Annals of our ancestors; one hundred and fifty years of history in the ...

LIFE IN THE 'SIXTIES 261
pigs, and live stock generally had been turned loose and had
utterly destroyed that first little Eden of ours. The wheat we
left in the gavel was ruined. That in the shock was sprouted
and our bread was black and sticky, while father's grain,
which had been left standing, was all right; the yield of "fife"
wheat from it recorded previously was considered phenomenal.
When he found his wheat standing, his buildings safe, and his
home almost as he had left it, although the refugees had left
it unlocked when they moved on, we may be well assured that
our pious father poured out his heart in gratitude for the
marvelous deliverance from the hands of the destroying sav-
ages. These feelings were enhanced as we read of the atroci-
ties of that reign of terror in 1S62.
After a family council had deliberated on the whole outlook
and present situation, we concluded it was best for us to
stay together in father's house at Pearl Lake Place. Alvah
and I had rooms upstairs, and Brother Will and Julia had the
parlor for their bedroom, while they cooked and ate at the
family table. We had our kitchen upstairs and so we lived
together through the long, cold winter and laid plans for the
coming spring. We talked over our strenuous summer and
fall as well, and mutually described our experiences when so
hastily separated. One of the tales of life in the fort was of
Dick Vandervort's bear. I remember it well upon its first
appearance. One day as Dick was returning from Elk River,
driving through a grove of popples he heard a strange noise,
and looking up to the spot from which the sound proceeded
he saw a black bear cub, aged about six months. To Dick's
surprise he found the cub was dragging a chain which was
fastened around his neck and had become entangled and
wrapped around the trunk of a tree, so the runaway was securely
fastened. Dick released the captive and found he was
at least partially tame, so he put him under his buggy seat and
drove on. When he reached our house he drove up in front
and announced that he had found a "b'ar." I made him
repeat the word several times, for I did not understand his
"b'ar." "Come out," he said at last, "and look under the
buggy seat and see my b'ar"— he was mispronouncing for