Sarah Butler Hendricks

Prose and Poetry, undated

The following texts are available at the Duggan Library Archives, Hanover College (Hanover, Ind.).

They were transcribed for the Hanover Historical Texts Project in Fall 2006 by the students of His234 "Studies in American Cultural History: The Middle Class," taught by Sarah McNair Vosmeier.

Sarah Butler (Hendricks) writings, 1854 (introduced and transcribed by R. J. Laws, '07).

"Nell Norwood" is an article written by Sarah Butler around 1854 describing some of the local area around Madison and Hanover Indiana, specifically a waterfall, Chain Mill, and the gorge it falls into. Sarah also recounts the local fable about how the gorge and falls were made.

Sarah Butler, article published in Madison paper, 1854, Manuscript Set 67, Box 1, Folder 9, Duggan Library, Hanover College (Hanover, Indiana).

"Nell Norwood"
by Sarah Butler

I've been roaming again, Messrs. Editors, -making friends with the birds and wild flowers, talking to the cascades, and holding delightful communion with nature in her most witching forms. This is just the season for a ramble in the country; there is a soft voluptuousness in the air when the Sylph of Spring comes forth from her hiding place, touching earth and sky with her magic wand till one is dyed in that deep cerulean hue, and the other smiles in the most beautiful verdure hue and there starred with some delicate blossom, a little volume of poetry in itself. Did it never occur to you that the world is one vast library, containing primers for the infant mind, beautiful histories for the youthful intellect, and [tomes] that require close application and deep research from the [maturer] understanding; we are all students admitted to its free use some for a little space only, others for a long term of study, and every moment must be diligently improved for we know not how long our scholarship may continue, nor when the great librarian will summon us to an examination whose result shall determine our failure blessedness or misery.

And where do you think I have been wandering now- to Clifty? Yes, and to another Fall that is not quite so familiarly known to our good citizens; we asked a busy farmer's lad by what name they distinguished the pretty little cataract, and he answered "Chain mill Falls." Sad, is it not, that utility must thus supplant romance till even the appellation of such a charmed spot must bring only visions of labor and the stern realities of life to the eye that has never gazed upon its picturesque beauties.

It's a strange wild scene there, Messrs. Editors; you would enjoy it I know, and having seen it, perhaps a tradition of its origin might interest you. Shall I repeat it? Centuries ago before the pale face had ventured to the shores of the New World, when the red men had undisputed possession of this fair land, and roamed through its forests fearless and free the hills and [vallies] along the shores of the Ohio were favorite haunts for some of their wandering tribes. Two hostile hands that had often met in battle chanced to select neighboring sites for their encampments, the one in a quiet valley, the other on a hilltop just beyond. This unexpected encounter was at once traced to a design of the Great Spirit, and they passed the wampum belt, and the fumes from the sacred calumet rose and danced away towards the sunset as peace was acknowledged between them.

But the chief [chahtotopha] had a dream, it was the [Eirl?] One that came and prompted him to treachery, and he seized his bow and scalping knife and went forth from birchen tent to rouse a few trusty followers to the carnage. Slowly and stealthily they crept along the hillside, and just as day dawned in the East the unsuspecting [slumberers] in the valley wakened to the sound of the war-whoop, sprang from their quiet rest to see the tomahawk glittering above their heads, and to fall with brave resistance before the perfidious enemy- [chahtotopha] was content, and when the hateful deed was ended he assembled his comrades to join in the loud [pean] of triumph, and to celebrate their victory in the horrible distortions of the "scalp-dance". But the Great Spirit was offended; they had been faithless to the Red Pipe that he had consecrated, false to their own natures, and disobedient to his irrevocable mandate. He spoke in thunder, is angry eye flashed in the lightning, the valley opened, and the frontier Indians were swallowed up in the frightful fissure; then there came a resistless torrent sweeping down the glen, and when the waters subsided the scene was such as we behold it now. The valley had become the ravine, and the hillside whose breastplate was borne away in that terrible convulsion of nature now offers itself a "leaping rock" to the babbling brook that meanders through the forest. And even yet the Storm [God?] has not forgotten that eventful day for often times he sends his clouds and winds and pours forth all their fury in that glen till roaring waters rush angrily over the precipices and their voice is a terrible reminder of the avenging power of the [Idonitte's?] hand. Rather fanciful is it not, but as Indian traditions sometimes cast an additional interest about the scenes of nature why not receive them and cherish them as pleasant relief of the ancient occupants of our country that are now sleeping with their fathers under some verdant sod.

And there on the hillside screened from the ravine by the dense foliage of the beech and elm we were surprised by the appearance of a deserted village. It reposed in solitude, no "hollow sounding bittern" disturbed its quiet, but the blast came and the frail tenements were unroofed in dis-dainful merriment, and the wind whistled and laughed at its own wild freaks. We paused at one of the dwellings and peeped in at the open door, but all was loneliness within; there lay the embers on the hearth just as they had died out after the departure of its occupants, and no cricket lent its merry song to enliven the desolation around. The heart that throbbed with delight, or beat to the measured pulse of sadness was no longer there for Erin's sons had left their Summer homes for abodes more secure from the penetrating breath of Winter. The axe was silent, the spade was laid to rest on their laboring ground, and the forest could no longer attract those sturdy spirits from the city's precincts.

It's a pleasant drive to those Falls, Messrs. Editors, and you can ramble over the hills only taking a little heed to your footing in [clambering] amongst the rocks. One of our party unexpectedly assumed a very humble [attitude?] in the course of our explorations but that was merely an amusing episode is our chapter of accidents and even the victim of our merriment did not regret it. [chary] you and many of your friends enjoy the same ride and admire the [pecthiact?] gone scenery with as much zest as our happy little party.