The History of Minnesota and Tales of the Frontier Part 28

Our course lay down the valley of the Truckey river to its big bend, where Rose was to leave us and go to Pyramid lake for Win-ne-muc-ca. We accomplished this part of the journey, a distance of about one hundred miles, in three days, without any special incident, except on one occasion, when we were rounding a projecting point in the river, on a ledge of rocks, some driftwood got entangled with the legs of our leading mules, and came very near dumping us all into the boiling and rushing current, which would inevitably have drowned the whole party; but we reached our destination safely. At the big bend, which is now one of the princ.i.p.al stations on the Central Pacific Railroad, we found a s.p.a.cious piece of bottom land, well supplied with gra.s.s for our animals, and a clump of six tall stately cottonwood trees, presenting an inviting place to camp, which we accepted as our resting place.

The next morning Rose mounted his pony and started for the lake, saying he would return in a couple of days with the chief, who would guide us to the mine--and fortune. The government agent was an old friend of mine, a California forty-niner, and a most companionable fellow. The Mormons were excellent cooks, and most efficient camp men. We had abundant camp supplies, supplemented with fine fish brought to us by the Indians, so we settled down for a delightful rest. Every night the men would make a cheerful crackling fire of dry driftwood from the river, hobble the mules, and fall asleep for the night, leaving us to enjoy the soft summer air and brilliant moonlight, while discussing our future plans when possessed of the boundless wealth that only awaited the coming of Rose and the chief. Before retiring for the night, which only meant lying down on a blanket, we usually reclined each against a tree, with a demijohn between us, and by the time sleep overcame us the fortunes of Croesus, Astor and Vanderbilt combined were mere trifles compared with our antic.i.p.ated wealth, for were we not to be soon endowed with the magic touch of Midas!

We revelled in our repose, seasoned with the exaltation of hope and the demijohn, until about four days had glided away, when even such delights began to pall, and became a little monotonous, and still no Rose and no Win-ne-muc-ca. The fifth, and even the sixth day pa.s.sed, and yet they came not, and we were driven to the conclusion that either Rose had been victimized by the Piutes, or we had been victimized by Rose. So nothing was left for us but to pull up stakes and wend our weary way back to Carson. Here we found Rose, with the excuse that Win-ne-muc-ca had told him that he dared not give up the secret of the mine for fear his band would kill both Rose and himself, and that he had not dared to return to the camp for fear the Indians would follow him and destroy us all. And so ended our venture.

We came out of the enterprise wiser and poorer men, to the amount of about one thousand dollars. As we had left town at midnight, and returned at the same quiet hour, we were able to keep our adventure to ourselves, and escape the ridicule of more experienced miners, many of whom, however, had pa.s.sed through similar experiences under varying circ.u.mstances.

I have never been able fully to satisfy myself whether Rose acted in good faith or not, but as he had no hope of gain outside of the mine I am inclined to believe his story.

My next mining experience resulted much the same way. Rich finds were reported in the Walker river country, and a small syndicate of us outfitted a party of old and experienced miners to visit the locality and see what they could pick up. They started in the usual mysterious manner, at the dead of night, and in about two weeks returned, and brought to my office a gunny bag full of ore, which they left, and we appointed a meeting the next night at one o'clock, when the town was supposed to be asleep, to examine the bag and pa.s.s upon the contents.

One of the prospectors tapped the sack affectionately, and, winking at me in the most significant manner, said: "Judge, we've got the world by the tail. It's all pure silver, and there are a million tons of it lying on the top of the ground." Of course, my curiosity and expectations were aroused to the highest pitch, and I awaited the appointed hour with impatience. Before the party arrived, all the windows were darkened with sheets and blankets, refreshments were prepared, and they dropped in one at a time to avoid notice. The bag was opened and its contents displayed upon the table. It was a pure white and brilliant metal, about the weight of silver, and with the a.s.sistance of the refreshments we had convinced ourselves before daylight that it was all pure silver.

I took a chunk of it about the size of an orange, and, with one of the miners, went down to the Mexican mill, to have it a.s.sayed. The a.s.sayer took it, looked it over, and asked if we wanted it a.s.sayed for iron. My companion immediately answered, "I'll bet you a thousand dollars there's no iron in it." The a.s.sayer replied: "We don't bet on such things, but I will soon tell you all about it," and, after putting it to the test, he reported: "Magnetic iron, ninety-five per cent; no trace of gold or silver."

We let the world's tail go, put our own between our legs, and went home, two of the worst disappointed men in all Nevada, and that was the last of my mining efforts.

A UNIQUE POLITICAL CAREER.

Gen. James Shields had a most extraordinary career. I remember no man in the history of our country who equals him in the diversity and extent of his public services and office-holding. He was a general in the Mexican War, and for a long time enjoyed the unique reputation of being the only man who was ever shot through the lungs and survived. This, however, was not true. Many others, no doubt, underwent the same experience, and I remember a young Chippewa Indian who, while on a war party into the Sioux country, was wounded in exactly the same manner, and lived to a good old age as a very robust savage.

When the general returned from the Mexican War to Illinois, he was exceedingly popular. He was made commissioner of the general land office of the United States and judge of the supreme court of the State of Illinois, and was subsequently elected to the senate of the United States; but when he was about to take his seat he ran up against the snag that is found in section 3 of article I of the const.i.tution of the United States, which provides that a senator must have been a citizen of the United States for nine years before election, and it appeared that the general fell short of the requisite period. The consequence was that he was rejected, and he had to return to his state. But the citizens of Illinois wanted him to represent them in the senate, and as soon as he attained the proper citizenship they returned him, and he was admitted and served his full term. The general found out that his chances for reelection were not flattering, and as Minnesota was about applying for admission as a state in the Union, he decided to emigrate to that territory. What his motives were I, of course, cannot say, but as I was watching closely political events, I concluded that he had in view an election to the senate from the new State of Minnesota, and I kept my eye on his movements.

It was soon announced that the general had located the land warrant awarded to him for his services in the Mexican War, on a quarter section of land in the neighborhood of Faribault, in Rice county, in this territory, and that he intended to settle upon it. There was a little buncombe added to this announcement, to the effect that this was the first case in the history of America where a general officer had settled in person upon the land donated to him as a reward for the services he had rendered and the blood he had shed for his adopted country. We always called the general's home "The blood-bought farm."

There was an election in our territory in 1856 or 1857, I forget which, for delegate to Congress. Henry M. Rice had received the nomination of the regular Democratic convention for the position, and General Gorman (then territorial governor), Henry H. Sibley and many other leading Democrats had deliberately bolted the judgment of the convention, and nominated David Olmsted for delegate. The fight was on hot. I, of course, was for Rice, the regular nominee. I then lived well up in the Minnesota valley, at Traverse des Sioux, and we were becoming a power in the territory in a political sense, and I looked forward to the arrival of such a prominent Democrat as General Shields in our midst as an event of major political importance. He soon landed at Hastings, on the Mississippi, with a complete outfit for a permanent settlement. A good story is told of his advent at Hastings. In those days of steamboating, all the belongings of an immigrant would be landed on the levee and his freight bill would be presented to him by what we called the mud clerk, and he would take an account of his stock and pay the freight. Legend reports that the general had five barrels of whisky among his paraphernalia, and when the first one was rolled ash.o.r.e he seated himself upon it to watch the debarkation, and when the bill was presented he refused to pay it because he could see only four barrels, and demanded the fifth. The clerks got on to the joke, and pretended to search for the missing barrel until the last whistle blew, when they suggested to the general that he was occupying the disturbing element.

Whether the contents of the barrel ever caused any other misunderstandings history fails to record.

As soon as the general was comfortably settled on the blood-bought farm I dispatched a courier across the country to him, informing him of the political situation, and imploring him to come out for the regular Democratic ticket; but he replied in a very diplomatic way that he was too new a comer to take any active part in the election, and declined.

Tom Cowan, George Magruder and I, a trio which composed the leadership of the Democracy of the Minnesota valley, decided that the general should never go to the senate if we could prevent it, and it so happened that when the first legislature of the state a.s.sembled Tom Cowan was in the senate, but all our efforts to beat him failed, and Henry M. Rice and the general were elected to the United States Senate. It was hard to beat a man in those days who was a Democrat, an Irishman and a wounded soldier.

The only unlucky thing that the general ever encountered was the fact that he drew the short term when the lots were cast for the positions the new senators were to a.s.sume.

The general served out his term in the senate just about the time the Civil War broke out, and he tendered his services to the country, and became a general of volunteers. He was wounded in some battle, and I remember reading a general order announcing that he had sufficiently recovered to ride at the head of his brigade in a buggy. I took advantage of this singular position for a military commander, and impressed into the service of the state a splendid $2,000 team of trotters belonging to Harry Lamberton, with his buggy, and himself as driver, and rode comfortably in it until the end of the Indian war, at the head of my brigade.

The general was not long in discovering that the political wind had taken a Republican direction in Minnesota, which boded him no good. So he pulled up stakes and emigrated to Texas. There he felt the public pulse, and not finding any immediate indications that he would be chosen senator, and not having any pressing business in any other line, he emigrated to California. There he found a more favorable outlook, and almost as soon as he gained a residence in the state he was nominated for the United States Senate by the Democrats, and came within one or two votes of an election.

The general had always been a bachelor before going to California, but he surrendered to the charms of a lady of that state, and married. Not being willing to remain until the next senatorial election, he migrated to the State of Missouri, where he was very soon elected to congress by a substantial majority of about 3,000; but, it being in the reconstruction period, and he being a Democrat, the state board found no difficulty in counting him out, after which event very little was heard of the general for some years, when he appeared on the lecture platform, discoursing on Mexico. This venture was not much of a success, and the general was reputed to be quite broken up financially.

His next appearance was at Washington as a candidate for doorkeeper of the senate, which office, I believe, is one of both dignity and profit; but he did not succeed in getting it, and returned to Missouri, broken in fortune and spirit. It was just at this critical period in his career that his luck returned, and he became famous in a direction that no other man in the United States has ever reached. A vacancy occurred in the office of United States senator from Missouri, either by death or some other reason, and the governor bestowed the position upon the general, thus making him a member of the body of which he had so recently sought to become the doorkeeper, and conferring upon him the peculiar and conspicuous distinction of being the only man in the republic who ever represented three states in the senate of the United States.

The general died some years ago, and the state of his original adoption, Illinois, conferred the additional immortal honor upon his memory by placing his full-length statue in bronze in the old house of representatives at the capitol in Washington, which has become the American Pantheon, in which each state is permitted to commemorate in this way two of its most honored sons.

Truly a most extraordinary and enviable career.

LA CROSSE.

There is nothing remarkable in the fact that places should be named for something that has happened in or about their locality, and nothing is more natural than that places on the upper Mississippi river should be named after Indians and Indian occurrences. For instance, we have Prairie du Chien, which is the French for the Dog prairie. In early days an Indian chief, who sailed under the dignified name of "The Dog," had his headquarters at this prairie, and thus the name. It will be observed that it has maintained its name in full, "Prairie du Chien," and was, in days past, a military post, called Fort Crawford, and is now quite an important town in Wisconsin.

A little way up the river, and we have "Prairie La Crosse," but the first part of the name is generally dropped now, and it is known as La Crosse simply. No old settler, however, who dates back of the fifties, ever calls it anything but "Prairie La Crosse." This place got its name from the fact that the Indians selected it as a favorite point at which to play their game, known to them as "Ta-kap-si-ka-pi," but called by the French, "La Crosse." Anyone who has been there, and is familiar with the prairie on which the city of La Crosse is built, will recognize at once its superior advantages for a game of ball of any kind. It is long, wide and level. This game has always been a great favorite with the Sioux Indians. It originated with them, and became what might be called their national game. From its spirited character, it was very much liked by the Canadian-French, and they adopted it to such an extent that it is called their national game, but under an entirely different name.

They called it "La Crosse," and are still devoted to it. In fact, it is played very generally throughout the northern half of North America. In playing the game, the Indians used a stick made of ash about the length of a walking cane with a circular bend at the end most distant from the hand, in which curve was a network of buckskin strings, forming a pocket, about four inches in diameter and two inches deep. With this stick, which is called a "Ta-ki-cap-si-cha," the ball is manipulated.

The ball is of wood, round, and about the size of a hen's egg, and in the game must never be touched by the hand. The Canadians have changed the form of stick used by them, by making it longer, and forming the end that takes the ball something like half of a tennis racquette.

The site of La Crosse was in early years the favorite ball ground of the Indians, and from this circ.u.mstance acquired its present name. The game is too well known to need a description. Suffice it to say that the main object is to get the ball to certain goals by two contending parties struggling in different directions. In its main features it resembles hockey, polo, football, and similar games; but with the Indians differs in point of the numbers who play, the whites being limited to eleven or twelve on a side, while with the Indians a whole band may play on each side.

When the Sioux were moved west of the Mississippi they selected the 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 a.s.semble 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 compet.i.tor, 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 acc.u.mulate 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 ma.s.s, 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 j.a.panese 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 a.s.sociation 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 antic.i.p.ated that by obtaining the pa.s.sage of the law allowing settlement and preemption 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 preemption, 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 preemption, 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 preemptions 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 acc.u.mulated 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 partic.i.p.ate 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 a.s.sistant 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 dest.i.tute 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_,