XI.

REBECCA ROUSE.

Among other families who ventured on the long and perilous journey from the granite soil of New England, in the year 1788, a year never to be forgotten in the annals of Ohio, were those of John Rouse and Jonathan Devoll. Before the period of the Revolution, Mr. Rouse had followed the vocation of a whaleman and seaman, from the port of New Bedford, and was now living on a small farm in the town of Rochester, Massachusetts, near the little harbor of Mattepoisett. His family consisted of a wife and eight children. Capt. Jonathan Haskell, who also lived in Rochester, and had been an officer in the war, joined him in fitting out the expedition, and furnished a large covered wagon and two of the horses, Mr. Rouse furnishing the other two. An active young man, named Cushing, who wished to settle in the west, was employed to drive the wagon. As the journey was a long one, they took as few articles of beds, bedding, and cooking utensils, as they could possibly do with on the road. Their clothing and other goods were packed in trunks and large wooden boxes made to fit the inside of the wagon.

The parting from their old neighbors at Mattepoisett, was one of much tenderness, accompanied by many hearty adieus and sincere prayers for their welfare on the journey, and their happiness in that far away region. No one, at this day, can imagine with what dread and awe a journey to the new territory west of the Ohio, was then viewed by the simple-hearted people of New England. A party of young ladies, on horseback, accompanied the females as far as “The Long-plain,” distant six miles. Here they tarried for about a week amongst their kinsfolk and former neighbors; for at this place Rouse had lived many years, and here most of the children had been born.

The morning they left Mattepoisett, an interesting occurrence took place which shows the strong attachment of the female heart to home and relatives. A rich old farmer of that place, who had taken a great liking to Bathsheba, the eldest daughter, and was anxious that his son should obtain her for a wife, offered to give her by deed a nice farm and good dwelling-house, if she would stay amongst them and not go with the family to the West. But her affection for her parents, sisters, and brothers was too great to forego the pleasure of their society probably for the rest of her life, and the offer was declined, much to the sorrow of the generous old man. The week flew rapidly away in social intercourse with their kindred, and solemn and sorrowful were the greetings of the farewell hour. The distance was so great, and the dangers of the wilderness so many, that they all thought the parting was to be final as to this world; and so indeed it proved to the larger portion of them. Capt. Haskell joined them that morning from Rochester, and early in October, 1788, they took their departure from “The Long-plain,” and commenced their arduous journey to Muskingum, as the new settlement was then called. They reached Providence the second day, at evening—at which place they were joined by the family of Jonathan Devoll, composed of Mrs. Devoll and five children. Mrs. Nancy Devoll was the sister of Mrs. Rouse. Her husband had been absent nearly a year, attached to the party of pioneers sent by the Ohio company the autumn previous. He was the naval architect of the “May-flower,” which conveyed the first detachment of men from Simrel’s Ferry, on the Yohiogany, to the mouth of the Muskingum, and one of the first who landed the 7th of April, 1788, on the soil of the present State of Ohio. Their large covered wagon, with four horses, was fitted up in a similar style to the other, and was driven by Isaac Barker, an only brother of the married females, who had left a wife and family in Rochester, till he could return and bring them the following year.

After travelling through New England, New York, and Pennsylvania, early in November the pilgrims reached the foot of the mountain ranges, and commenced the ascent of those rocky barriers which divide the sources of the Susquehanna river from those which fall into the Ohio.

The evening after they left Carlisle, they were overtaken by an old acquaintance and neighbor, who was also with his family on his way to Muskingum. He had started about the same time with the others, with an ox team of three yokes, and by dint of steady and late driving, had managed to keep within a day’s march of them, and here, by making a little extra exertion, he overtook them. Ox teams were preferred to horses by many of the early New England emigrants, in their long journeys to the new purchase. Probably one reason for this was their greater familiarity with their use as beasts of draught; another, that they were much better suited to work among stumps and logs, and were also much less likely to be stolen by the Indians. Their rate of travel was a little slower than that of the horse, but they could make about twenty miles a day where the roads were good.

The roads at that day, across the mountains, were the worst that we can imagine, cut into deep gullies on one side by mountain rains, while the other was filled with blocks of sandstone. The descents were abrupt, and often resembled the breaks in a flight of stone stairs, whose lofty steps were built for the children of Titan rather than the sons of men. As few of the emigrant wagons were provided with lock-chains for the wheels, the downward impetus was checked by a large log, or broken tree top, tied with a rope to the back of the wagon and dragged along on the ground. In other places, the road was so sideling that all the men who could be spared were required to pull at the side stays, or short ropes attached to the upper side of the wagons, to prevent their upsetting. By dividing their forces with Isaac, they made out to prevent any serious accidents of this kind, although it seemed many times impossible to prevent it. The ground, naturally moist and springy on the sides of the mountains, was now rendered very muddy and wet by the November rains, which had begun to fall almost daily. As they approached the middle and higher ranges, the rain was changed to snow and sleet, which added still more to the difficulties and dreariness of the way. From the weight of the loaded wagons and the abrupt acclivities of the road, it fell to the lot of the women and children to walk up all the steep ascents—it being beyond the power of the horses to pull their additional weight up many of the sharp pitches of the mountains. The children often stuck by the way, or lost their shoes in the mud, occasioning a world of trouble to the elder girls, to whose share it fell to look after the welfare of the little ones.

After crossing the “Blue mountain,” the “Middle,” and the “Tuscarora mountain,” late one Saturday evening they descended into the “Ahwick valley,” and Mr. Rouse’s family put up at the house of an honest German Dunkard, named Christian Hiples; while the other two teams went to an old tavern stand, well known to the early pack-horsemen and borderers of that region. This was a quiet and tolerably fertile valley, environed by mountains. In it was seated old “Fort Littleton,” and under the protection of its walls had sprung up, many years ago, quite a thriving settlement, with a number of fine plantations. All this part of the country, and as far east as Carlisle, had been, about twenty-five years before, depopulated by the depredations of the Indians. Many of the present inhabitants well remembered those days of trial, and could not see these helpless women and children moving so far away into the wilderness as Ohio, without expressing their fears at the danger they would incur from the deadly hate of the Indians.

They tarried over the Sabbath, and the following Monday, under the hospitable roof of this Christian Dunkard—whose long white beard, reaching to the waist, greatly excited the curiosity of the children. His family consisted of several young women, who treated the wayfaring females with great kindness; heating their huge out-of-door oven for them, and assisting them in the baking of a large batch of bread for the journey, with many other acts of true Christian charity. On Tuesday morning, when they departed, they loaded them with potatoes and vegetables from their garden, as many as they would venture to carry, without making any charge. They parted from them with many prayers and good wishes for their welfare on the road, and the happy termination of their long and perilous journey. The inhabitants generally treated them kindly, and the further they advanced into the confines of the wilderness, and left the older settlements, the more hospitality abounded. They received them more readily into their houses, and more willingly assisted them with their cooking utensils, or any other thing they possessed, or the wayfarers needed.

While the travellers in Rouse’s wagon were treated so kindly, Isaac, who was excitable and very headstrong, met with rather rough usage from the hand of the old inn-keeper with whom he put up. This man had been a great bruiser in his younger days, and had lost one eye in some of these frays; a thing not at all uncommon among the early borderers. He was naturally a rough man, and the loss of his eye added still more to his ferocious appearance. It seems that he had placed the rounds of the rack, in his stable, so close together it was next to impossible for the horses to pull any of the hay through, so that, although there was plenty before them, they were none the better for it. Isaac could not stand quietly by and say nothing, when his hard-working horses needed their food so much; and then to pay for that they did not eat besides! He remonstrated with the landlord on the matter, but received only abuse for his pains. After paying back a little of the same coin, he fell to work and broke out every other round. The old fellow then fell upon Isaac, determined to give him a sound beating; but in this he was sadly mistaken, and got very roughly handled himself. The horses, however, got plenty of hay, and Isaac told him he should be back again in the spring, and if he found the slats replaced, he would give him another and still sounder thrashing.

Three days after leaving the quiet valley, with much exertion and many narrow escapes from oversetting, they reached the little village of Bedford. During this period they had crossed “Sideling hill,” forded some of the main branches of the Juniata, and threaded the narrow valleys along its borders. Every few miles, long strings of pack-horses met them on the road, bearing heavy burthens of peltry and ginseng, the two main articles of export from the regions west of the mountains. Others overtook them loaded with kegs of spirits, salt, and bales of dry goods, on their way to the traders in Pittsburgh. The fore-horse generally carried a small bell, which distinguished him as the leader. One man had the charge of ten horses, which was as many as he could manage by day, and look after at night. For many years this was the manner in which nearly all the transportation was done over the mountains. The roads were nearly impassable for wagons till near the close of the Indian war, in 1795.

One of their greatest trials was in crossing the Alleghanies. Four miles beyond Bedford, the road to the right was called the “Pittsburg road,” while that to the left was called the “Glade road,” and led to Simrel’s ferry, on the Yohiogany river. This was the route of the emigrants, and led, as well as the other, across the Alleghany. In passing this formidable barrier, our travellers were belated; and it was nearly midnight before they reached the house where they were to lodge. The night was excessively dark; the whole party, except the younger children, were on foot, and could only keep the path by feeling the bushes along the sides of the road. It so happened that Michael Rouse and Capt. Haskell, who was their only guide, had gone ahead with the other wagon, and was entirely beyond hail; leaving Isaac, with Mr. Rouse and all the females, to pick their way along the miry road in the best manner they could. In the midst of all this gloom, the spirits of the former never flagged in the least; but the more difficulties increased the louder he sang, and some of his most cheerful ditties were echoed that night from the rocky side of the Alleghany. Mr. Rouse, who had been often exposed to winds and storms, could not stand the trudging along, ancle deep, in the mud and dark, without venting his feelings in many a hearty curse on the vexations of the night. When about a mile from the house, they were unexpectedly cheered at hearing the lively whistle of Michael; and directly after, in a turn of the road, espied the light of a lantern brought by Capt. Haskell, who had returned after putting up his own team, to meet the stragglers and guide them on the way. A bright fire was blazing on the hearth of the little log inn, the warmth and sparkling of which soon restored their spirits. It was past midnight before they had cooked and eaten their suppers and spread their couches on the puncheon floor of the hut. The fatigues of the journey caused them to sleep very soundly, and they awoke the next morning with fresh courage to meet the trials of the day before them.

In descending the Alleghany, the children and girls were much delighted at seeing the side of the road covered with the vivid green leaves and bright scarlet berries of the “partridge bush,” or “checkerberry.” It was a common fruit at “The Long-plain,” and the sight of it reminded them of their home and the scenes they had left. For a while the little boys forgot the fatigues of the road at the sight of this favorite fruit, and cheered each other with joyous shouts, as fresh patches from time to time appeared by the side of the way. Even the married females were exhilarated by the cheerful spirits exhibited by the children, and partook freely of the spicy fruit which they collected in large handfuls. As they descended the western slope of the mountains, the springs of limpid water, which gushed fresh and pure from the earth along its sides, now ran babbling along to join their puny rills with those of the Ohio. This range is the dividing ridge between the eastern and the western streams, and the travellers could now see the waters which flowed towards the end of their journey.

After reaching the foot of this picturesque range, they had to cross a region called “The Glades,” an elevated plateau, which, in many points, bore a strong resemblance to the prairies of the west. The soil was dark colored, thinly coated with trees, and covered with coarse grass. In crossing “Laurel ridge,” which bounds the western side of the glades, and is so named from the profusion of rhododendron, or rosebay, and kalmia latifolia, or laurel, which cluster along its rocky sides, the girls and older boys had to walk the whole distance. The labor was the more difficult from the ground being covered with snow, which had fallen to the depth of several inches on the sides and top of the ridge, during the last twenty-four hours; while at the same time it had been raining in the valley, or table land, between the ranges. The bushes were bent down by the weight of the snow, and partly obstructed the path; so that long before they got over, their shoes were saturated with water, and their clothes were dribbled and wet half leg high. The “boxberries” still showed their bright scarlet faces, peeping out beneath the snow and ice, as large as common red cherries. At the western foot of the ridge, their road was crossed by a stream too deep for them to ford; and the girls being several miles ahead of the wagons, whose progress was very slow, were much rejoiced to find a cabin in which they could rest until the teams came up. The rendezvous for the night was beyond the creek, as this was the only place where they could get feed for their horses. While waiting at this spot, a stout young mountaineer, clad in his hunting-frock and leggins, came dashing along on a powerful horse, and very kindly, as well as gallantly, offered to take the girls over the stream, if they would trust themselves behind him on the horse, and conduct them safely to the house where they were to stop. But his uncouth dress and their own natural timidity made them decline the offer, choosing rather to wait the arrival of their friends. Just at dark they came up, and taking them into the wagons, they crossed the stream more to their own liking, if not more safely than under the charge of the young mountaineer.

The following day they crossed “Chesnut ridge,” the last of the mountain ranges, so named from the immense forests of chesnut trees that clothe its sides and summit, for nearly the whole of its extent in Pennsylvania and part of Virginia. The soil is sandy and rocky; and so exactly adapted to the growth of this tree, that no part of the world produces it more abundantly. In fruitful years, the hogs, from a distance of twenty or thirty miles, were driven by the inhabitants, every autumn, to fatten on its fruit. Bears, wild turkeys, elk and deer, travelled from afar to this nut-producing region, and luxuriated on its bountiful crop. The congregations of wild animals, on this favored tract, made it one of the most celebrated hunting grounds, not only for the Indians, but also for the white man who succeeded him in the possession of these mountain regions. The children here loaded their little pockets with chesnuts, and for a while forgot the pinching cold of the half frozen leaves and frost covered burrs among which they were scattered. Not long after crossing this ridge they reached Simrel’s ferry, on the Yohiogany river. They hailed this spot with delight, as they were to travel no further in their wagons, but finish the journey by water. They were also glad on another account; two of the horses had been failing for some days, were now near giving out, and in fact died before reaching Buffalo, a small village on the Ohio river.

It was now near the last of November, and winter fast approaching. In a short time a boat was procured, as they were kept ready made for the use of emigrants. The one they bought was about forty feet long and twelve feet wide, but without any roof, as they could not wait for it to be finished. On board of this they put their wagons, and contrived to make a temporary shelter with their linen covers. The horses were sent by land across the country to Buffalo, at the mouth of Buffalo creek, distant by this route only fifty-three miles from the ferry, but more than a hundred by water. This was a common practice with the early emigrants, as the water of the Yohiogany was too shallow in autumn to float a boat drawing over eighteen or twenty inches. In the stern of the boat was a rude fire-place for cooking, and their beds were spread on the floor of the ark.

After laying in a stock of food, they pushed merrily out into the current of the “Yoh,” as it was familiarly called by the borderers of that region, and floated rapidly along, sometimes grazing on the shallows, and at others grounding on the sandbars. By dint of rowing and pushing they made out to get on; especially after falling into the larger current of the Monongahela, and reached Pittsburgh in safety on Sunday evening. They were now at the junction of these two noble streams, the Alleghany and Monongahela, and saw the waters of the charming Ohio, the object of all their toils and were, apparently, at the end of their journey. Near the point of land where the Ohio first takes its name, they landed their uncouth and unwieldy water-craft, making it fast to a stake on the bank. It was late in the afternoon, and the men went up into the town to purchase some articles needed to make the families comfortable in their downward voyage. Pittsburg then contained four or five hundred inhabitants, and several retail stores, and a small garrison of troops was kept up in Old Fort Pitt. To our travellers, who had lately seen nothing but trees and rocks, with here and there a solitary hut, it seemed to be quite a large town. The houses were chiefly built of logs, but now and then one had begun to assume the appearance of neatness and comfort.

Capt. Haskell and Mr. Rouse, for some cause now forgotten, did not return to lodge in the boat, but stayed at the tavern; Michael, Isaac, and Cushing had gone overland with the horses, so that the women and children were left alone in the boat. In the middle of the night, one of the older boys was awakened by the water coming into his bed on the floor. He immediately raised an outcry, and in the midst of the darkness, bustle, and confusion of the moment, they found the boat was half leg deep in the water. Great was the consternation of the older females, who thought, not without reason, that they must all be drowned. It so happened that the water was not very deep where the boat was moored, and as the gunwales rested on the bottom at the depth of two or three feet, it could sink no further. This disaster was occasioned by the falling of the river during the night; the land side of the boat rested on the shore, while the outer corner settled in the stream until the water ran through the seams in the planking above the gunwale—they being badly caulked. They hurried on shore as fast as they could. A kind-hearted man, by the name of Kilbreath, whose house stood on the bank near the boat, heard the screams of the children, and taking a light came to their assistance. He invited them all up to his house and provided them lodging by a good warm fire; he then called some men to his aid, and before morning, got the wet articles out of the boat, and assisted the females in drying them. When Mr. Rouse and Capt. Haskell came back in the morning, they were much chagrined at the accident; as had they been on board, they thought it could have been prevented. The next morning Mr. Kilbreath gave them all a nice warm breakfast, and like the good Samaritan, would take nothing but their grateful thanks for his trouble. Having baled out the boat and got her once more afloat, they reloaded their household goods, got on board a stock of provisions, and prepared to renew their voyage in the course of the day.

It so happened that there was an old trapper and hunter by the name of Bruce, who was familiar with the river, just ready to start down stream in a large canoe, or pereauger, on a trapping expedition for the winter, on some of the more southern waters; him they engaged for a pilot, as was the custom in those early days, although there was but little or no danger from the intricacy of the channel. His canoe was about forty feet long, and had on board a barrel of flour, some fat bacon, four beaver traps, a camp kettle, two tin cups, and a light axe. These, with his rifle, blanket, and ammunition, formed his stock for the winter. The canoe was lashed alongside the boat, and he came on board as pilot.

It was near the middle of the afternoon, on Monday, when they put out from Pittsburgh. The day had been cloudy and threatened rain from the south. Just at evening the wind shifted to the northwest and blew quartering across the bend of the river in which they were then floating. It soon rose to a complete gale, and knocked up such a sea, as threw the crests of the waves over the side of the boat, threatening to upset, if not sink, the unwieldy craft. In this dilemma, the pilot and all hands exerted their utmost at the oars, to bring the boat to land on the “Federal,” or Pennsylvania shore; but the wind and the waves were both adverse. The boat could have been landed on the right, or “Indian shore,” but they feared to do so, lest in the night they should fall into the hands of the Indians, who although it was apparently a time of peace, robbed the boats and killed the straggling whites at every favorable opportunity. The large pereauger bounded and thumped against the side of the boat, threatening to break in the planks, and was cut loose by the hand of the pilot. In this extremity, when every fresh wave threatened to overwhelm them, Bruce cried out to his shipmates, in a voice that was easily heard above the storm, “We must put over to the Indian shore, or every man, woman and child will be lost!” Previous to this, the more feeble portion of the passengers had kept tolerably quiet, although exceedingly alarmed; but this announcement, to the women and children, sounded like their death knell, and the boat instantly resounded with their screams of despair. Capt. Haskell, who had been accustomed to perils of various kinds, and was a man of iron nerves, did what he could to calm their terrors. Bruce, who was in fact a skilful pilot, as well as a brave man, instantly laid the bow of the boat over to the Indian shore. The wind and the waves both favored the movement, and with a little aid from the oars in a few minutes she was riding in safety under a high point of land, which sheltered them from the wind in comparatively quiet water.

The sudden transition from the jaws of death to this tranquil haven, filled the hearts of the females with songs of gratitude; and the boat was hardly moored to the bank before they sprung upon the land, rejoiced once more to tread the solid earth, although it was the dreaded Indian shore. Bruce soon kindled a fire by the side of a large fallen tree, and setting up some forked sticks and poles, stretched some blankets across, in such a way as to make a rude tent. Beneath this shelter they spread their beds, choosing rather to risk the chance of an attack from Indians than to trust themselves on the water again that night. From the hunting camp of some white men, whose smoke the pilot had noticed just before the storm came on, he procured a fine fat saddle of venison, and the whole party feasted with cheerful hearts that evening on the nice steaks of this delicious meat. Some they broiled on the coals, while Bruce showed them how to roast it, hunter fashion, on a hickory skewer filled full of pieces and stuck up in the earth before the fire; this, with a cup of hot coffee, furnished a very comfortable meal. They slept undisturbed that night; though ever and anon, the sighing of the winds in the tops of the trees led the more timid of the females to fancy they heard the stealthy approach of Indians.

In the morning, the ground was covered with snow to the depth of several inches, which had fallen while they were asleep. The day following the storm was fine and pleasant, and the smooth, calm surface of the Ohio exhibited a striking contrast to the tumult and uproar which had agitated its bosom only a few hours before. From Fort McIntosh, at the mouth of the Beaver, to the new settlement at Muskingum, no white man had dared to plant himself on the Indian shore of the river, with the exception of a small blockhouse a few miles below Buffalo, which some hunters had built as a place to which they might retreat if attacked by their enemies, while out hunting in the region west of the river. Even here there was little or no clearing, and all else was unbroken wilderness. They embarked early in the morning and reached Buffalo that evening. In the course of the forenoon they found the pereauger of Bruce lodged on the shore and filled with water. It still contained the barrel of flour, meat, axe, etc., with all the traps but one. The buoyancy of the light poplar wood of which it was made, prevented it from sinking, and the ballast of the traps, axe, etc., from upsetting; so that, quite unexpectedly, the old trapper recovered his boat and goods, which he had given up as utterly lost. At Buffalo, they were greeted with the loud laugh and boisterous welcome of Isaac, who, with Michael and Shaw, had been waiting one or two days with the horses for their arrival.

The women and children, still impressed with dread lest another storm should overtake them, concluded to lodge on shore, and accordingly took quarters for the night on the floor of a small log hut that stood at the extremity of the point of land at the mouth of Buffalo creek. In the morning Mrs. Devoll came near losing a part of her bedding. A gaily ornamented new woollen blanket had attracted the attention of Mrs. Riley, the mistress of the cabin, as it lay spread over the sleepers in the night, and in the hurry and bustle of rolling up the bed clothes, she adroitly managed to secrete it among her own bedding, stowed away in the corner of the room. Mrs. Devoll soon missed it, and after a careful but fruitless search among her own things, did not hesitate to accuse the woman of secreting it. She roundly denied any knowledge of the blanket. Being a resolute woman, and determined not to give it up in this way, Mrs. Devoll made an overhauling of Mrs. Riley’s chattels, when much to the chagrin and disappointment of the border woman, she pulled out the lost article, rolled up in her dingy bedding. Thinking they had recovered all the missing goods, they hurried aboard their boat at the exciting call of Isaac, who was ready to depart, and in no very good humor with the hospitality of Mrs. Riley. At Wheeling, where they stopped for some milk, they discovered, much to their vexation, that they had also lost a new two-quart measure, which they had brought all the way with them for the purpose of measuring the milk they should need to purchase on the road. In a few years after this adventure, during the Indian war, this family of Rileys, who still lived in the same spot, were all massacred by the savages.

At Grave creek they took on board a stout, hearty old man, as a passenger, by the name of Green. He assisted Bruce and their crew, each by taking turns at the oars and rowing all night, and with the music of Isaac and the old man, who proved an excellent singer, they made out to reach the mouth of Muskingum just at dark on Thursday evening, the fourth day after leaving Pittsburg. Ice had been making in the Ohio for the last twenty-four hours, and the travellers were fortunate in arriving as they did, for the following morning the Muskingum river was frozen over from shore to shore. Great was the consternation of Mrs. Rouse, who had an instinctive dread of Indians, at seeing the woods and side hill, back of Fort Harmer lighted up with a multitude of fires, when she was told that they were the camp fires of three hundred savages. They had come in to a treaty, which was held the ninth of January following. It was early in December, and the emigrants had been more than eight weeks on the road. The news of their arrival was soon carried to Campus Martius, the name of the new garrison. Capt. Devoll hurried on board, delighted once more to embrace his wife and children, from whom he had been absent more than a year. Their goods and chattels were put into the “Mayflower,” which was used as a receiving boat for the emigrants, and with the women and children, landed at the Ohio company’s wharf. Devoll had built a comfortable two-story house in one of the curtains of the garrison, to which all were removed that night, and his happy family slept once more under their own roof, in the far distant region of the Northwest Territory.

The following spring, a company or association was formed to commence the settlement fourteen miles below, on the right bank of the Ohio, afterwards called Belprie. Capt. Devoll, Mr. Rouse, Michael, Capt. Haskell and Isaac, joined this association. The latter returned to New England, and moved out his family in the fall of 1789. By the time the settlers were about to begin to reap a little of the fruits of their hard labor, in clearing land, building cabins, etc., the Indian war broke out, and they were all driven into garrison for some five years. Many were the dangers and hardships they here endured, suffering most from the small pox and scarlatina maligna.

In the summer of 1790, Bathsheba Rouse taught a school of young boys and girls at Belprie, which is believed to be the first school of white children ever assembled within the bounds of the present State of Ohio. The Moravian missionaries had Indian schools at Gnadenhutten and Schönbrunn, on the Tuscarawas, as early as the year 1779, eleven years before this time. She also taught for several successive summers within the walls of “Farmer’s Castle,” the name of the stout garrison built by the settlers sixteen miles below Marietta. After the close of the war the colonists moved out upon their farms. Mr. Rouse and his family remained in Belprie. Bathsheba married, soon after the close of the war, Richard, the son of Griffen Greene, one of the Ohio company’s agents, and a leading man in all public affairs. Cynthia married the Hon. Paul Fearing, the first delegate to Congress from the Northwest Territory, and for many years a judge of the court. Elizabeth married Levi Barber, for many years receiver of public moneys, and member of Congress for this district during two sessions. The children of these emigrant females, for wealth and respectability, rank among the first of our citizens.

Thus closes this sketch of the early emigrants to Muskingum, whose adventures are only the counterpart of other families who crossed the Alleghany ranges in the year 1788. It is in fact a portion of the early history of Ohio, and should be preserved for the same reasons that Virgil has preserved the incidents of the voyage of Æneas from Troy to Italy—they were the founders of a new state. Those days of hardship cannot be reviewed with other than feelings of the highest respect for the individuals who dared to brave the difficulties and uncertainties of a pioneer life.[27]