Methods of Acquiring Government Land--An Abandoned Squaw.
For many years it was the practice of the United States government,
after its lands had been surveyed, to advertise them for sale at public
auction on a date fixed by the government. Time sufficient was always
given to allow parties interested to go themselves, or send men into the
woods, to examine the lands, and thus to be prepared on the day of sale,
to bid as high a price on any description as each was willing to pay.
After the time advertised for the lands to be thus offered, had expired,
and after the land sale had been held, all lands not bought in at that
sale became subject to private entry at the local land office. It was
this class of lands that I bought in Wisconsin.
After the Civil War, by act of Congress, each Union soldier was given
the right to homestead one hundred and sixty acres of land, the
government price of which was one dollar and twenty-five cents per acre.
It sometimes happened that the soldier found only forty acres, or
possibly eighty acres, or one hundred and twenty acres, lying
contiguous, that he cared to take as a homestead. Later, Congress passed
another law enabling the soldier, who had thus previously entered fewer
than one hundred and sixty acres, to take an additional homestead claim
of enough acres, which, when added to his previous homestead, would make
a total of one hundred and sixty acres. The soldier was not obliged to
live on this additional piece of land, but had the right to sell his
certificate or scrip from the government, to anyone who might choose to
buy it, and the purchaser, by power of attorney from the soldier, could
with this scrip, himself enter the land. This became a common practice,
covering a period of several years, and it was with the use of this kind
of scrip that very much of the land that was surveyed about the time I
have been describing, was entered.
In the following winter--that of 1875 and 1876--I was in the woods of
Minnesota west of Cloquet, accompanied by an Indian named Antoine, and,
while breaking trail on snowshoes in the deep snow along an obscure road
that had been cut through to Grand Rapids, on the Mississippi, I came to
a small Indian tepee close by the side of the road. A little smoke was
curling from its peak, and a piece of an old blanket was hanging over
its entrance. Calling aloud, I heard a faint voice of a woman answering
from within. Entering the wigwam, we found there an impoverished,
half-clad, half-frozen, perishing squaw. She told us that her feet had
been frozen so that she could not walk, and that her family had left her
to die. She had food enough, and possibly fuel enough, to last her about
two more days. I was at a loss to know what was the wisest and most
humane thing to do. We were far in the woods, and away from every human
inhabitant. It was as easy to proceed to Grand Rapids as it was to
retrace our steps to Duluth. A decision was soon made, and that was,
that we would cut and split, and bring inside the wigwam a large pile of
good wood, with plenty of kindling, and would leave the poor woman
supplies from our pack sacks, of things most suitable and most
convenient for her to use, as whatever she did, must be done on her
hands and knees.
Having provided her with a liberal supply of rice, pork, crackers, some
flour, sugar, tea, and a package of smoking tobacco--for all squaws
smoke--besides melting snow until we had filled an old pail with water,
we felt that she could keep herself alive and comfortable for several
days, at least. I then took out of my pack, a new pair of North Star
camping blankets, and cutting them in two, left one-half to provide
additional warmth for the unfortunate squaw. As is the custom of her
people when something much appreciated has been done for one of them,
she took my hand and kissed it. Leaving her plenty of matches, we bade
her good-by, and resumed our journey toward Grand Rapids.
Once more on the trail, I asked Antoine how old he believed the squaw to
be. He said maybe forty; I should have judged her to have been seventy,
but no doubt I was mistaken, and the Indian's judgment was far better.
Arriving at Grand Rapids, I wrote the authorities at Duluth, and at Fond
du Lac Indian Reservation, telling them of the poor woman's situation
and where she was located. I afterwards learned that she had been sent
for, and brought out by team, and that she had been subsequently taken
to her band of Indians.
I have been told by different Indians, that the sick and the aged are
sometimes abandoned when the band is very short of provisions, and when
to take the helpless with them, would prove a great burden.