The Real America in Romance, Volume 10 | Page 3

attention, and he fixed his eyes on it. It
was the wagon tire, and he saw it crushing and killing the grass at the
side of the road, or rolling and flattening down the dust in long streaks.
Then they descended a hill. It was not a long hill, but seemed rather
steep. There was water at the bottom. He remembered seeing the bright,
sparkling wavelets and never forgot the impression they produced.
There was a boat at the bottom of the hill, and the wagon and horses
were driven into the boat. A man and boy began propelling the long
sweeps or oars. He watched the proceeding in infantile wonder and
especially remembered how the water dropped in sparkling crystals
from the oar blades. The boy had on a red cap or fez with a tassel. That
boy, that cap and that oar with the sparkling dripping water from the
blade were to him the brightest pictures and greatest wonders he had
ever known.
He had not the least idea why the man and boy dipped those oars into
the water and pulled them out all dripping and pretty, unless it was to
amuse him. The oars were painted blue. He did not know where they
were going, or when this journey would end, or that it was a journey.
Thus Fernando Stevens began life. This was the first page in his
existence that he could recollect. In after years he knew he was
Fernando Stevens, that his father was Albert Stevens, a soldier in the
War of the Revolution, that his kind, sweet-faced mother was Estella

Stevens, and that the very first experience he could remember was that
of the family emigrating to the great Ohio valley.
Albert Stevens was married shortly after the close of the Revolutionary
War, and he tried hard to succeed in New England; but he had no trade
and no profession, and the best lands in the country were bought. Seven
years of his early life, with all his dawning manhood had been spent in
the army, and now with his family of three children he found himself
poor. Congress had made a treaty with the Indians by which the vast
territory of the Ohio valley was thrown open to white settlers, and he
resolved to emigrate to where land was cheap, purchase a home and
grow up with the country.
Resolved to emigrate, the father collected his little property and
provided himself with a wagon and four horses, some cows, a rifle, a
shot-gun and an axe. His trusty dog became the companion of his
journey. In his wagon he placed his bedding, his provisions and such
cooking utensils as were indispensable. Everything being ready, his
wife and the three children took their seats, Fernando, the youngest, on
his mother's knee; while the father of the family mounted the box. The
horses were started and the great vehicle began to move. As they
passed through the village which had been to them the scene of many
happy hours, they took a last look at the spots which were hallowed by
association--the church with its lowly spire, an emblem of that humility
which befits a Christian, and the burial-ground, where the weeping
willow bent mournfully over the head-stone which marked the graves
of their parents. The children, who were old enough to remember,
never forgot their playground, nor the white schoolhouse where the
rudiments of an education were instilled into their minds.
Their road was at first, comparatively smooth and their journey
pleasant. Their progress was interrupted by divers little incidents; while
the continual changes in the appearance of the country around them,
and the anticipation of what was to come, prevented those feelings of
despondency, which might otherwise have arisen on leaving a much
loved home. When the roads became bad or hilly, the family quit the
wagon and trudged along on foot, the mother carrying the baby

Fernando in her arms. At sunset, their day's journey finished, they
halted in the forest by the roadside to prepare their supper and pass the
night. The horses were unharnessed, watered and secured with their
heads to the trough until they had eaten their meagre allowance of corn
and oats, and then were hobbled out to grass. Over the camp fire the
mother prepared the frugal supper, which being over, the emigrants
arranged themselves for the night, while the faithful dog kept watch.
Amid all the privations and vicissitudes in their journey, they were
cheered by the consciousness that each day lessened the distance
between them and the land of promise, whose fertile soil was to
recompense them for all their trials and hardships.
Gradually, as they advanced west, the roads became more and more
rough and were only passable in many places by logs having