father said, "I have not a doubt that the time will come when it will be
settled through here." We all thought it was very grand of father to
take such a long shot as that.
When we reached St. Anthony, the people were lovely to us. We did begin
to feel at home at once. We had to find a place to live. One of them
went with us to the "Stranger's House," a slab house standing near the
falls. Anyone who came and had no place to live was welcome to live in
this house until they had a home of their own. This was why it was
called the "Stranger's House." The Mousseau's, a French Red River
family were living in one half of it. We scrubbed it out and moved in.
Mother sewed some loops on some quilts and made two bedrooms. We told
her she was a fine carpenter. We did have lots of fun in our family. The
floor was rough boards, but we planed them off by scrubbing with white
sand. When the floor was dry, we always sprinkled it with white sand.
The slabs were put on lengthwise, and there were always rows of bright
Indians' eyes like beads on a string watching us through these cracks.
My brother had smallpox in this house. We never knew how it came, but
come it did. Dr. Murphy when he first saw him said it was measles or
smallpox, but he vaccinated us all. It took just lovely. In those days
they used a scab from the arm of someone who had been vaccinated. My
brother took quantities of penny-royal tea and no other medicine. He
came through fine.
On the Fourth of July we went to a dancing party or ball at the hotel.
We did have a beautiful time--Mrs. Northrup was a lovely cook. I
remember the butter was in the shape of a pineapple with leaves and all.
We danced contra dances, such as "The Tempest" and Spanish dances. The
waltz, too, with three little steps danced very fast, was popular. We
took hold of our partner's elbows.
I taught the first school at Shingle Creek when I was a girl of
seventeen. My school house was a claim shanty reached by a plank from
the other side of the creek. My boarding place was a quarter of a mile
from the creek. The window of the school house was three little panes of
glass which shoved sideways to let in the air.
One afternoon just before time to dismiss the school, the windows were
darkened by the faces of savages looking in. Each carried a gun and the
terror inspired by them was very great as they were not the friendly
faces of the Indians we were used to. The children all flocked around
me. I went on hearing their lessons and then told them to sing. The
Indians appeared delighted with this and laughed and talked with each
other. After school, with the children clustered around me, I took an
atlas and went out and showed the Indians the pictures. I knew they were
very fond of looking at pictures. They all stayed until the last picture
had been shown and the leaves turned again and again and then with a
friendly glance at me and my little flock, strode off and I never saw
them again.
The only time I ever fished was when I was teaching this school. I went
with friends to the mouth of Shingle Creek. I did not know how to go at
it when the pole and line were given to me. I asked what I should do and
they told me if I felt my line pulling, to throw it over my head as
quickly as I could. I was standing before some thick hazel brush and
when I felt a tug, I did as I was told, landing on my back in the hazel
brush at the same time. However, the largest black bass that the
fishermen had ever seen was on my hook in the hazel brush. They thought
it weighed over four pounds.
My little sister was taken to a revival meeting in the old church in St.
Anthony. She was about as big as a minute and understood nothing of what
was going on but was very wise looking. The minister did not slight even
this atom, but asked her if she had found Jesus. She said hastily, "I
didn't know he was lost."
Mr. William W. Ellison--1850.
Mr. Ellison now in his ninety-third year, with a perfect memory says:
I came to Minnesota with a determination to lead an outdoor life as my
lungs were giving me much trouble. One of the first things I did was to
take a yoke of oxen to Traverse to meet Mr. Williamson who was a
missionary at Lac qui Parle. It was in November. I was new at this kind
of work. The oxen were delivered to me at Fort Snelling. I crossed the
river in a canoe and swam the oxen across to Mendota. Then I went on
towards Shakopee. There was a wellworn Indian trail leading along the
Minnesota River and I followed that. I went through Black Dog's village.
I started late in the afternoon.
A young couple had been married at Mendota a few days before and had
gone on ahead. I expected to catch up with them. My oxen were most
tractable and the country through which I passed very beautiful. The
trail led along a ridge.
My Uncle, Mr. Williamson, had always told me to make my camp early while
there was plenty of light, so not seeing or hearing anything of the
other wagon, I made my camp where an old Indian camp had been and
prepared to spend a comfortable night in the woods. I cooked my supper
and then turned in. The wind had come up and I soon became very chilly,
so I looked around for a warmer place. I found a windfall and made
myself a nice little fire by crossing the trunks and building a fire
under them. I spent the next four hours in comfort, though it was very
cold. My uncle had told me to start with the first rays of the sun. I
had no timepiece, so when I saw a glow in the east, I got up, ate my
breakfast and started. It was not long before I saw that my dawn was a
prairie fire. I had not gone far when I heard a horse neighing and soon
found my Mendota friends. They had not understood how to camp so were
nearly frozen to death. Their wagon had broken down when they were in a
swamp. They had taken what little bedding they had and camped on a knoll
in this swamp. I surely was sorry for that bride. Her husband had had a
chill early in the evening before they camped. She had been up with him
all night and now thought he was dying. I thought he was too. I tried to
make a fire out of the wet willow wood there, but could not and he got
bluer and bluer. We used all the blankets we had. Finally I said, "You
lie down on one side of him and I on the other." After some time his
teeth stopped chattering and his color returned. I think it would have
been the last of him if I had not found them as I did.
I tried to fix the cart but could not. A half breed who was driving for
them had gone on to Shakopee for help, taking one horse the night
before. I started on with my oxen to bring help. When I got nearly to
Shakopee, I met a half breed, John Moores, going to their help. I waited
for them in Shakopee. McLeod's boat came along and they took that as
they could not get their cart mended well. I could make about twenty
miles a day walking with my oxen. I stayed one night in the big woods at
Belle Plaine. The wolves were very thick, "so I hung my food on a
sapling and leaned it against a tree. When I got to the crossing at
Traverse, it was dark. I hollered. I could hear someone say, 'That must
be Ellison.' Then they came over for me. The Hopkins' and Huggins' had
the mission station there then. It did seem good to get where I had a
square meal. I had been living principally on a sweet biscuit my Aunt,
Mrs. Williamson, the missionary's wife at Kaposia made. Don't ever take
anything sweet to eat for any length of time."
Martin McLeod met the boat with a string of Red River carts. They were
loaded with furs and were to take supplies back. It was very interesting
to me to watch the loading and unloading of this boat. I was not yet
familiar with those half breed drivers. They seemed sociable fellows,
among themselves, laughing, joking and talking in their lingo.
The boat had brought a barrel of flour, one of pork and other supplies
for the Mission at Lac qui Parle, so after spending a week at Traverse
waiting for the train to start, I took these in a cart drawn by one ox
and started with the rest on Monday morning. The Dressers had their cart
which I had managed to fix and their team of horses. I started with them
and the string of carts. I could see the trail two miles ahead. It had
to go around the sloughs. The cart train of course followed it. I soon
saw the sloughs were frozen and would bear my ox and wide wheeled cart
where it was not deep, so I cut across. When Mrs. Dresser was getting
dinner, I appeared and ate with them. They could not understand how I
could keep up with horses. The train was several miles back. We all
camped together at night. The first night was spent on the border of
Swan Lake. The trail followed a straight line from Traverse to Lac qui
Parle, except for these sloughs.
Saturday night we camped at Black Oak Lake, twelve miles from Lac qui
Parle. In the morning, McLeod and his train went on, but we stayed and
kept the Sabbath, arriving the next day.
The first Indian I ever shook hands with was Little Crow at Kaposia, his
village. He was common looking even for an Indian. My uncle, Dr.
Williamson said, "He is the smoothest Indian I know. Usually when I am
told a lie once, I look out for that liar and never trust him again, but
Little Crow has fooled me with his lies a dozen times and I suppose he
will a dozen times more."
When I first knew John Otherday he was a savage with all a savage's
instincts. My uncle, Mr. Williamson said to me one night, "We'll lock
the cattle up tonight; Oupeto Topeca, later Otherday, is back from
Washington and feels very much abused. He might kill them." When he
became a Christian all this was changed. He never forgot his religion
for a moment. At the time of the outbreak he led a party of refugees at
the greatest risk to himself through the back country to Shakopee. I
think there were over forty in the party.
I used to walk fifty miles a day with ease, and could keep it up for
several days. I never walked in moccasins, for they gave no support to
the feet; but a soldier's shoe, bought at the fort for $2.00 was ideal
to wear. It had a long, heavy sole leather sole, a very low heel and
heavy leather all hand sewed, for the uppers.
The Northwestern Fur Company's trail started from New Cave, now St.
Paul, and followed the Mississippi River through St. Anthony to Anoka.
It forded the Rum River at Anoka, near the Mississippi, following as
nearly as possible that river to St. Cloud, where it crossed at a ford.
It then followed the Sauk River about eleven miles; then turned to the
right and crossed Big Bend forty-five miles, striking the river again
four miles north from Sauk Center. Then it passed through the timber to
Alexandria. It crossed Red River near Fort Abercrombie; then went
directly north to Pembina, passing from point to point of the Red River
of the North. The Red River carts had wheel rims eight inches wide. I
have seen them with solid wheels cut from a single round of a tree. I
have heard that the carts around Pembina were formerly all like this,
but in my day they generally had spokes. I suppose they were lighter. It
was the width of wheel and sagacity of the animal that made it possible
to go with security over the most impossible roads. They usually carried
eight hundred pounds. When they reached St. Paul they camped where
Larpenteur's home now is.
I never knew an Indian who had been converted to go back on the whites.
Some people would sell them a pair of pants, for a Christian Indian
could vote and then say as they saw them so dressed, "There is a
Christian Indian." It took more than a pair of pants to Christianize an
Indian, but when they were once converted, they stayed so, as the many
people who were saved by them in the massacre could testify.
Mr. D. E. Dow--1850.
In 1850 when I first came to Minnesota, I took a claim at Lake Harriet
near where the pavilion now stands. The ruins of the old Steven's
Mission were on my claim. It had been built in 1834. I did not keep this
claim long, though I built a log cabin there and kept bachelor's hall,
but soon took a claim where my present house stands in Hopkins. I built
a cabin here but boarded with a widow and her children. All the food we
had was game, pork and buckwheat cakes. The buckwheat they had brought
from their home and it was all ground in the coffee mill then sifted
through a horsehair sieve before it could be used. There were seven in
the family to grind for, so it kept one person grinding all the time.
I was supposed to live alone in my cabin but hardly ever spent a night
without the companionship of some Sioux Indians who were hunting around
there. I gladly received them as they were friendly, and their company
was much better than none. One winter they came in such numbers that at
night the floor was entirely covered by their sleeping forms. Early in
the morning, they would go out and all day hunt the deer, with which the
woods abounded. It was very cold and the slain deer froze immediately.
They stacked them up, making a huge pile. Suddenly all the Indians left.
One morning shortly after, I was working in the clearing around my
cabin, when I saw a line of squaws which I think was a block long,
coming over the trail which led from Shakopee to Hopkins. The squaws
went to the pile of deer. Each took one on her back and silently trudged
away over the trail toward Shakopee. Some of the squaws were so small
that the frozen carcass had to be adjusted by another squaw or it would
drag on the ground. They were two weeks removing this pile of deer and
had to walk twenty-eight miles with each one before they got home with
it.
When I first made my way to Minnetonka, I came out at Gray's Bay. There
were vast numbers of Indian mounds there and bark sheds for drying fish.
This was in '53.
An Indian trail led along the shore of Lake Calhoun just above where the
street car track is now. It continued on the high ground to the Mission
at Lake Harriet. I killed a deer at what had been the Mission ground the
first time I ever saw the lake. The trail continued on the high ground
around Lake Harriet. There were fishing trails, too, around the lakes
near the water, but the trails ordinarily used were on high ground where
there was no fear of ambush. Another trail was north of Lake Calhoun and
led to Hopkins, then to Shakopee, Little Six Village. The opposite
shore was a big swamp. Another much used trail followed along the
highlands of the Mississippi River to the fort sawmill which stood near
where the old Union Station was in Minneapolis. The reservation on which
the fort stood was ten miles square and included all the present site of
Minneapolis. This is why that city was so long without settlers,
although the water power was the finest to be found anywhere.
Mrs. Elizabeth Clifford--1850.
My father had asthma terribly and was advised to come to Minnesota for
his health. He arrived in Stillwater with his family and a stock of
goods in 1850. He exchanged these for land six miles out of that town
and two and one half miles off the main traveled road leading to Marine.
We had a very fine barn and comfortable home made of lumber from the
Stillwater Mills. Our nearest neighbor was two and one-half miles away,
Mr. Morgan who kept the halfway house, but I cannot remember that I was
ever lonesome.
We spent much time in the woods, where we found the most wonderful wild
flowers. There was not a tame flower known to us whose counterpart we
could not find in our woods. Of vegetables I remember best a small pink
eyed potato, the most delicious I have ever tasted. As they baked, they
could be heard popping in the oven. They are not raised now. The wild
plum found in the woods my father cultivated and they were as large as
small eggs and looked like small peaches.
One day as I glanced from the window, I saw a body of Indian warriors
coming on the trail that led around the lake near us. As they came up, I
saw they were in full war paint and feathers. They entered, examined
everything, but took nothing. They asked for and ate bread and molasses,
as they had seen the children doing when they came in. They all had guns
and, big bowie knives sticking in their belts. One particularly
villainous looking one took out his knife and felt the edge, looking
wickedly at us. One was exceptionally pleasant looking and I thought he
would protect us if the rest got ugly. They finally went away. They
were followed in the afternoon by a band of Chippewa braves who asked if
the Sioux warriors had been that way that day. When told they had, they
rode hurriedly after them. They said the Sioux had taken some Chippewa
scalps.
[Illustration: SURVIVORS WHO WERE AT TRAVERSE DES SIOUX AT THE TIME OF
THE TREATY IN 1851. Mrs. Richard Chute, General William G. Le Duc and
Mrs. Gideon Pond. Mrs. Morris is standing by General Le Duc. Taken at a
Celebration given in their honor July 17, 1914, by the Old Trails
Chapter, at the home of Mrs. M. W. Savage.]
Mrs. Richard Chute--1851.
I came to Minnesota a bride in 1851 and with my husband shortly
afterwards took the steamer for Traverse de Sioux, where a great treaty
with the Indians was to be signed. With us we took a tent, provisions
and a French man to cook. I was the only woman in all the company.
It was all so wonderful to me--the beautiful country through which we
passed and the preparations made for all the company on landing.
The Indians, a great concourse of them were down to see the boat come
in. To see them scamper when the boat whistled was a sight to be
remembered. Some fell in the water, but fled as soon as they could get
themselves out. I think this was the first steamboat they had ever seen.
They were frightened and curious at the same time.
Ten years before, at my home in Ohio, I had seen the Indians often as
they would stop at our house for food on the way to Fort Wayne. My
mother always cooked corn dodgers for them and gave them milk to drink.
They loved her and knew she was their friend. They always gave me
strings of vari-colored glass beads. I think I had one of every color.
These Indians at Traverse made me feel at home at once and I gave them a
friendly smile. The glances they returned were shy, but friendly. Their
painted faces and breasts and gaudy clothes were different from our
Indians. Their tepees stretched as far as the eye could see. It seemed
that the squaws must have had instruction in embroidery from some
civilized teacher. Their patterns were so intricate. Their colors so
well placed. Their moccasins were always beautifully done with beads and
colored porcupine quills; their best petticoats, too. As for their
liege lords, their best suits, if suits they might be called, were
beautifully done. A young squaw, instead of pouring out her love in
song, would pour it out in embroidery and her husband would be very gay,
indeed.
Mrs. Hopkins, wife of the missionary, met us and took us home with her
where we were very well cared for. She was a charming little woman, full
of missionary zeal and greatly loved. I never heard her complain. Her
husband, too, was greatly beloved by the Indians.
We took our stores and cooked there and with fresh vegetables from the
little farm worked by Mr. Huggins, fish and game, we had choice meals.
I used to ride horseback, or rather "pony back," every day, always with
my husband and frequently with Mr. Sibley. My pony was borrowed from the
Indians. Mr. Chute and Mr. Sibley rode large horses. Every Indian brave,
who came, came on a pony. His tepee, household goods and children were
drawn by one. There were so many that they seemed more than the blades
of grass. Literally thousands of these ponies were grazing some distance
back of the encampment. We three rode out to see them. As we neared
them, and they smelled my pony, that vast herd, with one accord, started
towards us and almost at once literally engulfed me. The men called,
"For God's sake, don't get off. Hold on for your life." I took the pony
around the neck with both arms and did hold on. The men came after me as
fast as they could and rode their big horses on either side of me. The
Indians rushed in on their ponies and after some time succeeded in
turning that vast multitude and letting the prisoner escape. I was cool
and collected while the danger menaced, but when it was over, trembled
and shook. My taste for horseback riding at Traverse was gone.
Mr. Sibley, Mr. Chute and I, with a guide, went to see a miniature
Minnehaha. We walked all day going there and back--crossing the little
stream many times. My husband took off his boots to ford the stream. He
always carried me over. He cut his foot badly and could hardly get to
the commission tent. Mr. Sibley urged us not to go to the Hopkins', but
to stay there, but Mr. Chute wanted to go. It was bright moonlight, and
I walked three quarters of a mile to Mr. Hopkins' to get a pony to take
my husband back. I passed a little lake on the prairie. Mr. Chute and I
always walked arm in arm as was then the custom for married people.
Mirrored in the lake I could see reflected many, many Indian lovers
walking as they had seen the pale faces do. I laughed to myself as I
thought what mimics these children were. It was their following the
customs of the white man, drinking as they saw him drink, that degraded
them so.
On the Fourth of July there was to be a great celebration. The Indians
were to have all their dances. Early in the morning, Mr. Hopkins went
out to bathe in the river. He did not return. A little Indian girl said
she had seen him go under the water and only two hands come above it.
His body was not found for two days. A great crowd of squaws surrounded
the house, showing by their sad looks what the loss was to them. At the
burial, the Indians, a vast number of them, sang the hymns in Sioux.
This funeral, way off in the wilderness, with these crowds of savage
mourners, could never be forgotten.
Mr. Charles Bohanon--1851.
I moved to the farm where I am now living in '53. My father first took
up a claim in 1851 where the Central Market now stands, but while he was
in the woods, Old Man Stimson squat on that, so he took a claim at what
is now Camden Place. He built a small house there. The farm was covered
with brush and "oak openins". Everyone of these trees had to be grubbed
out. One of my earliest recollections is the Red River carts that used
to go squawking by on this side of the river as well as on the St.
Anthony side. They were called the Red River Band. They were one of the
loudest bands ever brought together, as their music, that of wood
rubbing against wood, could be heard three miles. While my father was in
the woods, the Indians used to come and sleep in the dooryard. Sometimes
it would be full of painted Sioux. They never stole anything or begged,
but would gratefully take anything offered them. They were very friendly
and kind and full of curiosity, as their looking in the windows at all
times showed.
My father had brought a fine pair of horses from Galena. One day when he
was mowing wild hay on a meadow, he left them unhitched and was
excitedly told by a neighbor that they had got in the river. He ran and
saw one swimming near the other shore but as the other had turned over
with his feet in the air, the combined weight of the horse and wagon was
too much for him and before help came, he sank. We recovered the running
gear of the wagon later when all came upon a sandbar, but the harness
had been stolen. What the loss of this team was to a pioneer farmer, we
can hardly conceive.
The countless number of pigeons which migrated here every spring could
never be estimated. At all hours of the night their cry of "Pigie,
Pigie, Pigie," could be heard. They could be seen in countless numbers
on the "slab trees," that is, old, dead trees. Anyone could kill
hundreds in a day and thousands killed, seemingly made no impression.
They flew very low and in dense masses. Ducks and geese were exceedingly
plentiful. I have never seen wild swan here, but many in Minnesota in
the Red River country.
On our farm was a thicket of plums which probably came up from the
stones from one tree. Some were blue, some red, others yellow and red.
Some were sour, some bitter, others tasteless, while others still, were
sweet and of an exquisite flavor. These trees soon ran out and I think
all of this best variety are gone. I remember picking raspberries,
blackberries and wild strawberries in quantities. Every summer we would
go up to Anoka and spend a week camping and picking blueberries.