While all this was going on, we were holding pow-pows every day with the Indians, endeavoring to straighten out and clear up all the vexed questions between us. The manner of holding a council was to select a place on the prairie, plant an American flag in the center, and all hands squat down in a circle around it. Then the speechifying would commence, and last for hours without any satisfactory results. Anyone who has had much experience in Indian councils is aware of the hopelessness of arriving at a termination of the discussion. It very much resembles Turkish diplomacy. But the weather was pleasant, and everybody was patient.
The Indians, however, were concocting plans all this time to effect the escape of the prisoner in the guardhouse. So one day they suggested a certain place for the holding of the council, giving some plausible reason for the change of location, and when the time arrived, everybody assembled, and the ring was formed. Those present consisted of all the traders, Superintendent Cullen, Major Sherman, Lieutenant Ayer,—in fact, all the white men at the agency,—and about one hundred Indians, everyone of whom had a gun in his hands. I had warned the major frequently not to allow an Indian to come into council with a gun, but he deemed it better not to show any timidity, and they were not prohibited. The council on this occasion was held about four hundred yards from the battery camp, and on lower ground, but with no obstruction between them. The scheme of the savages was to spring to their feet on a concerted signal and begin firing their guns all around the council circle, so as to create a great excitement and bring everyone to his feet, and just at this moment the prisoner in the guardhouse was to make a run in the direction of the council, keeping exactly between the guard and the whites in the council ring, believing that the soldiers would not fire for fear of killing their own people. When the time arrived every Indian in the ring jumped to his feet and fired in the air, creating a tremendous fusilade, and as had been expected, the most frightful panic followed, and everyone thinking that a general massacre of the whites had begun, they scattered in all directions. Instantly the prisoner ran for the crowd, and an Indian can sprint like a deer. Contrary to expectations, every one of the ten guards opened fire on him, and seven of them hit him, but curiously not one of the wounds stopped his progress, and he got away; but the bullets went over and among the whites, one ricocheting through the coat of Major Cullen. The prisoner never was caught, but I heard a great deal about him afterwards. His exploit of stabbing the soldier and his almost miraculous escape made him one of the most celebrated medicine men of his band, and he continued to work wonders thenceforth.
After the return of the battery I was informed by my close friends among the Indians that they had sat on the hills overlooking the camp and concocted all kinds of schemes to take it, the principal one of which was to fill bladders with water, and pour them over the touch-holes of the guns, and, as they supposed, render them useless, and then open fire on the men. Fortunately nothing of the kind was tried, but I was convinced that no one can be too cautious when in the country of a savage enemy. A good lesson can be learned from this narrative by the people now occupying the country of the Filipinos.
One pleasing circumstance resulted from the presence of this battery in the Indian country. About thirty years after the occurrences I have been narrating I had occasion to transact some business with the adjutant general of our state at his office in the capitol, and after completing it I was about to retire, when the general said to me: "Judge, you don't seem to remember me." I replied: "General, did I ever have the pleasure of your acquaintance?" "Not exactly," he said, "but don't you remember the time when you had the old Sherman Battery in the field, with its tall first sergeant?" I said: "I recall the event quite clearly, but not the sergeant." He said: "One day, after a long, hot march, I was laying out the camp, and you were sitting on your horse observing the operation, when you noticed me and called me to you, and pulling a flask from your pocket or holster, you asked me to take a drink. That is a long time ago, but I remember it as the best drink I ever had, and I always associate you pleasantly with it." The tall sergeant had matured into a most dignified and charming gentleman, with whom I have ever since enjoyed the most agreeable relations.
The moral of this story is, that when you are in the country of hostile savages, never accept any confidences or take any chances, and when you have more drinks than you can conveniently absorb, divide with your neighbor.
THE FIRST STATE ELECTION RETURNS FROM PEMBINA.
The State of Wisconsin was admitted into the Union in the year 1848, with the St. Croix river as its western boundary. This arrangement left St. Paul, St. Anthony, Stillwater, Marine, Taylor's Falls and other settlements, which had sprung up in Wisconsin west of the St. Croix, without any government. The inhabitants of these communities immediately sought ways and means to extricate themselves from the dilemma in which they were placed. There were a great many men among them of marked ability and influence—Henry M. Rice, Henry H. Sibley, Morton S. Wilkinson, Henry L. Moss, John McKusick, Joseph R. Brown, Martin McLeod, Wm. R. Marshall and others. Differences of opinion existed as to whether the remnant of Wisconsin on the west side of the St. Croix still remained the Territory of Wisconsin or whether it was a kind of "no man's land," without a government of any kind. Governor Dodge of the territory had been elected to the senate of the United States for the new state. The delegate to congress had resigned, and the government of the territory had been cast upon the secretary, Mr. John Catlin, who became governor ex-officio on the vacancy happening in the office of governor. He lived in Madison, in the new state, and would have to move over the line into the deserted section if he proposed to exercise the functions of his office. A correspondence was opened with him, and he was invited to come to Stillwater, and proclaim the existence of the territory by calling an election for a delegate to congress from Wisconsin Territory. He accepted the call, moved to Stillwater, and in the month of September, 1848, issued his proclamation. An election was held in November following, and Henry H. Sibley was chosen delegate from Wisconsin Territory to the congress of the United States.