Among these Friends was a Baltimore miller and his family, accounting for twenty-one of the persons received by Miami in 1805-6.2 Their experiences in crossing the mountains and the Ohio River are probably typical of those of Friends who made the journey in these years. It took two months of rugged wagon travel. The following account of the trip as seen through the eyes of the twelve-year-old daughter in the family, and recalled in her later years, was found in the possession of an Indiana Friend now living in Richmond.

 When I was twelve years old, my parents with their whole family (except their eldest son) emigrated from Maryland, Baltimore Co., to what was then called the Miami or Western Country. Having previously laid the prospect before the Mo. Mtg.,3 which was received with sympathy and approval by Friends, they were granted certificates directed to the Mo. Mtg. next adjacent to the place we might settle. For my father was uncertain where he might fix his habitation should he be favoured to reach the end of our long and perilous journey. We left our former home on the 10th of 10th mo. 1805, and proceeded to a wood, through which we had been accustomed to walk to meetings. There we found baskets of provisions, brought by our neighbors and friends, it being about noon, who spread cloths on the grass and leaves, and laid on refreshments. We sat down and partook together of a parting meal. It was to us a solemn passover...and that spot was long rendered memorable....We bade a long farewell to our dear friends and proceeded forty miles to Pipe Creek to the residence of our brother-in-law, Benjamin Farquhar. We were here joined by his family making in all twenty-one in number.

 We now commenced our journey anew, our eldest brother accompanying us some miles on our way. But the time arrived when we must separate, a father from his son, a mother from her first-born. Brother and sisters bid a final adieu, for such it proved.4 We saw him turn his back and ride slowly from us. Our eyes followed him until he was lost in the distance. . . . We felt it was the demand of imperious necessity and were in good degree made willing to resign him to the protecting care of his heavenly Father. We continued our journey toward the setting sun which seemed to beckon us forward. I sometimes imagined its last beam rested on our far-off habitation.

 Crossing the mountains the road was rough and precipitant. The scenery over Allegheny and Laurel Hill5 awfully sublime, especially by moonlight. We sometimes had to drive late to reach our destination. Then the wagons would seem to pitch from rock to rock and the descent was so steep that, should we pitch over it would be hard telling where we should land. I remember Sister E[lizabethl repeated these lines of Thomson:

 Should fate command me to the farthest verge

[Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes,

Rivers unknown to song, where first the sun

Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam

Flames on the Atlantic isles-'tis naught to me;

Since God is ever present, ever felt

In the void waste as in the city full;

And where He vital breathes there must be joy.]6

 At length we arrived at the Ohio, a little below Wheeling. Here we took boarding at a public house for one week waiting the rise of the river, for our father wished to go to Cincinnati by water. But as it did not rise, and no boats were passing, we were obliged to relinquish that prospect, and continue our journey by land. Brother and sister Farquhar were both in poor health .... He had a brother-in-law, Josiah Updegraff, living in Wheeling, who offered him and family the occupancy of his new dwelling house if they would remain there till spring, when they might descend the river in a flat boat (steam boats were not then in use) and land at Cincinnati. It was decided for them to remain at Wheeling and that we should proceed by land. This increased our anxiety for it weakened our band.

 But our father was unwavering both in faith and purpose, for he felt that He whom he served was lord of the universe and as near in the desert and solitary place as in the crowded city, and we all partook of a measure of the same feeling. Our dear mother's trust was strong and abiding and she manifested little emotion or solicitude toward our getting along, but followed slowly on her little pony which was purchased expressly for her use, as the motion of the wagon had always been disagreeable to her . . . . As for myself, I was sick through nearly all the journey but my mind was more easily diverted by surrounding objects. Ideas of the unexplored region were fraught with novelty and hope . . . . I was determined to be contented in our new habitation wherever or whatever it might be, for it seemed to me impossible that we should retrace our steps.

 We had mostly been able to find a stopping place at night where we could have at least a roof over our heads. Once we came to a small opening and wishing to stop for the night, our brother went into the dwelling to engage lodging. He reported that they had just killed a beef and it was lying whole on some straw on the floor. This was rather a damper but as there was a room adjoining, in this we reluctantly spread our beds and stayed rather than slept till morning. . . .But the last place we stopped at, on our journey, we met different fare. They were a family mostly grown, who were accustomed to and fond of society. We were welcomed as old friends. The mother was in delicate health and in this wilderness was no physician to relieve her sufferings. Her husband and two fine looking sons had just arrived from a hunting excursion with plenty of game. They all insisted that we should partake with them, and immediately set about preparing the evening repast, which consisted of two roast turkeys, venison, etc., of which we partook, both families sitting down together. One of the sons entertained us with music from the violin. This was particularly relished by me as I was fond of music but this propensity had never been indulged. I was gratified that father sat and heard it without any visible signs of reluctance. Here we heard that there was not a house on our road for the next forty miles, and we purchased provisions of them for the remainder of our journey. The next night we spread a tent in the woods. This was the first time I had slept entirely out-of-doors, and my parents thought best for me to stay in the wagon. To this I would not consent for the ground we had passed this day had all been low and level and I felt a little like smothering. So I was permitted to lie under the tent, but sleep I could not. It was cloudy and drizzling rain, and the great owls had congregated on the trees above us. They seemed to be consulting among themselves what had best be done with us, who had intruded on the ground over which they had so long held undisputed dominion. Their dialect was so perfect, that my father had enough to do to persuade me they were not Indians.

On the 10th day of 12th mo. we arrived at a small enclosure in Green Co., Ohio. The owner of the premises advanced to meet us. He proved to be a distant relative whom we had not seen before. He began to lay down the fence immediately, inviting us kindly to drive in. We did so but the ludicrous appearance we made and the thought . . . that we had been two months traveling to find a resting place -and here we were before the entrance of a little cabin which was already apparently full of human beings of different sizes, all in one apartment - seemed to strike us simultaneously. . . . Our parents entered, but the rest could not leave the wagons until they had given vent to their feelings. . . . We must either laugh or cry. We preferred the former and in that way relieved our embarrassment; then we too entered and found a friendly welcome.

Near this place our father found an empty cabin and rented it for the winter or until he could look about him and select a spot for a home, the prospect of which was grateful to us. . . . In this cabin we bestowed our goods, and commenced housekeeping, in an entirely new style. . . . We had one apartment to sit, cook and sleep in. Our cellar was a square hole or pit under the floor near the fire-place, which we entered by removing a board or rather a punchion. It was then replaced and all was smooth again. Here we deposited some bushels of very sweet turnips. These, served instead of fruit, we learned to scrape very dexterously.7

Our brothers now indulged in a few weeks of hunting. They returned with a supply of venison turkey and bear meat sufficient for our winter provision. The next trip was to hunt that valuable domestic animal, a cow. They found a good one, but had to drive her fifteen or sixteen miles through the woods, without any roads, except such as had been marked out by cutting some bark off the trees along the route. This cow was such a pet, and faired so sumptuously, that milk had to be taken three times a day. . . . She would stand with her head at the door and I have seen our mother sit at her work, with a staff by her side, to prevent her entering the domicile. For our door-yard was ample, having no separate enclosure from the corn (or stalk) field near the middle of which our cabin was situated. After father and brothers had traversed the country for about forty miles in almost every direction, it was decided we should settle between the two Miamis on Todds Fork, a branch of the latter river, where there were advantages of water power. On this farm of three hundred acres of rich land, five were cleared of timber, except sugar trees. On this lot which was well set in grass, was a small cabin with but one apartment. In this after turning the punchion floor, and effecting a pretty thorough cleansing, we were soon comfortably ensconced, with a row of trunks reaching to what should have been the ceiling, supported one above the other by large pegs driven into the logs, and other furniture . . . . and we all felt glad and thankful that we were once more "at home."

In continuing this little history, which I wish to be very plain and simple, I am not without fear that it may savour too much of romance, if I shall attempt to describe the sublime majesty and grandeur of those unfrequented solitudes to which I was thus early introduced . . . and yet, be assured that no language which I can use, can convey to others an adequate conception of those co-mingled feelings which often rose and struggled for utterance. For the solitudes were vast and undefined . . . the lofty forest overshadowed one vast garden, where were flowers of every hue and fruits which grew spontaneously-but that which was pleasant to the eye was often bitter to taste. . . .

I was nurtured ... in the bosom of my own family, having never been sent to school, but to my sister, Elizabeth8 who was very competent to instruct in the elements of education, and this was all I had an opportunity to acquire. However I gleaned a little as I advanced in age, from the older members of the family. Yet my education was very deficient both from want of time, which was much employed in domestic avocation, and from scarcity of books from which to obtain that knowledge I so ardently desired . . . my nerves in those days were often excited by fear, from many and various causes. First, the Indians reserved the privilege of hunting the deer in their native woods. In these excursions they sometimes called on us. Once when the family were all from home except myself, three of them entered our dwelling with their knives bloody from the chase and made signs for something to smoke. Misinterpreting, I thought they demanded food and was about to supply them, when one - I believe from sympathy - endeavored to explain by exclaiming with accompanying gestures: "pipe, pipe." Second, there was very little land cleared of timber. Hence our domestic animals were suffered to roam at large, that they might gather their own subsistence. As the pastures of the wilderness were abundant, they sometimes wandered beyond their accustomed haunts and remained out for days . . . it was often difficult to detect the route by which they had attempted to accomplish their hazardous enterprise. In searching for them and in endeavoring to retrace steps, the continuous view of the same appearances would so bewilder and confuse the mind of the searcher, that course and distance were forgotten and the wanderer after many a weary step would find himself at the starting point. In the meantime those at home, especially the female part of the family felt great uneasiness, for imagination, prone to exaggerate, would paint the beloved brother traversing the trackless forest, uncertain which way to steer, and going still further from those who were anxiously watching for his return. On occasions like those, I would take my position on a massive gate-post from the top of which the sound of the winding horn might be furthest heard, and when heard, was sure to elicit a glad response from the lost one. We would thus hail each other alternately till sight relieved us of our fears, and gathering round him, we would listen to the thrilling recital of his adventures. Persons who have never lived in wilderness country can have but little conception of our feelings on these occasions. Third, there were lots or fields where timber had been deadened before clearing . . . the limbs of those trees becoming dry and brittle, would crack and fall in every direction when a storm of wind was approaching. They were frequent in those days and sometimes terrible, sweeping the roofs of frail tenements when exposed to their violence.

Thus hope and fear, expectation and disappointment, in the early part of my life, succeeded each other. . . . About the twentieth year of my age, I became attached to a physician of some eminence in his profession.. He supported a good moral character, though not a professor with any religious denomination. This was to me a trying dispensation. I loved the Society of which I was a member. I loved my parents and it grieved me to disobey them, so I strove to subdue my feeling. But the will being unsubjected, my efforts were unavailing. Yet our union was delayed for several years. At length, however, I obtained the desire of my heart. He proved to be all and more than I had anticipated, yet my mind was often troubled, for I felt as one who has strayed from the fold. But as I declined giving acknowledgment of my breach of Friends' discipline, I was disowned by them. But the root of the matter being in the heart, it was kept with Friends, and often when I turned my back in meetings for discipline, I strewed my tears on the way home. In about a year (with the consent of my husband) I requested to be admitted again into membership and was received. . . . 9

[The settlement on the Miamis prospered, and in 1807, two years later, Elizabeth Wright completes this account of the family migration when she writes to her brother Thomas in Mississippi, urging him to join them, and giving him the family news.]

I may tell thee, Susan and I have got back to Waynesville again. I am teaching school and have a prospect of its being very large.... Our saw mill was to start this week without fail which I expect by this time is going. If so, it will enable us, we hope, to make improvements. . . . Sister Rebecca had a little spell of illness which we did not expect would continue long when we left her. . . . Brother Benjamin's family and Brother Oliver's were likewise pretty much as usual. We made amongst us about 8 or 9 hundred weight of sugar also wine molasses. Tis indeed a fine country in many respects.

Brother Jonathan and I have made a purchase of 4 lots (each 2) in a new town called Oakland about one mile from Father's and nearer Brother Benjamin's who also has 2. Brother Jonathan thinks it likely he will set up a store in it in the fall. . . . Since we came here there have been several new Monthly Meetings established, one which is at Todds Fork by the name of Center Meeting, held alternately there and at Caesars Creek of which Charity Cook is a member. . . .

We hear frequently from the settlements. We are daily expecting Cousin Israel Wright out again and several of our relations, Jonah and Mahlon, are here. I received a long letter from Hannah Albertson10 lately which was a satisfaction. We have had a number of foreign friends to visit us, dear old John Simpson11 was one, Isaac Bonsel - which makes it feel quite natural. I may tell thee we have had a very severe winter here. . . . We are all very desirous for thy welfare ... and hope thou will accept of a large share of love from us all as if named for I write on behalf of the family. I remain as ever thy affectionate Elizabeth Wright.

* Dorothy G. Harris is Acting Librarian of the Friends Historical Library of Swarthmore College.

1William Wade Hinshaw, Encyclopedia of American Quaker Genealogy (Richmond, Indiana, 1946), IV, [7]. A meeting for worship was established at Miami (now in the town of Waynesville) about 1801. The monthly meeting was set up in 1803 under Baltimore Yearly Meeting (see Hinshaw, V, [17]). Ohio was admitted into the Union in 1803, having formerly been a part of the Northwest Territory.

2The Wright family party that left Maryland in October of 1805, including the parents, Jonathan and Susanna Griffith Wright, and the following children, sons-in-law, and grandchildren:

Thomas

Rachel and her husband, Benjamin Farquhar

Children: Uriah, Cyrus, Allen, Jonathan, Josiah, and Susannah.

Phoebe and her husband, Oliver Mathews

Children: Joel, William, and Ann.

Elizabeth

Mary

Jonathan

Joel )

Susanna ) Minors

Rebecca )

3Gunpowder Monthly Meeting, established in 1739, is in Baltimore Quarter of Baltimore Yearly Meeting. The old meetinghouse, built in 1773, still stands; it is a fine old grey-stone building near Cockeysville.

4Thomas Wright had been appointed agent to the Chickasaw Nation of Indians in Mississippi and served there until his death in 1808.

5The ridges called "Allegheny Mountain" and "Laurel Hill" are still so named over the tunnels that pass through them on the modern Pennsylvania Turnpike.

6James Thomson. The Seasons. . .Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1891, pp. 185-186.

7Rebecca Hill quotes corroborative evidence from Pioneer Life in Kentucky, a series of Reminiscential Letters from Daniel Drake. . . (Cincinnati, 1870), p. 46: "In December, when at night the family were seated . . . around a warm fire, made blazing bright with pieces of hickory bark, a substitute for candles, and every member was engaged with a dull case knife in scraping and eating a sweet and juicy turnip, the far-famed pears and apples of their native [state] were forgotten."

8Elizabeth Wright had been a student at Westtown School in 1803-04, and was later a teacher in Ohio.

9This reinstatement into membership of Rebecca Lathrop, recorded in the Hinshaw abstracts of Miami records, is dated First Month 27, 1819. She lost her husband (Dr. Martin Lathrop) in 1823, after the birh of their daughter, Emily. Many years later, Rebecca Lathrop married Robert Hill of Richmond, Indiana, and it was in their home that these memoirs were written.

10Student at Westtown School in 1803, when Elizabeth Wright attended, and teacher, 1804-7.-Helen Hole, Westtown Through the Years (Westtown, Pa., 1942), p. 153.

11In 1806 "John Simposon, a Minister from Philadelphia Yearly Meeting, paid a religious visit to the new settlers along the White Water, and was thus probably the first itinerant Minister to carry a spiritual message to Indiana. . .he went on from the White Water to have an interview with the famous chief, Tecumseh."-Rufus M. Jones, The Later Periods of Quakerism (London, 1921), p. 419.