The History of Minnesota and Tales of the Frontier

by Charles E. Flandrau

Sibley procured the passage of an act, on March 3, 1849, organizing the Territory of Minnesota, and we have had regular elections ever since.

There is a little unwritten history connected with the transaction above related. The principal citizens west of the St. Croix fixed things up among the settlements in a manner entirely satisfactory to themselves. They divided the prospective spoils about as follows: Sibley lived at Mendota, and that place was to have the delegate to congress, St. Paul was to have the capital, Stillwater the penitentiary, and St. Anthony the university, which comprised all there was to divide. The program was faithfully carried out, and has been maintained ever since, although various attempts have been made to violate the treaty by the removal of the capital from St. Paul; but I am glad to be able to say, in behalf of honesty and fair dealing, none of them have been successful.

The existence of this unwritten treaty has been denied, but there are men yet living in the state who took part in it, and have publicly affirmed its authenticity. Judge Douglas of Illinois, when chairman of the senate committee on territories, insisted on placing the capital at Mendota, with the building on the top of Pilot Knob, and had it not been for the stern integrity of Sibley, he would have succeeded, to the everlasting inconvenience and discomfort of our people.

There were really no politics worthy of the name during the years of the territory. All the principal offices were filled by appointment by the general government, and the rest of them determined by personal rivalries. The main business of the territory was the fur trade, carried on by warring companies, whose chief factors sought office more for the sake of its influence on their business than for the principles they represented.

I remember one year the legislature, in a spasm of virtue, passed a prohibitory liquor law, which the supreme court, under the influence of a counter spasm, immediately set aside as unconstitutional. Outside of the cities, where the missionaries exerted a strong influence, the contention was usually whisky or no whisky; in fact, there was very little else to fight about.

The first government was appointed by the Whigs (the Republican party being yet unborn), and as Governor Ramsey was from Pennsylvania, we had a great influx of immigration from that state. The second governor (Gorman) was appointed by the Democrats, and came from Indiana, and the people of that state being much more migratory than the Pennsylvanians, we were flooded with Hoosiers. These various influences caused differences of opinion and interests sufficient to keep the political pot boiling quite lively, but on lines that were necessarily personal and temporary in their bearing. We soon, however, approached the more important subject of statehood, and, strange as it may seem to the present generation, the question of slavery was a strong factor. The Republican party was born about 1854, and as its principal creed was opposition to the extension of slavery, its followers naturally forced the subject into the politics of the day. I can, however, positively affirm that no one of any political faith had the slightest idea of introducing slavery into Minnesota. A constitution for the proposed state was framed in 1857, and in the fall of that year the election for the officers of the first state government was held, and, of course, great interest was manifested as to the result. The general election was fixed by law for November in all of the counties of the territory except one. The county of Pembina was so distant from the capital that it was found to be difficult to get the returns in so as to be counted with those of the rest of the state. The only transportation between the two places was by Red River carts, drawn by oxen in the summer, and by dog trains in the winter; the distance to be travelled was about four hundred miles, and the time necessary to compass it nearly or quite a month. The legislature had, in 1853, in order to remedy this difficulty, and because the population was on its annual buffalo hunt in November, passed an act fixing the time for holding elections in the county of Pembina on the second Tuesday in September in each year, thus giving ample opportunity to get the returns to the authorities in St. Paul in time to be counted with those from the other districts. The result of this was that no one outside of Pembina ever knew how many votes had been polled in that district until long after the rest of the territory had been heard from, and it became a common saying among the Whigs that the Pembina returns were held back until it became known how many votes were necessary to carry the election for the Democrats, and that they were fixed accordingly, which the Democrats denounced as a Whig lie.

About all that was known of Pembina was that it was inhabited by a savage looking race of Chippewa half-breeds, and that Joe Rolette lived there, and Norman W. Kittson went there occasionally. It carried on an immense trade in furs with St. Paul, by means of brigades of Red River carts each summer and by dog trains in the winter, and the more you saw of these people the more you were impressed with their savage appearance and bearing.

The first state election, curious as it may appear, was held in 1857, before the state was admitted into the Union, which latter event was postponed until May 11, 1858, and when the votes from all the counties except Pembina had been returned to the proper officer the result, as far as could be ascertained before the official count was made, was somewhat in doubt, which circumstance naturally excited great interest in the Pembina election, as it was well known that all the votes from that district would be Democratic, so the great question was, "How many?"

While the country was holding its breath in suspense and expectancy, a man in the Indian trade, named Madison Sweetzer, came to me about two o'clock one night, or rather morning, and told me that Nat. Tyson, who was a merchant in St. Paul and an enthusiastic Republican, had just started for the north with a fast team and an outfit that looked as if he contemplated a long journey, and his belief was that he intended to capture Joe Rolette and the Pembina returns. I thought such might be the case, and we immediately began to devise ways and means to circumvent him. We hastened to the house of Henry M. Rice, who knew every trader and half-breed between here and Pembina, and laid our suspicions before him. He diagnosed the case in an instant, and sent us to Norman W. Kittson, who lived in a stone house well up on Jackson street, with instructions to him to send a mounted courier after Tyson, who was to pass him on the road, and either find Rolette or Major Clitheral, who was an Alabama man and one of the United States land officers in the neighborhood of Crow Wing (and, of course, a reliable Democrat), and to deliver a letter to the one first found, putting him on guard against the supposed enemy. I prepared the letter, and Kittson in a few moments had summoned a reliable Chippewa half-breed, mounted him on a fine horse, fully explained his mission, and impressed upon him that he was to reach Clitheral or Rolette ahead of Tyson, if he had to kill a dozen horses in so doing. There is nothing a fine, active young half-breed enjoys so much as an adventure of this kind; a ride of four hundred miles had no terrors for him, and to serve his employer, no matter what the duty or the danger, was his delight. When he was ready to start, Kittson gave him a send-off in about the following words: "Va, va, vite, et ne t'arrette pas, même pour sauver la vie" ("Go; go quick; and don't stop even to save your life"), and giving his horse a vigorous slap, he was off like the wind.

The result was that he passed Tyson before he had gone twenty miles, found Clitheral a day and a half before Tyson reached Crow Wing, if he ever did get there, delivered his letter, and the major immediately started to find Rolette, which he succeeded in doing, took the returns and put them in a belt around his person, and having relieved Joe of all his responsibility, left him to his own devices, which meant painting all the towns red that he visited on his way. We well knew that Joe could no more resist the temptations of civilization than an old sailor returning from a long voyage, and what we apprehended was that he might, while in a too-convivial mood, either lose the returns, or have them stolen from him.