Pentecostal Possibilities or "The Story of My Life"
by Milton Lorenzo (M. L.) Haney
Chapter 5
The Westward Move
My oldest brother having gone West, sent back enchanting statements about the glory of Illinois. The Indians had been driven from its territory in the Black Hawk war, which closed in 1833. The excitement of Stillman's defeat had not subsided among the poorly protected inhabitants, who were scattered along the streams and strips of timber. Black Hawk was conceded to be a manly Indian and was prized highly by many of the first white settlers who survived the war. Eternity may show that much injustice was done him and his braves, who held the first right to this wondrous territory.
General Stillman was a gentleman of more than common abilities for his time, and of sufficient military knowledge to command a force against Indians. He had strength of numbers and equipment to have made victory easy, had the officers and men of his command remained sober; but, alas, at the time, when above all others, the best wisdom was needed, a portion of his officers and command was beastly drunk, and his army was driven by Black Hawk's braves, like a flock of sheep, imperiling the lives of innocent families by savage butchery. Strong drink has been the curse of armies through ages.
In May of 1834, having sold his possessions in Ohio, my father, with mother and the four unmarried children, left the home of my childhood for Fulton County, Illinois. We were accompanied by Benjamin Hoyt, who had married my second sister, his family and several others. The journey was long and difficult, as we had to move with wagons. The roads in many places were well nigh impassable, because of unbridged streams and mud unspeakable, through Indiana and Eastern Illinois. Father and mother, myself and little brother rode in a spring wagon constructed by father's hands. The third day out, at noon, we came to a spring stream, where we thought it best to dine. When we boys were drinking from the stream we heard a noise, and, looking up, saw father in a desperate struggle to stop the horse, which was wild with fear and plunging forward with mother in the vehicle. Father was designing to take the horse from the shafts, and, being an Irishman, began by first removing the bridle, whose blinds had secreted the vehicle with its black cover. These appearing suddenly, the horse was frightened and leaped forward with increased alarm. Father had seized the harness and lessened his speed, but drew him to the left, where he was torn loose by contact with the fence, and the horse dashed up the road at tremendous speed! Reaching the summit of a long hill, my mother saw an exceedingly rough, hilly road before her and sprang from the vehicle and was prostrate when we reached her. The bones of her left foot were displaced, and my mother went limping for forty years. God only knows what she suffered, and who can explain how she could do what she did in the years that followed?
At a later period in our journey the older boys were walking and a girl was driving Mr. Hoyt's team. There was rather a steep descent to a small stream which was bridged. The horses being pressed by the wagon, began to increase their speed, when she put her whole force on the lines. Unfortunately, the lines were crossed, and she having swung the horses too near the left side of the bridge, drew mightily with her right hand, and forced horses and wagon off the bridge to the left, and all went down from eight to fifteen feet to the bottom of the stream. At one time little Freeborn Hoyt was under one of the horses in the water. No injury was done to the horses, the wagon was but slightly affected, the girl came off unhurt, and the boy went on his way rejoicing.
In less than six weeks this company landed in Rushville, Ill., where my oldest brother had his residence. The cholera had swept the town and my brother's wife was taken sick after we came, and died in the midst of the families, and was buried by her friends, not one of whom was affected by the disease. We seemed miraculously preserved. Father settled in Fulton County, midway between Woodville (now Avon) and Ellisville. For a time we were sheltered at Richard Freeborn's, but soon had a hewed log cabin of our own, covered with shingles which father split from oak timber, and floored by Illinois soil. Here we all lived the first winter and were warmed by fires kept burning in a large fireplace where mother cooked for a family of seven, and her outfit was one tea kettle, one frying-pan, one deep skillet with a cover, and one kettle. Her baking was done in that skillet and johnnycake baked on a board before the fire; but a jollier lot of children will rarely be found.
I was in my tenth year, and it seemed my school days were ended, but we studied at night by the light of candles. and when candles gave out I rose before day and lit my way through with a burning rag in a saucer of lard. We had corn for the horses, with plenty of prairie hay. Prairie chickens were numerous and were caught in traps, which with deer hunted by father and an older brother, furnished the best of meat, and we never suffered with hunger. Buffalo had retired farther west, but the bones of slaughtered thousands were still visible. Wolves were very numerous, and coyotes were more numerous than sheep. There were not so many large gray and black wolves, but some of them visited us every night. We had a small greyhound that met them fiercely as they came, but surely retreated with sufficient speed to avoid capture. He was often followed so hotly that to save his life he would spring through the window, landing on beds or floor, as it might happen. Panes of glass were 8 by 10 or 10 by 12, but he found his way through, never breaking but one pane of glass at a time. These large wolves would often kill a common dog at a single snap. Father secured a few sheep and I was the shepherd boy, when there were probably ten wolves to one sheep. The grass being high, the coyotes could easily secrete themselves, making constant watching a necessity. They were very cowardly and the presence of a child would intimidate them. Later they were less plentiful and daring, and I ventured to work in a field where my sheep were in full view.
To my surprise, looking up, I saw a wolf dashing this and that way through my flock, and I nearly a half mile away. Running to the barn, I found only one horse there and he was blind; but it was a case of great emergency. He was fleet of foot, but as I mounted I saw the wolf had seized a half grown lamb. This increased my wrath, and, forgetful of danger, my blind charger nearly flew. The wolf clung to his prey till I was near enough to see the white of his eyes, when he ran for his life. Vengeance for my slaughtered lamb was the one thought of my angered soul, but he hastened to broken ground and was safe. Compelled to quit the chase, I hastened to the scene of slaughter and found my flock had gone home and left the victim alone. Dismounting, I saw his life was yet fully in him, and, lifting him on the horse, I brought him home. Reaching the fold, I let him down gently, when he sprang to his feet and whisked his tail and ran into the flock. The wolf had undertaken to crush in his head, but the little creature had two nice horns, which had saved his life. The experiences of those days gave me a feeling toward wolves from which I have as yet hardly recovered.