The Bark Covered House

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THE BARK COVERED HOUSE,

OR

or, BACK IN THE WOODS AGAIN;
BEING A GRAPHIC AND THRILLING DESCRIPTION OF REAL PIONEER LIFE IN THE
WILDERNESS OF MICHIGAN

BY WILLIAM NOWLIN, ESQ.

1876

PREFATORY NOTE.

I little thought when I left my farm yards, horses and cattle in the care
of other men, and began to write, that I should spend nearly all the
winter of 1875 in writing; much less, that I should offer the product of
such labor to the public, in the Centennial Year. But I have been urged
to do so by many friends, both learned and unlearned, who have read the
manuscript, or listened to parts of it. They think the work, although
written by a farmer, should see the light and live for the information of
others. One of these is Levi Bishop, of Detroit, who was long a personal
friend of my father and his family, and has recently read the manuscript.
He is now President of the "Wayne County Pioneer Society," and is widely
known as a literary man, poet and author.

W.N.

KEY.

Sketch of the lives of John and Melinda Nowlin; of their journeying and
settlement in Michigan.

Thrilling scenes and incidents of pioneer life, of hopes and fears, of
ups and downs, of a life in the woods; continuing until the gloom and
darkness of the forest were chased away, by the light of civilization,
and the long battle for a home had been fought by the pioneer soldiers
and they had gained a signal victory over nature herself.

Hope never forsook them in the darkest hours, but beckoned and cheered
them on to the conquest of the wilderness. When that was consummated hope
hovered and sat upon her pedestal of realization. For better days had
come for the pioneers in the country they had found. Then was heard the
joyful, enchanting "Harvest Home;" songs of "Peace and Plenty."

Crowned with honor, prosperity and happiness--for a time.

PREFACE.

I have delineated the scenes of this narrative, from time to time, as
they took place. I thought at the time when they occurred that some of
them were against me.

I do not place this volume before its readers that I may gain any
applause: I have sought to say no more of myself than was necessary.

This is a labor of love, written to perpetuate the memory of some most
noble lives, among whom were my father and mother who sought a home in
the forests of Michigan at an early day. Being then quite young, I kept
no record of dates or occurrences, and this book is mostly sketched
from memory.

It is a history of my parents' struggles and triumphs in the wilderness.
It ought to encourage all who read it, since not many begin life in a new
country with fewer advantages than they.

It is said that "Truth is stranger than fiction." In this I have detailed
the walks of ordinary life in the woods. In these pictures there is
truth. All and more than I have said have been realized. My observations
have been drawn from my own knowledge, in the main, but I am indebted to
my sisters for some incidents related. Together, with our brother, we
often sat around the clay hearth and listened to father's stories, words
of encouragement and counsel. Together we shared and endured the fears,
trials and hardships of a pioneer life.

This work cannot fail to be of deep interest to all persons of similar
experience; and to their descendants for ages to come who can never too
fully appreciate the blessings earned for them by their parents and
others amid hardships, privations and sufferings (in a new country) the
half of which can never be told.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER.

I--TALKING OF MICHIGAN
II--DISAGREEABLE MUSIC
III--HOW WE GOT OUR SWEET, AND THE HISTORY OF MY FIRST PIG
IV--OUR SECOND HOUSE AND FIRST APPLE TREES
V--THE JUG OF WHISKY AND TEMPERANCE MEETING
VI--HOW WE FOUND OUR CATTLE
VII--TROUBLE CAME ON THE WING
VIII--HARD TIMES FOR US IN MICHIGAN
IX--A SUMMER HUNT
X--HOW WE GOT INTO TROUBLE ONE NIGHT AND I SCARED
XI--THE INDIANS VISIT US--THEIR STRANGE AND PECULIAR WAYS
XII--THE INSIDE OF OUR HOUSE--A PICTURE FROM MEMORY
XIII--METHEGLIN; OR, THE DETECTED DRINK
XIV--OUR ROAD--HOW I WAS WOUNDED
XV--PROSPECT OF WAR
XVI--FISHING AND BOAT RIDING,
XVII--HOW I GOT IN TROUBLE RIDING IN A CANOE
XVIII--OUR CLEARING AND THE FIRST RAILROAD CARS
XIX--TREES
XX--DRAWING CORD-WOOD--HOW THE RAILROAD WAS BUILT--THE STEAM WHISTLE
XXI--HOW I HUNTED AND WE PAID THE MORTGAGE
XXII--BEAR HUNT
XXIII--GRANDFATHER'S POWDER HORN--WAR WITH PIRATES
XXIV--LIGHT BEGINS TO DAWN
XXV--MAKING A BARGAIN
XXVI--HOW I COMMENCED FOR MYSELF--FATHER'S OLD FARM
XXVII--THOUGHTS IN CONNECTION WITH FATHER AND EARLY PIONEER LIFE
XXVIII--FATHER'S NEW HOUSE AND ITS SITUATION--HIS CHILDREN VISIT HIM
XXIX--MY WATCH LOST AND VISIT TO CANADA
XXX--MOTHER'S VISIT TO THE EAST
XXXI--LEAVING NEW YORK CITY FOR HOME

ILLUSTRATIOINS.

"THE MICHIGAN"
THE BARK-COVERKD HOUSE
THE THOMPSON TAVERN
HOUSE BUILT IN 1836
FIRST RAILWAY CARS
HOUSE BUILT IN 1854

CHAPTER I.

TALKING OF MICHIGAN.

My father was born in 1793, and my mother in 1802, in Putnam County,
State of New York. Their names were John and Melinda Nowlin. Mother's
maiden name was Light.

My father owned a small farm of twenty-five acres, in the town of Kent,
Putnam County, New York, about sixty miles from New York City. We had
plenty of fruit, apples, pears, quinces and so forth, also a never
failing spring. He bought another place about half a mile from that. It
was very stony, and father worked very hard. I remember well his building
stone wall.

But hard work would not do it. He could not pay for the second
place. It involved him so that we were in danger of losing the place
where we lived.

He said, it was impossible for a poor man to get along and support his
family; that he never could get any land for his children there, and he
would sell what he had and go to a better country, where land was cheap
and where he could get land for them.

He talked much of the territory of Michigan. He went to one of the
neighbors and borrowed a geography. I recollect very well some things
that it stated. It was Morse's geography, and it said that the territory
of Michigan was a very fertile country, that it was nearly surrounded by
great lakes, and that wild grapes and other wild fruit grew in abundance.

Father then talked continually of Michigan. Mother was very much opposed
to leaving her home. I was the eldest of five children, about ten or
eleven years of age, when the word Michigan grated upon my ear. I am not
able to give dates in full, but all of the incidents I relate are facts.
Some of them occurred over forty years ago, and are given mostly from
memory, without the aid of a diary. Nevertheless, most of them are now
more vivid and plain to my mind than some things which transpired within
the past year. I was very much opposed to going to Michigan, and did all
that a boy of my age could do to prevent it. The thought of Indians,
bears and wolves terrified me, and the thought of leaving my schoolmates
and native place was terrible. My parents sent me to school when in New
York, but I have not been to school a day since. My mother's health was
very poor. Her physician feared that consumption of the lungs was already
seated. Many of her friends said she would not live to get to Michigan if
she started. She thought she could not, and said, that if she did,
herself and family would be killed by the Indians, perish in the
wilderness, or starve to death. The thought too, of leaving her friends
and the members of the church, to which she was very much attached, was
terribly afflicting. She made one request of father, which was that when
she died he would take her back to New York, and lay her in the grave
yard by her ancestors.

Father had made up his mind to go to Michigan, and nothing could change
him. He sold his place in 1832, hired a house for the summer, then went
down to York, as we called it, to get his outfit. Among his purchases
were a rifle for himself and a shot gun for me. He said when we went to
Michigan it should be mine. I admired his rifle very much. It was the
first one I had ever seen. After trying his rifle a few days, shooting at
a mark, he bade us good-by, and started "to view" in Michigan.

I think he was gone six or eight weeks, when he returned and told us of
his adventures and the country. He said he had a very hard time going up
Lake Erie. A terrible storm caused the old boat, "Shelvin Thompson" to
heave, and its timber to creak in almost every joint. He thought it must
go down. He went to his friend, Mr. George Purdy, (who is now an old
resident of the town of Dearborn) said to him: "You had better get up; we
are going down! The Captain says 'every man on deck and look out for
himself.'" Mr. Purdy was too sick to get up. The good old steamer
weathered the storm and landed safely at Detroit.

Father said that Michigan was a beautiful country, that the soil was as
rich as a barn-yard, as level as a house floor, and no stones in the way.
(I here state, that he did not go any farther west than where he bought
his land.) He also said he had bought eighty acres of land, in the town
of Dearborn, two and a half miles from a little village, and twelve
miles from the city of Detroit. Said he would buy eighty acres more, east
of it, after he moved in the spring, which would make it square, a
quarter section. He said it was as near Detroit as he could get
government land, and he thought Detroit would always be the best market
in the country.

Father had a mother, three sisters, one brother and an uncle living in
Unadilla Country N.Y. He wished very much to see them, and, as they were
about one hundred and fifty miles on his way to Michigan, he concluded to
spend the winter with them. Before he was ready to start he wrote to his
uncle, Griffin Smith, to meet him, on a certain day, at Catskill, on the
Hudson river. I cannot give the exact date, but remember that it was in
the fall of 1833.

The neighbor, of whom we borrowed the old geography, wished very much to
go West with us, but could not raise the means. When we started we passed
by his place; he was lying dead in his house. Thus were our hearts,
already sad, made sadder.

We traveled twenty-five miles in a wagon, which brought us to
Poughkeepsie, on the Hudson river, then took a night boat for Catskill
where uncle was to meet us the next morning. Before we reached Catskill,
the captain said that he would not stop there. Father said he must. The
captain said he would not stop for a hundred dollars as his boat was
behind time. But he and father had a little private conversation, and
the result was he did stop. The captain told his men to be careful of
the things, and we were helped off in the best style possible. I do not
know what changed the captain's mind, perhaps he was a Mason. Uncle met
us, and our things were soon on his wagon. Now, our journey lay over a
rough, hilly country, and I remember it was very cold. I think we passed
over some of the smaller Catskill Mountains. My delicate mother, wrapt
as best she could be, with my little sister (not then a year old) in her
arms, also the other children, rode. Father and I walked some of the
way, as the snow was quite deep on the mountains. He carried his rifle,
and I my shot-gun on our shoulders. Our journey was a tedious one, for
we got along very slowly; but we finally arrived at Unadilla. There we
had many friends and passed a pleasant winter. I liked the country
better than the one we left, and we all tried to get father to buy
there, and give up the idea of going to Michigan. But a few years
satisfied us that he knew the best.

Early in the spring of 1834 we left our friends weeping, for, as they
expressed it, they thought we were going "out of the world." Here I will
give some lines composed and presented to father and mother by father's
sister, N. Covey, which will give her idea of our undertaking better than
any words I can frame:

"Dear Brother and Sister, we must bid you adieu,
We hope that the Lord will deal kindly with you,
Protect and defend you, wherever you go,
If Christ is your friend, sure you need fear no foe.

"The distance doth seem great, to which you are bound,
But soon we must travel on far distant ground,
And if we prove faithful to God's grace and love,
If we ne'er meet before, we shall all meet above."

About twenty years later this aunt, her husband and nine children
(they left one son) sons-in-law, daughters-in-law and grand-children
visited us. Uncle had sold his nice farm in Unadilla and come to
settle his very intelligent family in Michigan. He settled as near us
as he could get government land sufficient for so large a family. With
most of this numerous family near him, he is at this day a sprightly
old man, respected (so far as I know) by all who know him, from
Unionville to Bay City.

Now as I have digressed, I must go back and continue the story of our
journey from Unadilla to Michigan. As soon as navigation opened, in the
spring, we started again with uncle's team and wagon. In this manner we
traveled about fifty miles which brought us to Utica. There we embarked
on a canal boat and moved slowly night and day, to invade the forests of
Michigan. Sometimes when we came to a lock father got off and walked a
mile or two. On one of these occasions I accompanied him, and when we
came to a favorable place, father signaled to the steersman, and he
turned the boat up. Father jumped on to the side of the boat. I attempted
to follow him, did not jump far enough, missed my hold and went down, by
the side of the boat, into the water. However, father caught my hand and
lifted me out. They said that if he had not caught me, I must have been
crushed to death, as the boat struck the side the same minute. That,
certainly, would have been the end of my journey to Michigan. When it was
pleasant we spent part of the time on deck. One day mother left my little
brother, then four years old, in care of my oldest sister, Rachel. He
concluded to have a rock in an easy chair, rocked over and took a cold
bath in the canal. Mother and I were in the cabin. When we heard the cry
"Overboard!" we rushed on deck, and the first thing we saw was a man
swimming with something ahead of him. It proved to be my brother, held
by one strong arm of an English gentleman. He did not strangle much; some
said the Englishman might have waded out, in that case he would not have
strangled any, as he had on a full-cloth overcoat, which held him up
until the Englishman got to him. Be that as it may, the Englishman was
our ideal hero for many years, for by his bravery and skill, unparalleled
by anything we had seen, he had saved our brother from a watery grave.

That brother is now the John Smith Nowlin, of Dearborn.

Nothing more of importance occurred while we were on the canal. When we
arrived at Buffalo the steamer, "Michigan," then new, just ready for her
second trip, lay at her wharf ready to start the next morning. Thinking
we would get a better night's rest, at a public house, than on the
steamer father sought one, but made a poor choice.

Father had four or five hundred dollars, which were mostly silver, he
thought this would be more secure and unsuspected in mother's willow
basket, which would be thought to contain only wearing apparel for the
child. We had just got nicely installed and father gone to make
preparations for our embarkation on the "Michigan," when the lady of
the house came by mother and, as if to move it a little, lifted her
basket. Then she said, "You must have plenty of money, your basket is
very heavy."

When father came, and mother told him the liberty the lady had taken, he
did not like it much, and I am sure I felt anything but easy.

But father called for a sleeping room with three beds, and we were shown
up three flights of stairs, into a dark, dismal room, with no window,
and but one door. Mother saw us children in bed, put the basket of silver
between my little brother and me, and then went down. The time seemed
long, but finally father and mother came up. I felt much safer then. Late
in the evening a man, with a candle in one hand, came into the room,
looked at each bed sufficiently to see who was in it. When he came to
father's bed, which proved to be the last, as he went round, father asked
him what he wanted there. He said he was looking for an umbrella. Father
said he would give him umbrella, caught him by the sleeve of his coat;
but he proved to be stronger than his coat for he fled leaving one sleeve
of a nice broadcloth coat in father's hand. Father then put his knife
over the door-latch. I began to breathe more freely, but there was no
sleep for father or mother, and but little for me, that night.

Everything had been quiet about two hours when we heard steps, as of two
or three, coming very quietly, in their stocking feet. Father rose, armed
himself with a heavy chair and waited to receive them.

Mother heard the door-latch, and fearing that father would kill, or be
killed, spoke, as if not wishing them to hear, and said: "John have the
pistols ready," (it will be remembered that we had pistols in place of
revolvers in those days) "and the moment they open the door shoot them."
This stratagem worked; they retired as still as possible.

In about two or three hours more, they came again, and although father
told mother to keep still, she said again: "Be ready now and blow them
down the moment they burst open the door."

Away they went again, but came once more just before daylight, stiller
if possible than ever; father was at his station, chair in hand, but
mother was determined all should live, if possible, so she said "They are
coming again, shoot the first one that enters!" &c., &c.

They found that we were awake and, do doubt, thought that they would meet
with a little warmer reception than they wished. Father really had no
weapons with him except the chair and knife. I said, the room had no
window, consequently, it was as dark at daylight as at midnight. The only
way we could tell when it was daylight was by the noise on the street.

When father went down, in the morning, he inquired for the landlord and
the man that came into his room; but the landlord and the man with one
sleeve were not to be found. Father complained to the landlady, of being
disturbed, and showed her the coatsleeve. She said it must have been an
old man, who usually slept in that room, looking for a bed.

We went immediately to our boat. As father was poor and wished to
economize, he took steerage passage, as we had warm clothes and plenty of
bedding, he thought this the best that he could afford. Our headquarters
were on the lower deck. In a short time steam was up, and we bade
farewell to Buffalo, where we had spent a sleepless night, and with about
six-hundred passengers started on our course.

The elements seemed to be against us. A fearful storm arose; the captain
thought it would be dangerous to proceed, and so put in below a little
island opposite Cleveland, and tied up to a pier which ran out from the
island. Here we lay for three weary days and nights, the storm
continually raging.

Finally, the captain thought he must start out. He kept the boat as near
the shore as he could with safety, and we moved slowly until we were near
the head of the lake. Then the storm raged and the wind blew with
increased fury. It seemed as if the "Prince of the power of the air" had
let loose the wind upon us. The very air seemed freighted with woe. The
sky above and the waters below were greatly agitated. It was a dark
afternoon, the clouds looked black and angry and flew across the horizon
apparently in a strife to get away from the dreadful calamity that seemed
to be coming upon Lake Erie.

We were violently tempest-tossed. Many of the passengers despaired of
getting through. Their lamentations were piteous and all had gloomy
forebodings of impending ruin. The dark, blue, cold waves, pressed hard
by the wind, rolled and tumbled our vessel frightfully, seeming to make
our fears their sport. What a dismal, heart-rending scene! After all our
efforts in trying to reach Michigan, now I expected we must be lost. Oh
how vain the expectation of reaching our new place, in the woods! I
thought we should never see it. It looked to me as though Lake Erie would
terminate our journey.

It seemed as if we were being weighed in a great balance and that
wavering and swaying up and down; balanced about equally between hope and
fear, life and death.

[Illustration: "THE MICHIGAN."--AFTER LEAVING THE ISLAND IN THE
SPRING OF 1834.]

No one could tell which way it would turn with us. I made up my mind, and
promised if ever I reached terra-firma never to set foot on that lake
again; and I have kept my word inviolate. I was miserably sick, as were
nearly all the passengers. I tried to keep on my feet, as much as I
could; sometimes I would take hold of the railing and gaze upon the wild
terrific scene, or lean against whatever I could find, that was
stationary, near mother and the rest of the family. Mother was calm, but
I knew she had little hope that we would ever reach land. She said, her
children were all with her and we should not be parted in death; that we
should go together, and escape the dangers and tribulations of the
wilderness.

I watched the movements of the boat as much as I could. It seemed as if
the steamer could not withstand the furious powers that were upon her.
The front part of the boat would seem to settle down--down--lower and
lower if possible than it had been before. It looked to me, often, as
though we were going to plunge headforemost--alive, boat and all into the
deep. After a while the boat would straighten herself again and hope
revive for a moment; then I thought that our staunch boat was nobly
contending with the adverse winds and waves, for the lives of her
numerous passengers. The hope of her being able to outride the storm was
all the hope I had of ever reaching shore.

I saw the Captain on deck looking wishfully toward the land, while the
white-caps broke fearfully on our deck. The passengers were in a terrible
state of consternation. Some said we gained a little headway; others said
we did not. The most awful terror marked nearly every face. Some wept,
some prayed, some swore and a few looked calm and resigned. I was trying
to read my fate in other faces when an English lady, who came on the
canal boat with us, and who had remained in the cabin up to this, time,
rushed on deck, wringing her hands and crying at the top of her voice,
"We shall be lost! we shall be lost! oh! oh! oh! I have crossed the
Atlantic Ocean three times, and it never commenced with this! We shall be
lost! oh! oh! oh!"

One horse that stood on the bow of the boat died from the effects of the
storm. Our clothes and bedding were all drenched, and to make our
condition still more perilous, the boat was discovered to be on fire.
This was kept as quiet as possible. I did not know that it was burning,
until after it was extinguished; but I saw father, with others, carrying
buckets of water. He said the boat had been on fire and they had put it
out. The staunch boat resisted the elements; ploughed her way through and
landed us safely at Detroit.

Some years after our landing at Detroit, I saw the steamboat "Michigan"
and thought of the perilous time we had on her coming up Lake Erie. She
was then an old boat, and was laid up. I thought of the many thousand
hardy pioneers she had brought across the turbulent lake and landed
safely on the shore of the territory whose name she bore.

But where, oh where "are the six hundred!" that came on her with us? Most
of them have bid adieu to earth, and all its storms. The rest of them are
now old and no doubt scattered throughout the United States. But time or
distance cannot erase from their memory or mine the storm we shared
together on Lake Erie.

CHAPTER II.

DISAGREEABLE MUSIC.

It was night, in the Spring of 1834, when we arrived at Detroit, and we
made our way to the "United States Hotel" which stood near where the old
post office was and where the "Mariner's Church" now stands, on
Woodbridge street.

The next morning I was up early and went to view the city. I wished to
know if it was really a city. If it looked like Utica or Buffalo.

I went up Jefferson Avenue; found some brick buildings, barber
poles, wooden clocks, or large watches, big hats and boots, a brass
ball, &c., &c.

I returned to the Hotel, satisfied that Detroit was actually a city, for
the things I had seen were, in my mind, sufficient to make it one. After
I assured myself that there was a city, so far from New York, I was quite
contented and took my breakfast. Then, with our guns on our shoulders,
father and I started to see our brand-new farm at Dearborn. First we went
up Woodward Avenue to where the new City Hall now stands, it was then
only a common, dotted by small wooden buildings.

Thence we took the Chicago road which brought us to Dearbornville. From
there the timber had been cut for a road one mile south. On this road
father did his first road work in Michigan and here afterwards I
helped to move the logs out. The road-master, Mr. Smith, was not
willing to allow full time, for my work; however I put in part time.
Little did I think that here, one mile from Dearbornville, father
would, afterwards, buy a farm, build a large brick house, and end his
days, in peace and plenty.

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