Mother moved to the city in the spring of 1838, and my health was
rapidly failing. I had rebelled against my mother-in-law, returned her
supplies, and refused to receive anything from her. This brought on a
fearful crisis, in which my husband threatened suicide; but I was firm,
and he concluded to rent the mills and take me away. This he did. His
father lived but a few months, and died on the second anniversary of our
marriage. He lies buried in the ground he donated as "God's acre," with
only this inscription at his head: "John Swisshelm, aged 86." No sign
that he was one of the world's heroes--yet, when our revolution broke
out, his parents had but two children. The oldest enlisted and was
killed, when John caught up his rifle, took his place, and kept it until
the close of the war. He spent the winter in Valley Forge, and once, in
the darkest time, discovered Washington on his knees in a lonely
thicket, praying aloud for his country. This gave him hope, when hope
was well-nigh dead, and he followed his commander across the Jerseys,
one of the two thousand who wrote in blood, from their shoeless feet,
their protest against British rule on the soil they thus consecrated to
Freedom.



CHAPTER IX.


HABITATIONS OF HORRID CRUELTY.--AGE, 23, 24.

On the 6th of June, 1838, the white frost lay on the west side of
Pittsburg roofs as we steamed away from her wharf, bound for Louisville,
where my husband proposed going into a business already established by