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The приведу ссылку 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 windows 10 1703 download iso itasca bankruptcy chapter been paralleled only on the shores of the New World. Finding here Mr. We have been specializing in refractometers sinceand our products are acclaimed for windowws, user-friendliness, and rugged durability. The occupations of the family were mostly, in the early days, mechanical. Burnett County. Julius S. We fancied that we could see the ragged crest of the white mountain still further beyond. Cater M.❿

Windows 10 1703 download iso itasca bankruptcy chapter

UNITED STATES BANKRUPTCY COURT. FOR THE DISTRICT OF NEVADA. In re: AG,. Affects this Debtor. Case No.: mkn. Chapter LEAD CASE. The House met at 10 a.m. and was called to order by the Speaker pro tem- pore (Mr. MCNULTY). f. DESIGNATION OF THE SPEAKER. PRO TEMPORE. 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.


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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 [Pg vi] 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. 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 , 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. 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 , stood until , 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. 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.

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.

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. In one instance, in the Hingham town records, it is spelled “Fulsham,” but always afterward, “Foulsham. 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 [Pg ix] 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 mother was born in Machias, Maine, Oct. 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, 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 [Pg x] 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 [Pg xi] 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 I went into the woods to work for Capt. 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 [Pg xii] 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. 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 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 , 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 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. 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. 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 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 [Pg xv] 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. For years it had been my strong desire to make the ascent, and in May, , 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 [Pg xvi] 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. 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 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 [Pg xvii] 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. 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 [Pg xviii] 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.

Folsom Frontispiece James S. Blanding Reuben F. Warner opp Rev. Boutwell Devil’s Chair Frank N. Peterson Rev. Washburn opp John S. Pillsbury opp St. Anthony Falls Birdseye View of St. Paul opp Henry H. Sibley opp Alex. Ramsey opp Henry M. Rice opp Edmund Rice opp Wm. Rainey Marshall opp Wm. Fisher John B. Sanborn opp H. Hall Hon. Le Duc Lucius F. Going West. James Duane Doty 19 James H.

Lockwood 20 Indian Troubles 21 John S. Jones 31 S. Anderson 55 Emanuel D. Farmer 56 Col. John Greely 56 Mrs. Leach 58 Socrates Nelson 58 Mrs. William Holcombe William S. Barron George W.

Brownell Col. Robert C. Murphy Edward Worth Mrs. Mary C. Worth Maurice M. Samuels Joseph B. McGlothlin Andrew L. Tuttle John Weymouth B. Reynolds Augustus Gaylord James D.

Reymert William J. Stratton Elma M. Blanding Blanding Family Frederick G. Bartlett Michael Field Alden Rev. Peabody V. Smith Clayton Reuben F. Nason Joel F. Gallespie Luck William H.

Carmi P. Garlick John S. Godfrey William A. Talboys Charles H. Staples J. Peake George Wilson Samuel B. Dresser Frederic A. Dresser Oscar A. Clark Oscar F. Knapp Mrs. Elisabeth B. Hayes Cyrus G. Bradley W. Hale Edgar C. Treadwell St. Croix Falls St. Samuel Deneen William W. John B. Page Dr. Henning Moses S. Gibson Col. Otis Hoyt S. Fuller Miles H. Van Meter Philip B. Jewell John Tobin Horace A. Moffatt James H. Childs William Dwelley James M.

Fulton Marcus A. Fulton David C. Fulton N. Holden William H. Semmes Sterling Jones D. Bailey Henry C. Baker Mert Herrick D. Baldwin John Comstock Lucius P. Wetherby John C. Spooner Thomas Porter Herman L. Humphrey Theodore Cogswell Frank P. Catlin Charles Y. Denniston A. Jefferson Samuel C. Symonds John E. Price E. Bundy Towns and Biographies. Bradley William Dailey Robert and Wm. Johnson Joel Bartlett Francis W.

Bartlett George C. Hough Silas Staples Dr. Henry Murdock Steven N. Samuel Harriman St. Vance Allen R. Wilson E. Pierce Hans B. Taylor John Huitt John M. Thayer A. Andrews Joseph A. Short Prof. Allen H. Weld Allen P. Weld George W. Nichols W. Powell Oliver S. Powell Nils P. Haugen H. Burnett County. Stratton Barron County.

Ashland County. Haskell G. Vaughn Dr. Edwin Ellis Martin Beaser Hon. Sam S. Fifield Bayfield County. Newton Judge Solon H. Clough Vincent Roy D. Frederic Ayer Rev. William T. Boutwell Discovery of Itasca [Pg xxx] Mrs. Hester C. Grant, Sr. Robinson Hiram Brackett Randall K.

Burrows John S. Kanabec County. History, Boundaries, etc. Danforth N. Danforth Alvah J. Cater M. Cater Edwin Allen John H. Allen A. Damon [Pg xxxi] C. Ingalls Mrs. Lavina L. Hallberg Charles A. Anderson Frank N. Pratt Voloro D. Eddy F. Brown Patten W. Davis James F. Harvey Floyd S. Bates Isaac H. Warner Charles F. Lowe Wells Farr John G. Mold George L. Blood Joel G. Jesse Taylor Joshua L.

Taylor Nathan C. Taylor Thomas F. Morton Henry N. Setzer Patrick Fox William F. Newbury Emil Munch A. Wilmarth Lucius K. Stannard James W. Mullen David Caneday George B. Folsom Aaron M. Chase Peter Abear Levi W. Folsom Eddington Knowles Dr. Lucius B. Smith William Comer E. Whiting and Brothers Frederic Tang, Sr. Folsom George W. Seymour James A.

Edwards Stephen J. Gray John P. Tombler Dr. Furber Samuel W. Furber Theodore Furber James S. Dibble George Harris Harley D. Crosby Reuben H. Parker Hiram Berkey George B. Otis William Clark James R. Meredith [Pg xxxiv] John D. Ward Samuel Judd Frederic W. Lammers James R. Ford Daniel Hopkins, Sr. Lyman Henry A. Jackman Frederic J. City of Stillwater. Isaac Staples Samuel F. Murdock George M. Seymour Frank A. Susannah Tepass William E.

Thorne Edmund J. Butts A. Easton Edwin A. Folsom John B. Castle Abraham L. Gallespie John C. Gardiner V. Seward Ralph Wheeler Edward S. Van Voorhes Andrew J. Van Voorhes Henry C. Van Voorhes C. Bromley Charles J. Butler Levi E. Thompson George Davis William M. McCluer John N. Ahl Samuel M.

Register J. Johnson Gold T. Curtis Harley D. Curtis Francis R. Delano Henry W. Cannon Dwight M. Stearns County. Organization and History of St. Wilson Charles T.

Stearns Henry G. Collins Henry C. Waite Gen. Lowry A. Evans Ambrose Freeman Nathan F. Barnes Nehemiah P.

Clark Oscar E. Garrison Charles A. Gilman Other Citizens Anoka County. Arnold S. Ridge J. Green S. Haskell M. Frost A. Bean A. Fridley William Staples Capt. James Starkey Sherburne County. DeLille Howard M. Atkins B. Cater J. Bean J. Jamieson A. Heath Dr. George Royal George W. Benton County.

Benedict J. Wood William H. Wood Mrs. Wood A. DeLacy Wood P. Wood Rev. Hamlin Morrison County. Churchill John M. Kidder Warren Kobe Ola K. Black Ira W. Bouch Robert Russell Peter A. Green Rodolphus D. Kinney John D. Logan Crow Wing County. White Allen Morrison Charles F. Aitkin County. Watkins St.

Louis County. Stuntz George E. Stone Charles H. Graves Ozro P. Stearns Lake County. Description Two Harbors Cook County. Anthony Incorporated Annexation to Minneapolis, St.

Anthony List of Mayors Water vs. Calvin A. Tuttle Cyrus Aldrich Dr. Alfred E. Ames Dr. Albert A. Ames Jesse Ames Cadwallader C. Washburn William D. Washburn Joseph C. Russell Horatio P. Van Cleve Charlotte O. Lennon John H. Stevens Caleb D. Dorr Rev. Edward D. Neill John Wensignor Robert H. Hasty Stephen Pratt Capt. John Tapper R. Dibble George Harris Harley D. Crosby Reuben H. Parker Hiram Berkey George B.

Otis William Clark James R. Meredith [Pg xxxiv] John D. Ward Samuel Judd Frederic W. Lammers James R. Ford Daniel Hopkins, Sr. Lyman Henry A. Jackman Frederic J.

City of Stillwater. Isaac Staples Samuel F. Murdock George M. Seymour Frank A. Susannah Tepass William E. Thorne Edmund J. Butts A. Easton Edwin A. Folsom John B. Castle Abraham L. Gallespie John C. Gardiner V. Seward Ralph Wheeler Edward S. Van Voorhes Andrew J. Van Voorhes Henry C.

Van Voorhes C. Bromley Charles J. Butler Levi E. Thompson George Davis William M. McCluer John N. Ahl Samuel M. Register J. Johnson Gold T. Curtis Harley D. Curtis Francis R. Delano Henry W. Cannon Dwight M. Stearns County. Organization and History of St. Wilson Charles T. Stearns Henry G. Collins Henry C. Waite Gen. Lowry A. Evans Ambrose Freeman Nathan F.

Barnes Nehemiah P. Clark Oscar E. Garrison Charles A. Gilman Other Citizens Anoka County. Arnold S. Ridge J. Green S. Haskell M. Frost A. Bean A. Fridley William Staples Capt. James Starkey Sherburne County. DeLille Howard M.

Atkins B. Cater J. Bean J. Jamieson A. Heath Dr. George Royal George W. Benton County. Benedict J. Wood William H.

Wood Mrs. Wood A. DeLacy Wood P. Wood Rev. Hamlin Morrison County. Churchill John M. Kidder Warren Kobe Ola K. Black Ira W. Bouch Robert Russell Peter A. Green Rodolphus D. Kinney John D. Logan Crow Wing County. White Allen Morrison Charles F. Aitkin County. Watkins St. Louis County. Stuntz George E. Stone Charles H. Graves Ozro P. Stearns Lake County.

Description Two Harbors Cook County. Anthony Incorporated Annexation to Minneapolis, St. Anthony List of Mayors Water vs. Calvin A. Tuttle Cyrus Aldrich Dr. Alfred E. Ames Dr. Albert A. Ames Jesse Ames Cadwallader C. Washburn William D. Washburn Joseph C. Russell Horatio P. Van Cleve Charlotte O. Lennon John H. Stevens Caleb D. Dorr Rev. Edward D. Neill John Wensignor Robert H. Hasty Stephen Pratt Capt. John Tapper R. Cummings Elias H.

Conner C. Foster A. Foster Charles E. Vanderburgh Dorillius Morrison H. Morrison F. Cornell Gen. Nettleton Isaac Atwater Rev. David Brooks Prof. Jabez Brooks John S. Pillsbury Henry T. Wilson R. Langdon William M. Bracket Thos. Walker Austin H. Young Henry G. Hicks John P. Organization, First Officers St. Paul North St. Forbes Henry M. Larpenteur William H. Nobles Simeon P.

Folsom Jacob W. Bass Benjamin W. Brunson Abram S. Elfelt D. Baker Benjamin F. Hoyt John Fletcher Williams Dr. John H. Murphy William H.

Tinker George P. Jacobs Lyman Dayton Henry L. Lott W. Davidson Wm. Fisher Charles H. Oakes C. Borup Capt. Russell Blakely Rensselaer R. Nelson George L. Flandrau John B. Sanborn John R. Irvine Horace R. Bigelow Cushman K. Davis S. McMillan Willis A. Gorman John D. Ludden Elias F. Drake Norman W. Kittson Hascal R. Brill Ward W. Folsom [Pg xl] Gordon E. Cole James Smith, Jr. Whitcher T. Newson Alvaren Allen Harlan P. Dakota County.

Crosby G. Le Duc Goodhue County. Hubbard William Colville Martin S. Wilson Wabasha County. Tefft James Wells Winona County. Scenery Winona City Daniel S. Norton William Windom Charles H. Pierre Bottineau Andrew G. Dunnell James H. Baker Horace B. McDonald Thomas H. Armstrong Augustus Armstrong Moses K. Armstrong James B. Paul Railroad St. Stuntz on Lake Superior and St. Croix Canal Waterways Convention, E. Durant’s Valuable Statistics Resolution for St. Croix Ice Boats James W.

Mullen’s Reminiscences, St. Croix Rev. Julius S. Scott, Maj. Anderson, and Jeff. Davis Jeff. Military History of the Rebellion, to Gov. After mature deliberation we concluded to go West. Returning to Bloomfield, I collected the money held for me by Capt.

Ruel Weston and was soon in readiness for the journey. But a few days before the time agreed upon for leaving, I received a letter from Simeon Goodrich, which contained the unpleasant information that he could not collect the amount due him and could not go with me. Truly this was a disappointment. I was obliged to set out alone, no light undertaking at that early day, for as yet there were no long lines of railroad between Maine and the Mississippi river.

The day at last arrived for me to start. My companions and acquaintances chaffed me as to the perils of the journey before me. My mother gave me her parting words, “William, always respect yourself in order to be respected. The stage took us directly to the steamboat at Gardiner. The steam was up and the boat was soon under way. It was the New England, the first boat of the kind I had ever seen.

I felt strangely unfamiliar with the ways of the traveling world, but observed what others did, and asked no questions, and so fancied that my ignorance of traveling customs would not be exposed.

It was sunset as we floated out into the wide expanse of the Atlantic. The western horizon was tinged with fiery hues, the shores grew fainter and receded from view and the eye could rest at last only upon the watery expanse. All [Pg 2] things seemed new and strange. Next morning a heavy fog hung over the scene. The vessel was at anchor in Boston harbor and we were soon on shore and threading the crooked streets of the capital of Massachusetts.

I was not lost in the wilderness maze of streets, as I had feared I should be, but on leaving Boston on the evening train I took the wrong car and found myself uncomfortably situated in a second or third class car, crowded and reeking with vile odors, from which the conductor rescued me, taking me to the pleasant and elegant car to which my first class ticket entitled me. On arriving at Providence I followed the crowd to the landing and embarked on the steamer President for New York, in which city we remained a day, stopping at the City Hotel on Broadway.

I was greatly impressed with the beauty of part of the city, and the desolate appearance of the Burnt District, concerning the burning of which we had read in our winter camp. I was not a little puzzled with the arrangement of the hotel tables and the printed bills of fare, but closely watched the deportment of others and came through without any serious or mortifying blunder.

Stevens for Albany, and on the evening of the same day went to Schenectady by railroad. Some of the way cars were hauled by horses up hills and inclined planes.

There were then only three short lines of railroad in the United States, and I had traveled on two of them. At Schenectady I took passage on a canal boat to Buffalo. I had read about “De Witt Clinton’s Ditch,” and now greatly enjoyed the slow but safe passage it afforded, and the rich prospect of cities, villages and cultivated fields through which we passed.

At Buffalo we remained but one day. We there exchanged eastern paper for western, the former not being current in localities further west. At Buffalo I caught my first glimpse of Lake Erie. I stood upon a projecting pier and recalled, in imagination, the brave Commodore Perry, gallantly defending his country’s flag in one of the most brilliant engagements of the war, the fame whereof had long been familiar to the whole country and the thrilling incidents of which were the theme of story and song even in the wilderness camps of Maine.

The steamer Oliver Newberry bore me from Buffalo to Detroit. From Detroit to Mt. Clemens, Michigan, I went by stage and stopped at the last named place until October 14th, when, being [Pg 3] satisfied that the climate was unhealthy, fever and ague being very prevalent, I returned to Detroit, and on the fifteenth of the same month took passage on the brig Indiana, as steamers had quit running for the season. The brig was aground two days and nights on the St.

Clair flats. A south wind gave us a splendid sail up the Detroit river into Lake Huron. We landed for a short time at Fort Gratiot, at the outlet of the lake, just as the sun was setting. The fort was built of stone, and presented an impressive appearance. The gaily uniformed officers, the blue-coated soldiers, moving with the precision of machines, the whole scene—the fort, the waving flags, the movement of the troops seen in the mellow sunset light—was impressive to one who had never looked upon the like before.

A favorable breeze springing up, we sped gaily out into the blue Lake Huron. At Saginaw bay the pleasant part of the voyage ended. The weather became rough.

A strong gale blew from the bay outward, and baffled all the captain’s skill in making the proper direction. Profane beyond degree was Capt. McKenzie, but his free-flowing curses availed him nothing.

The brig at one time was so nearly capsized that her deck load had rolled to one side and held her in an inclined position. The captain ordered most of the deck load, which consisted chiefly of Chicago liquors, thrown overboard. Unfortunately, several barrels were saved, two of which stood on deck, with open heads. This liquor was free to all. The vessel, lightened of a great part of her load, no longer careened, but stood steady against the waves and before the wind.

It is a pity that the same could not be said of captain, crew and passengers, who henceforth did the careening. They dipped the liquor up in pails and drank it out of handled dippers. They got ingloriously drunk; they rolled unsteadily across the deck; they quarreled, they fought, they behaved like Bedlamites, and how near shipwreck was the goodly brig from that day’s drunken debauch on Chicago free liquor will never be known. The vessel toiled, the men were incapacitated for work, but notwithstanding the tempest of profanity and the high winds, the wrangling of crew and captain, we at last passed Saginaw bay.

The winds were more favorable. Thence to Mackinaw the sky was clear and bright, the air cold. The night before reaching Mackinaw an unusual disturbance occurred above resulting from the abundance of free liquor.

The cook, being [Pg 4] drunk, had not provided the usual midnight supper for the sailors. The key of the caboose was lost; the caboose was broken open, and the mate in the morning was emulating the captain in the use of profane words. The negro cook answered in the same style, being as drunk as his superior. This cook was a stout, well built man, with a forbidding countenance and, at his best, when sober, was a saucy, ill-natured and impertinent fellow.

When threat after threat had been hurled back and forth, the negro jumped at the mate and knocked him down. The sailors, as by a common impetus, seized the negro, bound him tightly and lashed him to a capstan. On searching him they found two loaded pistols. These the mate placed close to each ear of the bound man, and fired them off. They next whipped him on the naked back with a rope. His trunk was then examined and several parcels of poison were found. Another whipping was administered, and this time the shrieks and groans of the victim were piteous.

Before he had not even winced. The monster had prepared himself to deal death alike to crew and passengers, and we all felt a great sense of relief when Capt. McKenzie delivered him to the authorities at Mackinaw.

Antique Mackinaw was a French and half-breed town. The houses were built of logs and had steep roofs. Trading posts and whisky shops were well barred. The government fort, neatly built and trim, towered up above the lake on a rocky cliff and overlooked the town, the whole forming a picturesque scene. We remained but a few hours at Mackinaw. There were ten cabin passengers, and these, with two exceptions, had imbibed freely of the Chicago free liquor.

They were also continually gambling. McKenzie had fought a fist fight with a deadhead passenger, Capt. Fox, bruising him badly. What with his violence and profanity, the brutality of the mate and the drunken reveling of crew and passengers, the two sober passengers had but a sorry time, but the safe old brig, badly officered, badly managed, held steadily on its course, and October 30th, fifteen days from Detroit, safely landed us in Chicago.

After being so long on the deck of a tossing vessel, I experienced a strange sensation when first on shore.

I had become accustomed to the motion of the vessel, and had managed to hold myself steady. On shore the pitching and tossing movement seemed to continue, only it seemed transferred to my head, [Pg 5] which grew dizzy, and so produced the illusion that I was still trying to balance myself on the unsteady deck of the ship.

Chicago, since become a great city, had at that time the appearance of an active, growing village. Thence I proceeded, November 1st and 2d, by stage to Milwaukee, which appeared also as a village, but somewhat overgrown. Idle men were numerous, hundreds not being able to obtain employment. Here I remained a couple of weeks, stopping at the Belleview House. After which I chopped wood a few days for Daniel Wells.

Not finding suitable employment, I started west with a Mr. Rogers, December 2d. There being no other means of conveyance, we traveled on foot. On the evening of the second we stopped at Prairie Village, now known as Waukesha. On the evening of the third we stopped at Meacham’s Prairie, and on the fifth reached Rock River, where I stopped with a Mr. The evening following we stopped at an Irish house, where the surroundings did not conduce to comfort or to a feeling of security.

Several drunken men kept up a continuous row. We hid our money in a haystack, and took our turn sleeping and keeping watch. We ate an early breakfast, and were glad to get away before the men who had created such a disturbance during the night were up. We moved onward on the seventh to Blue Mound, where we found a cheerful resting place at Brigham’s.

The eighth brought us to Dodgeville, where we stopped at Morrison’s. On the ninth we reached Mineral Point, the locality of the lead mines, where I afterward lost much time in prospecting.

Mineral Point was then a rude mining town. The night of our arrival was one of excitement and hilarity in the place. The first legislature of the territory of Wisconsin had been in session at Belmont, near Mineral Point, had organized the new government and closed its session on that day. To celebrate this event and their emancipation from the government of Michigan and the location of the capital at Madison, the people from the Point, and all the region round about, had met and prepared a banquet for the retiring members of the legislature.

Madison was at that time a paper town, in the wilderness, but beautifully located on Cat Fish lake, and at the head of Rock river. The location had been accomplished by legislative tact, and a compromise between the extremes. In view of the almost certain division of the Territory, with the Mississippi river as a [Pg 6] boundary, at no very distant day, it was agreed that Madison should be the permanent capital, while Burlington, now in Iowa, should be used temporarily.

Milwaukee and Green Bay had both aspired to the honor of being chosen as the seat of government. Mineral Point, with her rich mines, had also aspirations, as had Cassville, which latter named village had even built a great hotel for the accommodation of the members of the assembly.

Dubuque put in a claim, but all in vain. Madison was chosen, and wisely, and she has ever since succeeded in maintaining the supremacy then thrust upon her. In my boyhood, at school, I had read of the great Northwest Territory. It seemed to me then far away, at the world’s end, but I had positively told my comrades that I should one day go there. I found myself at last on the soil, and at a period or crisis important in its history.

The immense territory had been carved and sliced into states and territories, and now the last remaining fragment, under the name of Wisconsin, had assumed territorial prerogatives, organized its government, and, with direct reference to a future division of territory, had selected its future capital, for as yet, except in name, Madison was not. In assuming territorial powers, the boundaries had been enlarged so as to include part of New Louisiana, and the first legislature had virtually bartered away this part of her domain, of which Burlington, temporary capital of Wisconsin, was to be the future capital.

Two more days of foot plodding brought us to Galena, the city of lead. The greeting on our entering the city was the ringing of bells, the clattering of tin pans, the tooting of ox horns, sounds earthly and unearthly,—sounds no man can describe. What could it be? Was it for the benefit of two humble, footsore pedestrians that all this uproar was produced?

We gave it up for the time, but learned subsequently that it was what is known as a charivari, an unmusical and disorderly serenade, generally gotten up for the benefit of some newly married couple, whose nuptials had not met with popular approval.

At Galena I parted with Mr. Rogers, my traveling companion, who went south. On the fifteenth of December I traveled to Dubuque on foot. When I came to the Mississippi river I sat down on its banks and recalled the humorous description of old [Pg 7] Mr. Carson, my neighbor, to which I had listened wonderingly when a small boy. The turtles in it were big as barn doors, and their shells would make good ferryboats if they could only be kept above water.

Several persons desiring to cross, we made a portable bridge of boards, sliding them along with us till we were safe on the opposite bank. I was now at the end of my journey, on the west bank of the Mississippi, beyond which stretched a vast and but little known region, inhabited by Indians and wild beasts.

As I review the incidents of my journey in , I can not but contrast the conditions of that era and the present. How great the change in half a century! The journey then required thirty days. It now requires but three. I had passed over but two short lines of railroad, and had made the journey by canal boat, by steamer, by stage, and a large portion of it on foot.

There were few regularly established lines of travel. From Michigan to the Mississippi there were no stages nor were there any regular southern routes. Travelers to the centre of the continent, in those days, came either by the water route, via New Orleans or the Fox and Wisconsin river route, or followed Indian trails or blazed lines from one settlement to another.

The homes of the settlers were rude—were built principally of logs. In forest regions the farms consisted of clearings or square patches of open ground, well dotted with stumps and surrounded by a dense growth of timber.

The prairies, except around the margins or along certain belts of timber following the course of streams, were without inhabitants. Hotels were few and far between, and, when found, not much superior to the cabins of the settlers; but the traveler was always and at all places hospitably entertained. Dubuque was a town of about three hundred inhabitants, attracted thither by the lead mines. The people were principally of the mining class.

The prevailing elements amongst them were Catholic and Orange Irish. These two parties were antagonistic and would quarrel on the streets or wherever brought in contact. Sundays were especially days of strife, and Main [Pg 8] street was generally the field of combat.

Women even participated. There was no law, there were no police to enforce order. The fight went on, the participants pulling hair, gouging, biting, pummeling with fists or pounding with sticks, till one or the other party was victorious. These combats were also accompanied with volleys of profanity, and unlimited supplies of bad whisky served as fuel to the flame of discord.

Dubuque was certainly the worst town in the West, and, in a small way, the worst in the whole country. The entire country west of the Mississippi was without law, the government of Wisconsin Territory not yet being extended to it. Justice, such as it was, was administered by Judge Lynch and the mob.

My first employment was working a hand furnace for smelting lead ore for a man named Kelly, a miner and a miser. He lived alone in a miserable hovel, and on the scantiest fare. In January I contracted to deliver fifty cords of wood at Price’s brickyard.

I cut the wood from the island in front of the present city of Dubuque, and hired a team to deliver it. While in Dubuque I received my first letter from home in seven months. What a relief it was, after a period of long suspense, spent in tediously traveling over an almost wilderness country,—amidst unpleasant surroundings, amongst strangers, many of them of the baser sort, drinking, card playing, gambling and quarreling,—what a relief it was to receive a letter from home with assurances of affectionate regard from those I most esteemed.

Truly the lines had not fallen to me in pleasant places, and I was sometimes exposed to perils from the lawless characters by whom I was surrounded. On one occasion a dissolute and desperate miner, named Gilbert, came to Cannon’s hotel, which was my boarding house while in Dubuque. He usually came over from the east side of the river once a week for a spree.

On this occasion, being very drunk, he was more than usually offensive and commenced abusing Cannon, the landlord, applying to him some contemptuous epithet. I thoughtlessly remarked to Cannon, “You have a new name,” upon which Gilbert cocked his pistol and aiming at me was about to fire when Cannon, quick as thought, struck at his arm and so destroyed his aim that the bullet went over my head.

The report of the pistol brought others to the room and a general melee ensued in which the bar [Pg 9] was demolished, the stove broken and Gilbert unmercifully whipped.

Gilbert was afterward shot in a drunken brawl. I formed some genial acquaintances in Dubuque, amongst them Gen. Booth, Messrs. Brownell, Wilson and others, since well known in the history of the country. Price, the wood contractor, never paid me for my work. I invested what money I had left for lots in Madison, all of which I lost, and had, in addition, to pay a note I had given on the lots.

On February 11th I went to Cassville, journeying thither on the ice. This village had flourished greatly, in the expectation of becoming the territorial and state capital, expectations doomed, as we have seen, to disappointment. It is romantically situated amidst picturesque bluffs, some of which tower aloft like the walls and turrets of an ancient castle, a characteristic that attaches to much of the bluff scenery along this point.

I reached this old French town on the twelfth of February. The town and settlement adjacent extended over a prairie nine miles long, and from one to two miles broad, a beautiful plateau of land, somewhat sandy, but for many years abundantly productive, furnishing supplies to traders and to the military post established there. It also furnished two cargoes of grain to be used as seed by the starving settlement at Selkirk, which were conveyed thither by way of the Mississippi, St. Peter and Red rivers.

The earliest authentic mention of the place refers to the establishment of a post called St. Nicholas, on the east bank of the Mississippi, at the mouth of the Wisconsin, by Gov.

De La Barre, who, in , sent Nicholas Perrot with a garrison of twenty men to hold the post. The first official document laying claim to the country on the Upper Mississippi, issued in , has mention of the fort. This document we transcribe entire:. Croix, and at the mouth of the river St. Pierre Minnesota , on the bank of which were the Mantantans; and further up to the interior to the northeast of the Mississippi, as far as the Menchokatoux, with whom dwell the majority of the Songeskitens, and other Nadouessioux, who are to the northeast of the Mississippi, to take possession for, and in the name of, the king of the countries and rivers inhabited by the said tribes, and of which they are proprietors.

The present act done in our presence, signed with our hand and subscribed. There is little doubt that this post was held continuously by the French as a military post until , when the French authorities at Quebec withdrew all their troops from Wisconsin, and as a trader’s post or settlement, until the surrender in to the British of all French claims east of the Mississippi.

It was probably garrisoned near the close of the latter period. It remained in the possession of the French some time, as the English, thinking it impossible to compete for the commerce of the Indian tribes with the French traders who had intermarried with them, and so acquired great influence, did not take actual possession until many years later. The post is occasionally mentioned by the early voyageurs, and the prairie which it commanded was known as the “Prairie du Chien,” or praire of the dog, as early as , and is so mentioned by Carver.

It was not formally taken possession of by the United States until , when Gov. Clarke with two hundred men came up from St. Louis to Prairie du Chien, then under [Pg 11] English rule, to build a fort and protect American interests at the village. At that time there were about fifty families, descended chiefly from the old French settlers. These were engaged chiefly in farming, owning a common field four miles long by a half mile wide.

They had outside of this three separate farms and twelve horse mills to manufacture their produce. The fort, held by a few British troops under Capt. Deace, surrendered without resistance, but soon after the British traders at Mackinaw sent an expedition under Joe Rolette, Sr.

They were followed by the Indians as far as Rock Island. Meanwhile, Lieut. Campbell, with reinforcements on his way from St. Louis, was attacked, part were captured and the remainder of his troops driven back to St. Late in Maj. Zachary Taylor proceeded with gunboats to chastize the Indians for their attack on Campbell, but was himself met and driven back.

The following year, on the declaration of peace between Great Britain and America, the post at Prairie du Chien was evacuated. The garrison fired the fort as they withdrew from it.

The fort erected by the Americans under Gen. Clarke in was called Fort Shelby. The British, on capturing it, changed the name to Fort McKay. The Americans, on assuming possession and rebuilding it, named it Fort Crawford. It stood on the bank of the river at the north end of St.

Friole, the old French village occupied in by the Dousmans. In the new Fort Crawford was built on an elevated site about midway in the prairie. It was a strong military post and was commanded at this time by Gen. Zachary Taylor. Many officers, who subsequently won distinction in the Florida Indian, Mexican, and late Civil War, were stationed here from time to time.

Within a time included in my own recollections of the post, Jefferson Davis spirited away the daughter of his commanding officer, Gen. Taylor, and married her, the “rough and ready” general being averse to the match. By that name it has been known and recognized [Pg 12] ever since. It has been successively under the French, English and United States governments, and lying originally in the great Northwestern Territory, in the subsequent divisions of that immense domain, it has been included within the bounds of the territories of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, and Wisconsin.

Fisher and —— Campbell as justices of the peace, the first civil commissions issued for the American government in the entire district of country including West Wisconsin and Minnesota east of the Mississippi.

Prior to this time, about , the inhabitants had been chiefly under military rule. In the county of Crawford was organized as a part of Michigan Territory, and blank commissions were issued to Nicholas Boilvin, Esq.

Johnson was installed as chief justice of the county court. The entire corps of officers were qualified. In January, , Congress passed an act providing for circuit courts in the counties west and north of Lake Michigan, and James Duane Doty was appointed judge for the district composed of Brown, Mackinaw and Crawford counties, and a May term was held in Prairie du Chien the same year.

Indian Troubles. There were other incidents which may be worthy of separate mention. In an entire family, named Methode, were murdered, as is supposed, by the Indians, though the murderers were never identified. The great incentive to violence and rapine with the Indians was whisky. An intelligent Winnebago, aged about sixty years, told me that “paganini,” “firewater” whisky , was killing the great majority of his people, and making fools and cripples of those that were left; that before the pale faces came to the big river his people were good hunters and had plenty to eat; that now they were drunken, lazy and hungry; that they once wore elk or deer skins, that now they were clad in blankets or went naked.

This Indian I had never seen drunk. The American Fur Company had huts or open houses where the Indians might drink and revel. At an Indian payment a young, smart looking Indian got [Pg 13] drunk and in a quarrel killed his antagonist. The friends of the murdered Indian held a council and determined that the murderer should have an opportunity of running for his life.

The friends of the murdered Indian formed in a line, at the head of which was stationed the brother of the dead man, who was to lead in the pursuit. At a signal the bands of the prisoner were cut, and with a demoniacal yell he bounded forward, the entire line in swift and furious pursuit. Should he outrun his pursuers, he would be free; should they overtake and capture him, they were to determine the mode of his death.

He ran nearly a mile when he tripped and fell. The brother of the dead Indian, heading the pursuit, pounced upon him and instantly killed him with a knife. Considering the fact that the Indians were gathered together under the guns of a United States fort, and under the protection of a law expressly forbidding the sale of intoxicating liquors to them, the people of the United States were certainly justified in expecting better results, not only in regard to the protection of the frontier settlers but for that of the Indians themselves.

All came to naught because of the non-enforcement of law. Liquors were shamelessly sold to the Indians and they were encouraged to drunken revelry and orgies by the very men who should have protected and restrained them. The prosperity of Prairie du Chien depended upon the Indian trade, and upon government contracts which the presence of a military force rendered necessary.

The Indians gathered here in great numbers. Here the Winnebagoes, part of the Menomonies and some Chippewas received their annuities, and here centred also an immense trade from the American Fur Company, the depot being a large stone building on the banks of the Mississippi, under the charge of Hercules Dousman. Two discharged soldiers Thompson and Evans living at Patch Grove, thirteen miles away, visited the fort often. On a morning after one of their visits a soldier on guard noticed a heap of fresh earth near the magazine.

An alarm was given, an examination made, and it was found that the magazine had been burst open with bars and sledge hammers, entrance having been [Pg 14] obtained by digging under the corner picket. The kegs had been passed through the excavation underneath the picket.

One keg had burst open near the picket, and the silver was found buried in the sand. The second keg burst on the bank of the Mississippi, and all the money was found buried there except about six hundred dollars. The third keg was found months after by John Brinkman, in the bottom of the river, two miles below the fort. He was spearing fish by torchlight, when he chanced to find the keg. The keg he delivered at the fort and received a small reward.

On opening the keg it was found to contain coin of a different kind from that advertised as stolen. Brinkman, however, made no claims on account of errors. Thompson, Evans, and a man named Shields were arrested by the civil authorities on suspicion; their trial was continued from term to term and they were at last dismissed.

One man, who had seen the silver in the sand during the day and gone back at night to fill his pockets, was seized by a soldier on guard, imprisoned for a year, and discharged. A Frenchman shot and killed a couple of tame geese belonging to a neighbor, supposing them to be wild.

Discovering his mistake, he brought the geese to the owner, a Dutchman, who flew into a great rage, but took the geese and used them for his own table, in addition to which he had the goose-killer arrested and tried before Martin Savall, a justice of the peace. The defendant admitted the killing of the geese, the plaintiff admitted receiving them and using them for food, nevertheless the justice gave judgment in favor of plaintiff by the novel ruling that these geese, if not killed, would have laid eggs and hatched about eight goslings.

The defendant was therefore fined three dollars for the geese killed, and eight dollars for the goslings that might have been hatched if the geese had been permitted to live, and costs besides. Plaintiff appealed to the district court which reversed the decision on the ground that plaintiff had eaten his geese, and the goslings, not being hatched, did not exist. Plaintiff paid the costs of the suit, forty-nine dollars, remarking that a Dutchman had no chance in this country; that he would go back to Germany.

The judge remarked that it would be the best thing he could do. My original plan on leaving Maine was to make a prospecting tour through the West and South.

I had been in Prairie du Chien for a season, and as soon as my contract to cut hay for the fort and my harvesting work was done. I started, with two of my comrades, in a birch bark canoe for New Orleans. This mode of traveling proving slow and tedious, after two days, on our arrival at Dubuque, we sold our canoe and took passage on the steamer Smelter for St. Louis, which place we reached on the seventeenth of October. We remained five days, stopping at the Union Hotel.

Louis was by far the finest and largest city I had yet seen in the West. Its levee was crowded with drays and other vehicles and lined with steamers and barges. Its general appearance betokened prosperity.

On the twenty-second, I left on the steamer George Collier for New Orleans, but the yellow fever being reported in that city, I remained several days at Baton Rouge. New Orleans was even then a large and beautiful city.

Its levee and streets were remarkable for their cleanness, but seemed almost deserted. Owing to a recent visitation of the yellow fever and the financial crisis of , business was almost suspended.

These were hard times in New Orleans. Hundreds of men were seeking employment, and many of them were without money or friends. It was soon very evident to me that I had come to a poor place to better my fortunes. After a thorough canvass, I found but one situation vacant, and that was in a drinking saloon, and was not thought of for an instant. I remained fifteen days, my money gradually diminishing, when I concluded to try the interior. I took steamer for Vicksburg, and thence passed up the Yazoo to Manchester, where I spent two days in the vain search for employment, offering to do any kind of work.

I was in the South, where the labor was chiefly done by negroes. I was friendless and without letters of recommendation, and for a man under such circumstances to be asking for employment was in itself a suspicious circumstance. I encountered everywhere coldness and distrust. I returned to Vicksburg, and, fortunately, had still enough money left to secure a deck passage to the North, but was obliged to [Pg 16] live sparingly, and sleep without bedding.

I kept myself somewhat aloof from the crew and passengers. The captain and clerk commented on my appearance, and were, as I learned from a conversation that I could not help but overhear, keeping a close eye upon me for being so quiet and restrained.

It was true that the western rivers were infested with desperate characters, gamblers and thieves such as the Murrell gang. Might I not be one of them. I was truly glad when, on the fifth of December, we landed at St. It seemed nearer my own country; but finding no employment there, I embarked on the steamer Motto for Hennepin, Illinois, where I found occasional employment cutting timber.

There was much talk here of the Murrell gang, then terrorizing the country; and I have good reason to believe that some of them at that time were in Hennepin.

After remaining about two months, I left, on foot, valise in hand or strapped upon my back, with J. Simpson, for Galena, which place we reached in four days. Finding here Mr. Putnam, with a team, I went up with him on the ice to Prairie du Chien, where, after an absence of five months of anxiety, suspense and positive hardships, I was glad to find myself once more among friends.

During the summer of I cultivated a farm. I had also a hay contract for the fort. My partner was James C. I had worked hard and succeeded in raising a good crop, but found myself in the fall the victim of bilious fever and ague. I continued farming in and furnishing hay to the fort, but continued to suffer with chills and fever.

Myself and partner were both affected, and at times could scarcely take care of ourselves. Help could not be obtained, but ague comes so regularly to torture its victims that, knowing the exact hour of its approach, we could prepare in advance for it, and have our water, gruel, boneset and quinine ready and within reach. We knew when we would shake, but not the degree of fever which would follow. The delirium of the fever would fill our minds with strange fancies.

On one occasion I came home with the ague fit upon me, hitched my horses with wagon attached to a post and went into the house. Banker had passed the shaking stage, and was delirious.


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