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CHAPTER XIII.
Entering Minnesota, the New Field

In the summer of 1874, I went to the head waters of the Big Fork River with a party of hardy frontiersmen, in search of a section of country which was as yet unsurveyed by the United States government, and which should contain a valuable body of pine timber. Having found such a tract of land, we made arrangements through the surveyor-general's office, then located in St. Paul, to have the land surveyed. The contract for the survey was let by the United States government to Mr. Fendall G. Winston of Minneapolis.

The logging operations on the Mississippi River in Minnesota at this period extended from a short distance above Princeton on the Rum River, one of the tributaries of the Mississippi River, to a little above Grand Rapids. To reach Grand Rapids from Minneapolis, the traveled route was by way of the St. Paul and Duluth railroad to Northern Pacific Junction, thence, over the Northern Pacific Railroad, west to Aitkin. From this point the steamboat Pokegama plied the Mississippi to Grand Rapids, the head of navigation at that time. For many years this steamboat was owned and operated by Captain Houghton, almost wholly in the interest of the lumber trade. Later, Captain Fred W. Bonnes became its owner. Subsequently, the old Pokegama burned, when Captain Bonnes built a new boat, using the machinery of the Pokegama, and naming it Aitkin City. At a still later period he built the larger steamer, Andy Gibson.

In those days, the lumber-jack was a very interesting type of man. Men from Maine and New Brunswick were numerous. Scotchmen, Irish-Americans, and French-Canadians constituted a considerable portion of all the labor that went to the logging camps of Minnesota. As early as the month of July, they began their exodus from Minneapolis to the woods for the purpose of building new camps, cutting the wild grass that grew along the natural meadows, and making it into hay for the winter's use for oxen and horses. Some of these men worked at the sawmills in summer, but there was not employment for all at this work, and many spent their time in idleness and not infrequently in drunken carousal. On leaving the city for the logging camps, they were pretty sure to start out, each with one or two bottles of whiskey stored away in his tussock, which was ordinarily a two bushel, seamless sack, with a piece of small rope tied from one of its lower corners to the upper end of the sack. In this were placed all of the lumber-jack's belongings, except what were carried in his pockets, including one or two additional bottles of whiskey. Not all of the lumber-jacks drank whiskey, but this was the habit of very many of them. By the time the train had arrived at Northern Pacific Junction, where a change of cars was made, and where the arrival of the Northern Pacific train from Duluth, west bound, was awaited, many of our lumber-jacks were well under the influence of John Barleycorn. Disputes would frequently arise while waiting for the train. These would be settled by fist fights between the disputants, their comrades standing about to see that each man had fair play.

On one of our trips to the pine forests north of Grand Rapids, we arrived at Aitkin on a train loaded with this class of men, as well as their bosses, and proprietors of the lumber camps. Aitkin at that time was not much more than a railroad station for the transfer of the lumbermen and merchandise to the steamboat. A few men had preempted lands from the government and had made their homes where now is the city of Aitkin. The late Warren Potter was one of them. He kept a large store which was well stocked with lumbermen's supplies, and which was the rendezvous for the lumbermen. His preemption claim was only a short distance in the woods from his store. He had been East to buy goods and had returned by train that day. He found that his preemption claim had been "jumped" by one, Nat Tibbetts, whom he found occupying the Potter cabin. An altercation took place between the two men, resulting in Tibbetts blacking Potter's eye. The only representative of the law was a justice of the peace, a man whose name was Williams. Before him, Potter swore out a warrant for the arrest of Tibbetts, charging Tibbetts with assault with intent to do bodily harm. Potter asked me to act as his attorney to prosecute his case. This honor was politely declined, and I assured him that he would find a better man for the occasion in the person of S. S. Brown, the well-known log jobber, who was in town.

Mr. Brown having consented to act in the interest of Mr. Potter, and Mr. Tibbetts having secured some other layman to defend his case, all parties repaired, as I remember, to an unoccupied building which was temporarily used as a court of justice. As almost the entire community that evening was a floating population of lumbermen of various sorts, waiting for an opportunity to start up the river on the steamboat the following day, it will readily be seen by the reader that this occasion was one of unusual interest and bade fair to furnish an interesting entertainment for a part of the long evening.

Tibbetts demanded a jury trial. The jury was chosen, and the prosecution opened the case by putting on the stand, a witness who had seen the encounter, and who proved to be a good witness for Mr. Potter. The case proceeded until the evidence was nearly all presented. At this juncture, in the back end of the improvised court room, a tall lumber-jack who was leaning against the wall, and who was considerably the worse for whiskey, cried out, "Your honor! your honor! I object to these proceedings." Everything was still for a moment, and all eyes turned toward the half drunk lumber-jack. Justice Williams attempted to proceed, when the lumber-jack repeated his calls and his demands to be heard. Every one present knew that any attempt on the part of the constable to quiet this man would have resulted in starting a general fight, where there were so many who were under the influence of liquor. Some one, therefore, said to the justice, "Your honor, you had better hear the man's objections." Justice Williams then said, "You may state your objections, sir." The lumber-jack replied, "I object, your honor, because that jury has not been sworn." This was true. The jury was then sworn, and the trial of the case was begun anew. The witnesses having again given their evidence under oath, the case was soon argued by the improvised lawyers. The justice gave a short charge to the jury, and, without leaving their seats, and while the spectators waited, they notified the justice that they had agreed upon a verdict of guilty. The justice fined Mr. Tibbetts one dollar, and this frontier court of justice adjourned.

The question of the ownership of the claim was not before the court. My recollection, however, concerning it, is that Mr. Potter ever after had peaceful possession of the land.

The ride up the Mississippi to Grand Rapids on the steamer Pokegama, which tied up each night, occupied two days and a half. The distance was one hundred and ninety-five miles. The steamer was crowded, and men slept everywhere on the deck, on their blankets or without them, as best fitted their condition. Whiskey and cards were plentiful. The table was well supplied with good things to eat. Grand Rapids at that time consisted of a steamboat landing, a warehouse, and a ranch or stopping place kept by Low Seavey, whose wife was a half-breed. These were on the left bank of the river just below the falls or rapids. On the opposite side of the river was a small store, a new enterprise, and owned by a man whose name was Knox.

I met Mr. Winston and his assistant surveyors at Grand Rapids about the middle of August. There were no roads leading into the country that we were to survey, and, as our work would extend nearly through the winter, it was necessary to get our supplies in sufficient quantity to last for our entire campaign, and take them near to our work. This was accomplished by taking them in canoes and boats of various sorts. Our first water route took us up the Mississippi River, into Lake Winnibigoshish, and from that lake on its northeasterly shore, we went into Cut-foot Sioux, or Keeskeesdaypon Lake. From this point we were obliged to make a four mile portage into the Big Fork River, crossing the Winnibigoshish Indian Reservation. From an Indian encampment on this reservation, at the southwest shore of Bow String Lake, we hired some Indians to help pack our supplies across the four mile portage. Before half of our supplies had been carried across the portage, the Indian chief sent word to us by one of his braves, that he wished to see us in council and forbade our moving any more of our supplies until we had counseled with him. Although the surveyors were the agents of the United States government, for the sake of harmony, it was thought best to ascertain at once what was uppermost in the chief's mind.

That evening, a conference was held in the wigwam of the chief. First, the chief filled full of tobacco, a large, very long stemmed pipe, and, having lighted it with a live coal from the fire, took the first whiff of smoke; then immediately passed it to the nearest one of our delegates to his right, and thus the pipe went round, until it came back to the chief, before anything had been said. The chief then began a long recital, telling us that the great father would protect them in their rights to the exclusive use of these lands. The chief said that he was averse neither to the white man using the trail of his people nor to his using the waters of the rivers or lakes within the boundaries of the reservation, but, if he did so, he must pay tribute. In answer to his speech, the chief surveyor of our party, Fendall G. Winston, replied that he and his men had been sent to survey the lands that belonged to the great father; and, that in order to reach those lands, it was necessary that his people should cross the reservation which the great father had granted to his tribe; nevertheless, that they felt friendly to the Indians; that if they were treated kindly by himself and his tribesmen, they should have an opportunity to give them considerable work for many days, while they were getting their supplies across his country to that of the great father, where they were going to work during the fall and winter; and that they would also make him a present of a sack of flour, some pork, some tea, and some tobacco. He was told, too, that this was not necessary for the great father's men to do, but that they were willing to do it, provided that this should end all claims of every nature of the chief, against any and all of the great father's white men, whom he had sent into that country to do his work. This having been sealed with the chief's emphatic "Ugh," he again lighted the pipe, took the first whiff of smoke, and passed it around. Each, in token of friendship, did as the chief had already done. This ended the conference, and we were not again questioned as to our rights to pass over this long portage trail, which we continued to use until our supplies were all in.

As nearly as I can now recall, our force was made up of the following men: Fendall G. Winston, in whose name the contract for the survey was issued; Philip B. Winston, brother of Fendall G. Winston; Hdye, a young engineer from the University of Minnesota; Brown, civil engineer from Boston; Coe, from the Troy Polytechnic School of Engineering; Charlie, a half-breed Indian; Franklin, the cook; Jim Flemming, Frank Hoyt, Charlie Berg, Tom Jenkins, George Fenimore, Tom Laughlin, Joe Lyon, Will Brackett, Miller, and myself.

Flemming, poor fellow, was suffering with dysentery when he started on the trip. On reaching Grand Rapids, he was no better, and it was thought best not to take him along to the frontier, so he was allowed to go home. Miller was not of a peace loving disposition, and, having shown this characteristic early, was also allowed to leave the party. It was best that all weaklings and quarrelsome ones should be left behind, because it was easily foreseen that when winter closed in upon the band of frontiersmen, it would be difficult to reach the outer world, and it would be unpleasant to have any in the party that were not, in some sense, companionable.

Considerable time was consumed in getting all of our supplies to headquarters camp, which consisted of a log cabin. The first misfortune that befell any one of our party came to Frank Hoyt, who one day cut an ugly gash in the calf of his leg with a glancing blow of the ax. The cut required stitching, but there was no surgeon in the party. Will Brackett, the youngest of the party, a brother of George A. Brackett, and a student from the university, volunteered to sew up the wound. This he did with an ordinary needle and a piece of white thread. The patient submitted with fortitude creditable to an Indian. Some plastic salve was put on a cloth and placed over the wound, which resulted in its healing too rapidly. Proud flesh appeared, and then the wisdom of the party was called into requisition, to learn what thing or things available could be applied to destroy it. Goose quill scrapings were suggested, there being a few quills in the possession of the party. Brackett, however, suggested the use of some of the cook's baking powder, because, he argued, there was sufficient alum in it to remove the proud flesh from the wound. "Dr." Brackett was considered authority, and his prescription proved effectual. Hoyt was left to guard the provision camp against possible visits from the Indians, or from bears, which sometimes were known to break in and to carry away provisions.

It is never necessary for surveyors whose work is in the timber, nor for timber hunters, to carry tent poles, because these are easily chosen from among the small trees; yet nine of our party one time in October, with the rain falling fast and cold, found themselves, at the end of the four mile Cut-foot Sioux Portage, on a point of land where there were no poles. All of the timber of every description had been cut down and used by the Indians. The Indian chief and several of his family relations lived on this point. They had built the house of poles and cedar bark, in the shape of a rectangle. Its dimensions on the ground were about twelve by twenty feet; its walls rose to a height of about five feet; and it was covered by a hip roof.

Our party must either obtain shelter under this roof or must get into the canoes and paddle nearly two miles to find a place where it could pitch its tents. At this juncture the hospitality of the Indians was demonstrated. The chief sent out word that we should come into his dwelling and remain for the night. The proffer was gladly accepted. When we had all assembled, we found within, the chief and his squaw, his daughter and her husband, the hunter, his squaw and two daughters, besides our party of nine, making a total of seventeen human beings within this small enclosure. A small fire occupied a place on the ground at the center of the structure, an ample opening in the roof having been left for the escape of the smoke and live sparks. Indians can always teach their white brothers a lesson of economy in the use of fuel. They build only a small fire, around which, when inside their wigwams, they all gather with their usually naked feet to the fire. It is a physiological fact that when one's extremities are warm, one's bodily sufferings from cold are at their minimum. Our party boiled some rice and made a pail of coffee, without causing any especial inconvenience to our hosts, and, after having satisfied hunger and thirst, the usual camp fire smoke of pipes was indulged in, before planning for any sleep. Our party had been assigned a portion of the space around the open fire, and our blankets were brought in and spread upon the mats that lay upon the earth floor.

The additional presence of nine Indian dogs has not previously been mentioned. Before morning, however, they were found to be live factors, and should be counted as part of the dwellers within the walls of this single room. They seemed to be nocturnal in habit, and to take an especial delight in crossing and recrossing our feet, or in trying to find especially cozy places between our feet and near to the fire, where they might curl down for their own especial comfort. It was not for us, however, to complain, inasmuch as the hospitality that had been extended was sincere; and it was to be remembered by us that it was in no way any advantage to the Indians to have taken us in for the night. Therefore, we were truly thankful that our copper colored friends had once more demonstrated their feelings of humanity toward their white brothers. They had been subjected to more or less inconvenience by our presence, but in no way did they make this fact manifest by their actions or by their words. The rain continued at intervals during the entire night, and it was with a feeling of real gratitude, as we lay upon the ground, and listened to it, that we thought of the kindly treatment we were receiving from these aborigines. In the morning we offered to pay them money for our accommodations, but this they declined. They did, however, accept some meat and some flour.

While we were crossing the lake, one day, in canoes loaded with supplies of various descriptions, an amusing, yet rather expensive, incident happened in connection with one of the canoes. Its occupants were George Fenimore, a Mainite Yankee, and Joe Lyon, a French-Canadian. Both were good canoemen, but only Fenimore knew how to swim. They had become grouchy over some subject while crossing the lake, and, as they neared the opposite shore from which they had started, in some manner which I have never understood, the canoe was overturned. Little of its contents was permanently lost, except one box of new axes. The water was about eight feet deep under them. Each man grasped an end of the overturned canoe, and clung to it. Then an argument began between the two disgruntled men, about getting to shore. Lyon wanted Fenimore to let go of the canoe and swim ashore; but this, the latter refused to do. Finally, after considerable loss of time, Joe Lyon, who was nearest to shore, turned his body about, with his face toward the shore, and, letting go of the canoe, went to the bottom of the lake and floundered to gain the shore. He had only to go a short distance before the water became sufficiently shallow for his head to appear, but he was winded, and thoroughly mad. I have always believed that Fenimore purposely overturned the canoe, but if so, he never admitted the fact.

The pine timber lying east of Bow String Lake, and included in the survey of 1874 and 1875, was all tributary to waters running north, into the Big Fork River, which empties into the Rainy River. Levels were run across from Bow String Lake into Cut-foot Sioux River, and considerable fall was found. The distance, nearly all the way, was over a marsh. It was shown that a dam could easily be thrown across from bank to bank of the river at the outlet of Bow String Lake, and by thus slightly raising the water in the lake, plus a little work of cleaning out portions of the distance across the marsh, from Bow String Lake to Cut-foot Sioux, the timber could be driven across and into the waters of the Mississippi River. All of this engineering was before the advent of logging railroads. However, before the timber was needed for the Minneapolis market, many logging railroads had been built in various localities in the northern woods, and their practical utility had been demonstrated. When the time came for cutting this timber, a logging railroad was constructed to reach it; and over its tracks, the timber was brought out, thus obviating the necessity of impounding the waters of Bow String Lake.

CHAPTER XIV.
An Evening Guest—Not Mother's Bread

I have previously mentioned the presence of nine dogs at an Indian camp, where members of our party spent a night. One of these animals is deserving of special mention, for the reason that he was a stranger among a strange people, and he was evidently so against his own choice. He had at one time been a fine, large mastiff. His history was never learned in full, but from an account of the animal, gained by questioning the Indians who had him in captivity, it was learned that the dog had belonged at some lumber camp. It often happens that the midday meal for most of the men in a large logging crew must be taken out on a sled, usually drawn by a single horse, for a distance of not infrequently three or four miles from the cook's camp. This is the work of the cookee; and, at the logging camp where the mastiff had belonged, the animal had been used instead of a horse, to pull the load of the midday meal out to the men at work. In what manner he had been left behind when the camp broke in the spring, was not learned.

He was about the size of two or three ordinary Indian dogs, and was correspondingly less sprightly in his movements. He was very poor when members of our party first saw him. Indian dogs never get enough to eat, and this poor fellow with his large frame, had the appearance of not receiving any more for his portion of food than an average Indian dog, if as much. He looked as though he were hungry, and probably was, every day. The particular action that impressed itself upon every member of our party, was this animal's almost human desire for sympathy that he sought from this party of white men, when he and they first met at the Indian camp. He wagged his tail and passed from one member of our party to another, with an expression of unusual joy. He rubbed against us and almost begged to be caressed. Every man of our party pitied him and would gladly have sent him out to the white man's country, had it been at all practicable to have done so.

Later in the fall, I was camped for a single night, some three hundred yards distant from the Indian encampment, on the shore of a lake that I must cross the following morning. While I was preparing my evening meal, this mastiff made his appearance, wagging his tail, and wishing by his actions to say, "I am glad to see you, and have come to call on you." It is the custom of the land hunter, as well as other frontiersmen, when paddling his canoe across a lake, to throw out a trolling line; and not infrequently, in those northern lakes, a catch of several fish may thus be made. On that day, such had been my experience, and I had in my possession, several fine wall-eyed pike that I intended to take through to the main camp, which I should reach on the following day. I also had a small bag of corn meal, which I sometimes used as a substitute for oatmeal, in cooking a porridge for my own use. While preparing my supper, I took the largest kettle, filled it with water, and placed it over the fire. I then cut into small pieces, a number of the fish, and put them in the kettle to boil. Later I added some corn meal and cooked all together. When it was sufficiently done, I removed one-half of the pail's contents and spread it out on a large piece of birch bark to cool. When it had cooled sufficiently, I invited my welcome guest, the mastiff, to partake of the food. Every mouthful eaten was accompanied by a friendly wag of the animal's tail. The portion remaining in the pail I hung on a limb, high enough up in the tree to be out of reach. The dog remained about the camp, and when I lay down in my blankets for the night, he curled down at my feet and there remained until morning.

While I was preparing my own breakfast, I took the pail from the tree and placed it over a small fire, that I might give my guest a warm breakfast. I spread out on the same birch bark, all that remained in the pail, and it was eaten to the last morsel by the grateful animal.

Having placed all my belongings in my birch canoe, I pushed out into the lake without the dog, who tried hard to follow, and, as the canoe went farther from the shore, the homesick animal commenced to whine at his loss of companionship. By every means possible to a dumb beast, this dog had expressed his dislike for his enforced environment and his longing to be back with the white man. I could not help but believe that the feelings expressed by this dog were akin to those of many a captive man or woman who had fallen into the hands of the aborigines.

Our frail birch canoes had been abandoned as cold weather approached, and we had settled down to the work of surveying. Sometimes, however, we came to lakes that must be crossed. This was accomplished by cutting some logs, and making rafts by tying them together with withes. Sometimes these rafts were found insufficiently buoyant to float above water all who got onto them, so that when they were pushed along there were no visible signs of anything that the men were standing on. When on a raft, Hyde was always afraid of falling off, and would invariably sit down upon it. This subjected him to greater discomfort than other members, but as it was of his own choosing, no one raised any objection.

One day, several of the party had gone to the supply camp to bring back some provisions which the cook had asked for. Returning, not by any trail, but directly through the unbroken forest, we found ourselves in a wet tamarack and spruce swamp; and, although we believed we were not far from the camp where we had left the cook in the morning, we were not certain of its exact location. Mr. F. G. Winston said he thought he could reach it in a very short time, and suggested that we remain where we were. He started in what he believed to be the direction of the camp, saying that he would return in a little while. We waited until the shades of night began to fall; and yet he did not come. Preparations were then made to stay in the swamp all night. The ground was wet all around us, nor could we see far enough to discern any dry land. We commenced cutting down the smaller trees that were like poles, and with these poles, constructed a platform of sufficient dimensions to afford room for four men to lie down. Then another foundation of wet logs was made, on which a fire was kindled, and by the fire, we baked our bread and fried some bacon, which constituted our evening meal. A sack of flour was opened, a small place within it hollowed out, a little water poured in, and the flour mixed with the water until a dough was formed. Each man was told to provide himself with a chip large enough on which to lay the piece of dough, which was rolled out by hand, made flat, and then, having been placed in a nearly upright position against the chip in front of the fire, was baked on one side; then turned over and baked on the other. In the meantime, each man was told to provide himself with a forked stick, which he should cut with his jackknife, and on it to place his piece of bacon and cook it in front of the fire; thus each man became his own cook and prepared his own meal. There was no baking powder or other ingredient to leaven the loaf—not even a pinch of salt to flavor it. But the owner of each piece of dough was hungry, and, by eating it immediately after it was baked and before it got cold, it was much better than going without any supper. The following morning, the party resumed its journey, and met Mr. Winston coming out to find it. He had found the cook's camp, but at so late an hour that it was not possible for him to return that night.