Lydia Lucinda (Wight) Southworth
From Black Hawk Slept Here
Lydia Lucinda Wight was about 12 years old when she encountered Black Hawk in the title anecdote for this wiki: Black Hawk Slept Here - at the Wight cabin. Her telling of it was part of a longer autobiographical sketch of her life up until the time she was married (at which point she seemed to think her own story ended).
Autobiographical sketch
The sketch is from the History of Hillsdale County, Michigan (1879), pages 125-126, and is introduced as follows:
An article "copied from the records of the Hillsdale County Pioneer Society. Her husband was from Windham Co., Conn., and was an early settler in Litchfield township, in January 1837, where Mrs. S. now resides."
Lydia Lucinda's reminiscences:
I was born in November, 1819, in Hope, Montgomery Co., N.Y. When about two years old my father, Thaddeus Wight, emigrated to Ohio, and settled in Euclid, Geauga Co. Here passed eight years, the happiest of my childhood; with a kind father and the best of mothers, home was bright and cheerful for the little ones composing our group. Then a dark cloud of adversity settled over home. Father had signed with other men, and to pay the notes, as he had to do, took his farm, after which he packed up his household goods and shipped them to the mouth of the St. Joseph; put a bed, cooking utensils, his wife, and seven children in wagon, which was drawn by two yoke of oxen, and started by land for Michigan, my oldest brother, Washburn, then thirteen years old, driving four cows and some young cattle. Thus we started for St. Jo,--the land that flowed with milk and honey. In going down a steep hill my little brother, William, six years old, fell from the wagon, and both wheels ran over him. We took him up for dead; upon examination we found his shoulder badly broken. Laid by a week at the first house, where fortunately, lived a physician, who helped set the broken limb and kindly cared for him. He helped fix a swing bed in the wagon, and we started again. On arriving at the 'cottonwood swamp,' a settler persuaded father to go through, as it would save many miles of travel. So two men volunteered to go with oxen, axes, and guns to pilot and help us through, as no wagon had as yet ventured. Well do I remember the water and mud into which the wagon plunged every few steps. The dark, gloomy woods were to us children a constant source of terror, and when sister Alvira got lost we were all dismayed; but stopping the team the men and dogs returned the lost child in about two hours. At night our tent ws spread, four large fires built to keep the wolves at bay; father with his gun, on one side, and the men with theirs on the other, quieted our fears. It was the first howling of wolves we had heard.
In the morning my brother, myself, and two older sisters started ahead with the cattle, the marked trees being our guide, wading through water all day. Just at night we reached a tavern on this side the swamp, which we hailed with great joy. Here, too, we found friends among strangers. After washing, they furnished us with dry clothes, and prepared supper for twelve. The wagon with mother soon came up. Rested one day; started again on our slow, toilsome journey. When we left Tecumseh we left the road too; took the marked trees for a guide, and reached Jonesville on the fourth week. Here father was obliged to stop, having only 12 shillings left, with eight children dependent on him for every comfort of life, and nothing but his hands to do with. He finally squatted upon the place now owned by Isaac Gaige. On this was a cabin 12 feet square, built by trappers the fall before. [footnote: Fall of 1829] Into this he put his family and went to plowing for crops, it being the last of April, 1830. Mother soon saw that it was impossible to live in this 'pen,' as she called it, and knowing father had no time to build one, commenced herself: with the help of myself and an older sister she had the logs all cut and ready by the time his crops were in. As we had never used an axe, you can judge how they must have looked; but they were long enough, so father and uncle Stephen Hickox, who had come to 'look' land, with the help of us children raised it. Father sawed off the ends of the logs, save one, which he presesrved as a memento and curiosity; the top of this he flattened, and it served as a wash-stand. Previous to raising the house, father went for the goods which had been sent by water. There was no road--only an Indian trail--and no bridges over streams. His feet became sore with walking, and for the last three days he had to be helped on and off his wagon. Mother had waited long and patiently for these goods, to make her children comfortable for the coming winter. The boxes were opened--when, alas! everything was mildewed and spoiled. Nothing of all these precious things she so much needed was left except a large box of dishes. The boat had been wrecked, the goods wet, and laid in that condition three months. Now dishes were plenty, but food often scarce, especially when father would be detained at Tecumseh in getting grinding done. At such times mother would send me and my brother five miles to the prairie with a small bag of corn, to pound in a stump dug out and fitted for the purpose. The pestle was like a well-sweep. We would mount the stump, and with our combined strength ground out the little grist and hasten home before sundown, for then the wolves began to howl. We would often meet or see them on our way, and always carried a club to defend ourselves with. Many times the first season we should have suffered for food had it not been for the Indians coming in with venison or turkey. Once mother bought, as she supposed, a turkey, and cheered us up with the promise of a pot-pie for supper. As it was placed on the table father came in, and pronounced it was _crane_! Mother's appetite vanished, and we lost our pie.
We learned to appreciate the Indians, especially Baw Beese,--that noble old chief. Shall ever remember his kindness to us. He knew mother was afraid of them, and he tried to make her understand that he was a friend and would keep the rest back from the door until she gave her consent for them to come in. We soon learned to trust him, and always found him truthful and honest.
In September or October [footnote, Oct 13, 1830] Mr. James Olds came in, giving us two neighbors. About this time the Sioux [footnote: Should be Sacs and Foxes] came here, 600 strong, on their way to Canada for presents, old Black Hawk with his six sons sleeping in the house, much against our wishes. On their return they had many presents, and were highly painted with black stripes,--a token of war. In the month of November following my youngest sister was born. While mother was yet sick our cattle broke out and strayed. On Tuesday morning father started with his dog to find them. Noon, night, and next morning came, but no father. News spread that he was lost. Even as far as White Pigeon men came, searched three days, and gave up in despair. The morning he started he struck their trail near Allen, going southwest; followed all day, crossing streams; slept at night by the side of a log, with wolves howling and rain falling in torrents; followed trail as best he could next day, and found them just at night. From one he milked his hat-crown full and drank it, and half full again for his dog,--a very good relish after fasting two days. Started to return with his cattle next morning; drove all day and the next, coming each night to the place of his starting in the morning; finally, about noon on Saturday, he heard the report of a gun. Soon it was followed by one still nearer, and in a few moments 'Wagh, wagh!' said an Indian just behind him. By signs he made him understand that he was 'lost,--must go to Jones ' wigwam.' The Indian would take him there for his dog; would not do it for money, being ignorant of its value. The bargain concluded, the Indian turned the cattle in a different direction, and after going about five miles came to Jones'. Mother had given up all hope of seeing him again alive, for it had been a cold, rainy week, and if he had escaped the wolves must have perished with cold and hunger. Pa-ma-saw took the dog on his pony and left us. This same night my uncle, Stephen Hickox, came, being the fourth family in Jonesville.
Father sold his cattle to a man in Saline; took his money to pay for land, and found it all counterfeit. A struggle ensued to get his cattle again. As he got money the second time to start for the land-office, a certain man informed him that the home he had started was his and he should take possession in two weeks. In March, 1831, my father and uncle bought their land two miles west of Jonesville, built houses and moved in, using blankets for doors and windows until crops were put in. Wolves were very troublesome here, attacking the swine in their pens. Our house was completed as soon as possible,--'shake' roof, mudded sides, puncheon floor, and stone chimney. Despite all drawbacks we were a happy family.
News came that the Indians were coming east and killing the whites as they came. Mother became very timid. Father said if the danger became great he would bury the goods and go back to Detroit; but the war ended and we did not leave.
In 1833 father built a barn, made many improvements, and in August refused $3000 for his farm, when lo! Death enters and takes from him his loving wife and our mother. Our family circle was broken, one going here and another there. I was about thirteen then. I clothed and educated myself from that time. I taught the first school in Basswood, the second in what was then called the Mickle neighborhood. In 1840 was married, which event closed my separate record.
