MISS EMILY WARD, COMMONLY KNOWN AS "AUNT EMILY"1

BY MRS. GEORGE N. JONES2

She was born in Manlius, Onondaga Co., N. Y., March 16th, 1809. Her father, Eber Ward, was the son of a Vermont Baptist clergyman. Her mother, Sally Potter, was the daughter of Capt. Potter, a retired English shipmaster. While still very young she moved with her father's family to his native Vermont; shortly afterwards to Toronto, Canada, returning one year later to Vermont where they remained five years. In 1818 the immense labor of a journey from Vermont to Kentucky was attempted in a canvas covered sleigh. Before reaching that state the mother succumbed to the hardships of the trip, became ill of pleurisy and died, leaving Aunt Emily, then nine years of age, mother to three younger children. The father abandoned his journey to Kentucky, settled in Conneaut, O., where he remained four years. In 1822 this family again took up their wanderings settling at Yankee Point on the St. Clair River. They were attracted to this particular locality because Samuel Ward, brother of Eber Ward, had purchased a large tract of land in this vicinity and already owned several schooners which he utilized in trading.

Aunt Emily and her father came up the river in one of Uncle Sam's vessels, they comprising the household at this time, the younger children joining them later. Aunt Emily was twelve years old when she began her career as a housekeeper an occupation which she never laid down, and at the age of thirteen added school teaching to her other accomplishments.

This seems a fitting place to pause and note the loving characteristics of this girl of sixteen; the budding of that strong personality which blossomed later into the sturdy, self-reliant qualities, the true philanthropic instincts of this admirable woman. Aunt Emily came into the lake country when it was a wilderness, lived when the foundations of a State were being laid and knew with what difficulty this goodly superstructure, comely in appearance, was built. Her life, marked by brave encounters with many things hard to be endured, the center of

Read at the annual meeting, June, 1911. See sketch, Vol. XXI., p. 367, this series.

Mrs. Jones is a resident of Marine City and the wife of ex-Senator George N. Jones and a relative of "Aunt Emily." On behalf of the Women's Literary Clubs of Marine City Mrs. Jones presented this Society with a photograph finely framed of Aunt Emily and also a copy of the volume of Grandmother's Stories.

For a sketch of Capt. Samuel Ward, see Vol. XXI., pp. 336-367, this series.

a wide and widening circle of wholesome influences, was prolonged to its reward in affectionate gratitude and years of retrospection on past good deeds and their ineffable results. As an illustration of her bravery in danger, presence of mind in distress and unfailing wisdom and genius to execute I cite the following stories:*

THE SAGINAW INDIANS

"It was in the early summer of 1826, for I was seventeen years old when this incident happened. It was training-day as it was called, and every man and boy who was well enough and old enough to carry a gun had to go to the county seat to be trained in military movements. That morning father and Eber and every man and boy in the settlement, except a poor lame shoemaker had gone to Port Huron, twenty miles away, to the training and the women and children were left alone. But no one thought anything about it for the country was at peace and though there were Indians about they were friendly, and we had nothing to fear from them.

"It was a bright and lovely morning when we went down to the river bank to see father and Eber off. The river shone like a mirror and reflected trees that overhung its banks so clearly that it looked like twin trees growing into its shining depths. The robins were singing their loudest and everything was so fresh and beautiful and peaceful that I lingered a long time dreaming over it. But the cares of a housekeeper drove me home to do my morning work.

"I had put the house to rights and had just finished baking my bread when the door suddenly opened and in poured a great number of Indians in full war-paint and dress, muskets in their hands and knives and tomahawks in their belts. They paid no more attention to me than if I had been a block of wood, but went to the cupboard and took the bread and cake and everything eatable. They drank some vinegar there was in a barrel in the corner and then began looking around after something in particular, but which they didn't find; finally, one old fellow looked at me and said, 'Whiskey? I shook my head, and told him we hadn't any. He started to open the door into the room where the whiskey barrel was, but I stepped ahead of him quick, put my hand through the door handle, looked him straight in the eye and told him he could not go in there.

"When they first came in I seized the broom, as it was the only weapon left in the house, and a woman's weapon at that, and when some of the

Francis B. Hurlbut who styles herself one of the "Little Girls," collected nineteen stories and an introduction which was published by the Riverside Press of Cambridge under title of "Grandmother's Stories" and this book was presented to Grandma, otherwise Aunt Emily, March 16, 1889, on her eightieth birthday.

young men tried to pull me away from the door I hung on tight with one hand and struck right and left with the broom handle as hard as I could strike hitting an Indian with every blow.

"I knew I might as well die fighting as any other way, and that if I couldn't keep them from the whiskey barrel they would get drunk and kill every woman and child in the place. After a little some of the young men made motions as if to strike me; but this old fellow, who seemed to be their chief, said in Indian, 'Leave her to me. I'll put her to sleep.' I knew what he meant, for I could understand some Indian, but I made up my mind that I'd not let go that door as long as I had life to hold it. Then the old Indian made as if to strike me with a stick, but I didn't flinch, and kept on looking him right in the eye. Then he threw it down on the floor, and said 'Pick it up! I knew that if I stooped to pick it up he would strike me on the back of the head, and that I would die without making any outery; so I shook my head and would not pick it up. "In the meantime I could hear Sallie screaming and crying in the yard, for the young Indians were amusing themselves beating her with long, slender whips for no other purpose than for the fun of hearing her scream. But just at that moment she put her head in at the door, and I shouted to her, 'Sallie, run quick, and tell the men! Now I knew that there were no men around but the lame old shoemaker, but I said it for a double purpose: one to get Sallie away, and the other that the old Indian, who understood English, might think that there were a good many men around and so go away for the fear of them.

"Sallie ran quick as a flash, and the old fellow, who had understood what I said as I expected he would, left me, and began talking in a low tone with some of the older Indians. They seemed to come to some sudden decision for he gave a word of command and they all left the house as abruptly as they had entered it, pushed off into the river and were half-way across before Sallie got back with the news that the shoemaker was afraid, and would not come.'

"I had thought that they might kill me, but I didn't seem to have any fear. I remember that I thought I might just as well be killed then as after they got drunk. But after they were gone I was so weak and trembled so that I could not stand up. I had to sit down and I shook like a leaf in the wind for hours after. It took me several days to get over the nervous depression that followed. I wasn't brave, I was afraid they would get the whisky and then kill everybody.

"These Indians were warriors from the Saginaw tribe, who were very fierce and warlike; and they were on their way to Detroit to try and release from prison their chief, old Kishkawko who had a year before killed a man in the streets of Detroit. Just in pure wantonness, without the least provocation he had thrown a tomahawk at a white man who