Marion Co TOC

Our hosts to all appearances were very religious people, and we had prayers every evening. This evening we went early to bed, being all very tired, so that, as yet, I hardly had time to take much notice of the people we were to live with. We had to be awakened for breakfast; afterwards we strolled about the house and fields to realize our situation. Saint was a man of about forty, with a bright clear eye, and open brow; you were captivated by him at the very first sight. His wife, an Irish-woman, treated us very civilly and kindly, and proved to be an excellent manager. They had no children; but there was another person in the house, who demands a particular description. This was a duodecimo Irish shoemaker, or, as he always insisted-schoolmaster, for such, by his own account, was his former occupation, though now he made shoes. Saint had bought a quantity of leather, and the little Irishman was to work it up, receiving a certain monthly sum. He had red hair, was pockmarked, stood about five feet, but was stout and strongly built, and may have been about fifty years old. The house was built of logs, roughly cut. It consisted of two ordinary houses, under one roof, with a passage between them open to north and south, a nice cool place to eat or sleep in during summer. Like all block-houses of this sort, it was roofed with rough four-feet planks; there were no windows, but in each house a good fireplace of clay. A field of about five acres was in front of the house, planted with Indian corn, excepting a small portion which was planted with wheat. South-west from the house stood the stable which S. was obliged to build, because he gave 'good accommodation to man and horse,' otherwise it is not much the custom in Arkansas to trouble one's self about stables. A place, called a 'lot,' with a high fence, is used for the horses, hollowed trees serving for mangers. Near at hand was a smaller log-house for the store of Indian corn, and a couple of hundred paces further was a mill which S. had built to grind such corn as he wanted for his own use, and which was worked by one horse. About a quarter of a mile from the house, through the wood, there was another field of about five acres, also sown with maize. The river L'Anguille flowed close in the rear of the house; another small building at the back of the dwelling was used as a smoking house; near it was a well about thirty-two feet deep.

Hitherto we had always eaten maize bread, because, although S. could grind wheat, he had no means of bolting it; and as it was stacked in the field, he decided on sending it to a mill about fifteen miles distant. The wheat was in sheaves, but there was neither barn nor thrashing floor, neither flail, nor winnowing machine, nothing to clean it from the straw; however, we set to work Arkansas fashion. The weather was bright and dry, the road before the door as hard as a stone, but dusty: a space about thirty feet in diameter was fenced in, and swept as clean as possible; the sheaves were unbound and laid in a circle, every two sheaves with their ears together, one with the straw to the center, the other with the straw outwards; six horses were mounted, and ridden round and round, while two men kept shaking down fresh corn; when it had been well trodden out, it had to be sifted. I had probably worked rather too hard, caught another attack of ague, and was obliged to lie down till evening.

On August 3rd, I felt better, and decided in the afternoon on driving to the mill: but the grain had first to be cleaned. This, without a machine, was rather a difficult matter, but the sharp Americans know how to manage it. Two of the stoutest fellows hold a blanket by the four corners; a third stands on a chair with a sieve full of grain, which he shakes, not too fast, nor too long at a time, while the two with the blanket make as much wind as they can, by working it up and down; the chaff is blown away, while the wheat falls to the ground, and is at once gathered into the sack, though not quite so clean as it would be with our system. By two o'clock we were able to start, the cart being drawn by oxen, and, owing to their slow discreet pace, it was pitch dark when we arrived at the mill. At so late an hour grinding was out of the question; we lighted our fire, broiled our supper, and laid down in the wagon to sleep till daylight. But the night was so beautiful, the stars shining so mildly down upon us, the wind blowing so soft and warm through the green branches, that we could not sleep, but went on talking. Both my companions were Americans, one of them a strict Methodist, and there was nothing more natural than that we should talk of the stars, then of Heaven, then of religion; and as we entertained very different views, our conversation degenerated into a hot dispute which was put an end to about midnight by a heavy shower of rain, that forced us to seek shelter for ourselves and our sacks. Next day we began to grind, and slow work it was, for we had to turn the mill with our own oxen, who had no idea of inconveniencing themselves; however, we managed to reach home the same night. The season was now far enough advanced for the leaves of Indian corn to be stripped and laid up as fodder for the winter. This plant, in the southern States, will grow to a height of eleven or twelve feet, and often bears three cobs: the white sort is the best for bread, the yellow, containing more sugar, is best for fodder and for whiskey.

On the 9th, Saint commenced his Indian corn harvest, which lasted till the 11th, and I gave my assistance. The cobs were simply broken away from the stems, and cast into a cart which carried them to the building prepared to receive them. When this work was done, we began another-namely, to clear about half an acre more land, and sow it with turnips. The western settlers, and particularly those in the southwestern states, are not very fond of hard work; in those wild regions they prefer rearing cattle and shooting, to agriculture, and loth to undertake the hard work of felling trees and clearing land. To make the labour as light as possible, yet still to increase their fields, they generally clear a small space every autumn, and ploughing it very slightly, sow it with turnips, which answer best for the new ground. Next year it is fenced in and added to the field.

When about to make a clearing, the American looks out for the largest and straightest oaks, which he fells and splits into poles, about ten to twelve feet long, for fencing. When he thinks he has enough for this purpose, the rest is cut up and piled; next, the trees which have a diameter of eighteen inches and under are felled, about half a yard from the ground, and cut into lengths, while the larger trees are girdled all round with the axe and very soon die. The shrubs and bushes are then rooted up with a heavy hoe, and, with the help of the neighbours who are invited for the purpose, the whole, except for the poles for the fence, is rolled into a heap and set on fire.

As soon as the land is cleared of all that can be easily removed it is fenced in, and ploughed. This last work is very severe, and gives the ploughman and cattle many a rough shake, as the ploughshare, catching in the roots, has constantly to be lifted out of the ground, or to be moved out of the way of the standing stumps. These stumps give the fields a very extraordinary appearance; it takes from six to ten years before they rot away entirely. It sometimes happens that the trees killed by girdling are blown down amongst the growing crops, and the settler has a great deal of trouble in removing them. The land about Saint's farm, when not inundated, was very fertile, and required little labour. It produced splendid oaks, black and white hickory, and sassafrass.

On the evening of the 18th October, S. came back from Strong's, where he had bought a couple of negro children, and brought them home on a led horse. One was a boy of about fifteen years old, as black as pitch, and with a regular Ethiopian cast of countenance; as he crossed the threshold, he examined every one present, with a rapid glance of his large dark eyes, and then looked unconcernedly at all the furniture, etc., as if all that was of no consequence to him. The other was a little girl of about eleven, who seemed already to have gone through some hard work. When she saw so many strange faces, a tear glittered in her eyes: she had been sold away from her parents, whom she would probably never more behold, and stood an image of suppressed grief. The boy was from Maryland, had been taken by sea to New Orleans, and from thence brought here. He had been told that he had fallen to a kind master, and his countenance seemed to say that was enough, happen what might.