th the strenuous "Irish." One of these came and laid
himself to sleep beside the Brethren's camp fire on their first night
out, after they had sung their evening hymn and eleven had stretched
themselves on the earth for slumber, while Brother Gottlob, their
leader, hanging his hammock between two trees, ascended--not only in
spirit--a little higher than his charges, and "rested well in it."
Though the alarming Irishman did not disturb them, the Brethren's doubts
of that race continued, for Brother Grube wrote on the 14th of October:
"About four in the morning we set up our tent, going four miles beyond
Carl Isles [Carlisle, seventeen miles southwest of Harrisburg] so as
not to be too near the Irish Presbyterians. After breakfast the Brethren
shaved and then we rested under our tent.... People who were staying at
the Tavern came to see what kind of folk we were.... Br Gottlob held the
evening service and then we lay down around our cheerful fire, and
Br Gottlob in his hammock." Two other jottings give us a racial
kaleidoscope of the settlers and wayfarers of that time. On one day the
Brethren bought "some hay from a Swiss," later "some kraut from a German
which tasted very good to us"; and presently "an Englishman came by and
drank a cup of tea with us and was very grateful for it." Frequently
the little band paused while some of the Brethren went off to the farms
along the route to help "cut hay." These kindly acts were usually repaid
with gifts of food or produce.

One day while on the march they halted at a tavern and farm in
Shenandoah Valley kept by a man whose name Brother Grube wrote down as
"Severe." Since we know that Brother Grube's spelling of names other
than German requires editing, we venture to hazard a guess that the name
he attempted to set down as it sounded to him was Sevier. And we wonder
if, in his brief sojourn, he saw a lad of eight years, slim, tall, and
blond, with daring and mischievous blue eyes, and a certain, curve
of the lips that threatened havoc in the hearts of both sexes when he
should be a man and reach out with swift hands and reckless will for his
desires. If he saw this lad, he beheld John Sevier, later to become one
of the most picturesque and beloved heroes of the Old Southwest.

Hardships abounded on the Brethren's journey, but faith and the
Christian's joy, which no man taketh from him, met and surmounted them.
"Three and a half miles beyond, the road forked.... We took the right