Frances Hunter

blog of the author To the Ends of the Earth

 

Frances Hunter's Journal
August 2006

August 30, 2006: For Those Who Still Smell the Powder Burning

A couple of quick but interesting notes today:

- Fort Pitt in Pittsburgh is in imminent danger of being destroyed. This was the key linchpin in the entire defense of the West from the time of French and Indian War through the American Revolution and the Indian Wars of the 1790s. Meriwether Lewis certainly spent time here before he departed Pittsburgh on August 31, 1803, with the keelboat and Seaman the dog. If you have any interest in historic preservation, check out this editorial, which includes a link to an online petition to save the fort's remains.

- Jesse L. Wolf Hardin has just released Old Guns and Whispering Ghosts, which looks like a fantastic overview of stories and photographs about firearms and characters of the West from 1866-1916. I haven't actually seen the book yet but it certainly looks like a primo candidate for Christmas gifts.

August 28, 2006: Sackett's Land

A few months ago, a friend who knew that I liked historical fiction and western themes gave me a rave recommendation for Louis L'amour novels. I'd never read anything by the godfather of the Western novel, so I hied myself to the used book store and picked up several of L'amour's many books.

I've now read two. The Cherokee Trail is the story of a Civil War widow who travels west to run a stage coach stop in Colorado. The book had the suspense and flavor of a run-of-the-mill episode of Gunsmoke: interesting enough while it lasted, but hardly anything compelling.

I spent more time pondering Sackett's Land, the first in L'amour's famous series about the winning of America. Sackett's Land is the story of Barnabas Sackett, a plucky fen-man (a man from the fascinating culture of the British swamps, long since drained) who journeys to America in the 1590s and explores the Chesapeake Bay. This book has one of the most exciting and well-written opening scenes that I've ever read in my life. I was immediately drawn in to the story of Barnabas and couldn't wait to see what happened to him.

Unfortunately, the book really lost focus after the opening. Written much in the style of a summer movie like Pirates of the Caribbean, it's one action sequence after another, with very little character development and almost no real plot. Even though the book was only 178 pages, I had to flog myself to get through it.

The best parts of Sackett's Land are when L'amour lets his own philosophy and knowledge of history shine through in brilliant little asides. I was amazed to learn about the different ethnic groups that existed in England back then. There's a great scene in which Barnabas and his friends loot an old Roman settlement, which L'amour slyly uses to comment on the ethics of digging up archeological treasures.

At heart the book is all about self-reliance, and I wish L'amour had given himself a driving plot to bring home this point that Barnabas makes so well:

I would not sit waiting for some vague tomorrow, nor for something to happen. One could wait a lifetime, and find nothing at the end of the waiting. I would begin here, I would make something happen.

I have a feeling that Louis L'amour is one of those writers whose genius isn't found in a single book, but in his body of work as a whole. I plan to try a few more of his books before deciding whether his work is for me.

August 22, 2006: Drinking in Early America

Drinking was central to men's lives in early America. Lewis & Clark took along thirty gallons of strong spirits and thirty gallons of wine for medicinal purposes and 120 gallons of whiskey. Each man received a gill (about four ounces) of watered-down whiskey, known as grog, until finally using up the last of it in celebrating Independence Day, 1805, near the Great Falls of the Missouri.

For the rest of the Expedition, as Meriwether Lewis put it wistfully on New Year's 1806, they were forced to make do with "our only beverage--pure water." It surprises me a little that the men didn't try to make a still at Fort Clatsop, but aside from an apparently humorous attempt to brew beer from camas roots, the Lewis & Clark Expedition was "dry" until their return home to civilization in September 1806.

Back home, they returned to a world in which people consumed large quantities of beer, wine, punch, and hard liquor on a daily basis. Many of the mixed drinks relied heavily on sweeteners and seem quaint and exotic today. But drinks like flip (a heated draft of strong beer with rum and sugar or molasses) or metheglin (fermented honey, ginger, mace, and yeast) packed an enormous intoxicating wallop.

In colonial times, people generally lived in very small communities and drunkenness was frowned upon. But by Lewis & Clark's time, these old mores had broken down. Men drank an astonishing amount of alcohol compared to the present day. When drinking began to seem scary instead of convivial, the seeds of the later temperance movement were sewn.

In the opening chapter of our book, Lewis goes to a real-life tavern in Cahokia and orders a yard of flannel. Want to try it at home? Here's the recipe:

Yard of Flannel
Brady’s Tavern, Cahokia, Illinois Territory

Five or six gills (20-24 ounces) of malt beer
Spoonful of brown sugar or molasses
Dried pumpkin to taste (optional)
½ pint rum or brandy
One egg
Grated nutmeg

In a large earthen or pewter pitcher, combine beer, sugar, and dried pumpkin and stir well until smooth. Add brandy or rum. Crack in one egg and finish with a red-hot loggerhead until foaming. Add grated nutmeg to the top and enjoy.

All About Grog (includes history, songs, and recipes)

Early American Tavern Drinks

 

August 17, 2006: River Travel in Early America

While researching this book, we learned that one of the most striking differences between then and now was the difficulty of travel. Roads barely existed in most of the country, and those that did were usually just old buffalo traces or Indian footpaths. Unless you followed a stream, there was no water other than that afforded by buggy puddles. As for food, you might be able to buy something like a slice of hominy from an Indian or fellow traveler; otherwise you relied on what you could hunt or gather yourself.

Any serious travel had to be done by river. Rivers like the Mississippi and Ohio would have been teeming with flatboat traffic back in 1809. Traveling on wild, undammed rivers was no picnic, however. The rivers were full of snags knowns as sawyers (trees standing upside down with their trunks and roots in the air) and planters (trees with their jagged tops facing upstream just below the surface). There were also islands of driftwood and sandbars, along with whirlpools (which Clark calls "whorls" in the journals), "boils," and "sucks."

The flatboats had little or nothing in the way of comforts for the passengers either. At night, the boats would simply find a tight bend in the river and tie up under some trees.

Then, out would come the jugs of whiskey. Supper would probably be hard tack and salt pork or salt beef (also called corned beef or pickled beef), unless some enterprising Indian or local came around selling turkeys, venison, or pumpkins (which were much more popular as a food back then than they are today).

How to Make Hominy (scroll down same page to read about pioneer whiskey)

Hard Tack Recipe

How to Salt Cure Meat in Brine

How to use the salt pork once you've got it

All about corned beef

Home Cookin' with Pumpkins

 

August 10, 2006: Saving Monticello

Saving Monticello by Marc Leepson is a definitive history of the fate of Thomas Jefferson's home from the time of Jefferson's death in 1826 at the age of 83, to 1923, when the home was purchased and turned into a memorial and destination for visitors.

Thomas Jefferson's Monticello is perhaps the most elegant and unique home in America. Exquisitely designed by Jefferson himself and built over a period of many years, the house and grounds are nothing so much as a self-portrait, the very image of Jefferson' intellect, curiosity, and fondness for genteel living.

What happened to the marvelous home is a fascinating story that Leepson tells in ground-breaking depth. In his old age, Jefferson found himself about $100,000 in debt (some $1.6 million in today's dollars), mostly due to overspending over a period of many years. Tragically, Jefferson lived long enough to realize that his business mistakes were going to result in the loss of his beloved mansion, and that his daughter and grandchildren would be left destitute. Even while Jefferson still lived, Monticello began to fall into disrepair.

After the old man died, his heirs were forced to auction off Jefferson's slaves, and his artwork and other belongings went for pennies on the dollar. The house itself sat neglected for a number of years for the same reasons the family had to give it up: it was too individual, too expensive to maintain. After several false starts, the house was purchased by a most unusual man: Commodore Uriah Levy of the United States Navy.

A New Yorker and proud descendant of Spanish Jews, Levy lived in the house only part-time, but did much to preserve the home from ruin. Levy was a tireless promoter of Jefferson's legacy, but he lost possession of the home during the Civil War. Monticello was confiscated by the Confederate government due to Levy's active-duty service in the U.S. Navy.

It was during this time that Monticello entered its darkest period. Levy died during the war, leaving a complicated will. That and the Confederate seizure led to a clouded title and a lawsuit. For some seventeen years, the property was not only neglected, but openly abused. A trustee in Charlottesville, hostile to the Levys because they were Jewish and Yankees, hired a slovenly caretaker who stored grain in the parlor and allowed students from the University of Virginia to wreck the place in drunken parties. By the time Jefferson Levy, a nephew of Uriah, took possession of the house in 1879, Monticello looked like a haunted house, with broken windows, a leaking roof, weeds growing in the gutters, and pigs rooting amidst roses long since gone wild.

Leepson's account of Jefferson Levy's restoration of the mansion gets a little tedious at times, but that's a forgivable sin in a book that aims to be the last word on a topic that's received very little attention. Levy was a New York congressman, and, like his uncle, a bombastic personality who lived in the mansion only part-time. While he decorated Monticello in accordance with frilly Victorian taste, he also systematically restored the mansion to grandeur and bought up the surrounding property to bring the plantation back to something resembling its original domain.

For his trouble, Levy found himself the subject of concerted attacks in the newspapers and in Congress, especially as women's groups like the DAR became more interested in historic preservation. The struggle between Levy and those who wished to make Monticello a shrine lasted for decades and involved unsavory levels of anti-Semitism and gender politics. Eventually, Levy fell on hard times and sold the place to the Thomas Jefferson Memorial Foundation which continues to own and operate Monticello today.

It's interesting to realize what a close thing it really was to losing Monticello altogether. Although the Levys weren't cuddly or lovable characters, it was they who stood between Monticello and ruin for years in which other Americans could not have cared less what happened to the place. Thanks to Saving Monticello, the saga of the Levy years at Monticello can now be known and fully understood. This book will be of great interest to anyone interested in Monticello or in historic preservation in America.

August 7, 2006: March to Vincennes

This is the last entry in a series of posts about a trip we took to Lewis and Clark sites in the East in 2004.

After breakfast, we bugged out of Louisville and headed across the Ohio into Indiana. Our destination today: Vincennes, Indiana, the site of the greatest victory of the Revolutionary campaign of George Rogers Clark.

Most of the drive to Vincennes was through a winding road through the woods, which would have been awesome if we hadn't had to share the road with so many trucks. The towns we passed through varied greatly in prosperity. We saw big farmhouses and bright red barns in some places; in others, buildings were abandoned and in the process of decay.

Vincennes looks a bit down-at-the-heels itself; from what we saw, this one-time railroad town appears to have its best days behind it. I bet a lot of people don't know that the most magnificent national memorial outside of Washington, D.C. can be found here! The Greek temple style George Rogers Clark memorial is gigantic in scale and situated in a lovely park overlooking the Wabash River.

At the visitor's center, we saw some small but interesting exhibits, received instructions form a guide in period dress who made darn sure we didn't go away ignorant of the difference between GR and William Clark, and took in a good film about George and the Vincennes campaign.

George Rogers Clark Memorial, Vincennes, Indiana

Inside the memorial

 

A pleasant walk takes you to the monument itself. Inside the rotunda, a beautiful statue of George stands in the center. Some of his famous quotations are displayed on the floor and walls, including:

"If a country is not worth protecting, it is not worth claiming."

and

"Great things have been effected by a few men well conducted."

On all sides are large murals done by Ezra Winter depicting the scenes of George's heroism, including leading settlers into Kentucky, taking Kaskaskia, and leading the march to Vincennes. A lot of thought had obviously gone into the meaning of George's life, and it was nice to see him remembered in this way, especially after the bittersweet visit to Point of Rocks the day before.

Francis Vigo, Italian immigrant and fur trader, helped the patiot cause with money and intelligence. Like Clark, he died in poverty, finally being reimbursed for his services in 1875 -- a century after the war!

We looked around the grounds a little and especially enjoyed seeing the great statue of George's friend, the great patriot Francis Vigo. Took a little walk into downtown, passing the historic church with its statue of another of Clark's benefactors, Father Pierre Gibault, then got some lunch in a deserted sandwich shop called The Purgatory.

The last hurrah for this trip was the home of another military hero and Vincennes resident, William Henry Harrison. Grouseland is the fine home that Harrison built when he governed the Indiana territory from 1801 to 1813. From here, Harrison both fought and treated with the Indians. Eventually he was personally responsible for the acquisition by the United States of vast tracts of Indian land. While today known primarily for dying a month after his inauguration as president, Harrison was a towering figure in early America, controversial and with a strong personality, well worth learning about.

He was also a contemporary of Lewis and Clark and is a character in our work-in-progress, so we were excited to see his house. We learned about how he built the place to resemble the Berkeley, the mansion on the James River in Virginia where he grew up. This obviously meant a lot to Harrison; he took on a lot of debt and went to a great deal of trouble to build the house exactly the way he wanted it. It was interesting to think about him trying to recreate his genteel upbringing on this rough frontier. Harrison and his wife Nancy raised ten children in this house.

Grouseland

After the Harrisons were gone, Grouseland declined. By the 20th century it was being used as a barn. The DAR saved the house from destruction and now it is very well restored, with neat portraits and period furnishings, some of which actually belonged to the Harrisons. I loved how we were allowed to set our own pace looking in the rooms and imagining their lives. Of great interest was the bullet hole in the dining room shutter, where someone took a shot at Harrison in 1804 when he was walking with his baby son in his arms. Hmmmm...fodder for another book?

We enjoyed it all. Bought a couple books in the gift shop and then headed south for our final hotel of the trip, a Best Western just north of Evansville. Hit the pool and then had a nice farewell dinner at the Log Inn, a restaurant where Abraham Lincoln supposedly dined in 1844. If he did, I hope he had as nice a time as we did.

This was an excellent trip. We will be returning to this area in a couple of months to delve in-depth into the campaigns of George Rogers Clark, and I can't wait!

August 3, 2006: The Summer of Katya

When Trevanian passed away last December, I was intrigued by the descriptions of his thrillers in the obituaries, and decided to try them out. Though I haven't yet read his most famous book, Shibumi, I've now completed Incident at Twenty-Mile and The Summer of Katya.

I found both books gripping. Trevanian likes to play with pacing, point-of-view, and plot twists in such a way as to draw you relentlessly on, even as you're aware on some level that you're being had.

At the same time, neither book delivers in the end on the suspense that has been so well crafted. Instead, the plots in both novels are resolved by eruptions of violence that arise randomly, rather than organically from the story and characters. And I was surprised to find that both books relied on the hoary device of an amnesiac killer.

Trevanian excels at interesting little asides, and The Summer of Katya contains a great observation by the character of Professor Treville, an old scholar and father of the title character. I think most writers and readers of history and historical fiction will appreciate this:

"In some ways," he mused, "history was grander before it was infected by impulses towards scientific accuracy. I know this is academic heresy, but I regret the replacement of Literature by Science as Clio's closest ally. Research has been substituted for imagination; the True has fallen victim to the Actual. Our concentration on What happened and When has cost us insights into How, and more important, Why."

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