me to go up the valley of the Minnesota river, and follow out all its
tributaries, with the idea of reporting upon its general characteristics
and prospects, with reference to the founding of a city at Rock Bend. I
was delighted to do anything, or go anywhere, that promised work or
adventure. It was to me what the Klondike has been to thousands
recently. They furnished me with a good team, and away I went. It was in
the winter, but I succeeded in reaching Traverse des Sioux, where I
found a collection of Indian trading houses, where flourished Louis
Roberts, Major Forbes, Nathan Myrick, Madison Sweetzer and others, who
drove a trade with the Sioux. There was also at this point a missionary
station, with a schoolhouse, a church, and a substantial dwelling house,
occupied by the Rev. Moses N. Adams, who had been a missionary among the
Sioux, having been transferred from the station at Lac qui Parle, where
he had lived for many years, to this point. But the best find that I
made was a young Scotchman by the name of Stuart B. Garvie, who had a
shanty on the prairie about midway between Traverse des Sioux and my
objective point, Rock Bend. I think that Garvie went up there from St.
Anthony, under some kind of a promise from Judge Chatfield, that if ever
the courts were organized in that region he would be made clerk. Garvie
was delighted to discover me, and I being in search of information, we
soon fraternized, and he agreed to go with me on my tour of exploration.
We went up the Blue Earth, the Le Sueur, the Watonwan, and, in fact,
visited all the country that was necessary to convince me that it was,
by and large, a splendid agricultural region, and I decided so to report
to my principals.
When I was about to leave for down the river, Garvie insisted that I
should return and take up my abode at Traverse des Sioux. The
proposition seemed too absurd to me to be seriously entertained, and I
said: "I am destitute of funds, and how can a lawyer subsist where there
are no people? How can I get a living?" This dilemma, which seemed to me
to be insuperable, was easily answered by my new found friend. "Why," he
said, "That is the easiest part of it. We can hunt a living, and I have
a shack and a bed." The proposition was catching, having a spice of
adventure in it, and I promised to consider it.
After making my report, in which I recommended Rock Bend as a promising
place for a great city, I told the parties who proposed to purchase
Captain Dodd's claim that I would confirm my faith in the success of the
enterprise by returning and living at the point. I did so, and found
myself farther west than any lawyer in the United States east of the
Rocky Mountains, unless he was in the panhandle of Texas. And now comes
the singular way in which I made my first fee, if I may call it by that
name. It was my first financial raise, no matter what you call it.
Garvie and I had gotten quietly settled in our shanty on the prairie,
when one excessively cold night an Indian boy, about thirteen years of
age, saw our light, and came to the door, giving us to understand that
his people were encamped about four or five miles up the river, and that
he was afraid to go any further lest he should freeze to death. He was
mounted on a pony, had a pack of furs with him, and asked us to take him
in for the night. We of course did so, and made him as comfortable as we
could by giving him a buffalo robe on the floor. But we had no shelter
for his pony, and all we could do was to hitch him on the lee side of
the shanty, and strap a blanket on him. When morning came he was frozen
to death. We got the poor little boy safely off on the way to his
people's camp, and decided to utilize the carcass of the pony for a wolf
bait.
In order to present an intelligent idea of the situation, I will say
that the river made an immense detour in front of the future town,
having a large extent of bottom land, covered with a dense chaparral,
which was the home of thousands of wolves, and as soon as night came
they would start out in droves in search of prey.
We hauled the dead pony out to the back of the shanty, and left it about
two rods distant from the window. The moment night set in the wolves in
packs would attack the carcass. At first we would step outside and fire
into them with buck shot from double-barrelled shotguns, but we found
they were so wary that the mere movement of opening the door to get out
would frighten them, and we had very limited success for the first few
nights. Another difficulty we encountered was shooting in the dark. If
you have never tried it, and ever do, you will find it exceedingly
difficult to get any kind of an aim, and you have to fire promiscuously
at the sound rather than the object.
We remedied this trouble, however, by taking out a light of glass from
the back window, and building a rest that bore directly on the carcass,
so that we could poke our guns through the opening, settle them on the
rest, and blaze away into the gloom. We brought our bed up to the
window, so that we could shoot without getting out of it, while snugly
wrapped up in our blankets. After this our luck improved, and after each
discharge we would rush out, armed with a tomahawk, dispatch the wounded
wolves, and collect the dead ones, until we had slaughtered forty-two of
them. We skinned them, and sold the pelts to the traders for
seventy-five cents a piece, which money was the first of our earnings.
It was not long before we ceased to depend on wolf hunting for a living,
as immigration soon poured in, and money became plenty. I remember soon
after of having seventeen hundred dollars in gold buried in an oyster
can under the shanty.
I lived on this prairie for eleven years, and never was happier at any
period of my life, and feel assured that I can safely say that no other
man ever enjoyed the luxury of hunting wolves in bed.
The pleasure of narrating such adventures for the present generation is,
in this instance, marred by the reflection that both Captain Dodd and my
old friend Garvie were killed by the Indians in 1862, the former while
gallantly fighting at the battle of New Ulm, and the latter at the
Yellow Medicine Agency, on the first day of the outbreak.
[Illustration]
THE POISONED WHISKY.
I was told by a gentleman at my club the other day that he had read in
some magazine that the British army had blown open the tomb of the Mahdi
in upper Africa, and had mutilated the body, cutting off the head and
sending it to England in a kerosene can. I could hardly believe the
story, but he vouched for having read it in a reputable publication, and
being a strong hater of the English, affirmed his unqualified faith in
the statement. Notwithstanding his position, it seemed to me incredible
that such an act of barbarism could be perpetrated by the disciplined
soldiery of a civilized nation in the nineteenth century. The
conversation so impressed me that I could not drive it out of my mind,
and I kept revolving it and making comparisons with events in my own
experience, until I concluded that it is more than probable that it took
place as related, and have since learned that it actually occurred.
I have seen a good deal of ferocity and savagism, and it was not at all
confined to people acknowledged to be barbarians. I remember an instance
where I came very near being a party to a scheme, the brutality of which
would have made the mutilation of the dead Mahdi commendable in
comparison; but fortunately my better nature and second thought overcame
my passions, and I was spared the perpetration of the awful crime, the
remembrance of which, had it been committed, would undoubtedly have
haunted me through life.
Many of the older settlers of Minnesota will remember the horrors of the
Indian massacre and war of 1862, when the Sioux attacked our exposed
frontiers, and in a day and a half massacred quite a thousand people.
They spared neither age nor sex. It was like all such savage
outbreaks,--a war against the race and the blood. These atrocities
extended over a large and sparsely inhabited area of country, and were
usually perpetrated at the houses of the settlers by the slaughter of
the entire family, sometimes varied by the seizure of the women, and
carrying them off into captivity, which in most instances was worse than
death. Every character of mutilation and outrage that could be suggested
by the inflamed passions of a savage were resorted to, and so horrible
were they that it would shock and disgust the reader should I attempt to
describe them. This condition of things was no surprise to me, because
it was to be expected from savages; but the more we saw and heard of it,
the more exasperated and angered we became, and the more we vowed
vengeance should the opportunity come.
I resided on the frontier at the time the outbreak occurred, and murders
were committed within eight miles of my home before I heard of it, which
was on the morning of the second day. I, of course, immediately, after
disposing of my impedimenta in the shape of women and children, took the
field against the enemy, and by nine o'clock in the evening of the same
day that I heard of the trouble I found myself at the town of New Ulm, a
German settlement on the frontier, the extreme outpost of civilization,
in command of over one hundred men, armed and ready for battle. We had
raised and equipped the company and travelled thirty-two miles since the
morning.
When we entered the town it was being attacked by a squad of Indians,
about one hundred strong, who had already burned a number of houses and
were firing upon the inhabitants, having already killed several. We soon
dislodged the enemy, put out the fires, and settled down to await
events. This was on Tuesday, the 19th of August. We strengthened the
barricades about the town, and did all we could to prepare for a second
attack, which we knew would certainly come, and from the combined forces
of the enemy, and which did come on the following Saturday. While
waiting, numerous squads of whites from the surrounding country
reenforced us, and it soon became apparent that someone must be put in
command of the whole force, to prevent disorders on the part of the men,
as whisky was abundant and free. The honor of the command fell upon me
by election of the officers of the various companies, and in the choice
of a rank for myself my modesty restrained me to that of colonel. I have
often thought since that I lost the opportunity of my life, as I might
just as easily have assumed the title of major general.
Every day we sent out scouting expeditions, and brought in refugees,
men, women and children, who were in hiding or wounded, and in the most
pitiable condition. From these we learned of many additional atrocities,
which kept our passions and desire for revenge at fever heat. On
Saturday, the 23d, the Indians who had been all the week besieging Fort
Ridgely, abandoned that quest, and came down upon us in full force. The
attack commenced about half-past nine o'clock on Saturday morning, and
the fight raged hotly and viciously for about thirty hours without
cessation. I lost in the first hour and a half ten killed and fifty
wounded, out of a command of not more than 250 guns. On the afternoon of
the next day the Indians gradually disappeared toward the north, and
gave us a breathing spell, and then a relief company arrived and the
fighting ceased.
On Monday ammunition and provisions were getting short, and fearing a
renewal of the attack, I decided to evacuate the town, and go down the
Minnesota river to Mankato, a distance of about thirty miles over an
open prairie. We had nearly fifteen hundred women and children to take
care of, and about eighty wounded men. The caravan consisted of 153
wagons, drawn by horses and oxen; the troops being on foot, and so
disposed as to make a good defense if attacked.
Everything being ready for a start, some one suggested to me to set a
trap for the Indians, when they should enter the town after our
departure, as we all supposed they would, there being an immense amount
of loot left behind,--stores full of goods of all kinds, and many other
things of value to the savage.
I had, the day before, put a stop to some of the younger men scalping
the eight or ten dead Indians who had been dragged into the town from
where they had been killed, regarding it as barbarous. The boys would
take off a small piece of scalp, and with its long black hair, tie it
into their button-holes, as a souvenir to take home with them.
What do you think was the nature of the trap that was proposed to catch
the Indians? It makes my blood run cold to think of it, and so
disgraceful and diabolical was it that, in all I have said and written
about this war in the last thirty-six years, I have never had courage to
mention it. Yet as awful as it was, so incensed was I at all the
devilish cruelty that had been perpetrated on our people that I at first
consented to it, and we went so far as actually to set the trap.
It was proposed to expose a barrel of whisky in a conspicuous place,
and put enough strychnine in it to destroy the whole Sioux nation, and
then label it "poison" in all the languages spoken in our polyglot
country, so that should the first comers be whites they would avoid it,
but if Indians, we might have the satisfaction of exterminating them. We
actually went so far as to place the barrel where it would attract
anyone who should be looking about the main street, which was all that
was left of the town, and labelled it in French, English, German,
Italian, Swedish and Norwegian, and then put into it eight or ten
bottles of strychnine, prepared for destroying wolves, and were about
leaving when the thought flashed through my mind: "Suppose a relief
squad should be sent to us, and should think the whole matter a joke to
cheat them out of a drink, and should sample it and die, as they
certainly would, we never could forgive ourselves, and would be really
their murderers." My knowledge of the fact that a soldier who had made a
long march on a hot day would take big chances for a drink, heightened
my apprehension on this view of the subject, and the more I thought the
matter over, the more devilish it appeared to me, even if we caught only
Indians. I actually felt as though I would be ashamed to meet the spirit
of even a savage enemy whom I had disposed of in such a cowardly manner,
should we finally be consigned to the same happy hunting grounds, so I
took an axe and knocked the head of the barrel in, and let the contents
into the street. While I deeply regretted the loss of so much good
whisky, I have never thought of the occurrence since without inwardly
rejoicing that my better nature and judgment prevented me from
committing such an offense against all the laws of honor, humanity and
civilization. It turned out that the first arrival was a squad sent by
General Sibley to our relief, and from what I know of some of the men
composing it, I am quite certain that the warning would have been
disregarded. The circumstance, however, proves how deeply the savage
instinct is imbedded in human nature, whatever the color of the skin.
"Give us strength to resist temptation," has been my prayer ever since.
[Illustration]
FUN IN A BLIZZARD.
The winter of 1856, in Minnesota, was characterized by the usual amount
of cold weather, snow and storms, and people operating on the frontier
were compelled to exercise great care and caution to prevent disasters.
All old timers who have had occasion to live beyond the settlements and
travel long distances in an open prairie country well know that the
danger of being overtaken by storms is one of the most terrible that one
can be exposed to. Most of the casualties, however, that result from
being caught in these storms may be attributed to want of experience,
and consequent lack of preparation to meet and contend with them. I have
employed many men of all nationalities in teaming long distances on the
prairie frontier in the winter season, and while the American is always
reliable and dexterous in emergencies, I have found the French Canadian
always the best equipped for winter prairie work, in his knowledge in
this line that can only be gained by experience. His ancestors served
the early fur companies from Montreal to McKenzie's river, from Hudson's
bay to the Pacific, and knew how to take care of themselves with the
unerring instinct of the cariboo and the moose, and the generation of
them that I came in contact with had inherited all these
characteristics.
I have known a brigade of teams, manned by Germans, Englishmen and
Irishmen (the Scandinavians had then just begun to make their appearance
in the Northwest) to be caught in a winter storm, and result in the
amputation of fingers, toes, feet and hands from freezing, but I cannot
remember ever losing a Canadian Frenchman. I recall one instance, where
a train was overtaken by a severe storm just about evening, where no
timber was in sight. The men built barricades with their sleds and
loads, and took refuge to the leeward of them, where they passed quite a
comfortable night for themselves and their teams. With the coming of the
morning light they discovered a timber island not very far off, and
started for it with their horses, to make fires, feed the teams, and get
breakfast. The storm had abated, and the sun shone brilliantly. One
young American lad shouldered a sack of oats, and not realizing that it
was very cold, did not put on his mittens, but seized the neck of the
sack with his bare hand. When he arrived at the timber all his fingers
were frozen, and had to be amputated. It was merely one of the cases of
serious injury I have known arising from ignorance.
No one who has not encountered a blizzard on the open prairie can form
an adequate idea of the almost hopelessness of the situation. The air
becomes filled with driving, whirling snow to such an extent that it is
with difficulty you can see your horses, and the effect is the same as
absolute darkness in destroying all conception of direction. You may
think you are going straight forward when in fact you are moving in a
small circle; the only safety is to stop and battle it out.
I remember a case which happened in this region before it became
Minnesota which fully proves the dangers of a blizzard to a traveler on
the open prairie. Martin McLeod and Pierre Bottineau, together with an
Englishman and a Pole, started from Fort Garry for the headwaters of the
Minnesota river. They were well equipped in all respects, having a good
dog train, and, in Bottineau, one of the most experienced guides in the
Northwest. While the party was in sight of timber it was suddenly
enveloped in a blizzard, and, of course, wanted to reach the timber for
safety. Here a controversy arose as to the direction to be taken to find
it, the Englishman and the Pole insisting on one line, and McLeod and
Bottineau on another. They separated. McLeod took the dogs, and he and
they soon fell over a precipice and were covered up in a deep snow
drift, where they remained quite comfortably through the night.
Bottineau through his instincts reached the timber, and was safe, where
he was joined the next morning by McLeod. The Englishman was afterwards
discovered so badly frozen that he died, while the Pole was lost. The
only trace of him that was ever discovered was his pistols, which were
found on the prairie the next spring, the wolves having undoubtedly
disposed of his remains.
The remedy for these dangers is to avoid them by a close scrutiny of the
weather, and by never venturing on a big prairie if you can by any means
avoid it, and always being abundantly supplied with food for yourself
and animals, whether horses or dogs, besides fuel, matches, blankets,
robes, and all the paraphernalia of a snow camp, should you have to make
one. No people are more careful in these particulars than the Indians
themselves, from whom the French voyageurs undoubtedly learned their
lessons.
To give an idea of how treacherous the weather may be, and of what
dangers frontier people are subjected to, I will relate an adventure in
which I participated when living in the Indian country, which, however,
turned out pleasantly. I had been at my Redwood agency for several days,
and it became important that I should visit my upper agency, situated on
the Yellow Medicine river, about thirty miles distant, up the Minnesota
river. After crossing the Redwood river, the road led over a thirty-mile
prairie, without a shrub on it as big as a walking stick. The day was
bright and beautiful, and the ride promised to be a pleasant one, so I
invited my surgeon, Dr. Daniels, and his wife to accompany me. They
gladly accepted, and Mrs. Daniels took her baby along. (By the way, this
baby is now the elder sister of the wife of one of our most
distinguished attorneys, Mr. John V. I. Dodd.) Mr. Andrew Myrick, a
trader at the agency, learning that we were going, decided to accompany
us, and got up his team for the purpose, taking some young friends with
him, and off we went.
I had early taken the precaution to construct a sleigh especially
adapted to winter travel in this exposed region. It had recesses where
were stowed away provisions, fuel, tools, and many things to meet
possible emergencies. The cushions were made of twelve pairs of
four-point Mackinaw blankets, and the side rails were capable of
carrying two carcasses of venison or mutton, so I felt quite capable of
conquering a blizzard.
I may say here that I had a surgeon at each agency, who were brothers,
Dr. Asa W. Daniels at the lower agency and Dr. Jared Daniels at the
upper, and this excursion presented a pleasant opportunity for the
families to meet. The upper agency was in charge of my chief farmer, a
Scotch gentleman by the name of Robertson. He was a mystery which I
never unravelled,--a handsome, aristocratic, highly educated man about
seventy years of age, with the manners of a Chesterfield. He had been in
the Indian country for many years, had married a squaw, and raised a
numerous family of children, and had been in the employment of the
government ever since the making of the treaties. I always thought he
once was a man of fortune, who had dissipated it in some way, after
travelling the world over, and had sought oblivion in the wilds of
America.
There was a large comfortable log house at the Yellow Medicine agency,
occupied by Robertson, which answered for all his purposes, both
business and domestic, and furnished a home and office for me when I
happened to be there; and on one occasion, during the Ink-pa-du-ta
excitement, I found it made a very efficient fort for defense against
the Indians.
Our trip was uneventful, and we arrived in the evening. That night a
blizzard sprang up that exceeded in severity anything of the kind in my
experience, and I have had nearly half a century of Minnesota winters.
It raged and rampaged. It piled the snow on the prairie in drifts of ten
and twenty feet in height. It filled the river bottoms to the height of
about three feet on the level. It lasted about ten days, during which
time, we of course, did not dream of getting out, but amused ourselves
as best we could. It was what the French called a _poudre de riz_, where
there is more snow in the air than on the ground. Although I have been
entertained in many parts of the world, and by many various kinds of
people, I can say that I never enjoyed a few weeks more satisfactorily
than those we spent under compulsion at the Yellow Medicine river on
that occasion.
Personal association with Mr. Robertson was not only a delight, but an
education. He had been everywhere, and knew everything. He was charming
in conversation and magnificent in hospitality, and the unique nature of
his entertainment under his savage environments lent an additional charm
to the situation. He soon became aware that we needed something
exciting to sustain us in our enforced imprisonment, and he produced
fiddlers and half-breed women for dancing. He gave us every day a dinner
party composed of viands unknown outside of the frontier of North
America. One day we would have the tail of the beaver, always regarded
as a great delicacy on the border; the next, the paws of the bear
soused, which, when served on a white dish, very much resembled the foot
of a negro, but were good; then, again, roasted muskrat, which in the
winter is as delicate as a young chicken; then fricasseed skunk, which,
in season, is free from all offensive odor, and extremely delicate,--all
served with _le riz sauvage_. In fact, he exhausted the resources of the
country to make us happy.
But Robertson's menu was the least part of it. Every evening he would
assemble us, and read Shakespeare and the poetry of Burns to us. I never
understood or enjoyed Burns until I heard it read and expounded by
Robertson.