章节正文
``To New York?'' I asked.
``No,'' corrected the California girl, easily, ``to
Lawrence, Kansas.''
Nothing, I think, has ever made me feel quite so
old as that remark. That in my life, not yet, to me
at least, a long one, I should see such an arc de-
scribed seemed actuallyoppressive until I realized
that, after all, the arc was merely a rainbow of time
showing how gloriously realized were the hopes of
the Lawrence pioneers.
The move to Michigan meant a complete up-
heaval in our lives. In Lawrence we had around us
the fine flower of New England civilization. We
children went to school; our parents, though they
were in very humble circumstances, were associated
with the leading spirits and the big movements of
the day. When we went to Michigan we went to
the wilderness, to the wild pioneer life of those times,
and we were all old enough to keenly feel the change.
My father was one of a number of Englishmen who
took up tracts in the northern forests of Michigan,
with the old dream of establishing a colony there.
None of these men had the least practical knowledge
of farming. They were city men or followers of
trades which had no connection with farm life.
They went straight into the thick timber-land, in-
stead of going to the rich and waiting prairies, and
they crowned this initial mistake by cutting down
the splendid timber instead of letting it stand.
Thus bird's-eye maple and other beautiful woods
were used as fire-wood and in the construction of
rude cabins, and the greatest asset of the pioneers
was ignored.
Father preceded us to the Michigan woods, and
there, with his oldest son, James, took up a claim.
They cleared a space in the wilderness just large
enough for a log cabin, and put up the bare walls
of the cabin itself. Then father returned to Law-
rence and his work, leaving James behind. A few
months later (this was in 1859), my mother, my two
sisters, Eleanor and Mary, my youngest brother,
Henry, eight years of age, and I, then twelve, went
to Michigan to work on and hold down the claim
while father, for eighteen months longer, stayed on
in Lawrence, sending us such remittances as he could.
His second and third sons, John and Thomas, re-
mained in the East with him.
Every detail of our journey through the wilder-
ness is clear in my mind. At that time the railroad
terminated at Grand Rapids, Michigan, and we
covered the remaining distance--about one hundred
miles--by wagon, riding through a dense and often
trackless forest. My brother James met us at
Grand Rapids with what, in those days, was called
a lumber-wagon, but which had a horrible resem-
blance to a vehicle from the health department.
My sisters and I gave it one cold look and turned
from it; we were so pained by its appearance that
we refused to ride in it through the town. Instead,
we started off on foot, trying to look as if we had no
association with it, and we climbed into the un-
wieldy vehicle only when the city streets were far
behind us. Every available inch of space in the
wagon was filled with bedding and provisions. As
yet we had no furniture; we were to make that for
ourselves when we reached our cabin; and there
was so little room for us to ride that we children
walked by turns, while James, from the beginning
of the journey to its end, seven days later, led our
weary horses.
To my mother, who was never strong, the whole
experience must have been a nightmare of suffering
and stoical endurance. For us children there were
compensations. The expedition took on the char-
acter of a high adventure, in which we sometimes
had shelter and sometimes failed to find it, some-
times were fed, but often went hungry. We forded
innumerable streams, the wheels of the heavy wagon
sinking so deeply into the stream-beds that we often
had to empty our load before we could get them out
again. Fallen trees lay across our paths, rivers
caused long detours, while again and again we lost
our way or were turned aside by impenetrable forest
tangles.
Our first day's journey covered less than eight
miles, and that night we stopped at a farm-house
which was the last bit of civilization we saw. Early
the next morning we were off again, making the slow
progress due to the rough roads and our heavy load.
At night we stopped at a place called Thomas's
Inn, only to be told by the woman who kept it that
there was nothing in the house to eat. Her hus-
band, she said, had gone ``outside'' (to Grand
Rapids) to get some flour, and had not returned--
but she added that we could spend the night, if
we chose, and enjoy shelter, if not food. We had
provisions in our wagon, so we wearily entered, after
my brother had got out some of our pork and
opened a barrel of flour. With this help the woman
made some biscuits, which were so green that my
poor mother could not eat them. She had admitted
to us that the one thing she had in the house was
saleratus, and she had used this ingredient with an
unsparing hand. When the meal was eaten she
broke the further news that there were no beds.
``The old woman can sleep with me,'' she sug-
gested, ``and the girls can sleep on the floor. The
boys will have to go to the barn.''
She and her bed were not especially attractive,
and mother decided to lie on the floor with us. We
had taken our bedding from the wagon, and we slept
very well; but though she was usually superior to
small annoyances, I think my mother resented being
called an ``old woman.'' She must have felt like
one that night, but she was only about forty-eight
years of age.
At dawn the next morning we resumed our jour-
ney, and every day after that we were able to cover
the distance demanded by the schedule arranged
before we started. This meant that some sort of
shelter usually awaited us at night. But one day
we knew there would be no houses between the place
we left in the morning and that where we were to
sleep. The distance was about twenty miles, and
when twilight fell we had not made it. In the back
of the wagon my mother had a box of little pigs,
and during the afternoon these had broken loose and
escaped into the woods. We had lost much time in
finding them, and we were so exhausted that when
we came to a hut made of twigs and boughs we de-
cided to camp in it for the night, though we knew
nothing about it. My brother had unharnessed
the horses, and my mother and sister were cooking
dough-god--a mixture of flour, water, and soda,
fried in a pan-when two men rode up on horse-
back and called my brother to one side. Immedi-
ately after the talk which followed James harnessed
his horses again and forced us to go on, though by
that time darkness had fallen. He told mother, but
did not tell us children until long afterward, that a
man had been murdered in the hut only the night
before. The murderer was still at large in the woods,
and the new-comers were members of a posse who
were searching for him. My brother needed no
urging to put as many miles as he could between
us and the sinister spot.
In that fashion we made our way to our new home.
The last day, like the first, we traveled only eight
miles, but we spent the night in a house I shall never
forget. It was beautifully clean, and for our eve-
ning meal its mistress brought out loaves of bread
which were the largest we had ever seen. She cut
great slices of this bread for us and spread maple
sugar on them, and it seemed to us that never be-
fore had anything tasted so good.
The next morning we made the last stage of our
journey, our hearts filled with the joy of nearing
our new home. We all had an idea that we were
going to a farm, and we expected some resemblance
at least to the prosperous farms we had seen in New
England. My mother's mental picture was, natu-
rally, of an English farm. Possibly she had visions
of red barns and deep meadows, sunny skies and
daisies. What we found awaiting us were the four
walls and the roof of a good-sized log-house, stand-
ing in a small cleared strip of the wilderness, its doors
and windows represented by square holes, its floor
also a thing of the future, its whole effect achingly
forlorn and desolate. It was late in the afternoon
when we drove up to the opening that was its front
entrance, and I shall never forget the look my
mother turned upon the place. Without a word
she crossed its threshold, and, standing very still,
looked slowly around her. Then something within
her seemed to give way, and she sank upon the
ground. She could not realize even then, I think,
that this was really the place father had prepared
for us, that here he expected us to live. When she
finally took it in she buried her face in her hands,
and in that way she sat for hours without moving or
speaking. For the first time in her life she had for-
gotten us; and we, for our part, dared not speak to
her. We stood around her in a frightened group,
talking to one another in whispers. Our little world
had crumbled under our feet. Never before had
we seen our mother give way to despair.
Night began to fall. The woods became alive
with night creatures, and the most harmless made
the most noise. The owls began to hoot, and soon
we heard the wildcat, whose cry--a screech like
that of a lost and panic-stricken child--is one of
the most appalling sounds of the forest. Later the
wolves added their howls to the uproar, but though
darkness came and we children whimpered around
her, our mother still sat in her strange lethargy.
At last my brother brought the horses close to the
cabin and built fires to protect them and us. He
was only twenty, but he showed himself a man dur-
ing those early pioneer days. While he was picketing
the horses and building his protecting fires my
mother came to herself, but her face when she
``No,'' corrected the California girl, easily, ``to
Lawrence, Kansas.''
Nothing, I think, has ever made me feel quite so
old as that remark. That in my life, not yet, to me
at least, a long one, I should see such an arc de-
scribed seemed actuallyoppressive until I realized
that, after all, the arc was merely a rainbow of time
showing how gloriously realized were the hopes of
the Lawrence pioneers.
The move to Michigan meant a complete up-
heaval in our lives. In Lawrence we had around us
the fine flower of New England civilization. We
children went to school; our parents, though they
were in very humble circumstances, were associated
with the leading spirits and the big movements of
the day. When we went to Michigan we went to
the wilderness, to the wild pioneer life of those times,
and we were all old enough to keenly feel the change.
My father was one of a number of Englishmen who
took up tracts in the northern forests of Michigan,
with the old dream of establishing a colony there.
None of these men had the least practical knowledge
of farming. They were city men or followers of
trades which had no connection with farm life.
They went straight into the thick timber-land, in-
stead of going to the rich and waiting prairies, and
they crowned this initial mistake by cutting down
the splendid timber instead of letting it stand.
Thus bird's-eye maple and other beautiful woods
were used as fire-wood and in the construction of
rude cabins, and the greatest asset of the pioneers
was ignored.
Father preceded us to the Michigan woods, and
there, with his oldest son, James, took up a claim.
They cleared a space in the wilderness just large
enough for a log cabin, and put up the bare walls
of the cabin itself. Then father returned to Law-
rence and his work, leaving James behind. A few
months later (this was in 1859), my mother, my two
sisters, Eleanor and Mary, my youngest brother,
Henry, eight years of age, and I, then twelve, went
to Michigan to work on and hold down the claim
while father, for eighteen months longer, stayed on
in Lawrence, sending us such remittances as he could.
His second and third sons, John and Thomas, re-
mained in the East with him.
Every detail of our journey through the wilder-
ness is clear in my mind. At that time the railroad
terminated at Grand Rapids, Michigan, and we
covered the remaining distance--about one hundred
miles--by wagon, riding through a dense and often
trackless forest. My brother James met us at
Grand Rapids with what, in those days, was called
a lumber-wagon, but which had a horrible resem-
blance to a vehicle from the health department.
My sisters and I gave it one cold look and turned
from it; we were so pained by its appearance that
we refused to ride in it through the town. Instead,
we started off on foot, trying to look as if we had no
association with it, and we climbed into the un-
wieldy vehicle only when the city streets were far
behind us. Every available inch of space in the
wagon was filled with bedding and provisions. As
yet we had no furniture; we were to make that for
ourselves when we reached our cabin; and there
was so little room for us to ride that we children
walked by turns, while James, from the beginning
of the journey to its end, seven days later, led our
weary horses.
To my mother, who was never strong, the whole
experience must have been a nightmare of suffering
and stoical endurance. For us children there were
compensations. The expedition took on the char-
acter of a high adventure, in which we sometimes
had shelter and sometimes failed to find it, some-
times were fed, but often went hungry. We forded
innumerable streams, the wheels of the heavy wagon
sinking so deeply into the stream-beds that we often
had to empty our load before we could get them out
again. Fallen trees lay across our paths, rivers
caused long detours, while again and again we lost
our way or were turned aside by impenetrable forest
tangles.
Our first day's journey covered less than eight
miles, and that night we stopped at a farm-house
which was the last bit of civilization we saw. Early
the next morning we were off again, making the slow
progress due to the rough roads and our heavy load.
At night we stopped at a place called Thomas's
Inn, only to be told by the woman who kept it that
there was nothing in the house to eat. Her hus-
band, she said, had gone ``outside'' (to Grand
Rapids) to get some flour, and had not returned--
but she added that we could spend the night, if
we chose, and enjoy shelter, if not food. We had
provisions in our wagon, so we wearily entered, after
my brother had got out some of our pork and
opened a barrel of flour. With this help the woman
made some biscuits, which were so green that my
poor mother could not eat them. She had admitted
to us that the one thing she had in the house was
saleratus, and she had used this ingredient with an
unsparing hand. When the meal was eaten she
broke the further news that there were no beds.
``The old woman can sleep with me,'' she sug-
gested, ``and the girls can sleep on the floor. The
boys will have to go to the barn.''
She and her bed were not especially attractive,
and mother decided to lie on the floor with us. We
had taken our bedding from the wagon, and we slept
very well; but though she was usually superior to
small annoyances, I think my mother resented being
called an ``old woman.'' She must have felt like
one that night, but she was only about forty-eight
years of age.
At dawn the next morning we resumed our jour-
ney, and every day after that we were able to cover
the distance demanded by the schedule arranged
before we started. This meant that some sort of
shelter usually awaited us at night. But one day
we knew there would be no houses between the place
we left in the morning and that where we were to
sleep. The distance was about twenty miles, and
when twilight fell we had not made it. In the back
of the wagon my mother had a box of little pigs,
and during the afternoon these had broken loose and
escaped into the woods. We had lost much time in
finding them, and we were so exhausted that when
we came to a hut made of twigs and boughs we de-
cided to camp in it for the night, though we knew
nothing about it. My brother had unharnessed
the horses, and my mother and sister were cooking
dough-god--a mixture of flour, water, and soda,
fried in a pan-when two men rode up on horse-
back and called my brother to one side. Immedi-
ately after the talk which followed James harnessed
his horses again and forced us to go on, though by
that time darkness had fallen. He told mother, but
did not tell us children until long afterward, that a
man had been murdered in the hut only the night
before. The murderer was still at large in the woods,
and the new-comers were members of a posse who
were searching for him. My brother needed no
urging to put as many miles as he could between
us and the sinister spot.
In that fashion we made our way to our new home.
The last day, like the first, we traveled only eight
miles, but we spent the night in a house I shall never
forget. It was beautifully clean, and for our eve-
ning meal its mistress brought out loaves of bread
which were the largest we had ever seen. She cut
great slices of this bread for us and spread maple
sugar on them, and it seemed to us that never be-
fore had anything tasted so good.
The next morning we made the last stage of our
journey, our hearts filled with the joy of nearing
our new home. We all had an idea that we were
going to a farm, and we expected some resemblance
at least to the prosperous farms we had seen in New
England. My mother's mental picture was, natu-
rally, of an English farm. Possibly she had visions
of red barns and deep meadows, sunny skies and
daisies. What we found awaiting us were the four
walls and the roof of a good-sized log-house, stand-
ing in a small cleared strip of the wilderness, its doors
and windows represented by square holes, its floor
also a thing of the future, its whole effect achingly
forlorn and desolate. It was late in the afternoon
when we drove up to the opening that was its front
entrance, and I shall never forget the look my
mother turned upon the place. Without a word
she crossed its threshold, and, standing very still,
looked slowly around her. Then something within
her seemed to give way, and she sank upon the
ground. She could not realize even then, I think,
that this was really the place father had prepared
for us, that here he expected us to live. When she
finally took it in she buried her face in her hands,
and in that way she sat for hours without moving or
speaking. For the first time in her life she had for-
gotten us; and we, for our part, dared not speak to
her. We stood around her in a frightened group,
talking to one another in whispers. Our little world
had crumbled under our feet. Never before had
we seen our mother give way to despair.
Night began to fall. The woods became alive
with night creatures, and the most harmless made
the most noise. The owls began to hoot, and soon
we heard the wildcat, whose cry--a screech like
that of a lost and panic-stricken child--is one of
the most appalling sounds of the forest. Later the
wolves added their howls to the uproar, but though
darkness came and we children whimpered around
her, our mother still sat in her strange lethargy.
At last my brother brought the horses close to the
cabin and built fires to protect them and us. He
was only twenty, but he showed himself a man dur-
ing those early pioneer days. While he was picketing
the horses and building his protecting fires my
mother came to herself, but her face when she
- california [,kæli´fɔ:njə]
n.加利福尼亚 (初中英语单词) - actually [´æktʃuəli] ad.事实上；实际上 (初中英语单词)
- civilization [,sivilai´zeiʃən] n.文明，文化 (初中英语单词)
- humble [´hʌmbəl] a.谦卑的 vt.贬抑 (初中英语单词)
- wilderness [´wildənis] n.荒地，荒野 (初中英语单词)
- pioneer [,paiə´niə] n.拓荒者 v.开辟；倡导 (初中英语单词)
- keenly [´ki:nli] ad.敏锐地；强烈地 (初中英语单词)
- connection [kə´nekʃən] n.联系；关系；联运 (初中英语单词)
- waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- timber [´timbə] n.木材；木料；横梁 (初中英语单词)
- construction [kən´strʌkʃən] n.建设；修建；结构 (初中英语单词)
- horrible [´hɔrəbəl] a.可怕的；恐怖的 (初中英语单词)
- available [ə´veiləbəl] a.可用的；有效的 (初中英语单词)
- expedition [,ekspi´diʃən] n.远征；探险；迅速 (初中英语单词)
- barrel [´bærəl] n.(琵琶)桶；圆筒 (初中英语单词)
- twilight [´twailait] n.黎明；黄昏 (初中英语单词)
- mixture [´mikstʃə] n.混合；混合比；混合物 (初中英语单词)
- mistress [´mistris] n.女主人；情妇；女能手 (初中英语单词)
- prosperous [´prɔspərəs] a.繁荣的；顺利的 (初中英语单词)
- mental [´mentl] a.精神的；心理的 (初中英语单词)
- opening [´əupəniŋ] n.开放；开端 a.开始的 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- rainbow [´reinbəu] n.彩虹 (高中英语单词)
- initial [i´niʃəl] a.最初的 n.首字母 (高中英语单词)
- endurance [in´djuərəns] n.忍受(耐)；耐力 (高中英语单词)
- ingredient [in´gri:diənt] n.(混合物的)成分 (高中英语单词)
- decided [di´saidid] a.明显的；决定的 (高中英语单词)
- schedule [´ʃedju:l] n.目录；清单；一览表 (高中英语单词)
- murderer [´mə:dərə] n.杀人犯，凶手 (高中英语单词)
- desolate [´desəleit] a.荒凉的；孤独的 (高中英语单词)
- threshold [´θreʃhəuld] n.门槛；入门；开端 (高中英语单词)
- harmless [´hɑ:mləs] a.无害的，无恶意的 (高中英语单词)
- vehicle [´vi:ikəl] n.车辆；媒介物 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- nightmare [´naitmeə] n.梦魇；恶梦 (英语四级单词)
- wearily [´wiərili] ad.疲倦地；厌烦地 (英语四级单词)
- sinister [´sinistə] a.阴险的；不吉的 (英语四级单词)
- traveled [´trævəld] a.见面广的；旅客多的 (英语四级单词)
- beautifully [´bju:tifəli] ad.美丽地；优美地 (英语四级单词)
- screech [skri:tʃ] v.&n.尖叫(声) (英语四级单词)
- appalling [ə´pɔ:liŋ] a.令人震惊的 (英语四级单词)
- uproar [´ʌprɔ:] n.喧嚣；骚动；轰鸣，轰动 (英语四级单词)
- oppressive [ə´presiv] a.压制的；沉重的 (英语六级单词)
- gloriously [´glɔ:riəsli] ad.光荣地，辉煌地 (英语六级单词)
- bedding [´bediŋ] n.寝具；垫草；基础 (英语六级单词)
- wildcat [´waildkæt] n.野猫 a.靠不住的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
京公网安备 11011202003401号
