Writing Right with Dmitri: Purple History
Created | Updated Mar 22, 2015
Writing Right with Dmitri: Purple History
It was a snowy day in Clarion County, and I was waiting for an email. I decided to do some virtual research on this, our new home. I found a history book, The History of Clarion County, by one AJ Davis, who used the pen in Pennsylvania back in 1887. I read aloud to Elektra,
Where now the long train rushes on with the speed of the wind over plain and mead, across streams and under mountains, awakening the echoes of the hills the long day through, and at the midnight hour screaming out its shrill whistle in fiery defiance, the wild native, with a fox skin wrapped about his loins and a few feathers stuck in his hair, issuing from his rude hut, trotted on in his forest path followed by his squaw with her infant peering forth from the rough sling at her back, pointed his canoe, fashioned from the barks of the trees, across the deep river, knowing the progress of time only by the rising and setting sun, troubled by no meridian for its index, starting on his way when his nap was ended, and stopping for rest when a spot was reached that pleased his fancy. Where now a swarthy population toils ceaselessly deep down in the bowels of the earth, shut out from the light of day in cutting out the material that feeds the fire upon the forge, and gives genial warmth to the lovers as they chat merrily in the luxurious drawing-room, not a mine had been opened, and the vast beds of the black diamond rested unsunned beneath the superincumbent mountains...
'Stop it,' said Elektra firmly. 'Stop it right now.'
Elektra's descended from those 'wild natives' with the fox skin, etc, and didn't appreciate the casual ethnocentrism. I just didn't appreciate the style. 'Superincumbent mountains', indeed…
Mr Davis started with a quote from Josephus about why people write history books – either to show off their writing skill, flatter the people in the story, or bear witness to the facts – and then admitted he wasn't trying to do any of that. We are somewhat pleased by his apparent modesty, yet we harbour a sneaking suspicion that the rascal thought he wrote rather well.
See last week's 'Writing Right' on the subject of purple prose.
Aside from insulting the Lenape tribe, and mangling the language, and, come to think of it, displaying a very strange view of history, Mr Davis has done something else in his introduction that he ought not to have done.
He warned us that it was boring.
The record of the settlement and development of Clarion county contains
few startling incidents. Peaceful and quiet has been the history of this people, and while our fathers and brothers bear a record of loyal devotion to their country in at least two wars, no spot within the borders of our county can be pointed out with certainty as the scene of sanguinary battle. So may it be evermore.
O-kay…on one hand, I'm relieved about the lack of battlefields in this county. Who wants to live in a war zone? (Elektra's forebears were peaceful folk. Many of mine weren't, but they lived somewhere else.) But warning us that there aren't any ' startling incidents' in this book, which has 75 chapters, is not really a good idea. Of course, the author does claim that all the people in this county display 'manly virtues'. We are thrilled.
Somehow, I suspect I could make this story more exciting. And without telling any lies. You know me. So here's a challenge for you: I'll pick a tale from here at random, and let's see how we can jazz it up. Here's the 'incident':
OF the settlement of Absalom Travis, the pioneer of Clarion county, few
particulars have reached us. All that is known of him is that about 1790 he removed from New York, his native State, to the Black Lick settlement, Indiana county. There he remained but a short time, and about 1792 – it is impossible to fix the date exactly – he came with his three sons, Robert, James, and Stephen, and squatted or settled on the spot now occupied by the farm of J. Barnhart, in the southeastern corner of Monroe township, Brodhead-Thomas tract No. 5589. He did not live long enough to reap the profit of his enterprise and labors; he died on his humble homestead in or before 1795. His grave is still discernible.
We cannot but admire the hardihood of this, the first settler of Clarion county, in going forth at an advanced age, accompanied only by his family, to seek a home solitary, in the wilds, where the half-conquered savage yet roamed at will ; where the sound of the pioneer's ax had never disturbed the forest's depths, and nature in her most uncouth garb frowned at the efforts of man to smooth her ruggedness. He was many miles in advance of the northernmost settlements of Armstrong (then Northumberland and Westmoreland) county, and outstripped organized colonization by eight years.
It is not difficult to imagine what a panorama of Clarion county at the time of the arrival of Absalom Travis, would have presented. A vast expanse of forest, rugged and tangled, yet majestic, unbroken save by rare openings from which the smoke of the Indian camp ascended, or by windfalls where a storm had hurled the monarchs of the forest in impassable confusion. Here
and there a dimly discernible Indian path traversed the waste;; sometimes the vivid rattlesnake darted across it. The deer, the bear, the wolf, and panther roamed everywhere; a few elk were yet here; the pheasant and wild turkey, and at night the dismal baying of wolves, made the air resonant at times. Otherwise the silence was only broken by the swaying of the limitless forest,
the murmur of the streams, and an occasional shot from an Indian's rifle. Such was this region when this bold pioneer broke the spell of its vacancy and penetrated its unhospitable bosom.
Read this aloud for maximum effect. Then think about that vivid rattlesnake. 'Unhospitable bosom', indeed. Hanging's too good for him.
I'll bet we can make this better. Conrad Richter sure could have. And Elizabeth Montgomery could have acted it.
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