The snow-shoe itinerant . An autobiography of the Rev. John L. Dyer, familiarly known as "Father Dyer," of the Colorado conference, Methodist Episcopal church.

Front matter

THE

Snow-Shoe Itinerant.

This reprinting project has been approved by the Heritage Council and officially endorsed by the Colorado Centennial-Bicentennial

Chapter I

Ancestry and Early Youth— How his Great Grandfather got to America — Life in Virginia and Kentucky — Blazing the Way into Ohio— The Darbys-Dyer's Mills— The Fosters— Freeborn Garrettson — An Evil Prophecy — " Tom " Corwin as a Temperance Lecturer — An Old-fashioned Family Altar — Apprenticed to the Plow — Pioneer Preachers — Two Notable Camp-meetings — Bascom's Manly Beauty — Finley and his Indian Converts — "The Jerks" — Youthful Sports — 'Coonskin Currency — A Normal Case of Buck Fever — The Winter School — Barring out the Teacher — Glade Run versus Big Darby — Mathematics in the Big Woods — The First Sunday-school in Georgeville, Page ii

Chapter II

Unites With the Church — Dread of the Class-meeting — Conversion— "Innocent Amusements" — The Family removes to Illinois — The Wilderness — Hunting a Home — Caught in a January Storm — Primitive Hospitality — His Father in Peril — Black Hawk War — Volunteers — "Western eld's Defeat " — Ross's Escapade — End of the War — The Crash of 1837 — The Church survives — Full Salvation — Praying for Death — Made a Class-leader — Brings up the Preacher's Salary — Marries Harriet Foster — Death of his Wife, 1847 — A Sad Mistake — Divorce — Lead-mining in Wisconsin — Made a Local Preacher — "Brushed" at the Old Stone Church — An Unexpected Revival — Jonah — " Hoist " — Surrenders — A Supply on Wingville and Lancaster Circuit — A Rowdy at the Mourners' Bench — Admitted to Wisconsin Conference and sent to Elk Grove Circuit, 25

Chapter III

Admitted to Conference — Tragic Death of the Divorced Wife — Salary of $100 — Fond du Lac Conference — Franklin and

6 Contents.

Wingville — Lincoln the Shouter — A Singular Dream — Dividing the House — "This Place belongs to the Old Lady" — Chauncey Hobart's Ague Fit — Fayette Circuit— Cholera — An Awful Experience — A Successful Thief — Cold Comfort — A Hospitable Infidel — A String of Fish — "I have made up my Mind to go" — Prayer Answered — A Warning — A Fight at Camp-meeting — Suckers — The Beautiful Country, Page; 48

Chapter IV

Richland Mission, Minnesota — Marriage of Rachel — On the Road — Bethel— Tragic Death of Robert — Revivals Everywhere— Trip to Wisconsin — The Second Camp-meeting in Minnesota — The Crash of 1857 — The First Conference held in Minnesota — Caledonia or Preston Circuit — Surety — Pastoral Visiting — " How long does Thee intend to hold these Meetings?" — Running from a Shouting Wife— A Pioneer Temperance Crusader — " The Most Industrious Little Mill I ever saw "— " The Fifth Time, it went off "—Conference at St. Paul — Anecdote of Bishop Morris — Austin Circuit, 69

Chapter V

En route to Austin — Swimming Root River — A Bare-footed Sermon— A Mischievous Immersion — Stuck in a Slough — Moses Mapes — The Black Horse and his Rider — A Revival Cloud-burst — Specimen Converts — A Liberal Baptist — The State-line Broken — The Three-cent Seeker — A Providential Haul — Conference at St. Anthony — Crossing the Zumbro on a Raft — Camp-meeting on the Chippewa — Prescott Conference— Chauncey Hobart — Rice Lake and Chippewa Squaws — Indian Bargain — Menominee Mills— Captain Wilson— Whisky — An Irate Father — North-west Wisconsin Conference— Security Debts, 87

Chapter VI

Off for Pike's Peak — Retrospect — Great Loss — Ox-train — Preaching en route— Dog Soup— Ox-gad versus Rifle— "Cut Off," or "Cut On?"— A Mad Boss— The Last Night on the Plains — Denver in 1861 — Byers's Printing-office— Patriotic Sermon — Off for Buckskin Joe — Dyer's "Short Account" — A Year of Strange Adventures, 117

Contents. 7

Chapter VII

On Foot to Denver— Colonel Chivington— Anecdote of Bigelow — On the Blue — Bachelor's Hall — Turn about with Gamblers — Deputy Assessor — Snow-shoe Accident — "Not Quite Handsome Enough for me to dance with" — "You can stand that or make a Temperance Speech," . Page 138

Chapter VIII

Winter Exodus — The Pioneer Theater — Revival at Gold Run — No longer a "Supply" — Up the Blue on Snow-shoes — Origin of the Names Tarryall, Buckskin Joe, Fair Play, Mosquito, et al. — The Espinosas Raid — A Run for Life — Baxter Hung — Last of the Espinosas — Tom Tobin the Avenger, 148

Chapter IX

Traveling the Circuit During the Raid — A Bad- Scare — A " Fearful Porcupine " — Bishop Ames organizes the Colorado Conference— Typical Instances of Rough Characters in Rough Camps — Practical Effects of Dancing-schools . . 156

Chapter X

Organization of the Rocky Mountain Conference, 1863 — Presiding Elders Willard and Slaughter — Sent to South Park Circuit — Flour $15 per Sack — Funds exhausted — Carrying the Mail on Snow-shoes— Laden with Gold — Traveling Companions — Life-saving — An Unwilling Mail-carrier — Lonely Trips — A Perilous Leap and a Lightning Slide — A Pack-cow on the War-path, 162

Chapter XI

Agent for the Rocky Mountain News — The Express" robbed by " Secesh " — A Rebel Rising invited, but not accepted — The Chase — Experience as a Volunteer — The Robbers Captured and " Lost " — Corn 13 Cents a Pound — Indian Scare — Building a Fort in Denver — Joking with " Old Chiv." — Sand Creek from a Colorado Stand -point — The Snow-shoe Preacher a Bishop pro tem. — Chivington's Great Speech — A Year with Five Quarters — A Cattle Baron — The Southern District — Prospecting New Mexico for Methodism — Trini-

8 Contents.

dad— Crossing the Rattoon— An Unexpected Wedding- Maxwell's Grant— The First Protestant Minister in New Mexico— Judge Watts — Birthplace of Montezuma— The Pueblos— The Penitentes— Mexican Hospitality— Superstition, Page 178

Chapter XII

Conference of 1865 — Bishop Kingsley — Conference Photographed— Presiding Elder again — Grasshopers — Sad Contribution to the Union— A Fruitless Quest— A Run to New York and Boston— Robbed— Enough of the East— $125 Stage-fare Atchison to Denver — At Work again- Modem Revivals — Conference at Empire, 1866— Bishop Baker — Acting Bishop— Bishop Baker rests at Mr. Burton's — South Park District -Fort Garland— Tom Tobin— Father MachbGeuf— Saguache— The First Shout in the San Luis Valley — Old Chief San Juan as a Comforter — Poncha Pass and California Gulch — Unhorsed in the Arkansas — A Bare-foot Sermon— Wilderness Distances — Alma Camp-meeting — " Stack your Chips and give us a Hearing!" — On Snow-shoes again — In Peril — Delivered— Sam Hartzell's — Uncle Jesse Frazer's — Hard Times for Preachers — All Night Ride with Colored Soldiers — Little Denver — " Be it ever so Humble, there's no Place like Home," 196

Chapter XIII

Winter of 1866-67 — The Veiled Prophet — " Did You bring me any Tobacco?" — Salt-works — Among the Red-skins — Cy Hall as Stage-driver — Lost in the Snow — Sledding in May — Bishop Ames and the Conference of 1867 — Early -Settlers of Colorado City — Camp-meeting Conference — Delegate to General Conference — W. F. Warren's Good Record — Bishop Ames's Travels over Part of my District — Incidents of the Excursion — Ministerial Courtesy — Off to General Confer ence — Shoveling Out — Taken for my Father, 216

Chapter XIV

General Conference — Committee Work — The Indian Question— Battle of the Giants — Boundaries — Colorado Conference— Bishop Simpson, 231

Contents. 9

Chapter XV

New Mexico District —Kit Carson— Mad Indians — Illustrative Episode — Sheep Cheese — An Abiding Wonder! — Shutting the Mouths of Owls and Wolves— The First Class-leader in New Mexico — Rev. Thomas Harwood — Whole-souled Miners — Lone Rocks— In a Texas Corner —Wine-press — Fort Selden — Indians!— Fort Craig — A Strange Presentiment— Mrs. Harwood — Fort Defiance, Arizona — Rev. Mr. Roberts, Presbyterian Board — The Navajoe Thieves — Fort Stanton — An Improvised Warming-pan — A Timely Wedding— Dangers — Boska Grande — Fort Sumner — Fort Bascom — Fort Union — Ten Thousand Miles on Horseback in Two Years — A Bit of New Mexico History, . . . Page 240

Chapter XVI

Conference at Central City — Bishop Kingsley — Conference of 1870 — Pueblo — Bishop Ames — Divide Circuit — Married to Mrs. Lucinda P. Rankin — Lynch Law — Elbert County — Benediction and Dancing— Wm. Bonafield's Close Call — Was it an Assassin? — Miles Madden shot — Father's Death — Evans, Platteville, and Fort Lupton — A Severe Accident— Geo. H. Adams— Sister Williams — Then and Now — A Pleasant Visit— A Difficult Backout— Conference, 1873 — Greeley and Bishop Andrews, 260

Chapter XVII

A Three Weeks' Jaunt— Smashed up— Service at Father's Grave— Wash-hum Creek— Dyer's Mine— Patient Burro- Brave Maiden— Sunday at Alma— Back to Erie— 1874 Conference—Colorado Springs— Bishop Bowman— Monument Circuit— Bowling Alley Parsonage— Building— 1875 Conference—Central City— Bishop Haven— A Joyous Fourth — Assassination of my Son Elias— Cast down, but not forsaken, 277

Chapter XVIII

Lake County— Judge of Probate— Early Strife — The Case of Elijah Gibbs— A Mob— "Come out and be hung like a Man"— The Attack— The Successful Defense— Gibbs's Flight and Pursuit— The Committee of Safety— Elias Dyer Judge— io Contents.

Offends the Committee — In Peril — Hardin murdered — From Bad to Worse — Trials for Law — Brave Andy Wilson — The Arrows of the Lord — The Judge murdered, .... Page 285

Chapter XIX

Report of the Tragedy in the Rocky Mountain News — A View from the Inside— Letter from J. McPherson — Correspondence of the Fair Play Sentinel — Item from the News — Extract from Country Paper — Letter from Judge Dyer — Another Letter from the Judge — Letter of James H. Johnston— Last Letter of Judge Dyer — Dispatch in the Rocky Mountain News — Extract from a Country Paper — Another Letter from McPherson — He is appointed Probate Judge— My Son's Estate administered upon — Sale of Dyer's Mine — Reflections, 297

Chapter XX

Conference of 1876— Boulder and Bishop Harris— Fair Play and Alma — A. J. Smith— Governor Bross's Doxology— Dumphouse of the Dolly Varden— The First Preaching on Mount Lincoln— A Marriage in High Life— Supernumerary in 1877— Conference 1879, Bishop Merrill— 1880, Bishop Warren—Ignorance or Worse ? — Indian Scare — A Moral pointed — Father Meeker— Smut— Success— Breckenridge— First Church on the Western Slope in Colorado Conference—Lessons in Prospecting— The Warrior's Mark— How Stockholders are swindled, . • 322

Chapter XXI

Sister Van Cott at Breckenridge-Conference at Leadville- The First "Fifth Collection" all mine and for the University of Denver— Ranchero— Wife's Tragic Flight— Cloud-burst—To Denver— Chaplain of the State Senate— Breckenridge again— " Hair-hung and Breath-shaken " — Religious Beginnings of Denver .r

Chapter XXII

Gold and Silver Mining in Colorado-Smelters— N. P. Hill- Governor Gilpin, Crank or Prophet ; Which ?— Coal— Iron- Hot Springs-Climbing for Life— The News- Governor

Evans. •

Snow- Shoe Itinerant.

Chapter I. YOUTHFUL YEARS

¥Y friends, both in and out of the ministry, have for years urged me to write the story of my life. At last I have come to think that I ought to do so. I am assured that but a few days remain to me, and that what I do must be quickly done. God has wondrously led me, and what I write I consecrate to him. May his Spirit guide my pen !

The name I bear — so far as our records go — begins with my great-grandfather stepping on to an English ship, when a lad, without leave of the officers, bound for America. With others, he was sold out for a specified time to pay his passage. But he fell into good hands, and his apprenticeship was worth all it cost. He became the owner of a desirable tract of land in Pendleton County, Virginia; married; was blessed with two sons — Roger and John — and a daughter. His eventful career was cut off by the Indians before he reached middle life. His widow married a Mr. Cravens, and bore him several children. One of these was

the Rev. Wm. Crave* ns — better known as Billy

ii

Cravens — a Methodist, fearless and determined, dealing still -houses and dram - drinking fearful blows, and certainly the boldest anti-slavery man of his age.

John, the second of the two boys named before, was my grandfather. He married Miss Jane Morrel. The third of their nine children, Samuel Dyer, my father, was born in Pendleton County, Virginia, March 23, 1786. In the spring of 1788, the family moved into Kentucky, and settled within six miles of Lexington. Ten years later, in the spring of 1798, they moved to Ohio, not yet a State, and made their home at Station Prairie — a stronghold against Indians — below Chillicothe. In 1800 my grandfather moved to the junction of the Darbys, in Franklin County, where he built the first grist-mill in Central Ohio, on a tract of land containing six hundred acres. It is still known as Dyer's Mills.

Grandfather was quite a character in his way. He had a saw-mill, also, and when a fine cherrylog was brought one day, he selected enough of the planks into which it was sawed to make him a coffin, stored them in the loft of his log house, and when he died they were used as he intended. He was not a Church member, but was anxious to hear the Word. Learning of a young Methodist preacher who had come within eight miles, he sent an invitation for him to preach at his house, wdiich was declined because grandfather was not a member! Nothing discouraged, he sent for Lewis Foster, who came gladly, and who, when grandfather died — January 12, 181 2 — preached his funeral sermon. My grandmother died in great peace a few years later. She was a Methodist of the old stamp. Her memory is precious.

As my mother was a daughter of this Lewis Foster, it will not be out of place to present him to my readers. He was a native of Baltimore County, Maryland ; married Miss Ann Davis, and spent a long and happy life with her and the large family which blessed their union. He was converted in early life, and joined the Church under Freeborn Garrettson. I heard him state that he thought Garrettson was the best-looking man he ever saw, when he would ride up to his father's to preach, and say: "Boys, feed my horse well, for he has lost two holes in girth since I was here last."

His father was a local preacher before him, and he was but twenty-two when he began proclaiming the gospel. In 1800 he moved his family from Pennsylvania to Ohio, blazing their way, his wagon being the first that ever made the journey from Wheeling to Chillicothe. He made his settlement in Madison County, where West Jefferson now stands, and labored for the Church as a respected and successful local preacher.

On one occasion, probably 1820, when I was a small boy, father took the family to a camp-meeting, where Russel Bigelow presided and preached one of his most wonderful sermons. Strange to say, my grandfather was called on to follow him, although there were eminent ministers present. After the preliminaries were closed, he rose tremblingly and said: "I can see but one reason why I have been called on to speak at this hour, and that is, if I fail I have but little to lose." It was later in life I learned the full force of that expression. Suffice it to say that, before he was through, the people were carried away above preacher and angels to Christ Jesus. Such a rising and shouting for joy and crying for mercy I have seldom if ever witnessed from that day to this. I dwell on these details with fondness, for I am proud of my Methodist lineage, and of the fact that I can trace the ministry in our family back through grandfather to great-grandfather Foster.

In October, 1810, at the Foster homestead in Madison County, my father, Samuel Dyer, and Cassandra Foster were married. I was born March 16, 181 2, at the junction of the Darbys, near the old mill, and named John Lewis, for my two grandfathers. My father was justice of the peace, and among the men that frequented his primitive court was a Mr. T., who was generally half-drunk, and would persist, when in that condition, in shaking hands with me, although I was scarcely more than four years old. On one occasion, seeing him coming, I hid behind mother as she sat spinning flax on her little wheel, and said: "He is drunk, and I will not shake hands." But he saw me, and when I drew back, he said: "What is the matter with that child?" She told him what I had said. That raised his Irish. He stamped his foot, and said: " That child will make a drunkard as sure as he lives. I have never seen a child that hated a drunken man but would surely be a drunkard." I was badly frightened, but never forgot his angry prophecy. I was born with a love for whisky. I can not remember when, at the smell of it, water did not gather on my tongue. But whenever I tasted it, the thought of old T. came into my mind and terrified me.

Not long after, another event occurred which helped to save me. Father was laid up with rheumatism, and the young people of the neighborhood gathered to pull his flax. As the custom was, he provided a quart of whisky and a bucket of water, which I sat in the shade to dispense. Never did anything look so tempting. I thought I could mix the whisky with water, so that it would not strangle me, and drink all I wanted and nobody know anything about it. So mixing up a half tin-cup full, I drank until it did not taste good any more. The next thing I remember was looking toward the house over a small field of wheat. The stalks seemed to be about seven feet high, and the heads nearly a foot long, and they all appeared to be pitching over each other. So I thought it impossible to get home, lay down, and was carried to the house. That was my first and last "drunk." When I had grown to young manhood, I heard "Tom" Corwin deliver a temperance lecture. His experience and arguments captivated me, and I signed the pledge, and ever since have practiced temperance closely and advocated it earnestly. Old T 's prediction, thanks be unto God, was never fulfilled.

I could not have been more than six years old when I had a great trial. My father made a profession of religion. He asked the blessing before eating, which seemed to me a great waste of time. He had family prayers night and morning. But a few days passed before some friends came to see us. All the afternoon I thought, Father can 't pray like a preacher, and, if I were in his place, I would put off praying till they leave. But he never quit while he lived. Mother's heart was full of joy. She had been a professor since fourteen years of age. Now her husband walked with her, and all was gladness. Memory lingers on our old-fashioned family altar. My mother had never learned music, but she knew the tunes to the good old hymns. How appropriate her songs were ! In the morning, —

Or,-

"Awake my soul, to meet the day; Unfold thy drowsy eyes."

" Once more, my soul, the rising day Salutes thy waking eyes."

Her sweet voice put life into the hymn ; and the prayer that followed was surely heard in heaven.

As we had a farm, the clearing was hard, and I was kept close at work early and late. Almost as soon as I could reach the plow-handles, I was set to plowing. If I had not gone at least two rounds across a ten-acre field before sunrise, it was thought a late start.

This was before we ever heard of a Sunday-

Youthful Ykars. 17

school, say in 1820. At that early day the Methodist preachers were almost our only expounders of God's Word. They faithfully followed the settlers, thirsting for the salvation of souls, almost regardless of pay. And what men of God they were ! — John Collins, John Sale, Robert W. Finley, James B. Finley, his son, and many others of that noble stamp. Known almost as far as they could be seen by their saddle-bags, in w7hich most of their valuables were carried, they traveled large circuits, often swimming swollen streams and enduring all manner of hardships, preaching almost daily, receiving only food and clothing. They were not hirelings, but shepherds caring for the sheep, and looking for their reward at the great day. I hope to see them crowned after the resurrection with crowns made by God's own hands.

In those times, the quarterly and two-days' meetings were institutions of Methodism. The fourth quarterly meeting was a camp-meeting. They were looked forward to with prayer as seasons of revival. I shall never forget my first camp-meeting! Henry B. Bascom was there in his youthful vigor. He was called "the Kentucky preacher;" was supposed to be the finest-looking man then living ; was surpassingly eloquent, and fully baptized with the Holy Ghost. He preached the 11 o'clock sermon. The people for miles around were present, and made an immense crowd. I remember the man and the scenes better than the discourse. There was a death-like stillness, while both preacher and Spirit seemed to work upon the hearers. At the close, there was a call for seekers. The altar was filled with penitents, and others in groups all through the congregation were crying aloud for mercy. An old man and his wife find two sons and a daughter at the altar, crying, "Save, Lord; I perish!" The sons had persecuted the father, who now kneels between them, exhorting them with a voice almost like thunder to surrender all to God ; the mother meanwhile equally engaged for her daughter. After a hard struggle, the blessing comes, and the prayers of children and parents are turned into praises. Add to this scene scores of similar ones, and the reader may have some idea of a camp-meeting more than sixty years ago.

Stimulated by the example of the Methodists, the Presbyterians, I believe, held series of services which they called " protracted meetings." Our protracted meetings were called " revivals." It is a blessed fact that our meetings were never "protracted " without becoming revivals. The coming of the presiding elder and the quarterly meeting was the sign of Pentecost. What wonder that this announcement came into general use: "We will begin a revival at this place at the next regular appointment?"

The presence of converted Indians fixed another camp-meeting indelibly in my mind. It was held on Big Darby Creek bottom, in the Chenoweth settlement. James B. Finley was presiding elder, and was in charge of the Indian Mission at Sandusky. The announcement that he would bring

Youthful Ykars. 19

seven or eight converted Indians, called together an unusually large number. The first I saw of the Indians was when the horn sounded for morning service. The eight came out, clothed as white men, their long black hair combed down upon their shoulders ; and, taking their seats, began, without book or notes, to sing, in their own tongue:

" O how happy are they, who their Savior obey, And have laid up their treasure above!"

The long hymn was too short ; for it was a feast to hear them sing. Those Indians had given up that part of the country, and now they were back, singing, with the spirit and the understanding, those hymns that were afterwards sung in every settlement, and called "the Indians' tunes."

One of the eight was a preacher ; and was called up into the stand to preach. A Negro was interpreter. I do not remember much of the sermon. When interpreted, it seemed to come secondhanded. Since then, several times I have tried to have my own talks interpreted to Mexicans, but the result was never satisfactory. The fire and power of the original, such as it was, never appeared in the translation.

This camp-meeting was a season never to be forgotten. Finley, just in his physical and spiritual prime, preached at 11 o'clock, and all through the day he seemed to move heaven and earth. The Holy Spirit was poured out, and scores were crying for mercy, and as many others shouting the praise of God. Some were stricken down with conviction, and lay like dead men, but would come to life again, shouting happy

Scenes like this were common. The "jerks," a peculiar physical phenomenon connected with religious excitement, had mostly ceased. They began in Kentucky. At Cane Ridge Camp-meeting, held by the Presbyterians and Methodists, men fell by the scores. A physician thought he could raise them. He was called, and with his preparation of hartshorn went to work. But no sooner had he reached the fallen men, than he fell himself.

I remember to have seen but one case. It was that of a good woman — an own aunt of Hon. W N. Byers, of Denver — who was strangely exercised. As two women held her, she jerked her head so violently, that her long hair became loosened and snapped like whip-crackers. Some called this "the falling fanaticism;" but, with others, I have thought that the times required some strange thing to awaken the Church and arouse the people, who were just out of Indian wars, almost without books to read, sadly neglectful of the Bible, and forgetful of God.

As I stated before, we had plenty of hard work; but mixed with it were the amusements peculiar to pioneer life. Among these was hunting. The forests abounded in raccoons, wild turkeys, and deer. Every boy was familiar with the use of the rifle — old-fashioned muzzle-loaders, powder-horn and charger, and patch and ball, and flint-lock.

When acorns failed, the raccoons ravaged our corn-fields. That made sport for us boys. It was night-work, and all the more interesting on that account. My brother Robert and I would take a horse and our 'coon-dog, and seldom return emptyhanded. We used no guns ; but would tree the 'coon, climb after him, shake him off, and leave the dog to make the finish, which was not always an easy task, as the 'coon was capable of making an obstinate fight. On one occasion, we treed two on the same tree. As I climbed the tree, one jumped off, but the dog chased him up after me ; so that I had one above and one below me. I succeeded in shaking them both off, far more easily than I have shaken off book-agents since then, and the dog quickly dispatched them. The same night we treed another on a large honey-locust, too full of thorns to climb. But there was a hackberry-tree by its side, by which I climbed above the worst of the thorns, and then got over on to the locust. The coon was at least sixty feet from the ground ; but I followed him to the top and shook him off. He proved to be the largest one we ever caught. Never did I look to the top of that tree in day-time but the blood tingled to the end of my toes. I could not have climbed there in daylight. Money was scarce in those times, and 'coon-skins were almost currency at twenty-five cents apiece. So when we counted seven as the result of a single hunt, Robert and I felt "passing rich."

Deer-hunting was more to my notion, although my first experience was not calculated to inflate my pride. I espied a noble animal at a short distance, and was undiscovered. Never had boy a better chance ; but a strange sensation possessed me. I was not frightened, but shook as in ague. I could not aim my rifle, or hold on the broadside of the deer, or even pull the trigger. The last I managed somehow finally to do, and at the crack of the gun the deer looked around to see what was up. I fell to loading again, but was unable for my shaking to bring the powder-horn and charges together. This brought me to my senses and settled my nerves ; but the deer tired of waiting, and ran off.

In a little while there was another opportunity. This time it was a large buck. The fever did not come back. My nerves were steady. I took good aim and fired. The buck fell. I ran with knife in hand to cut his throat ; but when within about twenty feet of him, he raised up his head, snuffed, and shook his big horns defiantly at me. Some blood on his back gave me the idea that the bullet had just creased him, and that he would be up and fight in a minute. Running to a big tree near by, I loaded again and shot him in the head. He was a splendid fellow, and made me forget my disgraceful " buck-fever."

My father was fond of hunting the deer at night on the water. The deer liked the moss that grew in the water, and was always attracted by a light. Placing a candle in the bow of a canoe, and setting up a screen behind it to conceal them, the hunters would paddle noiselessly down the stream until they discovered their game. This was an Indian way of hunting. Father once met Jonathan Alder and his Indian wife — known in the early history of Ohio — in their bark canoe, engaged in this sport. When I was about fourteen, he took me on such an expedition. We chopped down an elm-tree, made a canoe of its bark, and, just after dark, put out. Father sat in front and I behind, guiding the canoe with a smooth little pole, which I dared not lift out of the water, lest the drops would scare the game. We pushed along that way until we espied a deer. It raised its head ; but the light blinded it, and we poled nearer until we could see it wink, when father shot it. The night, the water, the shadows of the forest, and the breathless stillness of the hunt, gave a certain charm to this mode ; but somehow it never seemed quite so fair for the deer as the other way.