although shorn of its earlier glory. This and the family cemetery afford
the only visible reminders of the activities of the Nowlin family. The
hand of the subdivider is upon all the region; the pioneer homes of
Joseph Pardee and Henry Travis, like those of John and William Nowlin
have vanished, along with the red man, the timber, and the black ash
swamps. The bed of the Ecorse still remains, dry throughout most of the
year, but no pickerel come up from the Detroit to deposit their spawn
and fall victims of the pioneer hunter. In the little cemetery on the
sand ridge near-by sleeps the original pioneer, together with his
author-son and daughter and several of his other children. His living
descendants are scattered far and wide; the ancestral acres have passed
into the hands of strangers, busy in their turn with the labors and
problems which everyday living presents.
The story of the writing
of The Bark Covered House has been sufficiently recited above. The book
was printed at Detroit in 1876, evidently as a piece of job-work, with
numerous inconsistencies of spelling and punctuation. A few years later
an incomplete reprinting was included in Volume IV The Michigan Pioneer
and Historical Collections. This volume, of course, is found in many
libraries; but many passages, including numerous pages and half a dozen
entire chapters of the original edition are missing from the reprint.
Until the present time, no other edition has been undertaken; the
present edition reproduces the original verbatim, save for the
correction of a few misspellings and one or two erroneous dates; and for
the elimination of a very few obvious crudities of composition which a
competent publisher would have eliminated in the first edition.
M. M. QUAIFE
Detroit, November 1, 1937.
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