The Entire Party Moves to Swan River.
It Was in the month of February, 1875, when the surveying party
completed its work east of Bow String Lake, and finished, one afternoon,
closing its last lines on the Third Guide Meridian. At the camp, that
afternoon, preparations were being made for a general move of
considerable distance. It is not always possible for the frontiersman to
reach his goal on the day that he has planned to do so. An instance in
point occurred next day, when our surveying party was moving out to
Grand Rapids. The snow was deep and the weather intensely cold when we
broke camp that morning, hoping before nightfall to reach one of Hill
Lawrence's logging camps. Some Indians had been hired to help pack out
our belongings. Our course lay directly through the unbroken forest,
without trail or blazed line, and the right direction was kept only by
the constant use of the compass. All were on snowshoes, and those of the
party who could be depended upon to correctly use the compass, took
turns in breaking road. Each compassman would break the way through the
snow for half an hour, then another would step in and break the way for
another half hour, and he in turn would be succeeded by a third
compassman. This change of leadership was continued all the way during
that day.
About the middle of the afternoon, the Indians threw down their packs
and left our party altogether, having become tired of their jobs. This
necessitated dividing up the Indians' packs and each man sufficiently
able-bodied taking a part of these abandoned loads in addition to his
own pack; and thus we continued the journey.
Night was fast approaching, and the distance was too great to reach the
Lawrence camp that night. Fortunately, there were some Indian wigwams
not far in advance. These we reached after nightfall, and, as our party
was very tired and carried no prepared food, we asked for shelter during
the night, with the Indians. They soon made places where our men could
spread their blankets around the small fire in the center of the
wigwams. Then we asked if we could be served with something to eat. We
received an affirmative "Ugh," and the squaws commenced preparing food,
which consisted solely of a boiled rabbit stew with a little wild rice.
It was once more demonstrated that hunger is a good cook. After having
partaken of the unselfishly proffered food, and, after most of our party
had smoked their pipes, all lay down about the fire, and fell asleep.
Even the presence of Indian dogs, occasionally walking over us in the
night, interfered but little with our slumbers. The next morning our
party started out without breakfast, and by ten o'clock reached the
Lawrence camp, where the cook set out, in a few minutes' time, a great
variety of food, and an abundance of it, of which each man partook to
his great satisfaction.
[Illustration: "These little animals were numerous". (Page 169.)]
From Lawrence camp we were able to secure the services of the tote team
that was going out for supplies, which took our equipment through to
Grand Rapids. From that point, we were able, also, to hire a team to
take our supplies to the Swan River. Crossing this we went north to
survey two townships, which would complete the winter's contract.
It has been stated that this winter of 1874 and 1875 was the coldest of
which the Weather Bureau for Minnesota furnishes any history. Besides
the intense cold, there were heavy snows. Nevertheless, no serious
injury or physical suffering of long duration befell any member of our
band of hardy woodsmen. Not one of our number was yet thirty years old,
the youngest one being eighteen. Two only of the party were married,
Fendall G. Winston, and myself. On leaving Grand Rapids in August, we
separated ourselves from all other white men. The party was as
completely separated from the outside world as though it had been aboard
a whaling vessel in the Northern Seas. No letters nor communications of
any kind reached us after winter set in, until our arrival in Grand
Rapids in the month of February following. Letters were occasionally
written and kept in readiness to send out by any Indian who might be
going to the nearest logging camp, whence they might by chance be
carried out to some post office. Whether these letters reached their
destinations or not, could not be known by the writers as long as they
remained on their work, hidden in the forest.
I had left my young wife and infant daughter, not yet a year old, in
Minneapolis. Either, or both might have died and been buried before any
word could have reached me. It was not possible at all times to keep
such thoughts out of my mind. Of course every day was a busy one,
completely filled with the duties of the hour, and the greatest solace
was found in believing that all was well even though we could not
communicate with each other. As I recall, no ill befell any one of the
party nor of the party's dear ones, during all these long weeks and
months of separation. Every man of the party seemed to become more
rugged and to possess greater endurance as the cold increased. It became
the common practice to let the camp fire burn down and die, as we rolled
into our blankets to sleep till the morning hour of arising.
Not every night was spent in comfort, however, though ordinarily that
was the average experience. The less robust ones, of whom there were
very few, sometimes received special attention.
It was during the arduous journey, getting away from the scene of our
first survey to that of the upper waters of Swan River, that one of our
men fell behind all of the others, on a hard day's tramp. P. B. Winston,
who had all the time been very considerate of him, observing that he was
not keeping up to the party, but was quite a long way back on the trail
which the men were breaking through the snow, said that he would wait
for him until he should catch up. Concealing himself behind a thicket
close to the trail, he quietly awaited our friend's arrival. He told the
following incident of the poor fellow's condition:
Mr. Winston allowed him to pass him on the trail, unobserved, and heard
him saying, as he rubbed one of his legs, "Oh Lord, my God, what ever
made me leave my comfortable home and friends, and come out into this
wilderness!" At this instant Mr. Winston called out, "What is the matter
----?" "Oh, I'm freezing, and I don't know that I shall ever be of any
use if I ever get out," he replied. He did live to get out and to reach
his friends, none the worse for his doleful experience. He did not
again, however, go north into the forest, but tried another portion of
the western country, where he became very prosperous.
Long living around the open camp fire in the winter months, standing
around in the smoke, and accumulating more or less of the odors from
foods of various kinds being cooked by the open fire, invariably result
in all of one's clothing and all of one's bedding becoming more or less
saturated with the smell of the camp. This condition one does not notice
while living in it from day to day, but he does not need to be out and
away from such environments for more than a few hours, before he becomes
personally conscious, to some degree, that such odors are not of a
quality that would constitute a marketable article for cash. On arriving
in Minneapolis at the close of the winter's campaign, without having
changed our garments--as we had none with us that had not shared with us
one and the same fate--Mr. P. B. Winston and I engaged a hack at the
railroad station, and drove to our respective homes.
[Illustration: "We saw racks in Minnesota made by the Indians". (Page
172.)]
It was Mr. Winston's domicile that was first reached, and it happened,
as the driver stopped in front of his house, that his fiancée, Miss
Kittie Stevens (the first white child born in Minneapolis), chanced to
be passing by. Of course their meeting was unexpected to either, but was
a pleasant and joyous one, though somewhat embarrassing to Mr. Winston.
The wind was blowing, and I noticed that he took the precaution to keep
his own person out of the windward. He had been a soldier in the
Confederate Army, and I smiled with much satisfaction as I observed his
splendid maneuver.
On meeting me next day, Mr. Winston inquired whether his tactics had
been observed, and, being assured that they had, he said that that was
the embarrassing moment for him, for he did not know but that the young
lady might have considered that she had just grounds for breaking the
engagement. Both of us, however, knew better, for she was a young lady
possessed of a large degree of common sense and loveliness. The young
people later were married, Mr. Winston becoming mayor of Minneapolis,
remaining always, one of its best citizens. Often, afterwards, incidents
of that winter's experience, a few of which have been herein recorded,
were gone over together with great pleasure by the parties interested.