Fifty Years In The Northwest

While we were gazing on the magnificent scene, musing upon its varied beauties and recalling its historical associations, the sun set, and reluctantly we set out on our return, a descent the more perilous because it was growing dark. Extreme caution was necessary; nevertheless we made good headway, as we found ourselves sometimes sliding and even rolling down the path that we had ascended with so much difficulty in the forenoon. It was long after nightfall that, tired and hungry, we reached Wyman's hotel on the banks of Dead river.

Lumbering in Maine. – The practical lumberman did not usually start his teams for the pineries until snowfall and the freezing of the lakes and rivers. The first thing was to select a place for operations. This was done in the open season. When the winter had fairly set in the lumberman, with his ox teams, generally six oxen to a sled, the sleds laden with camp plunder, would start for the pineries. The slow ox teams would consume many days making the journey. The crew of men employed for the winter generally met the teams in camp. The snow would be cleared away for the camp, and a fire built. The cook would prepare a supper of fried pork, fritters or pancakes, tea, syrup and New England apple sauce, the crew meanwhile cutting boughs, wood, etc., and preparing for permanent camp. Supper over, the cattle were tied to trees and fed. Water was secured for evening use only. A glowing fire would be kept up, around which the crew would gather to spend the evening in talking over the adventures of the day, discussing plans for the morrow or singing camp songs. Thus the evening would pass merrily and swiftly. At the hour for retiring parties of two would spread their blankets on a couch of fir or cedar boughs, and lie down to rest. Next morning the cook would rise at four o'clock to prepare breakfast, which over, as soon as it was light enough the crew would commence the work of the day. Every man goes to his assigned duties, the boss in charge having the general oversight.

The life of a lumberman is one of exposure to the elements, yet it is not necessarily unfriendly to the development of character. With a well ordered camp and gentlemanly crew the winter may pass away pleasantly, and the young man engaged in the comparatively hard toil of the camp, may, with books and papers and cheerful converse with the more thoughtful of his elders, improve the long evenings spent around the camp fire. Many a Maine boy has received here the greater part of his training for the duties of after life.

Sunday was usually occupied in reading, singing, and doing some of the lighter work of camp, such as repairing sleds, shoeing oxen and making axe helves or visiting neighboring camps. It was a day of rest only so far as the heavier work of the camp was suspended. Sanctuary privileges there were none. The work would often close in the sunny days of March. The men would mostly depart for home. A few would remain to drive the logs with the first water from the melting of the snows late in April.

Driving logs in the rapid waters of Maine is hazardous work. Scarcely a day passes without imminent risk to life and limb of the hardy and venturesome men engaged in the work of breaking log landings and jams, and running boats. Men are exposed to wet and cold from dawn till dark. This work requires active and vigorous men, constitutionally fitted and carefully trained to the work. They are usually sociable, lively and wide awake, these qualities enabling them to endure, and even to enjoy, the life of hardship which they lead, and to which they become so accustomed that they are unwilling to leave it until worn out by its inevitable hardship.

CHAPTER I

Going West. – In June, 1836, I again visited the Penobscot in quest of employment, in which I was unsuccessful. At Stillwater, above Bangor, I met my kind friend Simeon Goodrich, also out of employment. 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." These words, accompanied with her farewell kiss, were long remembered, and, I doubt not, often kept me from evil associations.

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 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. Next morning I left New York on the steamer Robert L. 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 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 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. Capt. 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, 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. St. John. 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 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 great Northwest Territory, ceded by Virginia to the United States in 1787, was no more. 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 Mr. Carson, my neighbor, to which I had listened wonderingly when a small boy. "It was," he said, "a river so wide you could scarcely see across it. The turtles in it were big as barn doors, and their shells would make good ferryboats if they could only be kept above water." Sure enough, here was the big river, but covered with ice, scarcely safe to venture on. 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 1836, 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

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 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 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.

PRAIRIE DU CHIEN

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 1683, 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 1689, has mention of the fort. This document we transcribe entire:

"Nicholas Perrot, commanding for the king, at the post of the Nadouessioux, commissioned by the Marquis Denonville, governor and lieutenant governor of all New France, to manage the interests of commerce amongst the Indian tribes and people of the Bay des Puants (Green Bay), Nadouessioux (Dakotahs), Maseontins, and other western nations of the Upper Mississippi, and to take possession in the king's name of all the places where he has heretofore been, and whither he will go.

"We, this day, the eighth of May, one thousand six hundred and eighty-nine, do, in the presence of the Reverend Father Marest, of the Society of Jesus, missionary among the Nadouessioux; of Monsieur de Borieguillot (or Boisguillot), commanding the French in the neighborhood of the Ouiskonche (Wisconsin), on the Mississippi; Augustin Le Gardeur, Esq., Sieur de Caurnont, and of Messeurs Le Sueur, Hibert, Lemire and Blein: