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I HAVE said that I tried to
persuade father to take life more easily and not to labor so hard
himself on the new place he had bought. It was a new place to him; but
in an early day it was the oldest place south of Dearbornville. The
first log house built south of Dearbornville, in the town of Dearborn
was built on it by John Blare in the year 1832 or 1833. It was one mile
south of Dearbornville. So there was a house standing there when we were
slowly making our way to Michigan. When we came, it was the first house
south of Dearbornville. Mr. Joseph Pardee, who crossed Lake Erie, with
his family, the fall before when father came viewing, built his house a
mile south of that. These two houses were the first ones, south of the
village of Dearborn, in the town of Dearborn. When we came in and built,
our bark covered house was the next.
It was at this house of
Mr. J. Blare that the Indian, John Williams, threw his knife on the
floor and commanded Asa Blare to pick it up. There he sat in his chair,
flourished his knife, looked at its frightful edge and told what it had
done. If the Indian told the truth, it had cleaved the locks and taken
off the scalps of six of the Anglo Saxon race—some body's loved ones. It
had been six times red with human gore, and was going to be used again,
to take off one more scalp, one of the few who was then in the woods.
This house of Mr. Blare's
had long since been torn down and had disappeared. I could now go within
five rods, and I think less, of where the house stood. When Mr. Mather
bought the place he built him a frame house across the road, beyond
where Blare's house stood. It was built on a hill, on five acres of
ground, that he owned there by itself as a building spot.
Mather sold these two
places to Barnard and Windsor and father bought the places of them, and
moved into the Mather house. Father talked, from an early day, that when
he got able to build a house, he would like to build it of brick or
stone. He said if he had stone, he could build a house for himself. I
have no doubt that he would have built his house himself, if he had had
the stone, as old as he was, when he got the money to do it with.
He thought himself quite
a stone mason, at least he thought he could lay a stone wall as strong
as any one. I stated that I had seen where he had built stone walls. The
walls I had reference to then were walls for fence. I saw where he had
built one large out door stone cellar and arched it over with stone; I
also saw where he had built a smaller one, that opened into what was
styled a cellar kitchen. He also built the three walls of the kitchen,
on the back side and two ends, of stone; the front of the house being
wood.
The practice of laying
stone, in his early life, made him want to build him a stone house in
Michigan. If he had settled in another part of Michigan, he might have
done it; but he found that stone were hard to get here, being too far
away. So he made up his mind, he would build him a brick house. He said
brick buildings were safer, in regard to fire, and were more durable,
that they did not require so much repairing, were warmer in winter and
cooler in summer than wooden buildings.
So he went at it, and
built him a good, substantial plain, brick farm-house in 1854. Not so
palatial as some might admire, but a good substantial house; a brick
basement under the whole of it, with two stories above. He set it right
facing the '6Hard scrabble road" and right in front of his door yard was
the junction of three roads. He lived on the corners and, by looking
south, he could see to the place where he first settled in Michigan,
from his own door. He built across the front side of his house a double
stoop or piazza running the whole length of the front. There he could
sit, in the cool of the day, and rest himself, accompanied by some of
his family. Two of my sisters vet lived at home; the rest of the family
had gone for themselves. While sitting there he could see people passing
and repassing, coming and going in every direction. What a contrast it
was to our early life in Michigan. Now he could sit on his veranda in
the twilight, when it was pleasant, and when the shadows of evening were
spread over the face of nature, he could peer away into the distance to
the south and southwest, for a mile and more, and see lights in
different places glistening and shining like stars through the darkness.
They were the lights of lamps and candles, burning in his distant
neighbors' dwellings and shining through their windows. He could go to
his north window and see lights all along, from his house to
Dearbornville, for he was in plain sight of the village. Now he lived in
what might be styled, if not an old country, a thickly inhabited part of
the country.
A few years before, when
father and I were out and could not get home until after dark, we
frequently walked through the woods a mile or two without seeing a
light. When we came to our clearing we could see one light, and that was
mother's lone light in the window waiting for us. It was three or four
rears, after we settled in Michigan, before the light of any neighbor's
window could be seen, from our house. Father's situation was very
different when he was comfortably settled in his new house. When he had
it built he told me that he lacked a very little of paving for it. I
asked him how much he needed. He said, "Not more than a hundred
dollars." I told him I could let him have it as well as not. So I gave
it to him and he sat down and wrote me a note of a hundred dollars, ten
per cent interest per annum. I told him I didn't want any note. He said
I must take it if he took the money. So I took the note, looked at it,
saw that it was upon interest and told him that I would not take any
interest of him. But I took the note home and laid it away. I was
pleased to think that father had so good a house and was so well
situated. He built him a very strong house and located it upon a
commanding eminence overlooking the country in every direction. From its
very solid appearance, shortly after it was built it was called "Nowlin
Castle;" it is now known to many, by that name. [The "Castle" is still
in use as a residence, being owned by a granddaughter of the builder,
and occupied by a tenant. The location is attractive enough, but the
illustration exaggerates the extent of the elevation.]
Father and mother enjoyed
their new home very much. They usually invited their children and their
companions home all together once in a year or two. They often got into
their carriage and rode down to see me and I was always glad to see
them. I usually counseled and consulted with father when I thought of
transacting any business of importance.
After a year or two
father spoke to me about the hundred dollars; I told him I didn't want
it, that he could keep it just as long as he wanted it, until he could
pay it just as well as not and it wouldn't cost him any interest.
Time passed on until
about five years were counted after father built, when he came down one
day, on foot, to see me. He brought in his hand a little leather bag of
silver money—mostly half dollars. He said he had come down to pay me
that note, that he didn't need the money at all and wanted me to take it
Out of his way. I looked up the note, sat down by the table, turned out
the money and counted it. I saw there were just fifty dollars; then I
looked at the note and saw it had been given about five years before.
I told father that I had
said I shouldn't take any interest of him, but it had run so long, I
didn't know but what it would be right, for me to have the interest. I
couldn't quite afford to give so much. The fifty dollars was just enough
to pay the interest and I could endorse it on the back of the note. I
turned a little in my chair, to look at father, as he sat off at one
side and said but little to me, to see what I could make out in mind
reading. I found that I failed; I could not make out, by what he said
nor by his silence, what he thought of me. Then I told him, that I had a
little job or two on hand, which I wanted him to help me about. I asked
him if he would help me. He said he would if I didn't bother him too
much. I told him I wanted him to have his stoop painted over, it would
preserve and make the wood last longer, and make it look better. And I
wanted him to go to Detroit for me, as soon as he could conveniently,
and get some oysters, and other good things, and bring home with him.
Then I wanted him to invite all of his children to come and take dinner
with him and mother and enjoy the day together. Besides, I wanted him to
take the fifty dollars, toward paying the expenses, and also take that
note out of my way, toward what I was owing him.
In a few days after that
I was invited up to the castle to spend the day. We were all there,
father, mother, brother, sister, and our companions. We had a good
dinner. The table was spread with the bounties of life. We passed a very
pleasant day, and listened to father's stories of wars, and stories
connected with his early life. He would relate them as nobody else
could. He told us stories that I had often heard him relate before.
Still there was a charm in his manner of telling them and they seemed to
he always good and new; his old stories were certainly as attractive,
interesting and pleasing as ever before.
It would make almost any
one laugh who listened to them, though he always looked rather grave
while repeating them. It pleased him to think that they all enjoyed them
so much; but what pleased him still more was that his children were all
alive at home. As they were most all singers, sometimes, he would set
them singing for him, songs new and old, as he was no singer himself.
Mother was a beautiful
singer. He often got her to sing for him, and sometimes asked her to
sing his favorite song, which was styled "The Star in The East." I have
heard her sing it for him, at different times, ever since as long ago as
I can remember hearing her sing. It was a beautiful piece, connected
with the Messiah's advent, which happened over eighteen hundred years
before. One verse of it was this:
"Cold on his cradle the
dew drops were shining,
Low lies his head, with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore him in slumber reclining,
Maker and Monarch and Savior of all."
It is claimed by some,
that the human voice is capable of producing more different sounds and
is more musical and pleasing to the ear than anything else earthly; that
it is but little below the seraphic strains. "The Star in The East"
referred back to the most glorious night, for the human race, that earth
ever knew. A multitude of the heavenly hosts came down in the east of
Judea; the darkness of night was driven away and the place became more
beautiful than day, for glory shone around them. They announced to the
wise men of the East, that the Savior of mankind was upon the earth, and
that he was at Bethlehem. They told them how and where they would find
him. The Heavenly visitors showed them a star or meteor of exceeding
brilliancy and told them it would conduct them to the place where he
was. They started with the star in advance; it lighted their path and
conducted them to the place. There was heard sung, that night, one of
the most heavenly, beautiful, thrilling and enchanting songs that ever
broke upon the ear of mortal men. It was sung by angels, this was their
song: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward
men." Then the bright messengers plumed their pinions, spread out their
snow white wings, filled up their shining train and in a cloud of glory
flew away to Heaven.
Now as I have strayed a
little in thinking of the subject of "The Star in The East" I find
myself back again in the presence of the one who sung father's favorite
song.
I told mother she must
get ready, and, in the fall, we would go back to the state of New York.
I asked father to go with us, and tried to get him to say he would go.
But he thought he would have to stay at home and take care of things
while we were gone. Mother concluded she would go and said she would get
ready for the journey and we would go and see the old native places, and
old friends and make the visit we had talked about so long. The thought
of Lake Erie had always been a dread to mother, whenever we spoke of
going back. But now we could go back very easily and in a very short
time with the cars on the "Great Western Railway" I told her it would be
as easy, for her, as though she were sitting in a parlor. I encouraged
her all I could, for she was getting quite old and feeble, and it looked
like a big undertaking to her. I said to encourage her, that she would
be able to stand it first rate, and the trip, no doubt, would do her
good. I think the thought of going was pleasing to her.
But we met not many more
times at my father's house, under so favorable and happy circumstances,
nor gathered around his board with everything in such good cheer, and
prospects so bright. |
