From Reminiscences of the Indians, by Cephas Washburn, published 1869 by The Presbyterian Publication Committee.
Very Dear Brother: Among the misteries, (not of godliness, but of the want of godliness,) existing in our American Zion, is the fact that she remained asleep so long in reference to the Saviour’s ascending command, “Go ye into all the world and preach thee Gospel to every creature.” I was nineteen years old when the first foreign missionaries sailed from our shores. And when the Churches were imbued with the spirit of missions, it is wonderful that the heathen in our own land were overlooked, and the whole field of vision seemed filled with the idol worshippers on foreign shores. When brother Kingsbury started on his mission to the Indians, he was regarded by a majority in the Church as little better than a second Don Quixote. The Indians were regarded as outcasts in Divine Providence, who had been forgotten in the exuberance of Divine love, and overlooked in the provisions of redeeming mercy.
To this I know there were honourable individual exceptions, but such was the prevailing feeling in the American Church. Brother Kingsbury had a faith which brought these poor outcasts within the pale of Christ’s power to save, and animated by that faith he took his lonely way to the Cherokee Nation. He commenced a mission there in the autumn of 1816. His faith was not misplaced. God was with him and blessed his labours. Souls were converted to God among the Cherokees before any of our other missions had been blessed by the converting power of the Holy Spirit. In this way God aroused the Churches, and excited an interest for our red aborigines. That Mission among the Cherokees was visited in the spring of 1818, by Jeremiah Evarts, Esq., at that time Treasurer of the American Board. During that visit he had an interview with Tol-on-tus-ky, the principal chief of the Arkansas Cherokees. That chief expressed a wish to have a mission sent to his people, and Mr. Evarts promised to comply with his request as soon as it could be done. In the autumn of that same year I was accepted as a missionary of that Board, and sent out to the State of Georgia as an agent. In that capacity I laboured and as a domestic missionary of the Savannah Missionary Society for one year.
In the autumn of 1819 I was instructed to commence my journey to Arkansas to commence a mission among the Arkansas Cherokees. My journey led me through the old Cherokee Nation and by the Mission at Brainerd, which I was instructed to visit, and the plan of which I was instructed minutely to study. While at Brainerd, I was joined by my brother-in-law, Rev. Alfred Finney, who was associated with me in the establishment of the Arkansas Cherokee Mission. On the 19th November, 1819, we took up our line of travel from Brainerd for the wilderness of Arkansas. Our whole company consisted of Rev. Mr. Finney, wife and one child, myself, wife and one child, and Miss Minerva Washburn, afterwards Mrs. Orr. We had a two-horse wagon, and a one-horse wagon. We were instructed to go through the Chickasaw and Choctaw Nations, and to leave our wives, and children, and Miss Washburn at Elliott, a mission station among the Choctaws, and to proceed, ourselves, to Arkansas, and make some preparations for our families, and then to return for them. Had we been a month earlier in the year, we might have made the journey to Elliott without difficulty; as it was we had a most laborious, tedious, and trying journey. We reached the Chickasaw Nation on the “Old Natchez Trail,” amid the rains of the winter solstice. The notorious “Chickasaw Swamps” were horrible. Our first day’s travel in the Chickasaw Nation was over a high pine country and was comparatively pleasant. Hitherto, we had found a house at which to stay every night but one, and then were where we could easily get fire; but now we were in the midst of the forest and must lie out. Our fireworks proved to be defective, and we utterly failed to make fire.
It was then concluded that I should take one of the horses and ride back three miles to a cabin we had passed, and get fire. This I did, and when about half the distance back, the fire suddenly blazed up and frightened the horse. I was obliged to throw away the fire. I got down in time to save the fire, and concluded to walk and lead my horse, as he would not suffer me to mount him with the fire in my hand. In this way I went on till I came to a house three miles beyond the company. [I had taken a road which led me off the one we had travelled, though it united with it again after I had passed the company.] I now abandoned the fire and determined to find my way to my companions. This I did, and reached the wagons about ten o’clock. Mr. Finney now and Miss Washburn determined to go after fire on foot. They were successful, and returned with the desired element about midnight. We cooked our supper and were ready to lie down under our blanket tent, and on the ground, in time to get some sleep. But we were destined to some further disturbance. The wind had risen, and our fire was kindled against a large pine log. The sap or outside of this log was damp and soggy, but within, it was “fat” with rosin or pitch. The fire got hold of this, and the wind caused a very high flame to rise. Large glary sparks were flying all around. We were roused from sleep by the suffocating smoke. We found our blanket house over our heads, and our beds beneath us, to be on fire. Hap- ply we were able to put out the fire before much injury was done. We removed to a safer situation and were quiet till the morning. From the experience of this night, we learned some lessons about “camping out,” which have been of use to us ever since. The next day we took the swamps. These we shall never forget. The whole country for miles was almost a dead level, and at that time covered with water from the great rains of the season.
Every few miles, and sometimes much oftener, these flats were permeated by creeks and smaller watercourses, distinguished often only by a current. Many of these streams were swimming. The general character of the soil, if soil it may be called, was an exceedingly adhesive clay, underlain by quick-sands. Sometimes these quick-sands were so near the surface, that our wagons, the moment they entered them, would sink to the axletrees. Experience alone could teach us where these pits of sand were. We knew their location, when we were in them, but till then their appearance was precisely like the circumjacent land, or rather land and water commingled in a chaotic mass. On one occasion, Mr. Finney was driving his wagon in advance of mine. Suddenly his horses and wagon sank down into the quick-sand. The wagon cover knocked off his hat, which fell just before the wagon wheel, and it was carried down and was irrecoverably lost. For several days he was perforce compelled to adopt the fashion of the country, and wear a turban on his head instead of a hat. In this instance, by turning about eight or ten feet aside, I was able to avoid the quick-sand with my wagon. On another occasion we came to a creek. Of its depth we were ignorant. It was concluded to take Mrs. Finney and her babe and Mrs. Washburn in the two-horse wagon, and that Miss Washburn and our babe should go over in the other carriage. Mr. Finney started in with his two horses, and the wagon soon stuck in the clayey bed, and was immovable. We had now with us a man who had been sent out from Elliott to meet and assist us. He first took Mrs. Finney in his arms and carried her safe to land. The water was above his hips. Then Mrs. Finney’s babe was carried out. In attempting to carry Mrs. Washburn, he made a misstep, and let her fall into the stream. She waded to land. When the wagon was unloaded, it was with difficulty got out of the stream. In the mean time, I found a large fallen tree extending over the stream. To this I drove the carriage, carried the babe over, and assisted Miss Washburn to cross. Then the horse was taken out and driven across; and we hauled the wagon over by hand on the fallen tree. Our progress was very slow.
One day we started very early, in hopes of being able to reach a place where we might find “entertainment for man and beast,” as the inn-keepers have it. When we had proceeded about a half mile, we came to a little stream. In the bed of this the horses sank to their bellies, and the wagon to the axletrees. It was very cold, the ice being of an inch thickness over the water of the stream. Into this we were obliged to wade; and in that mud and water and ice, we had to labour from sunrise till four o’clock, P. M. On casting up our Log at camp that night, we found that our day’s progress amounted to one mile and a half. From three to seven miles per diem was our average progress.
In one instance we arrived at the bank of a creek which we percieved to be rising very rapidly; and learning from an Indian, who lived near, that it was not swimming at the ford, we made all haste to get all the ladies and babes into the two-horse wagon, and to cross before it would be impassable. The passage was made in safety, though the wagon bed was half filled with water. Then I attempted to follow with, the other wagon. I had no sooner got into the stream than the fore wheels separated from the body and hind wheels; the horse and fore wheels went safe to land, and the body, with myself, floated down the current. This new-fashioned boat soon lodged against some driftwood. I had a bed-cord and a hammer in the box of the wagon. I tied the hammer to one end of the cord, and holding the other end in my hand, I threw the hammer to land. By this means Mr. Finney got hold of the cord, and safely towed me to shore, where I could unite the severed parts of my wagon, and be ready to move on our way.
After innumerable mishaps, and exposures, and much toil, we reached the point on the “Natchez Trail,” where we were to leave it, and travel through a wilderness in which a wheeled carriage had never passed. Our distance now from Elliott was sixty miles. There was but little swamp, but there was no road, and many water-courses to pass. A little after mid-day, (the first day of this part of our journey,) it commenced raining very hard. The rain soon turned to sleet, and finally to snow. Just before night one of our wagons stuck in the mud in the bottom of a small creek. The women and children had to get out, exposed to the pittiless storm. We concluded to stop here for the night; but before we could get a “camp” erected and a fire kindled, the cloaks of the ladies were so covered with ice that they would stand alone. The night was extremely cold; and neither Mr. Finney nor myself lay down all night. We kept up to keep up sufficient fire to preserve the women and children from suffering.
We had great difficulty on this part of our journey in crossing the streams. The banks were deep and almost perpendicular. Where we could do so, we would dig them down, so as to make them passable. For this purpose, we had furnished ourselves with a hoe and spade. It was very laborious and tedious. In two instances, we felled two small trees across the streams so near together that the wheel hubs would roll on them and the wheels be on the outside. We would haul the wagons to the very verge, and then take off the horses and drive them through the stream. We would then tie a bed-cord to the wagon-tongue, and tie a hammer to the other end; then roll the Wagon on to the trees, and throw the hammer across. Then one would cross over on a log, and take hold of the cord to haul the wagon over, while the other would walk behind on one of the trees to steady the wagon and keep it from falling. In these cases, the women and children crossed on a log.
Before reaching Elliott, an axletree of one of our wagons was broken. This could not be repaired there. Mr. Finney remained with the wagons, and I obtained Indian ponies, and started with the ladies and babes and a missionary brother, sent to us from Elliott. Thus, toil-worn and weary, we reached the station a little after midnight on the 2d, or rather very early in the morning of the 3d of January, 1820. The next day Mr. Finney arrived with the wagons in safety.
To all our party this was a welcome and refreshing rest. At this sacred place we all remained, participating in their labours, trials, joys and sorrows, and enjoying most precious fraternal communion with the excellent band of missionary labourers there, until the middle of February, when Mr. Finney and myself commenced our journey to the field of our future labours.
At that time Arkansas was a perfect terra incognita. The way to get there was unknown; and what it was, or was like, if you did get there, was still more an unrevealed mystery. We travelled in company with an Indian trader, who was taking peltries to market on pack horses. Our progress was slow; but after a journey of fourteen days, during which we had camped out every night but one, we reached the Mississippi river at a place then known as the “Walnut Hills,” the cite of the present city of Vicksburg. Here we learned that twelve miles down the river there was a man who had been to Arkansas. We went to visit him, and sure enough we saw a “live man,” who had seen Arkansas. He had ascended the Arkansas river to very near the Cherokee country. All he could tell us of the country was very little indeed. He, however, perfectly satisfied our minds that it was utterly impracticable to make the journey by land at that season of the year. We therefore retraced our steps to Elliot, making the journey pleasantly in five days. At this station, labouring with the devoted band for the improvement and salvation of the Choctaws, we remained till the 16th of May following, when again, leaving our ladies and babes, we started a second time for Arkansas. We went to Walnut Hills as before, on horseback, and sent back our horses, to be taken by two men we had hired to the Post of Arkansas, a settlement on the Arkansas river forty miles from its mouth, where we were to remain until the men with our horses should arrive. After a detention of Some days at Walnut Hills, we got aboard a steamer, and landed in Arkansas at the mouth of White river, on the 2d of June, 1820.
Here we purchased a skiff, and, for the first time, tried our skill as watermen. We ascended White river a few miles, and then, through the “Cut Off,” entered the Arkansas river. Our trip was anything but pleasant. To us, unpracticed as we were, it was very laborious to row the skiff up stream ; and at night our rest was prevented by myriads of musquitoes, against whose torturing bites and hateful buzz we had absolutely no protection. Sleep, under such circumstances, was utterly out of the question. Notwithstanding, we made the trip in safety in two days and a half. At the Post we found hospitable friends, and a quiet and comfortable boarding place, in the family of a Methodist local preacher.
While we are resting at the Post, I will go back and relate an incident which occurred on board the steamer, which may serve as an episode to this most dry and unpoetic narrative. On board the steamer we found two men belonging to Arkansas. One of these, Robert Bean, known then, and ever after, by the soubriquet of “Colonel Bob Bean,” had been in Arkansas for several years, was well acquainted with the country and with the Cherokees, and a member of the Territorial Legislature. This man was intemperate, a gambler, and most horridly profane. With all these faults, as the sequel will show, he possessed no little share of the “milk of human kindness.” He was quite intelligent; and we obtained much valuable information from him, particularly respecting the Cherokees and the Cherokee country. But his profaneness was shocking, so much so as to make the cabin of the boat unpleasant to any one who cherished a feeling of reverence for the Divine Being. In consequence I spent most of my time on the guards, when the weather would admit of it. One day, while thus on the guards, he came out, and in the kindest manner entered into a conversation with me, evincing a deep interest in our object, and a desire to be of use to us. But he interlarded every sentence with most horrid and blasphemous oaths. I appreciated his kindness, and wished to return it in a way to do him good. We were entirely alone, and could in no way be exposed; and in the kindest and gentlest manner possible to me, I reproved him for swearing. In a moment he was in a perfect rage. His countenance expressed the fierceness of a tiger; and, with awful oaths, he swore he would put me overboard if I ever reproved him again, or in any way interfered with his uttering whatever language he pleased. From this moment he seemed to imbibe the bitterest hatred towards me. Whenever I entered the cabin, or came in his sight, he would break out with the most dreadful oaths. He would relate every anecdote he could recall to mind, and I presume coined many anew, to make religion the but of laughter and ridicule. He even reproached his own father. He said his father was a great professor, and made all the children kneel down and listen to a prayer, every night and morning, an hour long; that after one of these long-winded prayers, he would get up from his knees and cheat a neighbour in a horse trade, and even, if he had a good chance, would steal a horse. I set him down as an utter reprobate, and of course avoided him as much as possible.
Now mark the sequel. The next September I had appointed to visit some points in the Cherokee country to look out a suitable site for our Mission in company with the United States interpreter, a half-breed Cherokee. I was to meet him in the morning of a given day at the mouth of the Illinois Bayou. When I reached that point, I found a large number of white men who were going to look at the country in Lively’s Purchase. Among them was Colonel Bob Bean. I at once determined not to ride in his company. I told my guide that I would follow their trail, and be at his house by night, as I had learned that the white land hunters designed staying at another place. I retired to the counting-room of a store and there remained till the party had been gone half an hour. Just as I was coming out of my retreat, I saw Colonel Bob Bean returning to the store. Of course I retreated again. He entered the store, and remarked, “I am going up to see my old mamma, and I must take her some sugar and coffee and tea.”
“What!” said the clerk, “you a man of a family of your own, and not forgotten your mamma yet!”
With a quivering lip and tears running over his eyelids, he answered, “I have not forgotten my mamma, and I never shall, while I have a memory.”
In an instant fifty per cent. of my dislike to the man was gone, and I said to myself, there is hope for that man yet. Still I did not wish to ride in his company, and I remained till he was out of sight. I then took the trail and rode on. At the foot of a mountain not more than four miles, I came up with the whole party, who had stopped at a spring to get a drink. I determined not to wait for them, and getting some directions from my guide, I rode on. Soon I heard the clatter of horses’ feet, and looking back I saw Colonel Bean, evidently determined to overtake me. I did not attempt to escape him. He came up and gave me his hand. Said he, “I have wanted to see you more than any other man I ever met. You have not been out of my mind for an hour, when I have been awake, since I parted with you on the Mississippi. I want to ask your forgiveness for treating you in a most ruffian like manner, and I want to thank you for the kind and delicate manner in which you reproved me for swearing. I can never forgive myself, and I shall not blame you if you refuse to forgive me.”
I assured him of my most hearty forgiveness, and my fervent prayers for his salvation. Ever after this Colonel Bob Bean and myself were the best of friends. I have known him ride fifteen miles to hear me preach; and every kindness in his power he was always ready to confer. I believe he would have become a truly good man, if he could have burst the fetters of intemperance. Poor man, he is dead now. Peace to his ashes. Perhaps in his dying moments he turned the eye of faith to the Lamb of God.
But I return to my narrative. We waited at the Post for our hired men and horses till we began to fear that the swamps of the Mississippi or the alligators had swallowed them up; or that they had perished with hunger. At last, after we had been at the Post seventeen days they arrived. They had encountered the most incredible hardships in the swamps. We now fixed upon the day to start up the river to the Cherokee country. It was to be on Monday, but on Sabbath evening two men assigned by the Board as our helpers, Messrs. Orr and Hitchcock, arrived at the Post. They had heard of us at the mouth of White river, and fearing lest we should leave the Post before they could overtake us, they had travelled, in a skiff, as we did, on the Sabbath. This, though a totally unexpected (for we had heard nothing of their appointment,) was a most joyful meeting.
After another day’s detention to purchase another pack-horse, on Tuesday morning we started. Our caravan consisted of three pack-horses loaded with our clothing, a few necessary tools and cooking utensils and provisions, and six men of us on foot. Our nearest route lay through the “Grand Prairie,” and on this route we commenced our pedestrian journey. The weather was very hot, and the meridian sun beat with such tremendous power upon us that we were compelled to seek the shelter of the timber. We turned in to what was then called the “River Trail.” This would increase the distance we would have to travel some thirty miles, but we would all the way, except here and there a clearing, have the shelter of the dense foilage of the trees on the river margin.
Before night the first day we had all blistered feet, and legs more weary than I had ever felt before. Our days march amounted to no more than twenty-five miles. We found a comfortable habitation and very hospitable entertainment. The next day we pursued our journey as diligently as we were able, and camped in the midst of an extensive swamp, on the margin of what was called a lake, but was in reality only water, which had collected in a vast hollow during the spring overflow of the river, and was not yet evaporated by the sun. The whole surface was covered with a thick green scum. Our thirst compelled us to drink it, surcharged as it was with malaria. Of it also we made our coffee.
Here we had the pleasure of the company of innumerable swarms of musquitoes, but we were so fatigued with the day’s travel that we were neither disposed or able to show much attention to our buzzing visitants. We slept till near day, when some of our company began to show some symptoms of disease. We resumed our toilsome journey in the morning, and continued for a day and a half longer, when we were compelled to stop on account of the serious sickness of Messrs. Finney and Orr. We found shelter and the most kind and hospitable entertainment at the house of a Mr. Embree. Mrs. Embree will never be forgotten by us. She “took us in,” and treated us with all the kindness of a mother. She was also of very great benefit to us as a doctress and a nurse. She will not loose her reward.
The second day after our arrival at Mr. Embree’s, both our hired men were taken down, leaving only Mr. Hitchcock and myself well. We now heard of the high lands and good water at Little Rock, and were assured that if we could get there we might hope to recover the health of all the party. But how were we to get there? It was manifest we could not proceed in the way we had hitherto travelled. Messrs. Finney and Orr were utterly prostrate with bilious remitting fever. The two hired men had the ague and fever, or as the people in the country called it, they had “regular shakes.” At last it was concluded that one of the hired men could ride on horseback, and that the other could steer a canoe. So it was arranged that Mr. Hitchcock and one of the hired men should take the horses through by land to Little Rock. I procured a canoe and hired a waterman to assist me. In the back part of the canoe we fixed up an awning of blankets to protect the two sick brethren from the scorching sun; quite in the stern the hired man was placed to steer, and in the forward part, with poles and paddles, was the waterman and myself to work the craft up the river. In this way, with much toil, we accomplished this part of our journey. Our sick brethren suffered much, but were no worse on our arrival at the Rock than when we left Embree’s. Little Rock, at that time, did not look much like the capital of a sovereign State.
Just by the Rock, and near the spring, was a little framed shanty, containing at that time a very scanty supply of “drugs and medicines,” and a more liberal supply of “bald-face.” Back considerable distance from the river, near, as I should think, the present site of the Campbellite Church, was a small cabin made of round logs, with the bark on. These were all the buildings at that time at Little Rock.
We had stopped on the other side of the river, at the house of a Mr. Martin, opposite the Rock. I immediately crossed over to the drug-store and procured some medicine for the sick, which abated the violence of their symptoms in all the cases, and broke the paroxysms of the ague on the hired men. It was the 3rd of July when we arrived opposite to Little Rock. On the next morning, the glorious fourth, I was waited on by a committee of gentlemen, among whom were Dr. Cunningham and Colonel Austin, requesting me to preach a fourth of July sermon at Little Rock. I accepted the invitation and preached in the aforesaid log cabin to an audience of fourteen men and no women.
This was the first sermon ever preached at Little Rock. From the Rock to Cadron, we travelled in a variety of ways. For the sick, horses were provided; the rest went part of the way by water in a canoe, and the rest of the way on foot. Cadron at that time was the county seat of Pulaski county, and loudly talked of, at least by its own citizens and holders of property, as the permanent capital of the Territory. There we found comparatively comfortable quarters for our sick, a supply of needed medicines, and the attentions of a young man who was preparing for the practice of medicine. Here Mr. Hitchcock was taken down with the bilious fever, leaving me as the only healthy one of our company. It was now decided that the sick should remain here till their fevers were broken, and that I should proceed to the Cherokee Nation, and make arrangements for a council of the Nation, before which we might present ourselves and our object.
One of the hired men, whose fevers were broken up, accompanied me. I had thus far enjoyed good health, but by reason of hard toil, watching, and anxiety for the sick, &c., I was very much fatigued. Hitherto in all the journey, I had either walked or laboured as a waterman. Now to be permitted to mount a horse and ride, seemed to me like “taking my pleasure.” With these feelings, in good health and spirits, I left the brethren, and started for the Cherokee Nation. I expected to enter the Nation that day, and that another day’s ride would take me to the residence of the widow of the late United Stated Agent, whose house I expected to make my home; and from which, in a ride of a few hours, I could see all the chiefs, and make my arrangements for a council.
My pleasure trip soon became one of great pain. I had not been more than an hour on my way before I was attacked with the most violent pains in the head and back and all my bones, accompanied by severe rigours. The rigours were soon succeeded by a burning fever, accompanied with insatiable thirst. To allay this thirst I could find nothing but branch water, lukewarm, and most unpalatable. At night we reached a house on Point Remove creek, within the limits of the Nation. The family were very kind, and urged me to stay till I could recover from my fever; but I was very anxious to reach the residence of Mrs. L., for whom I had letters from the United States Agent in the old Nation, and where I intended taking medicine to remove my fever. After a sleepless night, through which I had suffered extremely, we resumed our journey. I hired a guide to conduct us to Mrs. L’s. He accompanied us about eight miles, and then paused. He said he could no further, but pointed to a mountain some six or eight miles in advance, where he told us we would find a trail which would lead us to our place of destination. When we reached the mountain, we found a trail, but it led us off our course. We followed this trail for many weary miles. At last we came to an Indian cabin. The man could speak a little broken English. From him we learned that we were now further from Mrs. L.’s than when we started in the morning. Here the hired man and horses got some refreshment. As for me I could take nothing but some lukewarm creek water, which my stomach soon rejected.
The hospitable Indian put us into a path or trail, which he said would lead us to a village only four miles from Mrs. L’s. On this trail we started, but had travelled but few miles, ere night overtook us. We lay down on the ground to wait the return of day. My thirst was extreme, but no water could be found. In the morning early we resumed our weary way. In passing through a prairie, I discovered a little water in a pool. Its colour was almost that of milk. My thirst was so extreme, that I resolved to try it, though dissuaded by my fellow-traveller. With difficulty, on account of my weakness, I got down and crawled to the water. I had just brought my parched and blistered lips to the water, when a large moccasin snake plunged into the pool directly under my mouth. I could hardly restrain my tears, so great was my disappointment, but I was obliged to desist. I remounted and rode on, and a few miles brought us to the village. Here we enquired for Mrs. L. The chief furnished us a guide to show us the way. This chief had a strong dislike to the Governor of Arkansas, and supposing me to be an agent of the Governor’s, he determined to lead me astray.
The guide conducted us to a little blind path, which he said would lead us to our destination. Not suspecting any treachery, we followed the path. It soon led us into the mountains and there gave out. We tried to retrace our steps, but were soon bewildered in the mazes of the mountain wilderness, and thus we wandered, utterly lost, without refreshment for ourselves or horses, and without so much as the sight of water for two days and nights. All this time my fever raged with increasing violence. My face, and neck, and arms, were blistered as though they had been covered with cantharides, and my whole skin was of a bright yellow. Delirium came on, so that I had only a kind of dreamy consciousness.
About noon the third day after leaving the village, as a good Providence would have it, we heard human voices. We descended the mountain in the direction of the voices. Soon we came upon a company of Cherokees collected at a spring for the purpose of making arrangements for a ball play. They manifested a deep interest for us in our suffering state. First they brought me, in a large gourd, a full supply of the cool, sweet water. Oh, how grateful it was to my fevered lips and burning stomach. I drank without restraint, and bathed my head and neck and breast. The effect was most refreshing and beneficial. After taking us to a house, where our horses were fed and food given to my companion, a guide conducted us to Mrs. L’s., where we arrived about nine o’clock in the evening. I introduced myself to Mrs. L., and presented her letters of introduction. Though commiserating my condition, and disposed to afford me all the aid in her power, she manifested great terror. My appearance was such as to fix the belief in her mind that I had the yellow fever, and she was apprehensive that the contagion might be communicated to herself and servants. I was immediately conducted to a separate apartment, and I saw her no more for two weeks. This night I rested some, in consequence of the free use I had made of the cool water of the spring before mentioned.
The next morning my hired man left me, as he said, to find someone to give me medicine, and aid in taking care of me. I saw him no more till the brethren came up. He sent me word that he was sick, but I afterwards learned that he found whiskey and friends to drink with him, and so he forsook me. Mrs. L. was afraid to see me. Morning and night she would send her servant, her mouth filled with tansey, lest she should catch the fever, to ask if I wanted anything. I had to be my own physician and nurse. Cook I needed not. I passed a week in this way. Then a half-breed Cherokee, who afterwards became a most dearly beloved Christian brother, came to see me. His pity was most deeply moved. He staid with me day and night till the brethren came. Had he been my own natural brother, he could not have manifested more affectionate kindness and care. But for him, I think I must have died. I ever after loved him as a brother.
My sufferings here were very great. I could get no washing done. When I arrived I had not a clean shirt. My only course was to put on, every morning, a dirty shirt which had been aired. The violence of my fever gave way to active medicine and blood-letting. This operation I had to perform on myself, as I could find no one who could bleed. When the brethren came up my disease had taken the form of a daily ague and fever. I had been at Mrs. L’s. two weeks when the brethren came. Though my disease was much mitigated, yet I was a frightful and squalid object to the sight. The blisters on my face and neck had dried, and the surface was covered with scabs. My face was so sore that I could not endure the process of shaving, and my beard was some three weeks old. My appearance was so disgusting that some of the brethren were nauseated, even to vomiting, on sight of me.
Our whole company were now together again, and we all had the ague and fever. We were, however, able to help each other to some extent, and could hold fraternal intercourse and pray together. At that time the specific remedy for ague and fever was Peruvian bark; but there was none of this article nearer than the Post of Arkansas, a distance of more than two hundred miles. We had an opportunity to send for this indispensible remedy. One pound of it cost us thirty-six dollars, sixteen dollars for the bark and twenty dollars we had to pay the bearer. Soon after the reception of this tonic febrifuge, we were all restored temporarily to health. We made the best use we could of our time. A council was convened, at which all the chiefs but one were present. The absent chief was Ta-kah-to-kuh. This was the same chief who had mistaken me for an agent of the Governor. The Cherokees were at that time at war with the Osages. The Governor of Arkansas was making efforts to bring the war to a close. To this Ta-kah-to-kuh was most vio- lently opposed. Hence, when this council was called, he refused to attend. Here, also, I should remark that Toluntuskee, the chief to whom Mr. Evarts had promised the establishment of a mission, had deceased, and his brother, John Jolly, had been chosen as principal chief, and had been so recognized by the United States government.
On the day of the council, Mr. Finney and myself repaird to the ground, and were soon and very formally introduced by the public crier into the presence of the chiefs and warriors. At first, they gave us but a cold welcome; but when we told them that we came from the same good people who had established a mission among their brethren in the old Nation, and that we came in fulfilment of a promise made to their late beloved, but lamented chief, Toluntuskee, the whole aspect of things was changed. The most joyful and animated welcome was expressed by all pre-sent. We now read to them our commission and instructions from the Board, our letters from the government and agents of the United States, and gave a detail of the plan of missionary operations we designed to establish and pursue. All was fully approved; and we were allowed to visit any part of their country, and to select any site we might choose for our first and principal mission; to erect such buildings, improve and cultivate such lands, introduce such stock and other property, as the wants of the Mission might make necessary; and whenever, in our judgment, the advancement of the Cherokees might require it, we might establish other schools and mission stations. When all these preliminaries were agreed upon, and committed to writing, we were about to retire. We were then requested to wait, that all the chiefs and warriors might give us their hands in token of the ratification of all the matters agreed to, and as a token of fraternal regard, and our adoption as Cherokees. This was quite an imposing ceremony. Each of the chiefs made a speech, on giving us their hands, and a cordial shake came from all. When the men had all come up to the platform on which we stood, and given us their hands, Jolly informed us that the women wished in the same way to express their welcome. To this we readily assented. When all was completed, we parted with the council, greatly interested and encouraged; and fervently praying that the God of missions would bless our undertaking, and greatly bless the Cherokee people.
This prayer has been abundantly answered. Soon after this, we selected, as the site of the Mission, the place now known as Dwight, in Pope county. This, you are aware, is the name given by us to the Mission. The name was given in honour of the Rev. Timothy Dwight, President of Yale College, who was the first corporate member of the American Board, now deceased. It is a spot most dear to my recollections, not only as my first missionary home, but connected with it are many most precious and sacred associations. There I first witnessed the power of the doctrines of the cross in taming and humanizing the savage heart. There our first missionary Church was organized; and there our first converts among the dear Cherokee people were brought into the visible fold of the “Good Shepherd.” There, one of our dear, loved ones, the only child as yet taken from us, sleeps in his quiet little grave, till the morning of the resurrection. There, also, one of our beloved sisters, Mrs. Sophronia Hitchcock, rested from her labours. She died in the Lord, and is blessed evermore. And there, also, sleep the ashes of Father and Mother Brown, the parents of Catharine and David Brown, and the progenitors of many others, now either in heaven, or on their way thither.
Immediately after the selection of this site, we all removed to it, and solemnly consecrated the place to Zion’s King. Our labours were much interrupted by frequent returns of ague and fever. By the first of October we had erected two comfortable cabins, and made other preparations for the reception of our families. Early in October Mr. Finney and myself left the station to return to the Choctaw Nation for our ladies and children; and we did not get back to the station till the 10th of May following. During our absence, Messrs Orr and Hitchcock suffered very much from sickness, without a physician, without medicine, and without a nurse. Nevertheless, they performed much labour. On the arrival of ourselves and families, we found that they had broken up and planted a field which we had purchased, had cleared and fenced and made ready for the plow some ten acres of heavily timbered bottom land.
Our journey was long, laborious and perilous. We started in a canoe, and journeyed in this to Cadron. There we were taken aboard a large covered skiff by an officer of the United States army, who was moving with his wife from Fort Smith to another military post. With him we journeyed to the Post of Arkansas. At the Post we stopped for the benefit of medical aid; as we were suffering all the way thus far with daily paroxysms of ague and fever; and had been, during the whole trip, so weak as not to be able to walk a step. These paroxysms were soon broken by suitable medicine; and in about two weeks we were able to resume our journey. We started in an open skiff, the same we had left at the Post in the June previous, in which we journeyed to the Walnut Hills. For a week before we arrived at the Hills, the ague and fever had returned to both of us. Here we procured horses to proceed by land to Elliott.
This journey we hoped to be able to make in five days; but in a few hours after we started, it began to rain in torrents. The streams were all flooded. Many of them we swam on our horses; but oftener were able to find a fallen tree, on which we could walk and carry our baggage, and drive the horses through the swimming stream. At the end of five days, we had not made half the distance. We now came to water we could not cross. It was swimming for a mile. Here, perforce, we must stop; and we had exhausted all our provisions. The rain was still pouring down upon us. We both had fever on us when we stopped. We succeeded in erecting a blanket shelter and in making fire. We had in our coffee boiler some grounds, which had been steeped once already. On these we poured some water, boiled them over, put in all the sugar we had, and, on this beverage, without bread or meat, we supped. We were thoroughly drenched with rain; and yet, after commending ourselves to God in prayer, we slept.
In the morning we felt somewhat refreshed. It still rained, and the water was not abated. We had nothing to eat. In this not very pleasant condition we remained for five days, having the ague and fever each day, when the water was so far abated that we succeeded in crossing. Soon after crossing, we came to an Indian camp. The old man and his wife, the only inmates of the camp, were fully apprized of our condition. They gave us, every hour or so, a mouthful of food, (dried bear meat), giving us to understand that this was all they had. After keeping us on this regimen for twelve hours, they prepared for us a sumptuous meal. ’Twas on this wise: First, a large pompion was peeled of its rind on the dirt floor of the camp, so that the peeled part would take up all the loose dirt of the floor. The seeds were removed, and the whole put into a large earthen pot. Next some beans, full of sticks and particles of dirt, were, without picking over or washing, put into the pot. Last, though not least, there were about eight pounds of smoked bear meat, a pure mass of fat, and not less than five inches thick, put into the pot. This was made to boil for some two hours, when the whole was poured into a large wooden bowl, and we were invited to partake.
This invitation was most joyfully accepted, and we did good execution upon these viands. Never before and never since, have I eaten a meal that seemed so good. Of this we ate till we were satisfied. We expected that we should suffer for our indulgence, but we did not; and what is wonderful, both of us escaped the ague and fever for two days after this meal. After this meal, we rode on some ten miles to the house of a white man, where we succeeded in procuring provision to last us till we should get to Elliott, which place we reached in safety just before night on Christmas day. We were ragged, haggard, and unshaven. Our wives and missionary friends did not know us. Here we sat up another Ebenezer, saying, “Thus far the Lord hath helped us.” We found our wives and children well. Our son had been very sick, nigh unto death; but the Lord had mercy on him and on us. The station had been visited with much sickness; and one beloved brother had gone to rest.
After resting here a month, for the purpose of recruiting my health, I started for New Orleans, for the purpose of purchasing supplies, and procuring funds for our Mission. It was necessary for me to go by way of Mayhew, a new station which Mr. Kingsbury was putting into operation in the eastern part of the Choctaw country. On my way there, in consequence of exposure, the ague and fever returned upon me. On this account, brother Kingsbury thought it not prudent for me to make the journey; and the brethren there and at Elliott, made the arrangement for Dr. Pride to make the journey to New Orleans. In the meantime, we all, according to the best of our ability, took part in the labours of the Mission, and in preparations for our journey by water to Arkansas.
We purchased a keel-boat, or barge, in which to descend the Yalo-bushah and Yazoo, and to ascend the Mississippi and Arkansas rivers. All things were to be in readiness for our journey by the time that Dr. Pride should return. About a week before his expected return, a letter was received from Rev. Dr. Worcester, first Corresponding Secretary of the American Board, who was travelling south for the benefit of his health, and for the purpose of inspecting the Indian missions, directing either Mr. Finney or myself to meet him at Natchez. It was decided that I should go. This was a journey of two hundred and fifty miles. I was now in pretty good health, and made the journey without mishap. At Washington, Mississippi, a little town some eight miles from Natchez, I met Dr. Worcester, “on his way towards home and towards heaven,” in company with Rev. Mr. Byington and Dr. Pride.
Dr. Worcester I found very feeble, and sinking rapidly. His soul was in the land of Beulah; and to converse and pray with him seemed like the outer court of heaven itself. The desire of his heart was so far granted, that he was permitted to visit Mayhew and assist in organizing a Church and administering the Lord’s Supper there, and of reaching Brainerd, where his spirit took its upward flight to heaven, and where his body sleeps, till the “blest resurrection morn.” He was able to give me the necessary counsel and directions relative to our mission; and I journeyed in company with him and the brethren three days, till we arrived at Gibson Post.
There I parted with him, and journeyed up the Mississippi to Walnut Hills. There I had the happiness to meet the boats, and all the beloved party bound with me to Arkansas. We hired the first steamer that ascended the river, to take us in tow to the Post of Arkansas. Then we hired a French crew to run our boat to Dwight. We accomplished the trip in eighteen days, resting every “Sabbath according to the commandment.” We reached the station, as noted above, on the 10th of May, 1821.
During the ensuing summer, much was done in the way of putting up buildings, and making arrangements for the commencement of a boarding school. We all suffered again from sickness, especially our ladies. In December of this year, our Mission was reinforced by the arrival of Miss Ellen Stetson, and Miss Nancy Brown, and Mr. Asa Hitchcock. A few days after their arrival, we had two weddings. Mr. Orr and Miss Minerva Washburn had, by and with the advice of their fellow-labourers, concluded that their happiness and usefulness would be promoted by continuing no longer twain, but by becoming one flesh; and Mr. Jacob Hitchcock and Miss Brown had been affianced previously to his leaving New England. We were not as yet prepared to open our school; but the solicitation of the Cherokees was so urgent, that we consented to take a few scholars. On the 1st of January, 1822, the school was opened with fifteen scholars; and such was the earnest entreaty of the people, that this number was soon increased to fifty. In the early part of the following spring—in March, I think—the Dwight Mission Church was organized. Its membership embraced only the missionaries. From the arrival of our families at the station, the preceding May, stated public worship was established every Sabbath, and preaching in different parts of the Nation, both on Sabbath and on other days, was ever continued. Thus the Arkansas Cherokee Mission was established; and those influences set in operation which so greatly changed the aspect of the Nation, and which have resulted in the salvation of precious souls. Here, then, I close this long and dry detail. Fraternally yours, C. WASHBURN.