beautiful prairie on which now stands St. Peter, in this state, as one
of their most favored ball grounds, and many a time I have enjoyed
witnessing the game at that locality, and a most brilliant and exciting
scene it presented. The Sioux, like most savages, are great gamblers,
and the first thing in the game is to put up the stakes, which is done
in this way: A committee is appointed by each contesting party as
stakeholders. They assemble at a designated point on the prairie, and
await results. Presently up will come an Indian, and put up a pony. He
will soon be followed by a competitor, who will cover his pony with
another, decided to be of the same value. Then up will come another, and
put up a rifle, or a feather head-dress or a knife, all which will be
matched from the other side, until all the bets are made. If the players
are numerous, the stakes will accumulate until almost everything known
as property in Indian life will be ventured. It sometimes takes several
days to arrange these preliminaries. A pleasant afternoon is selected,
and the contestants appear. They are usually very nearly naked, having
on only moccasins, a breech-clout and a head-dress; the two latter
articles, being susceptible of ornamentation, are usually adorned with
eagle feathers, foxtails, or a string of sleigh-bells about the player's
waist. The men are painted in the most grotesque and fantastic manner.
It is not unusual to see some of them painted blue or yellow all over
their persons, and before the paint has dried it is streaked with their
fingers in zig-zag fashion from head to foot, sometimes up and down and
sometimes zebra fashion. A yellow face with the imprint of a black or
blue open hand diagonally upon it is much affected; in fact, the greater
the ingenuity displayed in savage design and glaring colors, the more
satisfied the subject seems to be with himself and the more admired by
others.
When the players are all lined up they present a striking appearance.
About six on each side take the center from which the ball is to be
started, and the rest scatter themselves over the prairie for half a
mile in each direction, to speed the ball, should it come their way.
All ready: one, two, three, and up goes the ball into the air, and as it
falls, up goes each Ta-ki-cap-si-cha in an endeavor to catch it, and so
skillful are the men that it is very often caught in the little pocket
while in the air, which is a great advantage, as the party catching it
has the right if he can to throw it in the direction of his friends,
and, with a free chance, it is like throwing a ball out of a sling. I
have seen one sent nearly a quarter of a mile. If the game opens in this
way, there is, of course, a great rush by the partisans to capture the
ball and keep it moving one way or the other; but if at the first toss
up it falls to the ground, there is a tussle of all the middle men to
see which one shall get it with his stick that puts civilized football
in the shade. Shins are whacked, men are tripped and piled onto each
other in the utmost confusion, until some lucky fellow extricates the
ball from the mass, and sends it flying towards a group of his friends.
The Sioux are splendid runners, and sometimes when twenty or thirty of
them will be in full chase of the ball, a leading man will tumble, and
the whole line will pile over him; but no matter how rough or boisterous
the sport may be, I have never known a quarrel to grow out of it. There
must be rules to this effect governing the game, such as they have in a
Japanese wrestling match, where the parties, before tackling each other,
sprinkle salt between them, which is a pledge that even a broken neck
will not interrupt friendship. I think I have seen more feats of
wonderful skill in running, jumping and catching in a game of this kind
than in any play of a similar nature I have ever witnessed.
No one who has seen the Indians play a good game of Ta-kap-si-ka-pi has
ever forgotten it. Major Eastman of the old army, who was quite an
artist, attempted to depict the scene on canvas, and while he made an
excellent picture which would please the eye of anyone who had not seen
the real thing, he found it impossible to convey an adequate idea of its
best points. The picture, I think, is now either in the rooms of the
Wisconsin Historical Society, or in the Cochran gallery of Washington.
One of the noticeable results of a game of this kind, played on a virgin
prairie, was the great number of huge snakes the players would kill. I
have seen as many as would load a wagon piled up after a game, some of
them ten or twelve feet long. They were called in those days bull
snakes, and were considered of the constrictor species, but not
venomous.
MAKING A POST OFFICE.
I had settled on the frontier, where Traverse des Sioux and Mankato were
the extreme border towns in southwestern Minnesota. About the year 1854
or 1855 a German settlement was commenced at New Ulm. It originated in
Cincinnati, with an association which sent out parties to find a site
for a town, and they selected the present site of New Ulm. The lands had
not been surveyed by the general government, but our delegate in
congress, Henry M. Rice, had anticipated that by obtaining the passage
of the law allowing settlement and preëmption on unsurveyed lands. Under
the law a town site could only embrace 320 acres, but the projectors of
New Ulm laid out an immense tract, comprising thousands of acres. Many
of the settlers had not taken any steps toward becoming American
citizens, which was a necessary preliminary to preëmption, and
everything among them was held in a kind of common interest, the
Cincinnati society furnishing the funds.
It was not long before they discovered that they needed legal advice in
their venture, and called on me to regulate their matters for them. I
was deputy clerk of the court, and always carried the seal and
naturalization papers with me, so that I could take the declaration of
intention of anyone who desired to become an American citizen anywhere I
happened to find him, on the prairie or elsewhere. In this way I
qualified many of the Germans for preëmption, and took them by the
steamboat load down to Winona to enter their lands. I would be furnished
with a large bag of gold to pay for the lands, and sometimes, with the
special conveniences furnished by the land office, I would work off
forty or fifty preëmptions in a day. I became such a necessary factor in
the building of the town that, if any difficulty occurred, even in the
running of a mill which they erected and ran by the accumulated water of
many large springs, I was immediately sent for to remedy the evil.
The nearest postoffice was at Fort Ridgely, about sixteen miles away,
and it soon became apparent that one ought to be established in the
town. I was, of course, sent for to see if it could be accomplished. It
was a very easy thing to do with the very efficient and influential
delegate we had in congress, Hon. Henry M. Rice. Having agreed upon a
Mr. Anton Kouse as postmaster, I at once wrote to Mr. Rice to give the
new settlement a postoffice. It was not long before I received an
answer, which contained the postmaster's commission, his bond for
execution, a key for the mail bags, and all the requisites for a going
postoffice.
The New Ulm people were a very social lot, and my visits to the town
always included a good deal of fun, so I concluded to make a special
event of the establishment of the new postoffice, and, as the weather
was fine, I invited half a dozen friends to accompany me in a drive to
New Ulm, to participate in the opening ceremonies.
One of the earliest settlers in the town was Francis Baasen, who became
Minnesota's first secretary of state, and was a gallant officer in the
First Minnesota Regiment, so celebrated in the War of the Rebellion, and
has recently been appointed by Governor Lind as assistant adjutant
general of the state. He had a claim about two miles below the town,
just where the ferry crossed the Minnesota river, at Red Stone, and had
erected a log shanty there, in which he lived. Of course, we always
called on Baasen on our way up, and also on our way back, when we
visited New Ulm. Baasen was a charming gentleman, and while his shack
was destitute of any of the luxuries or elegancies of life, there was a
door, or hatchway, in the middle of the floor, which led to a kind of
cellar, the contents of which supplied all the deficiencies of the
house, and, flavored with the generous hospitality of the proprietor,
made everybody happy.
On this occasion we stopped to take Baasen into the party, and while
discussing the great event which brought us up, I decided to add some
new features to the inauguration of the new postmaster. Baasen had been
appointed a notary public, and was provided with large business-like
envelopes and formidable red seals, so I wrote a letter to Mr. Kouse in
about the following language:
"EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON, D. C.,
"July 20, 1855.
"_Hon. Anton Kouse, Postmaster at New Ulm, Territory of
Minnesota_,
"SIR: We have been informed that a flourishing settlement has
been founded on the waters of the upper Minnesota river, in
Minnesota Territory, which has been named New Ulm, and that the
inhabitants are sufficiently numerous and intelligent to need a
postoffice. It has also been represented to us that you are a
good and true Democrat, and the choice of the people for the
office of postmaster. It is therefore our duty and pleasure to
appoint you to that office. It is our desire that you locate the
office in a part of the town which will accommodate its
inhabitants, and see to it that they always vote the Democratic
ticket at all elections. I am,
"Yours very truly,
(Seal) "FRANKLIN PIERCE,
"_President of the United States of America._"
I inclosed this letter in one of Baasen's large envelopes, and we all
drove up to the house of Mr. Kouse, and called him out. I stood up in
the wagon, and made him a speech, informing him of the creation of the
office, and that I had his bond and commission and a letter to him from
the president of the United States, which I was instructed to deliver to
him in person, and I added that it was customary on such important
occasions for the newly appointed postmaster to propose the health of
the postmaster general.
Kouse rushed into his house, and appeared with a brown jug and a tin
cup, from which we all drank a bumper to the health and prosperity of
the postmaster general, the town of New Ulm, and its postmaster. I then
handed him his credentials, including the letter from the president, and
the postoffice at New Ulm was a reality.
I have never learned whether my friend Kouse caught on to the joke, or
whether he has cherished the executive letter as an heirloom for his
posterity.
THE COURAGE OF CONVICTION.
In 1864-65 I was living in Carson City, in the State of Nevada, where, from
the abnormal condition of the inhabitants, it was nothing remarkable that
some event should happen almost daily that otherwise would have been
startling. Many such events did take place, but, from their frequency, were
soon forgotten. There was one, however, that impressed itself upon my
memory because of the cool daring that characterized it, and it must be
understood that bravery was not an uncommon trait in the inhabitants of
Carson. Men carried their lives in their hands, and quite frequently lost
them.
In order to appreciate the situation fully, you must know that the
population of Carson City was composed of about the roughest and most
disorderly agglomeration of the refuse of California that was ever
assembled at any one time or place,--gamblers, murderers, road agents,
and all sorts of unclassified toughs. They were about evenly divided
between the North and the South,--the only politics being pronounced
Unionism on one side and outspoken rebellion on the other; but, as any
discussion between representatives of such views during the hottest
period of the war was generally concluded with six-shooters, all parties
kept pretty quiet on the subject, and politics was about the least
exciting cause of murder, there being others sufficiently numerous to
give us a "man for breakfast" nearly every morning.
Like all Pacific Coast mining towns, Carson had an immense saloon, with
all the sporting attachments, such as billiards, roulette, faro, poker,
etc., and at all times of the day and night it was frequented by
hundreds of men, who amused themselves talking, drinking, gambling and
reading their letters, as most of them received their correspondence at
these headquarters. It was called the "Magnolia," and was kept by Pete
Hopkins, who, I believe, still flourishes in San Francisco.
The telegraph had reached us in 1862, and we kept pretty well posted on
what was going on in the States. On the 14th of April, 1865, it was
flashed over the wires that President Lincoln had been assassinated, and
the excitement was intense. Men studiously avoided the subject, for fear
of being misunderstood and being drawn into deadly conflict. The news
was not credited at first, but soon became confirmed, and generally
accepted as true. The Union men determined that some public
demonstration should be made to recognize the event. A meeting was held,
and a committee appointed to formulate a program. It was decided to put
the town in mourning, have a procession and mock funeral, an oration and
appropriate resolutions,--all of which was the correct thing. An evening
or two before the ceremony was to take place the committee came down to
the Magnolia, to announce publicly what it had decided upon. The
chairman mounted the bar and made his proclamation, adding that anyone
who failed to hang out some emblem of mourning on his house or place of
business might expect to be roughly handled.
The room was crowded, and with the most inflammable material. Had a
bomb been exploded on one of the billiard tables the effect would not
have stirred the rebels to greater depths. Among them was an old
Virginian, whom we will call Captain Jones. He almost immediately
accepted the challenge, and speaking up loudly, he said: "I am damned
glad Lincoln was killed, and if any man attempts to put mourning on my
house, or interfere with me for not doing so, there will be a good many
more killed."
Everybody knew that the old man meant just what he said, and was always
equipped to make good his promises. The effect was remarkable. Instead
of precipitating a fight, it seemed to paralyze the crowd, and nothing
came of it that night; the captain was wise enough quietly to disappear.
Captain Jones had a small brick building on the main street of the town,
a block or two from the Magnolia, where he had his office, and lived in
a back room.
At the proper time the procession formed on the plaza. Bands of music
were interspersed through the line. The orator and distinguished
citizens were in carriages, every vehicle in town being brought into
requisition. There was a large cavalcade of horsemen. I rode in a
handsome buggy, with the principal gambler of the town, and many hundred
footmen followed, the Chinamen bringing up the rear. It was a beautiful
day, the sun shining brightly. The procession moved off majestically
down a back street, off the main thoroughfare, and then turned into the
principal street. Every house on the line of march displayed signs of
mourning on both sides of the street. Soon appeared in the distance
Captain Jones, sitting just outside the line of the sidewalk, in the
street, exactly in front of his house. His head was bare, and his long
white hair glistened in the sunshine. He sat in an arm-chair, with an
immense double-barrelled shotgun poised quietly across his knees. He was
carelessly reading a newspaper, and not a semblance of mourning was to
be seen anywhere on his premises. As the head of the procession reached
him hundreds of hands involuntarily sought their revolvers, and every
man held his breath; even the music ceased, and the expectation was
intense. There were many in the line who would have shot him if they had
dared, but they knew he had hosts of friends in the line who would have
resented it instantly, and to the death, and they also knew the
captain's eye was coursing down the line and the first shot would be
answered by the contents of both barrels of his big gun. So no one
fired; no one spoke; hardly anyone looked. The captain never moved a
muscle, and the column passed.
I remember once of reading an incident in connection with the French
army. While marching in Africa it encountered a splendid African lion,
lying in the road, who did not seem disposed to give the right of way.
The army halted. The circumstance was reported to the commanding officer
and instructions asked whether they should kill the royal beast or march
round him. The orders were to march round him. I have never thought of
the incident here related without recalling the cool bravery of the king
of beasts; but I always award the superiority to my friend, Captain
Jones.
HOW THE CAPITAL WAS SAVED.
The ancestors of Joe Rolette, the leading character in the story which I
am about to relate, emigrated at a very early day from Normandy, in
France, to Canada. It is believed that the celebrated Montcalm was one
of this party. Many of these emigrants became disheartened by the
hardships they encountered, and returned to France; but not so the
Rolettes. Jean Joseph Rolette, the father of our Joseph, was born in
Quebec, on Sept. 24, 1781. He was originally designed for the
priesthood, but fortunately for that holy order his inclinations led him
in another direction, and he became an Indian trader. His first venture
in business was at Montreal, next at Windsor opposite Detroit, finally
winding up at Prairie du Chien, about the year 1801 or 1802.
In the war of 1812, with Great Britain, the Americans captured Prairie
du Chien in 1814, and built a stockade there, which was called Fort
Shelby. The British, under Colonel McKay, besieged it, Rolette having
some rank in the attacking party. He was offered a captaincy in the
British army for his good behavior in this affair, but declined it. He
continued his Indian trade successfully up to 1820, when John Jacob
Astor offered him a leading position in the American Fur Company, which
he accepted, and held until 1836, when he was succeeded by Hercules L.
Dousman. He died at Prairie du Chien, Dec. 1, 1842, leaving a widow and
two children, a son and daughter. His daughter married Captain Hood of
the United States army, and was a very superior woman. His son was the
hero of this story. Rolette senior was called by the Indians, "Sheyo"
("The Prairie Chicken"), from the rapidity with which he travelled. Joe
was called "Sheyo chehint Ku" ("The Prairie Chicken's Son").
Joe Rolette was born on Oct. 23, 1820, at Prairie du Chien. He received
a commercial education in New York, but having inherited the free and
easy, half-savage characteristics of his father, he soon gravitated to
the border, and settled at Pembina, on the Red River of the North, near
the dividing line between the United States and Canada. At this point an
extensive trade in furs had sprung up, in opposition to the Hudson Bay
people, who had monopolized the trade for British interests for many
long years. The catch of furs was brought down to the Mississippi every
year by brigades of carts, constructed entirely of wood and rawhide,
which were drawn by a single horse or ox, and carried a load of from 800
to 1,000 pounds. These vehicles were admirably adapted to the country,
which was in a perfectly natural state, without roads of any kind,
except the trail worn by the carts. They could easily pass over a slough
that would obstruct any other forms of wheeled carriage, and one man
could drive four or five of them, each being hitched behind the other.
They were readily constructed on the border, by the unskilled
half-breeds, where iron was unobtainable. This trade, with an occasional
arrival of dog trains in the winter, was the only connecting link
between far away Pembina and St. Paul.
When the Territory of Minnesota was organized, in 1849, St. Paul was
designated as the capital, and a plain but suitable building was erected
by the United States for the purpose of the local government, and when
finished the territorial legislature convened there annually.
Joe Rolette, being the leading citizen of Pembina, and naturally
desirous of spending his winters at the capital, had himself elected to
the legislature, first to the house of representatives in 1853, and
again in 1854 and 1855. In 1856 and 1857 he was returned to the council,
which was the upper house, corresponding to the senate as the
legislature is now composed. This body consisted of fifteen members. The
sessions were limited by the organic act to sixty days.
That the capital should be located and remain at St. Paul had been
determined by the leading citizens of this region, as far as they could
decide this question, before the organization of the territory, but
there were from the beginning manifestations of a desire to remove it
exhibited in several localities. Wm. R. Marshall resided at St. Anthony,
and at the first session in 1849 worked hard to have it removed to that
point, but failed, and no serious attempt was again made until 1857,
when, on February 6th, a bill was introduced by a councillor from St.
Cloud, to remove it to St. Peter, a town on the Minnesota river, which
had grown into considerable importance. General Gorman was the governor,
and largely interested in St. Peter. He gave the scheme the weight of
his influence. Winona, through its councillor, St. A. D. Balcombe, was a
warm advocate of the change, and enough influence was secured to carry
the bill in both houses. It, however, only passed the council by one
majority, eight voting in its favor, and seven against it.
It was at this point in the fight that Rolette proved himself a bold and
successful strategist. He was a friend of St. Paul, and was determined
that the plan should not succeed if it was possible for him to prevent
it. He never calculated chances or hesitated at responsibilities, but
would undertake any desperate measure to carry a point with the same
unreflecting dash and heedlessness of danger that he would plunge his
horse into a herd of buffalo, shooting right and left, trusting to luck
to extricate him. It happened that Joe was chairman of the committee on
enrolled bills of the council, and all bills had to pass through his
hands for enrollment and comparison. On the 27th of February the removal
bill reached him, and he instantly decided that the legislature should
never see it again, so he put it in his pocket and disappeared. He had,
however, foresight enough carefully to deposit the bill in the vault of
Truman M. Smith's bank, in the Fuller House, on the corner of Seventh
and Jackson streets, before his vanishment.
On the 28th Joe did not appear in his seat, and no one seemed to know
anything of his whereabouts. As his absence was prolonged, some of the
advocates of the removal became uneasy, and sent to the enrollment
committee for the bill, but none of them knew anything about it. At this
point Mr. Balcombe offered a resolution, calling on Rolette to report
the bill forthwith, and on his failure to do so, that the next member of
the committee, Mr. Wales, procure another enrolled copy and report it.
He then moved the previous question on his resolution. At this point,
Mr. Setzer, a friend of St. Paul, moved a call of the council, and Mr.
Rolette, being reported absent, the sergeant-at-arms was sent out to
find him, and bring him in.