\'Three Score Years and Ten\'

C >> Charlotte Ouisconsin Van Cleve >> \'Three Score Years and Ten\'

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I have never ceased to admire the admirable tact and grace with which
my father added to this choice menu; some very nice boiled beef and
other toothsome viands, with which our bountiful friends the Taylors,
had packed our messchest; also, some choice tea, which father,
accustomed to camping, knew how to prepare in perfection. All this he
did in such a way as to make the lady feel that it was an honor to us
to share these things with her, and it was really gratifying to see
her calm enjoyment of delicacies to which she had long been a
stranger. I think, too, that the fragrant cup of tea and the delicate
bit of toast, taken to the sick man, may have brought to his mind
tender recollections of a time when he lived like a gentleman, and
dispelled for a little while the memory of the family troubles, and
the complication of misfortunes which had reduced him to poverty and
a dying bed in this comfortless log cabin in the wilderness.

Kind friends met us with a hearty welcome at our journey's end, where
for a few years we had a very happy home. The memory of the weekly
musicals at John Kinzie's pleasant agency, and the delightful rides on
horseback over the Portage to the point where Portage City now stands,
quickens my heart-beats even now.

But where now are all those who then called that little quadrangle
"_home_?" Col. Cutler, Major Green, Captain Low, Lieutenants Johnston,
Hooe, Collingsworth, Lacy, McLure, Ruggles, Reid, Whipple, Doctors
Satterlee, McDougal and Foote, Sutlers Goodell, Satterlee, Clark,
Lieutenant Van Cleve and my own dear father? Alas! of all these but
one answers to roll-call, and he and I hold in sweet remembrance the
dear friends of our youth, and the beloved old fort, where He who hath
led us graciously all our days, first brought us together, and blessed
us with each other's love, and we thank Him from our hearts that He
has spared us to each other for so many years.

_CHAPTER XIII._

NEW HOME--SCHOOL DAYS.

There came a day in April, 1834, when my brother and I bade "good-bye"
to all, and, under our father's care, left Fort Winnebago to go East,
he to West Point, I to school in New Haven.

We descended the sinuous Fox river in an open boat, having on board,
besides ourselves, a crew of soldiers, and two ladies, who embraced
this opportunity to visit their Eastern home.

The spring rains set in the next day, and our voyage down the Fox
river lasted ten days, during which time we had ample opportunity to
test the efficacy of hydropathy, as our awning was by no means
waterproof, and we were literally soaked the greater part of the time.
In passing through Lake Winnebago the wind was so fearful that the
combined efforts of Captain and crew were necessary to prevent
shipwreck and disaster. The passage through the rapids below was
extremely hazardous, but a famous Indian pilot was employed to guide
us over, and no harm befel us. The picture of that tall, dark figure
at the bow, his long, black hair streaming in the wind, his arms bare,
his motions, as he shifted his pole from side to side, rapid and full
of unconscious grace, his eyes glowing like stars with anxious
vigilance, his voice ringing out clear and musical from time to time,
is as fresh in my mind as if all this was only yesterday.

But civilization and never-tiring enterprise have waved over it their
magic wand, and the whole scene is changed. Beautiful towns have
sprung up about the clear, blue lake, and the place that knew the
Indian and his people shall know him no more forever. In a distant
camping-place nearer the setting sun the remnant of a once powerful
tribe is dragging out its existence, waiting and expecting to be moved
still farther west when the white man wants the land they occupy,
_reserved_ to them only till that want becomes imperative and the
United States says: "Go farther!"

When we finally reached Fort Howard, and were cordially welcomed and
hospitably entertained by General Brooke, of the Fifth Regiment, we
forgot, in our exceeding comfort, all the perils and disagreeables by
the way, and not one of us experienced the slightest cold or
inconvenience from our long exposure to the elements.

We remained a week here awaiting a schooner, and I met for the first
time Captain and Mrs. Marcy, parents of Mrs. General McLellan. How
pretty and charming she was, and how kind and tender to the boy and
girl who were going away from home and mother for the first time! The
beautiful wife of General Brooke, too, was so loving and considerate
in her motherly attentions to us that she completely won our hearts,
and when she died, some years afterward, we felt bereaved.

The voyage by schooner to Buffalo through the Straits of
Mich-e-li-mac-i-nac and tempestuous little Lake St. Clair, a day or
two at hoary, magnificent Niagara, the journey thence by stage, canal,
railroad and steamboat to New York, filled up one month from the time
we took our farewell look at the star spangled banner floating over
our far Western home. And this sixteen mile ride by rail from
Schenectady to Albany, which was over the first piece of road opened
for travel in the United States, seemed so like magic as to inspire us
with a kind of awe. I remember that in coming to a steep grade the
passengers alighted, while the train was drawn up the slope by some
kind of stationary machinery.

I recalled this experience of my girlhood a few years ago when, in a
luxurious palace car, a party of us wound up and over the Veta pass,
an ascent of 2,439 feet in fourteen miles, and looking down the dizzy
height, as the two powerful engines, puffing and snorting like living
creatures, labored to reach the summit, I marvelled at the splendid
triumph of genius and skill.

After a pleasant day or two at West Point, where we left the young
Cadet, and a short visit to relatives in New York, a most enjoyable
trip in a "Sound" steamer brought us to the "City of Elms," one of the
great educational centers of New England, which was to be my home for
two years.

There were many learned men in New Haven then, and the faculty of the
time-honored old college had on its roll names which will never die,
Day, Silliman, Olmstead, and many others,--who were mighty in
eloquence and theology, like Leonard Bacon and Dr. Taylor, proclaimed
the truth with no uncertain sound in the churches on the "Green" from
Sabbath to Sabbath. Grand old Noah Webster, standing in the doorway of
his modest home on our road from school to church, was, to me, an
embodiment of the spelling-book and dictionary, and I instinctively
made obeisance to him as we passed that way.

One of the few privileges granted me in the way of recreation while at
"Mrs. Apthorpe's School for Young Ladies" was an occasional visit to
our dear cousins, the Brewsters, who occupied a beautiful home on the
Sound, formerly known as the "Pavillion," which might be called
historic, for in a dark dungeon underneath the house the notorious
regicides, Goff and Whalley, were hidden in the old, old times. And
the graveyard in New Haven, with its tall poplar trees, was an epitome
of the lives of men and women who had made their impress, not only on
that community, but on the world. Our school was situated on Hillhouse
avenue, and our walks were mostly confined to that quiet, shady street
and "Powder House lane," in order that we might avoid meeting the
"students," of whom our teacher seemed to have a great dread, a fear
from which her pupils were entirely free. But for all this care and
precaution we learned to know _by sight_ Benjamin Silliman, who lived
next door to us, and young Thomas Skinner, who was opposite, and it is
delightful to know that these two young men, who were full to the brim
with fun and harmless mischief, have become eminent and dignified men
of renown, one as a chemist and scientist, the other as a
distinguished divine and honored professor in a theological seminary.

The college commencement exercises were held in the Central Church, on
the "Green," and all the schools, male and female, were well
represented in the large audience. The ladies occupied the center of
the church, and, in order that the large bonnets in vogue at that time
might not intercept the view of the stage, several long lines were
stretched longitudinally over their heads, to which they were expected
to attach them, and, after all had hung up their bonnets, these lines
were drawn up out of the way until needed again. Many of the ladies
provided pretty caps and headdresses for the occasion, and the
delicate laces, with their tasteful trimmings, and the bright eyes and
happy faces, formed a pretty picture long to be remembered. Recalling
it, I see again the dimpled cheeks and soft, graceful appointments of
those merry girls, and, wafted backward over the bridge of many years,
I sit among them, the spring-time of youth comes back to me, and I
bless God for memory. What if we are old women now, worn and weary
with care and trial it may be; this blessed gift refreshes us on our
way to the eternal youth that awaits us just beyond, and we exult in
the belief that the flowers over there are fadeless, that old age is
not known, and friends no more say "good-bye."

[Illustration]

_CHAPTER XIV._

FATHER'S DEATH, ETC.

The fall of 1835 found us all, except our Cadet, at Fort Winnebago
again, but heavy afflictions made that winter a very sad one. The
anxiety consequent on the serious illness of two beloved members of
the family so wore upon our dear father, whose constitution had been
severely tried by arduous military duties, that after many weeks of
pain, he died, and left us crushed and desolate.

I have beside me an old "Order Book," open at a page on which is this
sad record:

"The Major Commanding has the painful duty to announce to the
command, the death of Major Nathan Clark; he will be buried
to-morrow afternoon at 2 o'clock, with the honors of war,
where all present, except those persons who may be expressly
excused, will appear under arms in full uniform; the
Commanding Officer directs that the escort be composed of
four companies, which, in accordance with his own feelings as
well as what is due to the deceased, he will command in
person. All officers of this command will wear black crape
attached to the hilts of their swords, and as testimony of
respect for the deceased, this badge will be worn for the
period of thirty days. The Surgeon of the Post will act as
Chaplain.

By order of Major Green.
Feb. 18th, 1836.
Signed J. T. COLLINGSWORTH, Act. Adj."

And at the time appointed, a detail of soldiers from his own "Company
C," reverently place upon the bier the encoffined form of their
beloved commander, having for a pall the "Stars and Stripes", on which
are laid the sword and accoutrements now no longer needed.

Memory brings back to me that mournful afternoon, and I see the
bearers with their burden; the long procession of soldiers with
trailed arms; the commissioned officers each in his appropriate place,
all keeping time and step to the muffled drum as it rolls out its
requiem on the wintry air, in the strains of Pleyel's heart-melting
hymn; the weeping wife and children in the large sleigh,--all passing
out the great gate to the lone graveyard. And the precious burden is
lowered, and at its head stands Surgeon Lyman Foote, our father's
life-long friend, and in a voice trembling with emotion, reads the
wonderful words: "I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord."
After the burial service comes the last salute, and, leaving there
that which is so dear to us, we go back to the empty quarters, bowed
down heavily, as those who mourn for one inexpressibly dear.

During those weeks of pain and languishing, my father, knowing what
the end must be, and realizing the change his death would make in all
our plans, left full directions for our future course; and in
accordance with his last wishes, my marriage with Lieutenant H. P. Van
Cleve was solemnized, in the presence of a few friends, March 22d,
1836. Rev. Henry Gregory, of the Episcopal Church, at that time
laboring as a missionary among the Stockbridge Indians, performed the
ceremony. His station was between the Forts Winnebago and Howard, and
he had a serious time making the journey on horseback to the fort, the
snow being very deep and the weather severe. Besides using up his
horse he became snow-blind, and reached us pretty well worn out, but
we can never forget his cheerful endurance of his trials, and his
genial, affable manner, which made warm friends of all who came in
contact with him. He was one who _lived_ the gospel which he preached,
and unconsciously diffused a beneficial influence all about him.
Notwithstanding his temporary blindness, he was so perfectly familiar
with the marriage service that there was no delay in consequence, and
after resting with us a few days, till his eyesight was restored, he
left us on a new horse to return to his home among the Indians, where
he labored faithfully and effectively for some years longer.

As soon as navigation opened, my mother went to Connecticut with two
children, leaving the youngest, a dear little three year old girl, in
our care. We spent the first summer of our married life very quietly
and happily at the old fort, and enjoyed exceedingly a visit from two
companies of the First Regiment, from Prairie du Chien, who had been
ordered up there, to strengthen our post, on account of a rumor of an
Indian outbreak which had reached Washington. Col. Zachary Taylor
commanded the detachment personally, and encamping just outside the
fort, made a beautiful display. Old General Brady was with them also,
and we were proud and happy to entertain our dear father's old friends
at our own table. To add to the pleasure of this visit, there was not
and had not been the slightest foundation for alarm. It was said that
not only were the Indians perfectly peaceable, but that they had not
enough ammunition to kill what game they needed for food. Colonel
Taylor knew all this, but was obliged to obey orders; so we had a
grand picnic of a few weeks, just when the prairies were covered with
delicious strawberries, and the cows were yielding abundance of milk
and cream. That was in the old time, when mails were monthly, and
telegraphing was a thing of the future.

In the following September, my husband having resigned his commission,
we bade a long "good bye" to the army and its many tender
associations. This step was taken after much thought and deliberation,
and in accordance with the advice of our dear father. But the army had
always been my home; I loved it as such. I love it still, and it is a
comfort to me in my old age to know that I am not far away from a
fort, that I can _almost_ see the beautiful flag, as it sways in the
breeze, can _almost_ hear the drum and fife, the music of my
childhood, and can _feel_ that they are near me, in dear old Fort
Snelling, my earliest home.

[Illustration]

_CHAPTER XV._

In 1840, being in Cincinnati, where we were delightfully situated, we
had a rare opportunity to witness the enthusiasm of our countrymen, as
displayed in the Presidential campaign of which General Harrison was
the successful man. The excitement of that time was tremendous. The
hard cider songs--

"And should we be any ways thirsty,
I'll tell you what we will all do,
We'll bring forth a keg of hard cider
And drink to old Tippecanoe."

Also: "For Tippecanoe and Tyler, too,
And with them we'll beat little Van.
Van, Van's a used-up man,
And with them we'll beat little Van."

Resounded through the streets from morn till midnight, drums beat and
cannons roared, and, seeing the way in which the poor old man was
dragged about from place to place in all kinds of processions, we were
not surprised when we learned of his death a few weeks after his
inauguration. Then, alas! what a sad procession passed through those
same streets, of late so full of life and joy; now heavily draped in
mourning and echoing to funereal strains, as the worn-out old man is
borne slowly through the beautiful city to rest in his quiet home at
North Bend. How empty seem all earthly honors in view of such sharp
contrasts. The lesson sank deep, and can never be forgotten. Looking
over the leaves of my diary kept during that eventful year, I find
recorded there a sorrowful incident that occurred during the winter,
bringing desolation to a rich man's home and grief to many loving
friends. I give it here in the form of a story, as I have told it to
my children from time to time. It is an entirely correct narrative,
without the slightest coloring, and I have called it "A Tale of the
Florida War."

"You had better go, dear Lizzie, it will do you good; the confinement
in this lonesome fort does not agree with you. A ride on horseback and
a pleasant visit with dear friends will brighten you up and bring back
some of the roses to your cheeks. My duty keeps me here, but Sherwood
will go with you; the Colonel will provide a suitable escort, and
there is nothing to fear. You will return in better spirits and be
happy again, will you not, my drooping lily? What! tears again? Dry
them, dearest, and let us hope that you will soon receive that
long-expected letter from your mother, for she must feel that by this
time, if any punishment was necessary, yours has been sufficient. Now
smile again, dear one, as you were wont to do in happier days, or I
shall tell you that my heart reproaches me for having taken you from
your luxurious home and brought upon you so much unhappiness." "Say
anything but that, my beloved, and I will try to conquer my sadness.
You know I would not exchange these simple quarters of a poor
Lieutenant for all the splendors of my father's house. For your sake,
and with you beside me to cheer and comfort me, I could bear all
hardship and privation; but, oh! to hear from my parents that I am
forgiven, that they still remember me with my sisters, as one of their
dear children. I will be patient, dear, and trust more fully in Him
who has said: 'When thy father and thy mother forsake thee, then the
Lord will take thee up.' He will surely hear my daily prayer and
restore peace to my heart, and we will dwell on the sweet promises we
read together in the Book we have learned to love so well, and will
trust Him who is our best, our unfailing friend. And now, since you,
my dear, kind husband, wish it, I will prepare for this little
excursion. I cannot bear to leave you here, but I shall be back soon,
and who knows but to-morrow's mail may bring some news from home which
will cheer and comfort us both. Yet I cannot account for a feeling
that takes possession of me now and then, that something is about to
happen; that all will not be well while we are absent the one from the
other. What can it be? I cannot shake it off. The fort may be
attacked, and should anything befall you, my best beloved, what would
become of me? Much better remain and perish with you than return to a
desolate home."

"Now, my darling, do not give way to such dismal forebodings. You
always cheered me during those days of doubt and suspense in Newport,
bidding me look forward to brighter days. You would not now sadden the
hours of your absence from me by causing anxious thoughts in my heart.
Oh! my precious wife; you have borne much for my sake, you have been
to me in very truth a ministering angel. Do not now despond, but still
strengthen me by your brave, hopeful smiles. You know how I shall miss
you every moment of your absence, but the hope that this ride will do
you good makes me willing and anxious to have you go. And see, the
Orderly has just brought your horse, and Sherwood is crossing the
parade to tell you he is ready. Let me put your shawl around you and
tie your hat, that you may be all in waiting for him." The young wife
turned upon him her large, beautiful eyes, beaming with love, and,
twining her arms about his neck, kissed the "good-bye" she could not
speak. Then, looking earnestly to heaven, she silently called down the
protection of heaven on him whom she loved only next to God, in whom
she trusted. Her husband tenderly embraced her, led her into the
parlor, and, handing her to the young officer who was to take charge
of her, said: "Be careful of her, Sherwood, and let me see you both by
noon to-morrow. My compliments to the ladies of Fort Holmes, and urge
Mrs. Montgomery's special friend to return with her and partake of the
hospitalities of Fort Adams." Sherwood bowed in acquiescence, and,
assisting the lady into her saddle, acknowledged gracefully the honor
conferred upon him and mounted his horse, which was impatient to
begone. Then the last "good-byes" were spoken, loving looks exchanged,
and in a few moments the young Lieutenant and his precious charge had
passed through the gate and were out of sight. The young husband gazed
after them a long while, with anxious, troubled look. "Dear girl," he
said, at last, "she, too, feels forebodings of coming ill, and I dare
not tell her, but for days I have felt much depressed. This is wrong,
however. I must struggle against it and try to be cheerful when she
returns. Why should I feel thus? We were never more secure than at
present, and soon this vile war will be over, and surely by the time
we return to our homes the parents of my precious wife will have
become reconciled to us, and we shall be very happy." Turning from the
door and entering the room where he had parted with his wife, he threw
himself on the lounge, overcome by various emotions, and, in fact, far
from well in body, though this had been carefully concealed from his
anxious wife.

While he is thus resting and trying to put away unpleasant thoughts,
and our fair heroine is pursuing her way to Fort Holmes, we will tell
the reader of some of the peculiar circumstances of Lieutenant
Montgomery and his gentle bride, at the time our story begins. Lizzie
Taylor was a fair girl of little more than seventeen summers when she
first met Lieutenant Montgomery at a party given by some of the
_elite_ of Cincinnati. They were mutually attracted to each other, and
being thrown frequently into each other's society, this feeling
gradually ripened into love. Honorable and high-minded in all things,
young Montgomery did not conceal his fondness for Lizzie, and it was
generally known that he was her lover. But her father, a man of great
wealth and ambition, did not approve of what he chose to call her
childish fancy, and, being desirous that his daughters should form
brilliant marriages, frowned scornfully on the suit of one who had
_only_ his irreproachable character and his commission in the army of
the United States to offer as his credentials. Opposition in this
case, however, had its usual effect, and Lizzie, in all things else
obedient and complying, felt that here, even her father should not
interfere, when his objections were simply want of wealth and
influence on the part of him to whom she had given her young heart.
The young people, were not hasty, however, but waited patiently and
uncomplainingly a year, the father promising them that he would think
of it and give them an answer at that time. The proud man flattered
himself, that during that probationary year he could divert his
daughter from her foolishness, as he termed it, and excite her
ambition to form a wealthy alliance.

To this end, he travelled with her, introduced her into gay and
fashionable circles, and lavished upon her indulgences in every shape.
But he realized little of the depths of a woman's love, and was much
astonished when, at the end of the year, she sought an interview with
him, in which she told him, her feelings were unchanged, and she
desired his consent and blessing on her union with Lieutenant
Montgomery, adding that she hoped that time had softened his feelings
towards one with whom he could find no fault save that he loved his
daughter, and who was prepared to be to him a dutiful, loving son.

Her father turned upon her in anger, and stamping violently, swore by
all that was sacred that never would he give his consent to her union
with one so much beneath her in wealth and position. "Then, father,"
said his gentle daughter, mildly but with much dignity; "we will marry
without it, for as sure as God has witnessed our vows, so surely shall
nought but death part him and me; 'his people shall be my people, and
his God, my God.' Forgive me this first act of disobedience to your
commands, and believe me that I still love you as tenderly as I have
always loved my father; but there are feelings which not even a
parent's authority can control, and with the blessing of God and the
love of him most dear to me of all on earth, I can brave even more
than a father's displeasure." So saying, she left the room, while her
father, astonished beyond measure, remained motionless, completely
taken by surprise at this determined opposition to his will in one who
had hitherto been all gentleness and submission. Days passed, and she
continued as ever, gentle and loving to her father. No reference by
either was made to their late conversation, and he began to think she
had thought better of it and had concluded to yield to his wishes,
even congratulated himself that the _childish affair_ had been nipped
in the bud by his timely and judicious authority, when on one bright
summer day, like a thunder-clap from an unclouded sky, came a very
polite note from Lieutenant Montgomery apprising him of the fact that
Lizzie and he had just been married in the presence of a few friends
by an Episcopal clergyman, and that they craved his forgiveness and
blessing. From that moment her father's heart, already hard, was set
as a flint against her. No entreaties could prevail on him to see her,
and her mother, nearly crazy with grief, anger and wounded pride, took
counsel of friends, who most unwisely encouraged her bitterness and
convinced her that no concessions should be made to a disobedient
child under any circumstances, making the poor, distressed, mistaken
mother feel that it was a Christian duty to let her feel that her act
had made her an outcast from her parents' love and home. Therefore,
although she saw the poor girl occasionally, she always heaped on her
devoted head the most withering reproaches, telling her she had
disgraced her father's name, and must expect to reap the fruits of her
disobedience. And when the sad little bride sent to her, begging for
some of her clothes, of which she was sadly in need, for she had
carried nothing with her when she left her old home, she tore from
its frame a beautiful portrait of dear Lizzie, and, rolling it up in
some of the very plainest of her clothing, sent it, with the message
that they had no further need of it, and that the articles sent were
good enough for one in her position.

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