West Liberty History 1838-1938

Source: One Hundred Years of History
* Commemorating a Century of Progress in the West Liberty Community * WEST LIBERTY, IOWA
LOG CABIN HISTORY

Chapter VII

THE ATWOOD FAMILY

It would be hard to conceive of a more desolate scene than that presented to the wife of Atwood at the death of her husband. He was a Methodist preacher who had come from Ohio, bearing the standard of the cross into the wilderness. His family consisted of a wife and one child. They had but little of this world's goods, but with a great stock of courage and faith began the task of making a home in the new country. They chose a sightly spot for their home on a hill in the thick woods overlooking the Wapsie. The house was small and of unhewn logs, and but meagerly furnished, even for those primitive times. Neighbors were few and far away. Not a habitation in sight. He had no means or tools to improve his claim and the settlers were too poor to afford him support for his labors among them as a preacher. But he was industrious and willing to turn his hand to any honest labor that would afford sustenance for his family. Hearing that work was to be had on the Iowa River where a trading post was being built, he went there and found employment during the summer. He made occasional visits to his home to carry provisions to his family and to see that all was well. At the time of his last visit he set the date for his final homecoming. His wife and child, meanwhile, remained on the claim; and who can picture the loneliness of that isolated woman through those long summer days. Entirely surrounded by thick woods, not a road or path over which there was any passing, but a visit from a neighbor at long intervals, or a wandering band of Indians on a hunting expedition, to break the monotony of her life. At last there came the day on which it had been agreed that her husband was to return. She arose early that morning that she might have a long day to brighten up their little home and make his coming a joyful occasion. The cabin floor was carefully swept and the splint broom her husband had fashioned from a hickory staddle in his leisure moments, and their meager store of kitshen utensils were scoured and brightened and arranged to help adorn the bareness of the room. She went out into the woods and gathered of the late flowers and bright leaves, for it was in September and the forest was beginning to put on its gala dress of bright colors, to deck and brighten the walls of their lowly home. Meanwhile she intently watched the shadows of the trees that marked the passing hours. Then, while resting from her labor, she would take their little child on her lap, and tell it in baby language that papa was coming and would soon be home.

As the shadows began to lengthen and fall toward the east, she would go to the door, which was in the south side of the house, and look along the path and listen for his coming. She knew at what hour he would start for home and about how long it would take him to accomplish the journey. As the appointed time approached, she started a fire in the fire-place with dead branches she had gathered in the surrounding forest and began to prepare supper from such simple, plain fare as she possessed. The table, made of split logs, was drawn into the center of the room in front of the door, while she could watch the path while at her work. A snowy linen cloth---a cherished relic of their eastern home and the handiwork of a loving mother---was smoothly spread, and the few choice dishes she possessed were arranged for the most pleasing effect and a bouquet of wild flowers placed for a center-piece. The sun was getting low and the light dim in the woods, but the husband and father had not come. Night came on and the long hour passed for his expected return, but all was silent along the dim trail. Anxiety took the place of expectancy and the passing hours brought no relief. The babe grew sleepy and was undressed, and put to bed, but the mother sat and listened, or walked to the door and peered into the darkness. No sound came to her ears but the dismal shuddering cry of the owls and the howling of the wolves. The supper on the table went untasted and an undefined premonition of evil and terror seized the wife. She would return to her seat by the side of the sleeping child, then back again to the door.

So passed that long night of anxiety and the morning brought no relief. The weary day passed and still the husband and father were absent. Yet another night and day of suspense and she could bear the uncertainty and loneliness no longer. So taking the child in her arms she made her way to a neighbors and appealed for aid in seeking her husband. Such an appeal never fell on listless ears when made to our pioneers. Soon a party was gathered and the search begun. Mrs. Atwood accompanied by neighbors, returned to her home and there waited for tidings; she, distracted by her fears, and they offering such comfort as they could. The searching party followed the Indian trail across the timber and out upon the prairie beyond, knowing that that was the way he would come. After traversing the prairie for a few miles, they noted a flock of buzzards circling a spot and inclined to settle there. On approaching the spot, a horrible spectacle presented itself to their gaze. There on the prairie lay what remained of him they sought. The cleft and bare skull told the story of an Indian atrocity.

It is well to draw a veil over the anguish of that wife and mother when the form of her husband was borne by that silent and stricken company back to the now desolate home. As best they could, they fashioned a rude coffin and prepared the body for burial. They laid him to rest on the open prairie in company with Mrs. Huliett and her baby. He who had left the endearments of his early home to teach men in the wilderness how to live, was one of the first to be taught how, in the wilderness, men may die. His heartbroken wife, with all the horrors of that scene so vividly before her, could not return to the lonely home, but after the funeral stopped with a neighbor till an opportunity came for her to return to the home of her childhood, when taking the orphaned child, she set out for the east and passed from the knowledge of the community. Thus, the bright vision of a home and life of usefulness in the new settlement to Oliver Atwood was forever dispelled.

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