In the Rev. Harvey Hyde\'s "Reminiscences of Early Days," occurs the following interesting notes:—
"In the spring of 1842 I made a horseback journey across the State (Michigan), from Allegan to Saginaw, up the Grand River Valley, past where now Lansing boasts its glories, but where then in the dense forests not a human dwelling was to be seen for many miles, on to Fentonville. Coming on Saturday night to a lonely Massachusetts tavern-keeper, I found a hearty welcome to baked beans and brown bread, and preached on the Sabbath in his barroom to his assembled neighbors—the first minister ever heard in the neighborhood. Arriving at Saginaw, after a ride for miles through swamps, with from six to ten inches of[143] water, sometimes covered with ice, at the close of a March day I found myself on the east side of the broad river, with not a human being or dwelling in sight, darkness already fallen, and only twinkling lights on the other side. It seemed a cold welcome; but after much shouting and waiting, kind friends appeared. Man and horse were cared for, and two pleasant years were spent there.
"My nearest ministerial neighbor of any denomination was twenty-five miles off on one side, and as far as the North Pole on the other. To a funeral or a wedding a fifteen-mile ride was a frequent occurrence. Many scenes come back to memory, some provocative of sadness, some of mirth. We were raising the frame of our new church-building one Monday afternoon, when a stranger came with a call to ride twenty-five miles alone through an unknown wood-road without a clearing for sixteen miles, to cross the Kalamazoo River by ferry at midnight, with the ferryman asleep on the other bank, and the[144] mosquitoes abundant and hungry—to preach, and commit to the grave the bodies of eight men, women, and children who had been drowned on the Sabbath by the upsetting of a pleasure-boat. Such a sight have my eyes never looked upon, where all felt that God had rebuked their Sabbath-breaking. This was near Lake Michigan.
"Passing across the State, exchanging one Sabbath with Rev. O. S. Thompson of St. Clair, after retiring to rest for the night, I was aroused by a cry from Mrs. Thompson; and descending with speed, found that, hearing steps on her piazza, she had discovered the door ajar, and a huge bear confronting her on the outside. She slammed the door in his face, and cried for help. I looked outside, examined the pig-pen, to find all safe; no bear was visible. Returning to bed again, I was dropping to sleep, when a more startling shriek called me to look out of the window; and I saw the bear just leaping the fence, and making for the[145] woods. This time he had placed his paws on the window at Mrs. Thompson\'s bedside, and was looking her in the face; and the prints of his muddy feet remained there many days. On the following Monday we were greeted by a bride and groom, who, with their friends, had crossed the river from Canada to get married. One being a Catholic, and the other a Protestant, the priest would not marry them without a fee of five dollars, which they thought too much. I married them, and received the munificent sum of seventy-five cents.
"I have had too sorrowful proof that prayers, even from the pulpit, are not always answered. On one occasion our house of worship was borrowed for a funeral by another denomination. Going late, I slipped in behind the leader at prayer as quietly as possible, to hear the petition that \'God would make the minister of this church a perfect gentleman, and surround his church with a halo of cheveau-de-frise.\' The first I am sure[146] was not answered; I am not sure about the others.
"Of personal hair-breadth escapes from sudden death my wife kept a record until she got to fifteenthly, and then stopped. Twice from drowning, twice from being run over by a loaded wagon, the last time the hind wheel stopping exactly at my head, but utterly spoiling my best silk hat, and showing the blessing of a good stout head."
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