By W. A. DUNCAN.
But few people in the East have a correct idea of the Red River Valley.
For hundreds of miles the land is as level as a floor; for thirty miles
on either side of the river there is not even the roll of the prairie,
and scarcely a tree or shrub in sight. The railroads shoot from village
to village as straight as the flight of an arrow. You would see neither
grade nor cut during forty-eight hours of travel.
The choice lands of the valley seem to be on the west side of the
river, north from Grafton to the Dominion, and west to the Pembina
Mountains, the land growing richer as you approach the mountains.
There is but little government land to be obtained near the railroad.
Although it has been in the market less than a year, nearly every
section is taken, and prices range, according to the locality, from
$200 to $4,500 for 160 acres of entirely unimproved land. In some
counties many sections are apparently in the hands of speculators
and railroad companies, who do nothing toward improving either roads
or farms. The surpassing fertility of the soil has given Dakota
its reputation. Its richness has never been exaggerated; it is as
productive as the valley of the Nile, and it owes its fertility to the
same cause. The annual overflow of the Red River, for centuries, has
left a deposit that is unrivaled in wheat-producing qualities.
In discussing the future prosperity of the Red River Valley all admit
that the control of these floods, by some system of levees, and
drainage, is a vital question. The excess of water not only delays
seeding but sometimes the harvesting, and it must seriously affect the
healthfulness of that section. Water can not stand till it becomes
stagnant without producing malaria. Nearly every one will tell you how
healthy the people are; yet a prominent physician admitted that there
was a great deal of fever, and that he feared there would be more as
the country became more populous.
These low lands moreover send out during the hot summer days great
swarms of immense mosquitos.
There is no gravel with which to make roads, hence in the spring
they are something wonderful to behold; at certain seasons they are
impassable. “I have just driven five miles,” said a gentleman, “and
every foot of the way the wagon wheels sank to the hubs. There have
been no drays in the streets of this city for three weeks. All carting
has been done with hand-carts.”
And yet there is no doubt that this is a country with grand
possibilities, able to support an immense population, rich in its soil,
and worth all it is costing to make it habitable. Pioneer life is not
one-half as hard here as it was in the days when New York State was
reclaimed from a wilderness; but let no one come here thinking there is
nothing to be done but to select a quarter section of land, and in a
few months become rich. There is wealth here for those who seek it, but
they must seek it with all their hearts.
The most prosperous section of the country, as it appears to a
stranger, is on the line of the North Pacific road between Fargo
and Bismarck. The foot hills begin at the James River and the grade
ascends steadily until a point is reached at least five hundred feet
above the valley. From Huron, in the south, to the Turtle Mountains,
in the north, and west to the Missouri River, are what may be called
the high-lands of Dakota, embracing as fine a rolling prairie land as
can be found in the West. There are, however, poor sections; the soil
is not so rich and deep as lower down in the valley; yet here 14,000
bushels of oats are said to have been raised from 180 acres, and 400
bushels of potatoes per acre. In the north, at Fort Totten, on Devil’s
Lake, small fruits are grown in abundance, all kinds of vegetables and
an inferior kind of corn. Yet in Russia apples and cherries are raised
in abundance, three hundred miles farther north than Winnipeg. Toward
the south, between Huron and the North Pacific Railroad, it is much
warmer, and a larger variety of crops can be raised. This whole section
has good air, is not flooded every spring, has a fair amount of rain,
and produces well under proper cultivation. As a rule the water is
poor, alkaline and brackish. At Steele, a bright and thriving county
seat, on the Northern Pacific, half-way between Jamestown and Bismarck,
soft water has been found.
There are some things about the Devil’s Lake country that seem very
odd. As far as the eye can reach there is scarcely a tree or shrub. You
may ride across the prairie for a hundred miles and not cross a stream,
large or small; the surface is a rolling prairie, and in almost every
hollow there is a pond of water; some of these ponds are half a mile
across and remain throughout the year; probably the ground is frozen so
deep that it can not absorb the water from the melting snow. The same
cause prevents the forming of streams as the frozen hollows hold the
water. A proper system of drainage, connecting all the ponds, would
fill the country with brooks.
It is almost the country of the “midnight sun.” One can see to read
without lamp-light till nearly ten o’clock, and again as early as three
in the morning. It is said that in summer the evening and morning
twilight can be seen at the same time.
The “shacks,” or houses, are strange dwellings for human beings to
live in; being merely a board shanty, one story high, often only
ten by twelve, with perhaps one small window and a door, the whole
cabin covered with black tar-paper, and batten strips nailed over the
cracks. Sometimes the home is nothing but a hole dug into the side of
a hill, with a door and no window. Some of the houses, and many of the
barns, are made of sod cut and laid one upon another, just as we lay
brick; occasionally the walls are thicker at the base than at the top,
and curve in at the center with graceful lines; in fact some of the
sod houses are very pretty, and must be quite warm. We fancied them
covered with green grass in summer, and sprinkled with violets and blue
forget-me-nots.
Fort Totten and the Indian Reservation are here, and the government is
experimenting with an industrial school, trying to Christianize and
educate the Indians. It is a success. In answer to questions Major
Crampton said, “You can educate and civilize them as well as you can
the whites, but you must have patience, and begin with the children. We
have a school for girls, and the Sisters of Charity teach them how to
sew, cook, and do housework, and we teach the boys how to farm and do
general work; then when they want to marry we give them their own home
and land in severalty, and you have no idea how happy and prosperous
they are. You couldn’t get a civilized girl to go back to the old life,
and even the heathen want civilized wives. I make and unmake chiefs.
The best men are appointed to all the offices. Old men with two wives
are permitted to live with them, but young men are put in prison if
they attempt polygamy. We forbid immoral dances.”
Devil’s Lake is sixty miles long and six miles wide; there is no outlet
or inlet, and the water is brackish; it abounds with fish. The name of
the lake seems to be a misnomer, as there are no evidences of heat in
any part of the country, not even enough for comfort. In May it was
covered with ice four feet thick. A little warmth would have done no
harm. The owners of property in that section are anxious to make it a
summer resort, and propose to give hearty assistance to any Chautauqua
workers who will open a Sunday-school assembly there.
There is beauty here for the artist. Over there is the white line of
the beach, with a forest background, a green slope between. To the
left are dim wreaths of smoke, curling cloudward: they come from the
“council fires” of the Sioux braves, as they camp on the reservation;
they seem to ascend from fires lighted by invisible hands, and around
them seem to be gathered the spirits of departed warriors, shadows,
hidden from unanointed eyes. To the west the sun is a ball of fire
dropping into a sea of ice: sapphire, flame and pearl are mixed with
the blue and golden light, and arch toward heaven, tinging forest and
hill with celestial splendor. As the orb of day sinks behind the hills,
it seems like the path to glory, and but a step—
“Over the sunset bar
Right into heaven.”
Montana is entered at the Little Missouri, one hundred miles west
of Bismarck. The road to this point runs through an upland prairie,
or valley. From Bismarck to Livingston, the gateway to the Park, a
distance of six hundred miles, the rain-fall is light, insufficient
for general farming. In the summer the grasses dry or cure, and it is
claimed they are very nutritious, and much relished by herds. At Miles
City, and Billings, canals twenty and thirty miles long are being dug
which, when completed, will be used to irrigate the valley. This can
never be a great agricultural country without irrigation. Large crops
are not raised except on farms that have a natural overflow from some
stream or in some exceptionally wet season. But with a water supply
under control, there is no reason why this wide, rich valley, may not
supply the land with its productions. Let none come here to engage in
farming unless they are prepared to supply their crops with abundance
of water; there are plenty of streams, or an artesian well can be
sunk, which, with an engine or wind-mill, and force-pump, would enable
any one to make a fortune. But none need fear to come and engage in
herding. Fabulous stories are told of the fortunes made from flocks and
herds. The ranches are in the valleys, being used in the winter for
the herds, and for the horses in the summer. They are located on the
streams, and join the mountain lands in the rear, where the herds and
flocks range at large, and fatten without even being fed or cared for.
Sunday is not observed as a holy day. Trains run; building and all
kinds of labor continue, and if there is any difference, there is more
bustle on the Sabbath than on any other day. At Billings, saloons are
open, hurdy-gurdies playing, negroes singing, and drunken dances going
on in rooms on the main street of the village.
We visited here the Crow Reservation, and saw among the Indians one of
the finest specimens of physical manhood in the world. A Crow warrior,
with a physique that Hercules might have envied—straight as an arrow,
colored nut-brown; with an eye like that of an eagle, and with the
bearing of a Cæsar; one could easily fancy that a second King Philip
stood before him. The Crows have a singular burial custom: they wind,
with sheets, the bodies of the dead, practising a primitive kind of
embalming, and then place them on elevated platforms, or fasten them to
the limbs of a tree. At one of their burial places we saw the body of
their old chieftain, Blackbow. The table upon which it lay was falling
into decay, but the body remained undisturbed. For many a year it had
kept a silent watch over the happy hunting-ground of his people.
Here, also, the experiment of industrial schools is being tried. Said
the Crow agent, “We are teaching them how to work. I believe one plow
is as good as two spelling-books, with these people. We must teach them
how to labor, and the dignity of it.” It was through this valley that
Custer marched to his death, and many places are named for him.
The whole surface of the country, for hundreds of miles, is covered
with petrified trees, snakes, and shells. We saw hundreds of petrified
stumps, some of them six feet across.
Citadel Rocks and Pyramid Park, are on the line of the Pacific road,
and are wonderful freaks of nature. The latter seems to have been
produced by the burning of the coal that underlies the whole country;
in fact, in some places, the fires still burning can be seen from the
car windows—one fire being near enough to be felt inside the cars.
All along the line antelope are feeding on the hillsides, and in many
places those natural communists, the hawk and prairie-dog, can be seen
sitting together beside their common home.
The Upper Yellowstone is as lovely a valley as the eye of man ever saw.
For one hundred miles east of Livingston the scenery is of wondrous
beauty. The slopes of the hills and the mountains turn in graceful
curves, mountain against mountain, peak above peak, valley beyond
valley, flooding the air and sky with lines of beauty. Some of the
mountains are ribbed horizontally, others from base to peak, and all
are covered with green verdure, mixed with the brown of last year’s
grasses; the fir tree dots the whole with patches of brilliant green,
and the beautiful Yellowstone dashes through the valley. Nestled in
secluded places are the cabins; grazing on the hillsides are herds of
cattle, and here and there the reckless “cow-boy” can be seen dashing
across the plains.
At Billings we passed through a heavy snow storm, but as we journeyed
westward we felt the warm touch of the Chennock, as it swept down the
valley, bringing life and beauty in its gentle touch. Every hilltop is
rounded and covered with grasses, and it does not seem possible that
on all this round globe there is another valley with such a wealth of
graceful curves and delicate colors.
Enthroned at the head of the valley, Livingston sits a very queen; in
her right hand the Yellowstone Park, in her left the Bozeman Pass over
the Rockies, Emigrant, Crazy, and Baldhead mountains, seemingly but a
mile away, though in reality more than fifty, lift their hoary heads
fourteen thousand feet toward the heavens, and sparkle in the sunlight
like jewels in her crown.
Northern Dakota and Manitoba are very cold countries. In the rural
districts the inhabitants do not pretend to have schools in the winter,
it is so cold they would not dare to let the children attend. Sometimes
during storms men fear to leave their stores at night, and remain in
them rather than risk their lives in going home; farmers tie a rope
around their bodies, fastening one end to their cabins, when they go
out to feed their cattle, and no one leaves home that can avoid it.
But with proper preparation colonies will make no mistake in locating
in Dakota or Montana, and the same may be said of individuals. For lack
of correct information parties are sometimes deceived. A story is told
of a party of German emigrants, who came this spring from across the
sea. They had been induced to come by some foreign agent, who had given
them a picture of Gladstone, a beautiful little village, and had agreed
to locate them there on government lands. Instead of fulfilling his
promise he located them several miles away, where there was not a cabin
in sight. Said an eye-witness: “It was laughable and sad to see them.
Each man had a cut of Gladstone in his hand, and they were all looking
for the houses.”
There are rare opportunities to make fortunes; the soil is exceedingly
fertile, especially so in Dakota; the cereals grow abundantly, even
with the poor farming practiced. Farms and city lots, properly located
in thriving towns, are steadily increasing in value, and there are
plenty of government lands yet unoccupied, in excellent localities.
The Northern Pacific Railroad has any quantity of its very best lands,
between Jamestown and Bismarck, yet unsold. One can scarcely make a
mistake in settling there, because the land is high and not subject to
inundation. There are splendid opportunities in all the country around
Bismarck and north, even to the far-famed Turtle Mountains. In all the
above-mentioned section success is assured to the patient, hard-working
settler. He will have to endure privations; the severe cold of an
almost arctic winter; a rude cabin for a dwelling-place; loss of
opportunities for education; few churches or Sunday-schools, and a
promiscuous population. There are many men and women of culture among
the people, but there are also a great many adventurers, as in every
new country. But in time all this will change, roads will be worked,
schools and churches will be built, cabins will be changed into elegant
farm-houses, and society will crystallize as it has done in eastern
centers. All this will come after the struggle for existence, which is
now going on, is over.