Entering Minnesota, the New Field.
In the summer of 1874, I went to the head waters of the Big Fork River
with a party of hardy frontiersmen, in search of a section of country
which was as yet unsurveyed by the United States government, and which
should contain a valuable body of pine timber. Having found such a tract
of land, we made arrangements through the surveyor-general's office,
then located in St. Paul, to have the land surveyed. The contract for
the survey was let by the United States government to Mr. Fendall G.
Winston of Minneapolis.
The logging operations on the Mississippi River in Minnesota at this
period extended from a short distance above Princeton on the Rum River,
one of the tributaries of the Mississippi River, to a little above Grand
Rapids. To reach Grand Rapids from Minneapolis, the traveled route was
by way of the St. Paul and Duluth railroad to Northern Pacific Junction,
thence, over the Northern Pacific Railroad, west to Aitkin. From this
point the steamboat Pokegama plied the Mississippi to Grand Rapids, the
head of navigation at that time. For many years this steamboat was owned
and operated by Captain Houghton, almost wholly in the interest of the
lumber trade. Later, Captain Fred W. Bonnes became its owner.
Subsequently, the old Pokegama burned, when Captain Bonnes built a new
boat, using the machinery of the Pokegama, and naming it Aitkin City. At
a still later period he built the larger steamer, Andy Gibson.
In those days, the lumber-jack was a very interesting type of man. Men
from Maine and New Brunswick were numerous. Scotchmen, Irish-Americans,
and French-Canadians constituted a considerable portion of all the labor
that went to the logging camps of Minnesota. As early as the month of
July, they began their exodus from Minneapolis to the woods for the
purpose of building new camps, cutting the wild grass that grew along
the natural meadows, and making it into hay for the winter's use for
oxen and horses. Some of these men worked at the sawmills in summer, but
there was not employment for all at this work, and many spent their time
in idleness and not infrequently in drunken carousal. On leaving the
city for the logging camps, they were pretty sure to start out, each
with one or two bottles of whiskey stored away in his tussock, which was
ordinarily a two bushel, seamless sack, with a piece of small rope tied
from one of its lower corners to the upper end of the sack. In this were
placed all of the lumber-jack's belongings, except what were carried in
his pockets, including one or two additional bottles of whiskey. Not all
of the lumber-jacks drank whiskey, but this was the habit of very many
of them. By the time the train had arrived at Northern Pacific Junction,
where a change of cars was made, and where the arrival of the Northern
Pacific train from Duluth, west bound, was awaited, many of our
lumber-jacks were well under the influence of John Barleycorn. Disputes
would frequently arise while waiting for the train. These would be
settled by fist fights between the disputants, their comrades standing
about to see that each man had fair play.
On one of our trips to the pine forests north of Grand Rapids, we
arrived at Aitkin on a train loaded with this class of men, as well as
their bosses, and proprietors of the lumber camps. Aitkin at that time
was not much more than a railroad station for the transfer of the
lumbermen and merchandise to the steamboat. A few men had preempted
lands from the government and had made their homes where now is the city
of Aitkin. The late Warren Potter was one of them. He kept a large store
which was well stocked with lumbermen's supplies, and which was the
rendezvous for the lumbermen. His preemption claim was only a short
distance in the woods from his store. He had been East to buy goods and
had returned by train that day. He found that his preemption claim had
been "jumped" by one, Nat Tibbetts, whom he found occupying the Potter
cabin. An altercation took place between the two men, resulting in
Tibbetts blacking Potter's eye. The only representative of the law was a
justice of the peace, a man whose name was Williams. Before him, Potter
swore out a warrant for the arrest of Tibbetts, charging Tibbetts with
assault with intent to do bodily harm. Potter asked me to act as his
attorney to prosecute his case. This honor was politely declined, and I
assured him that he would find a better man for the occasion in the
person of S. S. Brown, the well-known log jobber, who was in town.
Mr. Brown having consented to act in the interest of Mr. Potter, and Mr.
Tibbetts having secured some other layman to defend his case, all
parties repaired, as I remember, to an unoccupied building which was
temporarily used as a court of justice. As almost the entire community
that evening was a floating population of lumbermen of various sorts,
waiting for an opportunity to start up the river on the steamboat the
following day, it will readily be seen by the reader that this occasion
was one of unusual interest and bade fair to furnish an interesting
entertainment for a part of the long evening.
Tibbetts demanded a jury trial. The jury was chosen, and the prosecution
opened the case by putting on the stand, a witness who had seen the
encounter, and who proved to be a good witness for Mr. Potter. The case
proceeded until the evidence was nearly all presented. At this juncture,
in the back end of the improvised court room, a tall lumber-jack who was
leaning against the wall, and who was considerably the worse for
whiskey, cried out, "Your honor! your honor! I object to these
proceedings." Everything was still for a moment, and all eyes turned
toward the half drunk lumber-jack. Justice Williams attempted to
proceed, when the lumber-jack repeated his calls and his demands to be
heard. Every one present knew that any attempt on the part of the
constable to quiet this man would have resulted in starting a general
fight, where there were so many who were under the influence of liquor.
Some one, therefore, said to the justice, "Your honor, you had better
hear the man's objections." Justice Williams then said, "You may state
your objections, sir." The lumber-jack replied, "I object, your honor,
because that jury has not been sworn." This was true. The jury was then
sworn, and the trial of the case was begun anew. The witnesses having
again given their evidence under oath, the case was soon argued by the
improvised lawyers. The justice gave a short charge to the jury, and,
without leaving their seats, and while the spectators waited, they
notified the justice that they had agreed upon a verdict of guilty. The
justice fined Mr. Tibbetts one dollar, and this frontier court of
justice adjourned.
The question of the ownership of the claim was not before the court. My
recollection, however, concerning it, is that Mr. Potter ever after had
peaceful possession of the land.
[Illustration: The journey had to be made with the use of toboggans.
(Page 150.)]
The ride up the Mississippi to Grand Rapids on the steamer Pokegama,
which tied up each night, occupied two days and a half. The distance was
one hundred and ninety-five miles. The steamer was crowded, and men
slept everywhere on the deck, on their blankets or without them, as best
fitted their condition. Whiskey and cards were plentiful. The table was
well supplied with good things to eat. Grand Rapids at that time
consisted of a steamboat landing, a warehouse, and a ranch or stopping
place kept by Low Seavey, whose wife was a half-breed. These were on the
left bank of the river just below the falls or rapids. On the opposite
side of the river was a small store, a new enterprise, and owned by a
man whose name was Knox.
I met Mr. Winston and his assistant surveyors at Grand Rapids about the
middle of August. There were no roads leading into the country that we
were to survey, and, as our work would extend nearly through the winter,
it was necessary to get our supplies in sufficient quantity to last for
our entire campaign, and take them near to our work. This was
accomplished by taking them in canoes and boats of various sorts. Our
first water route took us up the Mississippi River, into Lake
Winnibigoshish, and from that lake on its northeasterly shore, we went
into Cut-foot Sioux, or Keeskeesdaypon Lake. From this point we were
obliged to make a four mile portage into the Big Fork River, crossing
the Winnibigoshish Indian Reservation. From an Indian encampment on
this reservation, at the southwest shore of Bow String Lake, we hired
some Indians to help pack our supplies across the four mile portage.
Before half of our supplies had been carried across the portage, the
Indian chief sent word to us by one of his braves, that he wished to see
us in council and forbade our moving any more of our supplies until we
had counseled with him. Although the surveyors were the agents of the
United States government, for the sake of harmony, it was thought best
to ascertain at once what was uppermost in the chief's mind.
That evening, a conference was held in the wigwam of the chief. First,
the chief filled full of tobacco, a large, very long stemmed pipe, and,
having lighted it with a live coal from the fire, took the first whiff
of smoke; then immediately passed it to the nearest one of our delegates
to his right, and thus the pipe went round, until it came back to the
chief, before anything had been said. The chief then began a long
recital, telling us that the great father would protect them in their
rights to the exclusive use of these lands. The chief said that he was
averse neither to the white man using the trail of his people nor to his
using the waters of the rivers or lakes within the boundaries of the
reservation, but, if he did so, he must pay tribute. In answer to his
speech, the chief surveyor of our party, Fendall G. Winston, replied
that he and his men had been sent to survey the lands that belonged to
the great father; and, that in order to reach those lands, it was
necessary that his people should cross the reservation which the great
father had granted to his tribe; nevertheless, that they felt friendly
to the Indians; that if they were treated kindly by himself and his
tribesmen, they should have an opportunity to give them considerable
work for many days, while they were getting their supplies across his
country to that of the great father, where they were going to work
during the fall and winter; and that they would also make him a present
of a sack of flour, some pork, some tea, and some tobacco. He was told,
too, that this was not necessary for the great father's men to do, but
that they were willing to do it, provided that this should end all
claims of every nature of the chief, against any and all of the great
father's white men, whom he had sent into that country to do his work.
This having been sealed with the chief's emphatic "Ugh," he again
lighted the pipe, took the first whiff of smoke, and passed it around.
Each, in token of friendship, did as the chief had already done. This
ended the conference, and we were not again questioned as to our rights
to pass over this long portage trail, which we continued to use until
our supplies were all in.
As nearly as I can now recall, our force was made up of the following
men: Fendall G. Winston, in whose name the contract for the survey was
issued; Philip B. Winston, brother of Fendall G. Winston; Hdye, a young
engineer from the University of Minnesota; Brown, civil engineer from
Boston; Coe, from the Troy Polytechnic School of Engineering; Charlie, a
half-breed Indian; Franklin, the cook; Jim Flemming, Frank Hoyt, Charlie
Berg, Tom Jenkins, George Fenimore, Tom Laughlin, Joe Lyon, Will
Brackett, Miller, and myself.
Flemming, poor fellow, was suffering with dysentery when he started on
the trip. On reaching Grand Rapids, he was no better, and it was thought
best not to take him along to the frontier, so he was allowed to go
home. Miller was not of a peace loving disposition, and, having shown
this characteristic early, was also allowed to leave the party. It was
best that all weaklings and quarrelsome ones should be left behind,
because it was easily foreseen that when winter closed in upon the band
of frontiersmen, it would be difficult to reach the outer world, and it
would be unpleasant to have any in the party that were not, in some
sense, companionable.
Considerable time was consumed in getting all of our supplies to
headquarters camp, which consisted of a log cabin. The first misfortune
that befell any one of our party came to Frank Hoyt, who one day cut an
ugly gash in the calf of his leg with a glancing blow of the ax. The cut
required stitching, but there was no surgeon in the party. Will
Brackett, the youngest of the party, a brother of George A. Brackett,
and a student from the university, volunteered to sew up the wound. This
he did with an ordinary needle and a piece of white thread. The patient
submitted with fortitude creditable to an Indian. Some plastic salve was
put on a cloth and placed over the wound, which resulted in its healing
too rapidly. Proud flesh appeared, and then the wisdom of the party was
called into requisition, to learn what thing or things available could
be applied to destroy it. Goose quill scrapings were suggested, there
being a few quills in the possession of the party. Brackett, however,
suggested the use of some of the cook's baking powder, because, he
argued, there was sufficient alum in it to remove the proud flesh from
the wound. "Dr." Brackett was considered authority, and his prescription
proved effectual. Hoyt was left to guard the provision camp against
possible visits from the Indians, or from bears, which sometimes were
known to break in and to carry away provisions.
It is never necessary for surveyors whose work is in the timber, nor for
timber hunters, to carry tent poles, because these are easily chosen
from among the small trees; yet nine of our party one time in October,
with the rain falling fast and cold, found themselves, at the end of the
four mile Cut-foot Sioux Portage, on a point of land where there were no
poles. All of the timber of every description had been cut down and used
by the Indians. The Indian chief and several of his family relations
lived on this point. They had built the house of poles and cedar bark,
in the shape of a rectangle. Its dimensions on the ground were about
twelve by twenty feet; its walls rose to a height of about five feet;
and it was covered by a hip roof.
[Illustration: "Our camp was established on the shores of Kekekabic
Lake". (Page 151.)]
Our party must either obtain shelter under this roof or must get into
the canoes and paddle nearly two miles to find a place where it could
pitch its tents. At this juncture the hospitality of the Indians was
demonstrated. The chief sent out word that we should come into his
dwelling and remain for the night. The proffer was gladly accepted. When
we had all assembled, we found within, the chief and his squaw, his
daughter and her husband, the hunter, his squaw and two daughters,
besides our party of nine, making a total of seventeen human beings
within this small enclosure. A small fire occupied a place on the ground
at the center of the structure, an ample opening in the roof having been
left for the escape of the smoke and live sparks. Indians can always
teach their white brothers a lesson of economy in the use of fuel. They
build only a small fire, around which, when inside their wigwams, they
all gather with their usually naked feet to the fire. It is a
physiological fact that when one's extremities are warm, one's bodily
sufferings from cold are at their minimum. Our party boiled some rice
and made a pail of coffee, without causing any especial inconvenience to
our hosts, and, after having satisfied hunger and thirst, the usual camp
fire smoke of pipes was indulged in, before planning for any sleep. Our
party had been assigned a portion of the space around the open fire,
and our blankets were brought in and spread upon the mats that lay upon
the earth floor.
The additional presence of nine Indian dogs has not previously been
mentioned. Before morning, however, they were found to be live factors,
and should be counted as part of the dwellers within the walls of this
single room. They seemed to be nocturnal in habit, and to take an
especial delight in crossing and recrossing our feet, or in trying to
find especially cozy places between our feet and near to the fire, where
they might curl down for their own especial comfort. It was not for us,
however, to complain, inasmuch as the hospitality that had been extended
was sincere; and it was to be remembered by us that it was in no way any
advantage to the Indians to have taken us in for the night. Therefore,
we were truly thankful that our copper colored friends had once more
demonstrated their feelings of humanity toward their white brothers.
They had been subjected to more or less inconvenience by our presence,
but in no way did they make this fact manifest by their actions or by
their words. The rain continued at intervals during the entire night,
and it was with a feeling of real gratitude, as we lay upon the ground,
and listened to it, that we thought of the kindly treatment we were
receiving from these aborigines. In the morning we offered to pay them
money for our accommodations, but this they declined. They did, however,
accept some meat and some flour.
While we were crossing the lake, one day, in canoes loaded with supplies
of various descriptions, an amusing, yet rather expensive, incident
happened in connection with one of the canoes. Its occupants were George
Fenimore, a Mainite Yankee, and Joe Lyon, a French-Canadian. Both were
good canoemen, but only Fenimore knew how to swim. They had become
grouchy over some subject while crossing the lake, and, as they neared
the opposite shore from which they had started, in some manner which I
have never understood, the canoe was overturned. Little of its contents
was permanently lost, except one box of new axes. The water was about
eight feet deep under them. Each man grasped an end of the overturned
canoe, and clung to it. Then an argument began between the two
disgruntled men, about getting to shore. Lyon wanted Fenimore to let go
of the canoe and swim ashore; but this, the latter refused to do.
Finally, after considerable loss of time, Joe Lyon, who was nearest to
shore, turned his body about, with his face toward the shore, and,
letting go of the canoe, went to the bottom of the lake and floundered
to gain the shore. He had only to go a short distance before the water
became sufficiently shallow for his head to appear, but he was winded,
and thoroughly mad. I have always believed that Fenimore purposely
overturned the canoe, but if so, he never admitted the fact.
The pine timber lying east of Bow String Lake, and included in the
survey of 1874 and 1875, was all tributary to waters running north, into
the Big Fork River, which empties into the Rainy River. Levels were run
across from Bow String Lake into Cut-foot Sioux River, and considerable
fall was found. The distance, nearly all the way, was over a marsh. It
was shown that a dam could easily be thrown across from bank to bank of
the river at the outlet of Bow String Lake, and by thus slightly raising
the water in the lake, plus a little work of cleaning out portions of
the distance across the marsh, from Bow String Lake to Cut-foot Sioux,
the timber could be driven across and into the waters of the Mississippi
River. All of this engineering was before the advent of logging
railroads. However, before the timber was needed for the Minneapolis
market, many logging railroads had been built in various localities in
the northern woods, and their practical utility had been demonstrated.
When the time came for cutting this timber, a logging railroad was
constructed to reach it; and over its tracks, the timber was brought
out, thus obviating the necessity of impounding the waters of Bow String
Lake.