her and child were soon made welcome, and the best
that a miserable log-house, or rather hut, could afford was at her
service. This kind, good family consisted of father, mother, one son and
one daughter. Mr. Troyer, the father, was a fine-looking old man with a
flowing beard, and was known for many years throughout the Long Point
settlement as 'Doctor Troyer.' He possessed a thorough knowledge of
witches, their ways and doings, and the art of expelling them, and also
the use of the divining rod, with which he could not only find water,
but could also tell how far below the surface of the earth precious
metals were concealed, but was never fortunate enough to discover any in
the neighbourhood of Long Point. Here my father got his goods under
shelter and left my mother, and returned to Ryerse Creek, intending to
build a log-house as soon as possible. Half a dozen active men will
build a very comfortable primitive log-house in ten or twelve days; that
is, cut and lay up the logs and chink them, put on a bark roof, cut
holes for the windows and door, and build a chimney of mud and sticks.
Sawing boards by hand for floor and doors, making sash and shingles, is
an after and longer process.

"But soon after my father returned he fell ill with Lake fever; his men
erected a shanty, open in front like an Indian camp, placed my father in
it, and left him with his son, a lad of fifteen years of age, the son of
a former wife, as his only attendant. When my father began to recover,
my half brother was taken ill, and there they remained almost helpless,
alone for three weeks.

"My mother hearing nothing of or from them, became almost frantic, as
some of the party were to have returned in a few days. She prevailed
upon Mike Troyer, the son, to launch his bark canoe, and to take her and
my brother, then a year and a half old, in search of my father. On
approaching Ryerse Creek, after a many days' paddle along the coast,
they saw a blue smoke curling above the trees, and very soon my mother
stood in front of the shanty, where my father sat with a stick, turning
an immense turkey, which hung, suspended by a string, before a bright
fire. The day previous, a large flock of wild turkeys had come very near
his camp, and commenced fighting. Without moving from his shanty, he
killed six at one shot. He afterwards, at single shots, killed eight
more, and the united strength of him and my brother was scarcely
sufficient to bring them into camp.