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CHAPTER XVII.
Methods of Acquiring Government Land—An Abandoned Squaw
For many years it was the practice of the United States government, after its lands had been surveyed, to advertise them for sale at public auction on a date fixed by the government. Time sufficient was always given to allow parties interested to go themselves, or send men into the woods, to examine the lands, and thus to be prepared on the day of sale, to bid as high a price on any description as each was willing to pay. After the time advertised for the lands to be thus offered, had expired, and after the land sale had been held, all lands not bought in at that sale became subject to private entry at the local land office. It was this class of lands that I bought in Wisconsin.
After the Civil War, by act of Congress, each Union soldier was given the right to homestead one hundred and sixty acres of land, the government price of which was one dollar and twenty-five cents per acre. It sometimes happened that the soldier found only forty acres, or possibly eighty acres, or one hundred and twenty acres, lying contiguous, that he cared to take as a homestead. Later, Congress passed another law enabling the soldier, who had thus previously entered fewer than one hundred and sixty acres, to take an additional homestead claim of enough acres, which, when added to his previous homestead, would make a total of one hundred and sixty acres. The soldier was not obliged to live on this additional piece of land, but had the right to sell his certificate or scrip from the government, to anyone who might choose to buy it, and the purchaser, by power of attorney from the soldier, could with this scrip, himself enter the land. This became a common practice, covering a period of several years, and it was with the use of this kind of scrip that very much of the land that was surveyed about the time I have been describing, was entered.
In the following winter—that of 1875 and 1876—I was in the woods of Minnesota west of Cloquet, accompanied by an Indian named Antoine, and, while breaking trail on snowshoes in the deep snow along an obscure road that had been cut through to Grand Rapids, on the Mississippi, I came to a small Indian tepee close by the side of the road. A little smoke was curling from its peak, and a piece of an old blanket was hanging over its entrance. Calling aloud, I heard a faint voice of a woman answering from within. Entering the wigwam, we found there an impoverished, half-clad, half-frozen, perishing squaw. She told us that her feet had been frozen so that she could not walk, and that her family had left her to die. She had food enough, and possibly fuel enough, to last her about two more days. I was at a loss to know what was the wisest and most humane thing to do. We were far in the woods, and away from every human inhabitant. It was as easy to proceed to Grand Rapids as it was to retrace our steps to Duluth. A decision was soon made, and that was, that we would cut and split, and bring inside the wigwam a large pile of good wood, with plenty of kindling, and would leave the poor woman supplies from our pack sacks, of things most suitable and most convenient for her to use, as whatever she did, must be done on her hands and knees.
Having provided her with a liberal supply of rice, pork, crackers, some flour, sugar, tea, and a package of smoking tobacco—for all squaws smoke—besides melting snow until we had filled an old pail with water, we felt that she could keep herself alive and comfortable for several days, at least. I then took out of my pack, a new pair of North Star camping blankets, and cutting them in two, left one-half to provide additional warmth for the unfortunate squaw. As is the custom of her people when something much appreciated has been done for one of them, she took my hand and kissed it. Leaving her plenty of matches, we bade her good-by, and resumed our journey toward Grand Rapids.
Once more on the trail, I asked Antoine how old he believed the squaw to be. He said maybe forty; I should have judged her to have been seventy, but no doubt I was mistaken, and the Indian's judgment was far better. Arriving at Grand Rapids, I wrote the authorities at Duluth, and at Fond du Lac Indian Reservation, telling them of the poor woman's situation and where she was located. I afterwards learned that she had been sent for, and brought out by team, and that she had been subsequently taken to her band of Indians.
I have been told by different Indians, that the sick and the aged are sometimes abandoned when the band is very short of provisions, and when to take the helpless with them, would prove a great burden.
CHAPTER XVIII.
United States Land Sale at Duluth—Joe LaGarde
During the summer of 1882, the United States government had advertised that it would offer at public auction, many townships of land lying along the border between Minnesota and Canada, in Cook, Lake, St. Louis, and Itasca Counties. This country was difficult to reach. The distance from Duluth to Lake Vermilion was upwards of ninety miles. There was not even a road through the woods, over which a loaded team could be driven. Men were obliged to take their supplies upon their backs and carry them over a trail, all of this distance. From Lake Vermilion, it was possible to work both eastward and westward, by using canoes and making numerous portages from one lake to another, and so on for seventy-five miles in either direction along the boundary. Supplies were soon exhausted, so that it was necessary to keep packers on the trail, bringing in on their backs, fresh supplies from Duluth to Vermilion, where now is located the city of Tower. In the Vermilion country, dog trains could sometimes be advantageously used.
Estimators of timber were employed either for themselves or for others, in surveying the lands, and in estimating the pine timber in these various townships that were to be offered at public sale in the month of December. This work continued almost to the day when the sale was to begin. That sale was held at the local land office at Duluth, and there were present men interested in the purchase of pine timber, from Maine, Pennsylvania, New York, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and some men representing Canadian capital. The competition was vigorous, and Uncle Sam's lands were bid in at a round price.
During the fall of 1882, while preparing for the approaching land sale at Duluth, the only son of William S. Patrick, Simeon D. Patrick, a veteran land examiner in my employ, and I, made a short trip west of Duluth, exploring a section of country south of where now is the station of Cornwall, on the Northern Pacific Railroad. Our packer and handy man who carried part of our supplies, was an Indian of considerable note, by the name of John LaGarde, familiarly known as Joe LaGarde. He was a fine specimen of Chippewa Indian trapper, tall, straight, muscular, and a good burden bearer, but rather averse to long days' work. He was handy about camp, but, being an Indian, and accustomed to lying down at night with his feet close to a few live embers, he did not share with the white man the wish for large piles of wood to last through the cold nights that prevailed during this trip.
It happened that one evening we pitched our tent near a small stream, in a grove composed principally of young birch, but interspersed with large and shaggy ones. Everyone at all familiar with the birch knows there is much of it, on which the outer bark peels naturally, and it is no uncommon thing to be able to peel, with the use of the hands only, large quantities of the bark. There was almost an inexhaustible supply of just such bark near this camping ground. Joe was either tired or indisposed to work that evening, and when bedtime arrived, the pile of wood looked very scant for the long hours of the night. No one likes a little innocent fun better than my friend Patrick. Looking at the small woodpile, then at Joe, Patrick gave me a twinkle of his eye, started out into the semidarkness, and commenced peeling bark off the birch trees. He busied himself thus, until he had peeled off and brought in near our tent, a huge pile of this beautiful birch bark.
No matter how rainy the weather may be, or how deep the snow in winter, if the frontiersman is fortunate enough to be camped in a grove of live birch, he knows that this ever friendly and useful birch bark will afford him a sure means of kindling a fire. It carries much oil and burns readily when a match is applied to it. The fire was fixed for the night, and Patrick and I lay down in our tent under our blankets to sleep. Joe, as was his custom, curled up at the foot of the tent and left his bare feet sticking out toward the fire. His requirement of blanket was less than half of what would satisfy a white man. As long as his feet were warm, the Indian did not suffer from cold. About midnight the fire had burned very low, when Patrick emerged from the tent and commenced dropping pieces of birch bark on the fast consuming fire logs. I was well back in the tent, propped up a little on my elbows, enjoying the glow of the fire, and watching it, as well as watching the Indian. As the fire increased and the flames rose higher, the Indian's feet began to twitch, and to draw up closer to his body. Soon the heat was so tremendous that the tent was in danger, when, like a missile, thrown by a strong spring, the Indian shot out of his blanket and into the woods, muttering his imprecations in Chippewa. He did not swear, for praise be to the Chippewa language, it contains no such words; but a madder Indian and a happier white man are seldom seen. The sequel to this episode was plenty of good fuel to burn during all of the following nights of this cruise in the forest.
We employed LaGarde on other and later trips, and his services were always satisfactory. He has since gone to the happy hunting ground, and, with his passing, a tinge of sadness steals over us, for his memory is dear, and we have no right or wish to count him as other than our brother. He was always true to the white man, and deserves his meed of praise.
An account of his death appeared in the Duluth Herald, February 28th, 1911, from which the following summary is gathered:
His age is given in the death certificate, as one hundred years. He was born on the Red Lake Indian Reservation, near Thief River Falls. His mother was a full-blooded Chippewa, and his father a half-breed with a French-Canadian name. In 1834, when about twenty-four years old, he came with his mother, to the Head of the Lakes, and settled at the historic John Jacob Astor Trading Post, at Fond du Lac. Three years later, while trading at Madeleine Island, near Bayfield, he met Liola Chievier, a half-breed, whom he afterwards married and brought to Fond du Lac. There were seven children to this union, but only three are now living. The youngest, aged fifty-five, lived at Fond du Lac with his father. The other two were located on the White Earth Reservation. They were Moses and Simon. The old man's wife died about thirty-eight years ago. LaGarde lived in Fond du Lac about seventy-seven years. He possessed a remarkable physique. His chest was well developed, his body straight as an arrow, and he stood six feet two inches in height. Being a Chippewa, LaGarde loved peace more than war, and he never took part in any Indian outbreak. As far back as the memory of any white man of the suburb goes, he had a reputation of being honest in all his transactions with the white traders. His body was buried in the Indian burying grounds, at the Fond du Lac Indian Reservation near Cloquet.
CHAPTER XIX.
Six Hundred Miles in a Birch Canoe
The following summer, I hired a number of men to pack some supplies from Duluth to the shores of Lake Vermilion. I had with me one white man to assist me in a reestimate of the pine timber that I had bought at the land sale in December. Canoes were purchased of the Indians, and I employed some of them to go as packers and canoemen.
The work first took the party eastward a distance of fifty miles. Not only was the timber reexamined, but the character of the streams was carefully noted, with reference to their feasibility for floating out the timber, whenever the time should come for it to be cut and brought to market. All of that country is very rugged and much broken. The shores of the lakes are bold and rock-bound. Islands exist in nearly all of the lakes, and at that time they were thoroughly wooded, many of them containing fine bunches of pine timber. The country was picturesque and the scenery most enchanting. Aquatic birds of various species were frequently startled from the water as our canoes came in sight of them. Fish were abundant and could be taken in almost any one of the lakes, by throwing out a line. There were caribou and moose in the country, but no deer at that time.
Bands of Indians were living along these waters, most of them belonging to the United States, but, as we turned and went westward, on the waters of Lake La Croix we met many Canadian Indians. They all spoke the same language, though sometimes with great difference in accent. There were many waterfalls, and around these, in every instance, a portage had to be made of all our supplies and of our canoes. One day's experience was much like that of its predecessor or like that of the one to follow. On the whole, the work was less arduous than that in a country which is mostly land and not cut up by numerous lakes, as is the condition in all of the northern woods in Minnesota. A camping ground would be selected on a shore of a lake, and, from this one camp, it was often our experience that several days' work could be economically accomplished before it was necessary to again move. The timber that we wished to examine often lay on either side of the lake on the shore of which the camping ground had been selected. Thus the work continued until the party reached Rainy Lake. This lake is fifty-five miles long, and at its foot, at that time, on the Canadian side, was Fort Francis. Much of this water route was then known as the Dawson Route. It had been used by the Canadian government to reach the Canadian Northwest with its soldiers, at the time of the Riel Rebellion. The shattered remains of a number of French batteaus were seen on the rapids between different lakes, where an attempt had been made to navigate the waters, which had disastrously failed.
Just below Fort Francis, which is at the beginning of the Rainy River which flows into Lake of the Woods, we found a Canadian farmer. He had been an engineer on board a Canadian steamer that plied from Rat Portage to Fort Francis. When the rebellion was over, and there was no longer use for steamboating, this man determined to take a homestead under the Canadian land laws. This was at the latter end of July. While our party was preparing dinner on the bank of the river at the edge of the settler's meadow, he came down to see us. It was seldom that he saw any of the white race, and, when one chanced to pass by, he was always glad, he said, to see him and learn something of the outside world. He invited us to go back into his meadow where, he assured us, we should find an abundance of ripe, wild strawberries. This we found to be true, and the berries were indeed a luxury to a lot of men who had been living on nothing better than dried peaches or dried apples, stewed and made into sauce.
The work of examining lands was now completed for this trip, but the easiest way out was to continue down Rainy River into Lake of the Woods, and across Lake of the Woods to Rat Portage, where a train on the Canadian Pacific could be boarded and the journey continued to Winnipeg, and from thence by rail back to Minneapolis. At that time no logs had been driven down the Rainy River to mar the beauty of its shore lines which were the most beautiful of any river I have ever seen in Minnesota or in Canada. In some places for half a mile at a stretch there would be a continuous gravel shore. Its waters were deep and clear.
Near the mouth of Rainy River, our party overtook Colonel Eaton and his helper, a man from Wisconsin, whose name, I believe, was Davis. Colonel Eaton was United States government inspector of lands, and was on a tour of inspection to ascertain to what extent the land laws relating to homestead entries were being complied with. Each was glad to meet the other, and in company, we traveled from that time until we finally arrived at Rat Portage.
Lake of the Woods is a very large body of water, and not everywhere is it safe to venture out upon it in small boats or canoes. Colonel Eaton had a staunch rowboat. At Rainy Lake I had paid off and dismissed most of my helpers, so that I had but one canoe remaining. This was occupied by myself and the white man, my assistant, whom I had taken at the beginning of the journey. For a considerable distance, the party was able to keep behind the islands and away from the open lake, until it arrived at a point that is known as a traverse, a wide opening between islands, where the westerly winds, if blowing heavily, have a tremendous sweep. Our party found the whitecaps rolling in across this traverse, on the top of waves so high that neither of our crafts could possibly live, if out in them. Here, on this island, we went ashore and made our camp as comfortable as possible while waiting for the wind and waves to subside.
Both parties had been long from home, and were practically without food to eat. We were obliged to stay on that island three nights and two days before the water had calmed sufficiently for us to cross the traverse. In the meantime, we had eaten the last of our supplies, and were subsisting wholly upon what blueberries we were able to find growing on the island. Some public work was about to begin up the Rainy River, and we had been informed that a steamer from Rat Portage, loaded with various articles of merchandise, was liable to come up the lake to enter the river at almost any time; consequently we were continually on the lookout for the steamer, it being the only source from which we could hope to get anything to eat, before we should arrive at Rat Portage. Finally the steamer was spied on the afternoon of the second day of our unforeseen residence on the island. With towels tied to poles, our party, hoping to be able to signal the passing steamer, went to the shore of the island. It was well out on the lake from our shore, and our hopes began to wane as we saw it steam by us, not having given us any indication that it had seen our signal. Suddenly, however, our fears were turned to hope and joy as we saw its bow turning in our direction. It made a long sweep on account of the high sea, and came in behind our island where the water was deep, and the nose of the steamer was brought almost to our shore. We quickly told the captain our plight, and asked only that we might purchase of him a little flour and a little meat, a little tea and a little coffee, sufficient to take us to Rat Portage, including a possible longer delay on the island because of the wind that was yet blowing. This he gladly gave us, refusing to accept any compensation; and with grateful hearts, we waved him adieu as the boat resumed its course. The following morning, early, the lake was quite calm; and, after a hasty breakfast, we pulled out from shore, crossed the traverse, and once more got behind the friendly islands. From this time on to Rat Portage, our journey was without special interest, the party returning together by rail to Minneapolis.
CHAPTER XX.
Effect of Discovery of Iron Ore on Timber Industry
During the same year that the United States government offered its lands in the northern counties of Minnesota at public auction, new interests effecting the market for pine timber were created by the discovery of iron ore of a marketable quality, near the south shore of Lake Vermilion, where now is the city of Tower, Minnesota.
Historically, the first mention of iron ore in northern Minnesota dates back to the report of J. G. Norwood, made in 1850, in which he mentioned the occurrence of iron ore at Gunflint Lake, but claimed no commercial importance in his discovery. The Geological and Natural History Survey of Minnesota, Volume 4, page 583, records the following: "H. H. Eames, state geologist of Minnesota in 1865 and 1866, was the first to observe and report iron ore on both the Vermilion and Mesabi ranges, and to consider it of any value. In his report for 1866, he describes the ore outcroppings near the southern shore of Lake Vermilion, and in his report, published the following year, is an account of the ore at Prairie River Falls, on the western end of the Mesabi, and several analyses showing it to be of good quality."
As early as 1880, Professor A. H. Chester, in the interest of private parties, made a personal examination of the Vermilion Iron Range, and predicted that an iron ore district of immense value and importance would be found to exist on that range. George C. Stone of Duluth, one of the parties who had employed Chester to make the examination for iron ore, was elected a member of the Minnesota legislature, and, through his instrumentality, in 1881, a law was passed, "to encourage mining in this state, by providing a uniform rate for the taxing of mining properties and products." This law provided for a payment of a tax of fifty cents for each ton of copper, and one cent for each ton of iron ore, mined and shipped or disposed of; each ton to be estimated as containing two thousand two hundred and forty pounds. The Duluth and Iron Range Railroad was constructed from Two Harbors, on Lake Superior, to Tower, Minnesota; and in August, 1884, the first shipment of iron ore was made from the Minnesota Mine at Tower.
Promising outcrops of iron ore bearing rocks were found east of Tower, where now is the flourishing town of Ely. Work was begun on these outcrops, resulting in the finding of the Chandler Mine, by Captain John Pengilly, from which, in 1888, the first shipment of iron ore was made, the railroad having been extended from Tower to Ely, for the purpose, primarily, of shipping the iron ore to Two Harbors, and thence to the eastern markets. Other mines were later found in this vicinity. The building and equipping of this railroad created a demand for manufactured lumber, for railroad ties, and for telegraph poles. Sawmills were built at different points along the line of the railroad and at its terminals, so that the years immediately following were busy ones for those dealing in standing timber and its manufactured products.
My associates and I had acquired interests in these localities, so that much of my time for nearly a decade, was actively employed along the line of the Vermilion Range. During these years from 1882 to 1888, the most practical modes of travel, and almost the only ones, were either by birch canoe and portaging from lake to lake in summer, or by dog train during the winter. Sometimes these trips were pleasant ones, but quite as often they were attended by incidents not always agreeable.
On one of these occasions late in October, accompanied by one white man known only as "Buffalo," I started to travel east from Tower, on Lake Vermilion, along the route followed by the Indians, to the foot of Fall Lake, a distance of forty-five miles. It was some time after noon when we pulled out from shore in our two-man canoe, a small craft, affording just room for two men to sit, and to carry their pack sacks and scant supplies. Soon it began to rain, and the wind commenced blowing. We were approaching an island, when Buffalo, who had had much experience on the Great Lakes as a sailor, insisted that we could not reach our landing at the easterly end of the lake, before dark, without the use of a sail. Arriving at an island, we pulled our canoe ashore, and Buffalo quickly improvised a sail, which was hoisted in the bow of the canoe and the boat was again launched. In this manner we sailed and paddled at a much accelerated speed, but all of the time we were in imminent danger of being capsized, it being my first experience of riding in a birch canoe carrying a sail. Fortune favored the undertaking, however, and we made a safe landing in time to pitch our tent and make our camp for the night.
During the night the cold increased, and when we arose in the morning, we found that ice had formed on the water in the little bay of the lake. We made a number of portages that day, the cold increasing so that in all of the little bays, ice was forming. We succeeded in crossing Burnt Side Lake and entering the river leading to Long Lake as it was getting dark. We were then six miles from what we knew to be a comfortable ranch near the lower end of Long Lake, which Buffalo strongly urged we should try to reach that night, although to do so meant that we must pass between some islands where, in places, we knew the rocks projected out of the water, and therefore were perilous to our birch canoe. We decided to make the effort, and soon after pushing out from shore, we were only able to faintly discern the outlines of the islands that we must pass. Fortunately, these were soon alongside of us, and we had passed the last dangerous reef of rocks. Then, to our great satisfaction, we saw the light from the lantern which had been hung out on a pile driven close by the outer end of the dock at the foot of the lake, about four miles distant, where the ranch, that we hoped to reach that night, was located. The wind had died down so that the surface of the lake was comparatively smooth, but we noticed that our mittens, which had become thoroughly wet, were freezing on our hands. For one hour we paddled in silence, when the light toward which we had been steering, became much more visible, and soon we landed at the little dock, thankful that we had made our journey safely. Our appetites were keen for the good, broiled steak and hot potatoes that previous experience had taught us we were pretty sure to receive, and in this we were not disappointed.
The following summer, I passed over this same canoe route under quite different circumstances. My work of examining lands and timber all lay near to the shores of several lakes. My wife's father, J. H. Conkey, and her brother, Frank L. Conkey, had often expressed a wish to see that northern country. Accompanied by them and also by my son, Frank Merton, who was then a boy in short pants, we journeyed by rail to Tower. Before leaving Duluth for Tower, Mose Perrault was added to our number.
Perrault was a fine specimen of man, six feet in height, well-proportioned, of middle age, and thoroughly familiar with frontier life. At Tower, we started out with two birch canoes, and after dinner, on a pleasant afternoon in August, we pushed our canoes out into the waters of Lake Vermilion, from the same point from which we had left in the rain, the previous October. We reached the east end of Vermilion early, portaged into Mud Lake, went up the river, and camped on the high ground west of Burnt Side Lake, in a pine grove where we were surrounded by blueberry bushes laden with their large, ripe fruit.
Our party was made up of two classes of people; one out to examine timber, the other, to fish and have a good time. While crossing one of the portages, my brother-in-law, Frank L. Conkey, who knew almost nothing about canoeing or portaging, but was willing, and full of hard days' work, picked up two pack sacks, one of which was strapped to his shoulders, and the other was placed on top of his shoulders and the back of his head. Thus burdened, he started across Mud Portage, the footing of which, in places, was very insecure. At an unfortunate moment, he caught his foot in a root and tumbled, the top pack sack shooting over his head and breaking open at its fastenings, thus spilling its contents on the ground. All that could be found of these, were gathered together and replaced in the pack sack, and the journey was resumed. Mose Perrault was the cook, and on arriving at the camping ground at night, he began preparations for making bread and getting the evening meal. The pack sack that had broken open, originally contained two tin cans, one filled with baking powder, and the other, with fresh live worms buried in earth, that had been gathered for bait for the fishing party. Perrault wanted the baking powder with which to leaven the dough. The fishermen wanted their worms with which to bait their hooks. The latter were gratified, but nowhere could the baking powder be found, and we were forced to the conclusion that it was one of the lost articles on the portage. That night and the next day, we lived on bread made without any leaven, which from a number of experiences, I feel competent to state, is never a great success. The fishing, however, was good, and on the portages enough partridges were shot within revolver range to afford plenty of good meat for the party. These we cooked with bacon and dressed with butter, of which we had a goodly supply. There were plenty of crackers and Carolina rice, with blueberries close at hand for the picking, so that the party subsisted well, until it arrived at Ely, where the three fishermen bade Perrault and me farewell, returning to their homes by railroad train, after a pleasant outing.
In February, 1891, my three companions and I had a very different experience, away east of Ely, where we had gone to survey and estimate a tract of pine timber. The snow was deep, and the journey, which had to be made with the use of toboggans, was a hard one. I had, as my associate and chief timber estimator, S. D. Patrick. In addition were the cook, and Buffalo, a man whose name has appeared on a previous page. This man is worthy of more than passing notice. His true name I never knew. He always said, "Call me 'Buffalo'." He claimed to have been born at Buffalo, New York, and to have spent his childhood and early youth in that city. He was an Irish-American and was possessed of the typical Irish wit on all occasions. He was never angry to the extent of being disagreeable, but he had no patience for any man in the party who refused or neglected to do his full share of the work. He claimed that when a boy, he had earned money at the steamboat landings at Buffalo, by diving under the water for coins thrown to him by passengers on board the ships at anchor in the harbor, as did also the late Daniel O'Day of the Standard Oil Company. He too, was an Irish-American, born and raised near Buffalo, and at his death left millions of dollars. He once told me that when a youth he had earned many dimes and quarters by diving for them alongside the passenger ships in Buffalo Harbor.
