XXV.

ELIZABETH KENTON.[40]

The name of Simon Kenton has a conspicuous place in the annals of the early pioneers, second only to that of the renowned woodsman, Daniel Boone. One of the counties of Kentucky is named after him, and the incidents of his life are related in the history of that State and in many biographical sketches, forming a narrative more thrilling in interest than any romance ever written. Such instances of desperate and mortal encounter, such hairbreadth escapes from imminent peril, such hours of fearful suspense and sudden alternations from hope to despair, from the very grasp of death to unexpected deliverance, were surely never pictured by pure imagination. Born in Virginia, he was involved when scarcely grown to manhood in a romantic adventure growing out of rivalry in love, which came near to having a fatal termination, and launched him into life with no protection but a resolute spirit and a robust frame. Leaving his home, he plunged into the wilderness of the Alleghany mountains, and joining parties of explorers and traders, spent two or three years in hunting and trapping in the neighbourhood of the Kanawha river, till the breaking out of the war between the Indian tribes and the colonies in 1774, in which campaign he did service as a spy. With two companions he afterwards penetrated the wilds of Kentucky and built a cabin on the spot where now stands the town of Washington, aiding the other settlers in their struggles with the Indians, and meeting with many adventures. The most remarkable of these—unparalleled in the history of the West—is the succession of incidents that followed his capture by the Indians when carrying off some of their horses. For weeks his fate vibrated between life and death, the gleams of sunshine quickly followed by deepest gloom, no efforts or wisdom of his own availing aught to save him at any time, but the changes in his fortune wrought by seeming accidents. He was tied, Mazeppa-like, on the back of an unbroken horse; was eight times exposed to the gauntlet, and three times bound to the stake, with no prospect of rescue from a terrible death. Once he was saved by the interference of Simon Girty, who, learning his name, discovered in him an old companion and friend; once the celebrated Mingo chief, Logan, interceded in his behalf, and he was rescued by an Indian agent. These experiences, and his after services with Gen. George Rogers Clarke, and in other campaigns to the close of Wayne’s decisive one, are fully related in recent biographies.

The first wife of Gen. Kenton was Martha Dowden, to whom he was married about 1785, in Mason County, Kentucky. They lived together ten years, when she died, leaving him four children, all of whom lived to maturity. The only survivor among them is the wife of John McCord, of Urbana, Ohio.

Elizabeth, the second wife, was the youngest daughter of Stephen Jarboe, a native of France, who settled first in Maryland, where he married Elizabeth, the daughter of Thomas Clelland. She was a well educated woman, and a deeply spiritual Christian, in membership with the Presbyterian Church. The family removed to Mason County, Kentucky, about the year 1796, at which time Elizabeth, the daughter, was seventeen years old. Her opportunities of education had been such as were usual in that early day, when the acquirements of women were generally confined to reading, writing, and the elements of arithmetic.

Not long after the removal to Kentucky, Mr. Jarboe was obliged to go to Maryland, whence he was prevented from returning to his family by ill health, for seven or eight years. It will be borne in mind that travelling, in those days, was no light undertaking. Within that time Mrs. Jarboe with her children had removed into what is now Clarke County in Ohio. Her home was with her youngest son, Philip Jarboe, about four miles north of Springfield, where she died in the spring of 1808. Shortly after her death Mr. Jarboe was enabled to return, and in the same year, at the same house, he also closed his earthly pilgrimage. His acquaintances remember his arrival—a feeble old man, sadly emaciated, coming, as he said, to lay his bones by the side of her who was the companion of his youth. After a life of many sorrows they sleep in a quiet spot within sight of the Mad River and Lake Erie Railroad, near their last home on earth.

Their daughter Elizabeth was a young woman of rare attractions of person and manner, and as it may be supposed, had numerous admirers. Among these a Mr. Reuben Clark had found favor in her eyes, and it was expected that she would marry him. But the sagacious pioneer and hero of Indian encounters had seen and loved her, and moreover had lost none of his early aversion to a rival. He gave young Clark some employment which took him to Virginia, and would oblige him to be absent a considerable length of time. Having removed him from the scene of action, he laid siege presently to the heart of the fair lady, and brought the citadel, ere long, to terms of capitulation. They were married in the year 1798, at Kenton’s Station, the Rev. William Wood of the Baptist Church officiating; nor did the wife ever again see her former lover.

A few months after the marriage, General and Mrs. Kenton removed to Cincinnati, where they resided six or eight months, and removed in the spring of 1799, to what was then called the Mad River country. Their first residence was near a trading house kept by a Frenchman named De Baw, about four miles north of Springfield. The whole region, at that period, was an almost unbroken wilderness, traversed continually by parties of Indians, who, though not openly hostile, were exceedingly troublesome. Often when intoxicated they would visit the cabins of the settlers, and finding the men absent, by threats extort provisions and whiskey from the women. On one occasion, when there were no men on the premises, and all was quiet in Mrs. Kenton’s cabin, the door was suddenly burst open, and a drunken Indian, entirely naked, came in and demanded whiskey, threatening to kill her, with furious gestures, in case of refusal. When he found his menaces were likely to be of no avail, he snatched up the child, her eldest daughter, out of the cradle, and made for the camp of the savages as fast as his feet could carry him. The feelings of the terrified mother cannot easily be described; but her agony of suspense was soon over; the rest of the party immediately brought back the child, and called upon Mrs. Kenton to say what punishment should be inflicted on the delinquent. She required nothing, however, but to be protected against such outrages in future.

The home of the forest warrior consisted of two roughly constructed log cabins, with the usual accompaniment of puncheon floors, mud chimneys, clapboard doors, etc. Here were established Kenton’s family, composed of himself and wife with five children, and his two mothers-in-law with their families, besides some black people. Their experiences of privation and suffering during the earliest years of the settlement may be understood in some measure by those already described; but there were circumstances which added much to the trials that fell to the lot of Mrs. Kenton. The General, it will be remembered, being one of the earliest pioneers of Kentucky, besides defending the first settlers against their Indian foes, had located their pre-emptions, traversing with them the rugged mountains and rich valleys in search of the best lands. The latch-string of Kenton’s cabin always hung outside the door, and a welcome was ready for all who sought his hospitality. His generosity and habitual kindness to strangers had contributed as much as that of any other man in Kentucky to stamp the character for liberal hospitality, since proverbially attached to the State. He was extensively known, and had the reputation of wealth; his wealth, however, consisted wholly in Kentucky land claims, which were totally unproductive, while his cabin was the resort of every shelterless emigrant, land hunter, or soldier, and even the wandering Indian had liberty at any time to claim the supply of his wants. The readers of Gen. Kenton’s life will recollect the incident of an Indian at old Chilicothe seizing an axe and breaking his arm with it. The name of this savage was Boner, and it was afterwards his custom to come frequently to his house, and after eating and drinking, amuse the company by acting out a pantomime representing his own outbreak of fury, and the terror and grief of Mrs. Kenton on that occasion.

With this continual influx of visitors, for whom provision was necessary as well as for the wants of a large family, with means of procuring none of the luxuries and but few of the comforts of life, and without congenial society, the first ten years of Mrs. Kenton’s residence in Ohio were passed in incessant toil and privation, relieved by little of the quiet so necessary to one like her, and so ardently desired. But she was a seeker of “a better country,” and the firm faith of a Christian sustained her in every difficulty. In 1808 she became a member of the Methodist Episcopal Church. In 1810, Gen. Kenton removed to Urbana, in Champaign County, where the family lived eight years. Here their privations were less, but Mrs. Kenton suffered from incessant mental anxiety caused by the injustice done her husband, and the loss he sustained in endeavoring to recover something of his extensive land claims in Kentucky. Being wholly uneducated, he was obliged to entrust the management of his business to agents who proved dishonest, and involved him in inextricable lawsuits in which he was mulcted in heavy costs. Nay more, truth compels the record which is a stain upon the national honor—the barbarous laws then in force, sanctioning these wrongs, permitted the imprisonment of the brave pioneer, and his confinement within “prison bounds,” for several of the best years of his life. Thus was he reduced from a supposed condition of opulence to abject poverty, and even pursued like a felon, his free spirit harassed by more than the deprivation of liberty to the limbs, the sense of cruel injustice and oppression.

Mrs. Kenton possessed a disposition peculiarly sensitive, and these wrongs and sorrows embittered what should have been the happiest years of her life. In 1818, having procured a small portion of wild land in what is now Logan County, they took up their residence upon it, obtaining from it a meagre living, far from those who had thronged around them in the days of their prosperity. In 1836, after enduring much suffering, Gen. Kenton departed this life, rejoicing in the prospect of one where his portion could not be taken from him. His faithful wife attended him in his painful illness with the assiduous tenderness and care bestowed by a mother on her child. Her spirits, already weighed down by calamity, were broken, and her strong constitution impaired by the exertions necessary in this labor of love, and after her husband’s death she never recovered her health or cheerfulness. In the same year she removed to Indiana. Her strength gradually declined until the autumn of 1842, when she became almost helpless. Having long looked on approaching death with calmness and Christian hope, she quietly made a disposition of her remaining effects, leaving to each of her children and grand-children a small bequest, in token of affectionate remembrance. To the sons of her eldest daughter, Mrs. Parkison, she left quilts on which she had wrought their names with her own hand. Her faculties were retained perfectly to the last, though she spoke not for some hours before the final moment. Her sufferings terminated at the residence of J. G. Parkison, her son-in-law, in Jasper County, Indiana, Nov. 27th, 1842.

Mrs. Kenton was rather tall, and had a very graceful figure; her complexion was extremely fair, and she had blue eyes and dark hair. Her daughter, Mrs. Parkison, describes her appearance on one occasion, on returning from Dayton, thirty miles distant, where she had been to acknowledge a deed. She wore a dark calico dress made in the fashion then called a habit; long-waisted, and the skirt plaited full all around; over this a “joseph,” or short riding dress of brown cassimere, with green spots, and a green silk or satin bonnet differing little from the late fashion, without a cap.

This lady remembers, among the visitors at her father’s house, old Isaac Zane, who had an Indian wife. He brought his half-breed daughter to be instructed by Mrs. Kenton in the knowledge and manners of the white ladies. Ebenezer Zane, his son, was also a frequent visitor, and told Miss Kenton he had named his little daughter—Matilda—after her. The child received the customary present, and some twenty year’s afterwards Mrs. Parkison was surprised at being shown a piece of the new dress given her little namesake by the General. Mrs. Parkison still resides in Indiana.

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