Woman on the American Frontier | Page 8

her
loving spirit and heavenly trust, our example.
"When my father was permitted to come home, his stay was short, and
he had not much to leave us, for the pay of those who achieved our
liberties was slight, and irregularly given. Yet when he went, my
mother ever bade him farewell with a cheerful face, and told him not to
be anxious about his children, for she would watch over them night and
day, and God would take care of the families of those who went forth to
defend the righteous cause of their country. Sometimes we wondered
that she did not mention the cold weather, or our short meals, or her
hard work, that we little ones might be clothed, and fed, and taught. But

she would not weaken his hands, or sadden his heart, for she said a
soldier's life was harder than all. We saw that she never complained,
but always kept in her heart a sweet hope, like a well of water. Every
night ere we slept, and every morning when we arose, we lifted our
little hands for God's blessing on our absent father, and our endangered
country.
"How deeply the prayers from such solitary homes and faithful hearts
were mingled with the infant liberties of our dear native land, we may
not know until we enter where we see no more 'through a glass darkly,
but face to face.'
"Incidents repeatedly occurred during this contest of eight years,
between the feeble colonies and the strong mother-land, of a courage
that ancient Sparta would have applauded.
"In a thinly settled part of Virginia, the quiet of the Sabbath eve was
once broken by the loud, hurried roll of the drum. Volunteers were
invoked to go forth and prevent the British troops, under the pitiless
Tarleton, from forcing their way through an important mountain pass.
In an old fort resided a family, all of whose elder sons were absent with
our army, which at the north opposed the foe. The father lay enfeebled
and sick. By his bedside the mother called their three sons, of the ages
of thirteen, fifteen, and seventeen.
"Go forth, children," said she, "to the defence of your native clime. Go,
each and all of you; I spare not my youngest, my fair-haired boy, the
light of my declining years.
"Go forth, my sons! Repel the foot of the invader, or see my face no
more."
[Illustration: A VIRGINIA MATRON ENCOURAGING THE
PATRIOTISM OF HER SONS AT THE DEATH BED OF THEIR
FATHER]
In order to get a proper estimate of the greatness of the part which
woman has acted in the mighty onward-moving drama of civilization

on this continent, we must remember too her peculiar physical
constitution. Her highly strung nervous organization and her softness of
fiber make labor more severe and suffering keener. It is an instinct with
her to tremble at danger; her training from girlhood unfits her to cope
with the difficulties of outdoor life. "Men," says the poet, "must work,
and women must weep." But the pioneer women must both work and
weep. The toils and hardships of frontier life write early wrinkles upon
her brow and bow her delicate frame with care. We do not expect to
subject our little ones to the toils or dangers that belong to adults. Labor
is pain to the soft fibers and unknit limbs of childhood, and to the
impressible minds of the young, danger conveys a thousand fears not
felt by the firmer natures of older persons. Hence it is that all mankind
admire youthful heroism. The story of Casabianca on the deck of the
burning ship, or of the little wounded drummer, borne on the shoulders
of a musketeer and still beating the rappel--while the bullets are
flying around him--thrill the heart of man because these were great and
heroic deeds performed by striplings. It is the bravery and firmness of
the weak that challenges the highest admiration. This is woman's case:
and when we see her matching her strength and courage against those
of man in the same cause, with equal results, what can we do but
applaud?
A European traveler lately visited the Territory of
Montana--abandoning the beaten trail, in company only with an Indian
guide, for he was a bold and fearless explorer. He struck across the
mountains, traveling for two days without seeing the sign of a human
being. Just at dusk, on the evening of the second day, he drew rein on
the summit of one of those lofty hills which form the spurs of the
Rocky Mountains. The solitude was awful. As far as the eye could see
stretched an unbroken succession of mountain peaks, bare of forest--a
wilderness of rocks with stunted trees at their base, and deep ravines
where no streams