United States Land Sale at Duluth--Joe LaGarde.
During the summer of 1882, the United States government had advertised
that it would offer at public auction, many townships of land lying
along the border between Minnesota and Canada, in Cook, Lake, St. Louis,
and Itasca Counties. This country was difficult to reach. The distance
from Duluth to Lake Vermilion was upwards of ninety miles. There was not
even a road through the woods, over which a loaded team could be driven.
Men were obliged to take their supplies upon their backs and carry them
over a trail, all of this distance. From Lake Vermilion, it was possible
to work both eastward and westward, by using canoes and making numerous
portages from one lake to another, and so on for seventy-five miles in
either direction along the boundary. Supplies were soon exhausted, so
that it was necessary to keep packers on the trail, bringing in on their
backs, fresh supplies from Duluth to Vermilion, where now is located the
city of Tower. In the Vermilion country, dog trains could sometimes be
advantageously used.
Estimators of timber were employed either for themselves or for others,
in surveying the lands, and in estimating the pine timber in these
various townships that were to be offered at public sale in the month of
December. This work continued almost to the day when the sale was to
begin. That sale was held at the local land office at Duluth, and there
were present men interested in the purchase of pine timber, from Maine,
Pennsylvania, New York, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and some men
representing Canadian capital. The competition was vigorous, and Uncle
Sam's lands were bid in at a round price.
During the fall of 1882, while preparing for the approaching land sale
at Duluth, the only son of William S. Patrick, Simeon D. Patrick, a
veteran land examiner in my employ, and I, made a short trip west of
Duluth, exploring a section of country south of where now is the station
of Cornwall, on the Northern Pacific Railroad. Our packer and handy man
who carried part of our supplies, was an Indian of considerable note, by
the name of John LaGarde, familiarly known as Joe LaGarde. He was a fine
specimen of Chippewa Indian trapper, tall, straight, muscular, and a
good burden bearer, but rather averse to long days' work. He was handy
about camp, but, being an Indian, and accustomed to lying down at night
with his feet close to a few live embers, he did not share with the
white man the wish for large piles of wood to last through the cold
nights that prevailed during this trip.
[Illustration: "The roots of the lilies are much relished as a food by
the moose." (Page 172.)]
It happened that one evening we pitched our tent near a small stream, in
a grove composed principally of young birch, but interspersed with large
and shaggy ones. Everyone at all familiar with the birch knows there is
much of it, on which the outer bark peels naturally, and it is no
uncommon thing to be able to peel, with the use of the hands only, large
quantities of the bark. There was almost an inexhaustible supply of just
such bark near this camping ground. Joe was either tired or indisposed
to work that evening, and when bedtime arrived, the pile of wood looked
very scant for the long hours of the night. No one likes a little
innocent fun better than my friend Patrick. Looking at the small
woodpile, then at Joe, Patrick gave me a twinkle of his eye, started out
into the semidarkness, and commenced peeling bark off the birch trees.
He busied himself thus, until he had peeled off and brought in near our
tent, a huge pile of this beautiful birch bark.
No matter how rainy the weather may be, or how deep the snow in winter,
if the frontiersman is fortunate enough to be camped in a grove of live
birch, he knows that this ever friendly and useful birch bark will
afford him a sure means of kindling a fire. It carries much oil and
burns readily when a match is applied to it. The fire was fixed for the
night, and Patrick and I lay down in our tent under our blankets to
sleep. Joe, as was his custom, curled up at the foot of the tent and
left his bare feet sticking out toward the fire. His requirement of
blanket was less than half of what would satisfy a white man. As long as
his feet were warm, the Indian did not suffer from cold. About midnight
the fire had burned very low, when Patrick emerged from the tent and
commenced dropping pieces of birch bark on the fast consuming fire logs.
I was well back in the tent, propped up a little on my elbows, enjoying
the glow of the fire, and watching it, as well as watching the Indian.
As the fire increased and the flames rose higher, the Indian's feet
began to twitch, and to draw up closer to his body. Soon the heat was so
tremendous that the tent was in danger, when, like a missile, thrown by
a strong spring, the Indian shot out of his blanket and into the woods,
muttering his imprecations in Chippewa. He did not swear, for praise be
to the Chippewa language, it contains no such words; but a madder Indian
and a happier white man are seldom seen. The sequel to this episode was
plenty of good fuel to burn during all of the following nights of this
cruise in the forest.
We employed LaGarde on other and later trips, and his services were
always satisfactory. He has since gone to the happy hunting ground, and,
with his passing, a tinge of sadness steals over us, for his memory is
dear, and we have no right or wish to count him as other than our
brother. He was always true to the white man, and deserves his meed of
praise.
An account of his death appeared in the Duluth Herald, February 28th,
1911, from which the following summary is gathered:
His age is given in the death certificate, as one hundred years. He was
born on the Red Lake Indian Reservation, near Thief River Falls. His
mother was a full-blooded Chippewa, and his father a half-breed with a
French-Canadian name. In 1834, when about twenty-four years old, he came
with his mother, to the Head of the Lakes, and settled at the historic
John Jacob Astor Trading Post, at Fond du Lac. Three years later, while
trading at Madeleine Island, near Bayfield, he met Liola Chievier, a
half-breed, whom he afterwards married and brought to Fond du Lac. There
were seven children to this union, but only three are now living. The
youngest, aged fifty-five, lived at Fond du Lac with his father. The
other two were located on the White Earth Reservation. They were Moses
and Simon. The old man's wife died about thirty-eight years ago. LaGarde
lived in Fond du Lac about seventy-seven years. He possessed a
remarkable physique. His chest was well developed, his body straight as
an arrow, and he stood six feet two inches in height. Being a Chippewa,
LaGarde loved peace more than war, and he never took part in any Indian
outbreak. As far back as the memory of any white man of the suburb goes,
he had a reputation of being honest in all his transactions with the
white traders. His body was buried in the Indian burying grounds, at the
Fond du Lac Indian Reservation near Cloquet.