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FIFTY YEARS IN THE NORTHWEST.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND APPENDIX
CONTAINING
REMINISCENCES, INCIDENTS AND NOTES.
BY W. H. C. FOLSOM.
EDITED BY E. E. EDWARDS.
PUBLISHED BY
PIONEER PRESS COMPANY.
1888.
TO THE OLD SETTLERS
OF
WISCONSIN AND MINNESOTA,
WHO, AS PIONEERS, AMIDST PRIVATIONS AND TOIL NOT KNOWN TO THOSE OF
LATER GENERATION, LAID HERE THE FOUNDATIONS OF TWO GREAT
STATES, AND HAVE LIVED TO SEE THE RESULT OF THEIR
ARDUOUS LABORS IN THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE
WILDERNESS--DURING FIFTY YEARS--INTO A
FRUITFUL COUNTRY, IN THE BUILDING
OF GREAT CITIES, IN THE
ESTABLISHING OF ARTS
AND MANUFACTURES,
IN THE
CREATION OF COMMERCE
AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF AGRICULTURE,
THIS WORK IS RESPECTFULLY
DEDICATED
BY THE AUTHOR, W. H. C. FOLSOM.
PREFACE.
At the age of nineteen years, I landed on the banks of the Upper
Mississippi, pitching my tent at Prairie du Chien, then (1836) a
military post known as Fort Crawford. I kept memoranda of my various
changes, and of many of the events transpiring. Subsequently, not,
however, with any intention of publishing them in book form until
1876, when, reflecting that fifty years spent amidst the early and
first white settlements, and continuing till the period of
civilization and prosperity, itemized by an observer and participant
in the stirring scenes and incidents depicted, might furnish material
for an interesting volume, valuable to those who should come after me,
I concluded to gather up the items and compile them in a convenient
form.
As a matter of interest to personal friends, and as also tending to
throw additional light upon my relation to the events here narrated, I
have prefixed an account of my own early life for the nineteen years
preceding my removal to the West, thus giving to the work a somewhat
autobiographical form. It may be claimed that a work thus written in
the form of a life history of a single individual, with observations
from his own personal standpoint, will be more connected, clear and
systematic in its narration of events than if it were written
impersonally.
The period included in these sketches is one of remarkable
transitions, and, reaching backward, in the liberty accorded to the
historian, to the time of the first explorations by the Jesuits, the
first English, French and American traders, is a period of
transformation and progress that has been paralleled only on the
shores of the New World. We have the transition from barbarism to
civilization; we have the subjugation of the wilderness by the first
settlers; the organization of territorial and state governments; an
era of progress from the rude habits of the pioneer and trapper, to
the culture and refinement of civilized states; from the wilderness,
yet unmapped, and traversed only by the hardy pioneer in birch barks
or dog sledges, to the cultivated fields, cobwebbed by railways and
streams furrowed by steamers. It is something to have witnessed a
part, even, of this wonderful transformation, and it is a privilege
and a pleasure to record, even in part, its history.
I have quoted from the most correct histories within my reach, but the
greater part of my work, or of that pertaining to the fifty years just
passed, has been written from personal observation and from
information obtained directly by interview with, or by written
communications from, persons identified in some way with the history
of the country. To those persons who have so freely and generously
assisted me in the collection of material for this work, I hereby
express my thanks. I have relied sparingly on traditions, and, where I
have used them, have referred to them as such.
INTRODUCTION.
While genealogical tables are of interest chiefly to the families and
individuals whose names are therein preserved, I still deem it not
amiss to insert here a brief account of my ancestry. Among the
emigrants from England to the New World in 1638, came John Foulsham,
then twenty-three or twenty-four years of age, and his wife, to whom
he had been married about a year and a half. They came from Hingham,
England, to Hingham, Mass., with a colony that probably named the
settlement in loving remembrance of the town they had left. They came
on account of certain ecclesiastical troubles; their rector, with whom
they sympathized, having torn down the altar rails and leveled the
altar, an act of irreverence that called down upon them the wrath of
their superior, Bishop Wren, and resulted in rector and people selling
out their real estate at half its value and emigrating to America.
John received a grant of land consisting of four acres and built
himself a house, the frame being constructed of sawed oak timber. This
house, built in 1640, stood until 1875, two hundred and thirty-five
years, when it was taken down and manufactured into canes and chairs,
which were distributed as relics to the American descendants of the
family. The family, however, had increased so greatly that the supply
was not equal to the demand.
The wife of John Foulsham was Mary Gilman. From this couple the
American Folsoms and their allies from marriages with the female
descendants of the family have sprung. The ancestors of John Foulsham
may be traced backward a period of near six hundred years, and many of
the family have honorable mention in English history. The earliest
mention is concerning John Foulsham of Foulsham, prior of a Carmelite
monastery in Norwich, and "præses provincialis" of all England. This
Foulsham is spoken of in Bayle's catalogue of eminent worthies as "no
mean proficient in controversial theology, knowing how, by means of
syllogystic tricks, to turn white into black and men into donkeys." He
died in the great plague at Norwich in 1348.
A certain John de Foulsham is spoken of in Blomefield's History of
Norfolk as an "eloquent, unflinching opponent of the corruptions of
the times." It is possible that this may be the Carmelite prior above
mentioned, though the prefix _de_ leaves the matter somewhat in doubt.
As to the original derivation of the family name, Hon. George Folsom,
of Philadelphia, in one of the manuscripts left by him, says: "It
arose upon the adoption of surnames in England, from the town of
Foulsham, a village in the county of Norfolk, six or eight miles north
of Hingham, in which county the family was seated for many centuries,
possessing estates in fifteen different places." Thus John de, or John
of Foulsham, became John Foulsham.
The orthography and pronunciation of the name have varied in the
family itself, as well as among those writing and pronouncing it. The
first Anglo-American bearing the name spelled it "Foulsham." His son,
Deacon John, spelled it "Fullsam" in 1709, and it is signed "Foullsam"
in his last will--1715. In one instance, in the Hingham town records,
it is spelled "Fulsham," but always afterward, "Foulsham." In the
Exeter records it is written uniformly "Folsom" with but one
exception, when it is written by the town clerk "Foulshame." In the
records of the first parish, Haverhill, Massachusetts, it is written
"Foulsham," "Foulsam," "Folsham" and "Fulsom." Originally it was
doubtless spelled "Foulshame," its etymological significance being the
_fowls' home_, a breeding place or mart. It was probably at first
written with a hyphen, as Fouls-hame, but the final syllable was
eventually shortened. Everywhere it is now written _Folsom_ by those
having the name, and is pronounced like _wholesome_.
The characteristics of the family have been quite uniform. Far as
known they were a religious family, and prominent as such in both
Catholic and Protestant circles, with a strong disposition toward
dissent from the established order of things. Thus John de Foulsham
wrote a treatise quite at variance with the doctrines of the church,
advocating the marriage of priests. John Foulsham, the Anglo-American,
left England on account of his dissent, preferring a home in the
wilderness with freedom to worship God, to dwelling under the rule of
a haughty and tyrannical bishop. Many of the family espoused the
doctrines of Whitfield. Many of them became Baptists, becoming such at
a time when the Baptists were most unpopular, and afterward becoming
Free Will Baptists, in which communion more of the family may to-day
be found than in any other.
The occupations of the family were mostly, in the early days,
mechanical. Many were joiners and millwrights. The children and
grandchildren were farmers, landholders and lumbermen. Of the many who
removed to Maine, after the Revolution, most engaged in lumbering, but
turned their attention also to milling and storekeeping.
The family have also shown a military tendency, and during the various
wars visited upon the country since the early colonial times, this
family has borne its full share of the dangers, toils and expense.
My father, Jeremiah Folsom, was born in Tamworth, New Hampshire, Sept.
16, 1780, and was married to Octavia Howe, April 5, 1805. My mother
was born in Machias, Maine, Oct. 12, 1786. My father was a prominent
business man, and was engaged in shipping and mercantile pursuits, he
owning vessels that plied from St. Johns to Machias and other American
ports. To facilitate his business, St. Johns was his home four years,
during which time he was associated with William Henry Carman. This
temporary residence and business association account for my being born
on British soil, and for the names by which I was christened.
According to the record in the old family Bible, I was born at St.
Johns, New Brunswick, June 22, 1817. When I was six months old my
parents moved to Bangor, Maine, thence to Foxcroft, Maine, thence to
Ascot, Lower Canada.
When I was five years old my parents moved to Tamworth, New Hampshire.
Young as I was, I am still able to recall events that occurred while I
lived in Canada. I remember falling into a well and being badly
bruised. I remember also an adventure with a bear. My parents had gone
to church, leaving me at home, greatly against my will. I attempted to
follow, but missed the road and wandered off into a wood, perhaps
three miles away. When my parents returned they were much alarmed,
and parties immediately went in pursuit. When I knew I was lost I set
up a vigorous screaming, which had the effect of attracting attention
from two very different parties. The first was a huge bear in quest of
food, and doubtless delighted at the prospect before him. The second
was one of the rescuing parties in quest of the lost boy. Both
simultaneously approached the screaming youngster and Bruin fought
stubbornly for his prey, but was vanquished by the clubs of my
rescuers, and I was carried home in triumph. I do not clearly recall
all the incidents of this scene, and, strangely enough, do not
remember seeing the bear. Perhaps the terror of being lost drove out
every other impression. An excuse for the narration of this apparently
trifling incident may be found in the fact that but for the prompt
arrival of the rescuing party, this history would never have been
written.
When I was ten years of age my parents removed to Bloomfield, Maine.
While in Tamworth I had excellent opportunities of attending school,
which I improved to the utmost. After leaving Tamworth my school
privileges were well nigh ended, as I never received from that time
more than six months' schooling. My father followed lumbering on the
Kennebec river. During the first winter in Maine, he took me to the
logging camp as camp boy. During the second winter he hired me to
Matthew and Lewis Dunbar as a cook for their wood camp. I cooked for
six men and received five dollars a month. I was used very kindly by
the Dunbars, but that winter in the woods seemed a long, long winter.
The only book in camp was the Bible. There were, however, newspapers
and playing cards. In the spring my father used the fifteen dollars
received for my three months' work to purchase a cow. I served the
Dunbars the third winter, as cook, for six dollars a month, and worked
the ensuing summer on farms at about twenty-five cents per day. During
the fourth winter I worked for the Dunbars and Timothy Snow at seven
dollars per month, and the summer following worked on a farm for
Benjamin Cayford at seven dollars. Cayford was a merciless tyrant, and
sometimes compelled his men to work in the field till nine o'clock at
night. These details of wages paid and work done, uninteresting in
themselves, serve to show the value of a boy's work (I was not yet
fifteen) and what was expected of the average boy, for mine was no
exceptional case nor was my father more exacting than others in his
station in life. He was in poor health, and had a large family of
boys. We were eight in number, and of these I was one of the most
robust and able to assist in the support of the family.
This year I persuaded my father to sell me my time, which amounted to
five years, which he reluctantly did, accepting two hundred and fifty
dollars as an equivalent. It was my ambition to go West. Horace
Greeley had not uttered the talismanic words, "Go West, young man,"
but I believed that by going West I would be better able to advance my
own interests and assist my parents. My father signed the necessary
paper relinquishing my time, which was printed in the Skowhegan
_Clarion_. From this time until I was nineteen years old I worked on
the river and on farms, worked continuously and beyond my strength. I
worked another summer for Cayford, but have no pleasant recollections
of him, for on his farm I was sadly overworked, being often called to
work before sunrise and kept at work after sunset. I worked two
winters cooking in the woods for Capt. Asa Steward, of Bloomfield, one
of the best men I ever served, a kind hearted, honest Christian. He
gave me good counsel and good wages besides. In the fall of 1835 I
went into the woods to work for Capt. Eb. Snow, of Madison. Like
Cayford, he was a merciless tyrant and abusive to his men. I left his
camp before my engagement closed, not being able to endure his abuse
longer. This is the only time in which I failed to keep a labor
engagement. I finished the winter with Capt. Asa Steward, but my eyes
became so inflamed from the smoke of the camp that I was obliged to
abandon cooking.
During this winter occurred an incident that came near having a
serious and even fatal termination. There were three of us, Simeon
Goodrich, Jimmie Able and myself, who went down the Kennebec to the
Forks, a distance of twelve miles from camp. A deep, damp snow had
fallen the night previous, and through this snow, reaching above our
knees, we trudged wearily till Able gave out. We carried him a short
distance, but becoming exhausted ourselves, laid him down in the snow.
To remain with him would be to imperil the lives of all; by hurrying
on we might be able to send a party to bring him in. We carefully
made for him a bed of fir boughs and placed loose garments over him
and under him, and as he was sick, weak and faint, gave him a draught
of liquid opodeldoc, and leaving the bottle with him, hurried on. We
traveled the last mile through an opening. Snow drifted deeply. We
dragged our bodies through the drifts in the direction of a glimmering
light, which proved to be Sturgis' hotel, which we reached at 11
o'clock P. M. A team was sent back immediately for the lost Able by a
road of which we knew nothing. The rescuing party met him trudging
along with all his baggage. The opodeldoc had revived him, and he had
traveled a full mile when he met the rescuing party. At two o'clock
the team returned bringing the lost wayfarer.
Another adventure terminated more disastrously than this. In the
spring of 1835 I was employed in taking logs across Moosehead lake.
The logs were in booms, and were moved by a capstan and rope. This was
before the days of steamboats, and the moving of the booms was no
light task. On this occasion a gale of wind struck us and drifted us
across the lake. We threw out an anchor, hoping to check the course of
the boom and swing it into Cowan's bay. In one of our throws the
anchor tripped, or caught fast, and suddenly tightened the line. Our
whole crew were in an instant hurled headlong. Some were thrown into
the water. One man (Butler) had his ribs broken. All were more or less
injured. The capstan went overboard. The old boom swung on and on,
and, passing Spencer's bay, broke and went to pieces on the shore. The
logs were with great difficulty regathered, but were finally brought
to the outlet of the lake July 4th, the last raft of the season.
After river driving in the spring of 1835, I went to the Penobscot
river and found employment at twenty dollars a month at East Great
Works, building a dam. John Mills, our superintendent, was a good man.
There was a lyceum here, the first I ever attended. In December I
returned to the Kennebec, and in the spring of 1836 went to Dead river
to drive, but an attack of the measles and general ill health, with
symptoms of pulmonary derangement, compelled me to abandon the work. I
had lived nine years on the Kennebec, years of hard labor and exertion
beyond my strength, and in that time had earned enough to pay my
father two hundred and fifty dollars. I had been able to purchase a
small library, and had two hundred dollars in cash to defray my
expenses to the West.
REMINISCENCES.--He that leaves the home of his youth for a strange
land carries with him memories, pleasant to recall, of scenes and
incidents, the influence of which he feels to the latest hour of life.
There are some things he can not forget. They may not be an essential
part of his own life history, but still they have found a place in his
mind and seem a part of himself, and he recurs to them again and again
with ever increasing delight. There are other things, may be, not so
pleasant to dwell upon, which still have a place in his memory and may
be profitably recalled. No one who has ever lived in Maine can forget
its dark pine forests, its rugged hills, its rushing streams, cold and
clear as crystal, its broad lakes, the abundant game of its forests
and the fish in its waters. The Minnesota and Wisconsin pioneers, who
with the author of this book claim Maine as an early home, will not
object to the insertion in this chapter of a few of these
reminiscences.
MOOSEHEAD LAKE.--My first visit to Moosehead lake was in the early
winter of 1834. At that time it was still in the wilderness, only two
settlers having found their way to its shores. We were going with a
six ox team to a camp on the Brasua and our road led us across the
frozen lake. Emerging from a beech and maple grove on the margin near
Haskell's, our sled plunged downward, and in a moment we found
ourselves on the gray ice of the lake, with a wonderful panorama
spread out before us. The distant islands and the shores, hilly and
mountainous, stood out plainly between the winter sky and the ice
covered lake. The mirage added its finishing touches to the picture,
increasing the brightness and apparent size of distant objects, or
lending them brilliant hues, the whole scene sparkling in the frosty
sunlit air, making a vision of beauty that could not fade. On we
trudged over the ice, the sled creaking, the ice emitting a roaring
sound, not unlike the discharge of a park of artillery, sounds
produced by the expansion of the ice. We trudged on past islands and
craggy, rock-bound shores, passed Burnt Jacket, Squaw and Moxey
mountains in the east, Lily and Spencer bays at the southeast, Misery
and other mountains in the west, while far away to the north of east
towered white old Katahdin. Before us loomed up the flint rock Kinneo,
its perpendicular face fronting west, on the lake; at the base a
beautiful maple interval extending toward Spencer bay.
The following spring our boom lay wind-bound at the base of Kinneo,
and we seized the opportunity of climbing the vast pile of flinty
rocks composing it, and obtained thence a view of unparalleled beauty,
including the broad, bright lake, fairy islands, mountains and hills
and vast stretches of pine forests. The tourist might seek far and
wide, vainly, for a landscape rivaling this.
MOOSE HUNTING.--The lake and surrounding country offer unrivaled
attractions to the sportsman. The lake abounds in fish, of which the
lake trout is the most abundant in number and delicious in flavor.
Specimens are frequently taken weighing from ten to fifteen pounds.
The forests at that time abounded in wild animals, chief of which was
the moose, the largest and the homeliest of the deer family. With his
long, narrow head, small eyes, donkey-like ears, pendant lips, the
upper one curling like a small proboscis, with his high shoulders and
giraffe-like hips, with his short, round body, long and clumsy legs,
he is as distinguished for his want of grace and comeliness as the red
deer is for its presence. No animal is better adapted for its own home
and mode of life. Their heavy coat of hair adapts them to high
latitudes. With their curved upper lip they take hold of the branches
of the trees, and with their strong teeth and paws they are able to
peel off the tender bark of saplings and small trees. The moose, when
attacked, is fierce, resolute, defiant, and defends himself in a
masterly manner, striking with his fore legs with such precision that
the hunter is obliged to keep at a respectful distance. The male moose
wears a remarkable pair of horns of annual growth, to which each year
a prong is added. The home of the moose is the northern part of the
North Temperate Zone.
Moose hunting is a healthy though laborious pastime. The hunter must
be an expert, and it requires years of practice to become skillful. He
must build his camp in the wilderness, packing thither his food,
blankets, camp utensils and gun. With his pack of dogs he starts out
in search of a moose yard. This is generally in some well timbered
district. The snow in winter is generally from three to six feet deep,
but the moose has broken paths through this to facilitate his
movements through the forest, and here he roams about in fancied
security, browsing on the young shrubs, but the hunter finds his
hiding place. In such case he conceals himself in the snow near one of
these paths and waits patiently till the moose passes, when he fires
upon him. If the moose is killed at once the hunter waits patiently in
his hiding place till another and another comes up to share a like
fate. If the moose is only wounded he starts off as rapidly through
the snow as his long legs will carry him, pursued by the hunter and
his dogs. The hunter has all the advantages of the position, being
mounted on snowshoes, thus being able to move with comparative
swiftness, while the moose plunges heavily through the snow, and at
last, weakened by loss of blood, he is overtaken and easily killed.
MOUNT BIGELOW.--This is a noble, grand, historical mountain, situated
on the south side of Dead river, in Franklin county. For years it had
been my strong desire to make the ascent, and in May, 1833, the desire
was gratified. With six others, I left camp, and by evening reached
Green's hotel, where we obtained lodgings for the evening. At early
dawn, having supplied ourselves with lunch, tin cup and hatchet, we
began the ascent on the northeast side. We soon passed the thrifty
timber and aided our ascent of the craggy sides of the mountain by
clinging to the shrubs that found roothold in the crevices of the
rocks. It may not be amiss to say that we rested, that we rested
frequently, for mountain climbing is no light work for those
unaccustomed to it. While toiling wearily upward we found ourselves
enveloped in mist, or a cloud, from which we soon emerged to find the
heavens above us clear and bright, while leaden clouds shut out the
landscape below. At twelve o'clock, noon, we were on the summit. By
this time the clouds had been dispersed. The air was clear and cold
and beneath us lay, as in a beautiful panorama, the lands and lakes of
Maine. There are two peaks, about half a mile apart, between which is
a valley and a small lake. From the highest of these peaks the view
was magnificent. In the far north we imagined we saw Canada. The vast,
northern expanse was all unoccupied save by a few farms at the foot of
the mountain, and by a few camps of lumbermen, hunters and trappers.
Looking to the northeast, we saw in the blue distance, glittering with
snow drifts, Mount Katahdin. A little north of the divide line to
Katahdin lay Moosehead lake, the largest, most beautiful lake in
Maine.
At this season of the year the snow had disappeared from the valleys
and hills, but the summits of the mountains were still white. In all
directions the scene was grand and inspiring. We could trace the
Kennebec river in its windings to the sea and fancied we could see in
the dim distance the blue Atlantic. To the southwest mountains seemed
piled on mountains, while here and there in intermediate vales bright
lakes reflected the blue of the upper deep. In this direction there
were farms, but they looked like mere dots on the face of the earth.
Lake Umbagog lay coiled in the shade of distant mountains in the
southwest. We fancied that we could see the ragged crest of the white
mountain still further beyond. The scene had also its historical
associations. Along the base of this mountain, on the northwestern
side, ere his name had been sullied by the foulest treason in our
country's history, Benedict Arnold bravely led the Colonial troops in
the campaign against Canada. With him, as an aid, was Col. Bigelow,
whose name is given to the mountain. The gallant little army halted on
the banks of Dead river at the base of the mountain, and made their
camp. While the army was resting at this camp Lieut. Col. Bigelow
ascended the mountain and planted his country's flag upon the highest
peak, doubtless the first white man who made the ascent, and the
mountain is his monument to-day. Around the site of the camp was
planted the colony of Flagstaff.
While we were gazing on the magnificent scene, musing upon its varied
beauties and recalling its historical associations, the sun set, and
reluctantly we set out on our return, a descent the more perilous
because it was growing dark. Extreme caution was necessary;
nevertheless we made good headway, as we found ourselves sometimes
sliding and even rolling down the path that we had ascended with so
much difficulty in the forenoon. It was long after nightfall that,
tired and hungry, we reached Wyman's hotel on the banks of Dead river.
LUMBERING IN MAINE.--The practical lumberman did not usually start his
teams for the pineries until snowfall and the freezing of the lakes
and rivers. The first thing was to select a place for operations. This
was done in the open season. When the winter had fairly set in the
lumberman, with his ox teams, generally six oxen to a sled, the sleds
laden with camp plunder, would start for the pineries. The slow ox
teams would consume many days making the journey. The crew of men
employed for the winter generally met the teams in camp. The snow
would be cleared away for the camp, and a fire built. The cook would
prepare a supper of fried pork, fritters or pancakes, tea, syrup and
New England apple sauce, the crew meanwhile cutting boughs, wood,
etc., and preparing for permanent camp. Supper over, the cattle were
tied to trees and fed. Water was secured for evening use only. A
glowing fire would be kept up, around which the crew would gather to
spend the evening in talking over the adventures of the day,
discussing plans for the morrow or singing camp songs. Thus the
evening would pass merrily and swiftly. At the hour for retiring
parties of two would spread their blankets on a couch of fir or cedar
boughs, and lie down to rest. Next morning the cook would rise at four
o'clock to prepare breakfast, which over, as soon as it was light
enough the crew would commence the work of the day. Every man goes to
his assigned duties, the _boss_ in charge having the general
oversight.
The life of a lumberman is one of exposure to the elements, yet it is
not necessarily unfriendly to the development of character. With a
well ordered camp and gentlemanly crew the winter may pass away
pleasantly, and the young man engaged in the comparatively hard toil
of the camp, may, with books and papers and cheerful converse with the
more thoughtful of his elders, improve the long evenings spent around
the camp fire. Many a Maine boy has received here the greater part of
his training for the duties of after life.
Sunday was usually occupied in reading, singing, and doing some of the
lighter work of camp, such as repairing sleds, shoeing oxen and making
axe helves or visiting neighboring camps. It was a day of rest only so
far as the heavier work of the camp was suspended. Sanctuary
privileges there were none. The work would often close in the sunny
days of March. The men would mostly depart for home. A few would
remain to drive the logs with the first water from the melting of the
snows late in April.
Driving logs in the rapid waters of Maine is hazardous work. Scarcely
a day passes without imminent risk to life and limb of the hardy and
venturesome men engaged in the work of breaking log landings and jams,
and running boats. Men are exposed to wet and cold from dawn till
dark. This work requires active and vigorous men, constitutionally
fitted and carefully trained to the work. They are usually sociable,
lively and wide awake, these qualities enabling them to endure, and
even to enjoy, the life of hardship which they lead, and to which they
become so accustomed that they are unwilling to leave it until worn
out by its inevitable hardship.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
W. H. C. Folsom Frontispiece
James S. Anderson opp 55
Martin Mower 60
John McKusick opp 68
Edward White Durant 74
William M. Blanding 114
Reuben F. Little 121
Oliver Wendell Holmes Hospital 157
John Comstock opp 170
Hans B. Warner opp 207
Rev. Wm. T. Boutwell 273
Devil's Chair 301
Frank N. Peterson 320
Rev. E. E. Edwards 348
Smith Ellison 351
Isaac Staples opp 413
Jacob Bean 416
Louis Hospes 418
Fort Snelling 498
William D. Washburn opp 517
John S. Pillsbury opp 528
St. Anthony Falls 531
Birdseye View of St. Paul opp 536
Henry H. Sibley opp 553
Alex. Ramsey opp 555
Henry M. Rice opp 558
Edmund Rice opp 560
Wm. Rainey Marshall opp 568
Wm. H. Fisher 571
John B. Sanborn opp 577
H. P. Hall 589
Hon. G. W. Le Duc 594
Lucius F. Hubbard opp 597
Home of the Author 614
State Seal 658
Seal of Old Settlers Association 732
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
BIOGRAPHICAL.
Genealogy of the American Folsoms VII
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL.
Parentage IX
Time and Place of Birth IX
Earliest Recollections IX
Removal to Bloomfield, Maine X
First Essay at Logging X
Commencing Life XI
Lost in the Snow XI
Adventure on Moosehead Lake XII
On the Penobscot XII
Reminiscences of Maine XIII
Moosehead Lake XIII
Ascent of Kinneo Mountain XIV
Moose Hunting XIV
Mount Bigelow XV
Lumbering in Maine XVI
CHAPTER I.
GOING WEST. 1
Lakes Huron and Michigan 3
Chicago and Milwaukee 5
On Foot to Galena 6
The Northwestern Territory 7
Arrival at Dubuque 7
Reminiscences of Dubuque 8
Arrival at Prairie du Chien 9
Early History of Prairie du Chien 9
Ancient Document 10
Forts Shelby--McKay--Crawford 11
First Commissioners at Prairie du Chien 11
Organization of Crawford County 12
Indian Troubles 12
Running the Gauntlet 13
Fort Crawford Robbed 13
Early Justice 14
A Southward Journey 15
New Orleans, Vicksburg 15
Return to Prairie du Chien 16
Privations 16
A Perilous Journey 17
Return to Maine--Mountains of New Hampshire 17
Marriage 18
Prairie du Chien in 1837 18
American Residents 19
BIOGRAPHIES.
James Duane Doty 19
James H. Lockwood 20
Indian Troubles 21
John S. Lockwood 22
Samuel Gilbert 23
Michael Brisbois 23
Pierre La Point 24
Joseph Rolette 24
Hercules Dousman 24
Rev. David Lowry 25
Chief Justice Charles Dunn 25
Rev. Alfred Brunson 26
Ira Brunson 27
John H. Folsom 28
Ezekiel Tainter 28
Judge Wyram Knowlton 29
Robert Lester 29
Thomas Pendleton Burnett 30
General Henry Dodge 30
General George W. Jones 31
S. G. and S. L. Tainter, John Thomas 31