CHAPTER II.

MY FIRST VOYAGE.


My father and brothers constructed a "prairie schooner" from our
scanty belongings, and one forlorn morning in early autumn, with the
skeleton horse and cow harnessed tandem for motive power, we all set
sail for far-off Massachusetts.

We slept beneath our canopy of canvas and blankets; those of our
number able to do so worked occasionally for any who would hire,
but employers were few, as this was one of the crazy seasons in the
history of our Republic when the people voted for semi-free trade, and
the mill wheels were nearly all silent for the benefit of the mills of
foreign nations. They shot squirrels and partridges when ammunition
could be obtained, forded rivers, narrowly escaping drowning in the
swift currents, and suffered from chills and fever.

One dark night some gypsies stole our antediluvian horse and cow. The
barking of the faithful dog awakened father and brothers who rushed
to the rescue, leaving mother half dead with fear; but at length the
marauders were overtaken, shots were exchanged, heads were broken, and
after a fierce struggle and long wandering, lost in the woods, our
fiery steeds were once more chained to our chariot wheels.

The next day we came to a wide river which it was impossible to ford,
but mercy, which sometimes "tempers the blast to the shorn lamb," sent
us relief in the shape of an antiquated gundalow floating on the tide.