The tone of the letter was so urgent that the major did not know but that half the Republicans in St. Paul might be lying in wait to capture him, so he did not enter the town directly, but went to Fort Snelling, and left the returns with an officer of the army, and then proceeded to St. Paul. When we explained to him that no one but Rice, Kittson, Sweetzer and myself knew anything about the matter, he was relieved, but still cautious. He waited for a few days, and then proposed to a lady to take a ride with him to Fort Snelling. When they started home, he gave her a bundle and asked her to care for it while he drove, which she unsuspectingly did, and that is the way the Pembina returns of Minnesota's first state election reached the capital. It is needless to say how many votes they represented, but only to announce that the election went Democratic.
Whether Tyson had any idea of doing what we suspected him of, I never discovered, but if that was his purpose, he had a long ride for nothing, and as our scheme terminated so successfully, I am willing to acquit him of the charge.
A FRONTIER STORY WHICH CONTAINS A ROBBERY, TWO DESERTIONS, A CAPTURE AND A SUICIDE.
In 1856 I was United States Indian agent for the Sioux. My agencies were at Redwood, about thirteen miles above Fort Ridgely, and at Yellow Medicine, on a river of that name, emptying into the Minnesota about fifty miles above the fort. Under the treaties with these Indians the government paid them large sums of money and great quantities of goods, semi-annually, at the agencies. Up to a short time before the event which I am about to relate these payments were made by the agent, but, for some reason best known to the government, the making of the payment was turned over to the superintendent of Indian affairs having charge of the tribes. The manner of making these payments before the change was this: I would receive from the superintendent, at St. Paul, the money, in silver and gold (this being long before the days of greenbacks), amounting to a full wagon load, and take it up to the agencies, while the goods would be delivered by the contractors in steamboats, a census of the Indians would be taken, and the money and goods equally divided among them.
After this duty was withdrawn from the agents and imposed upon the superintendents, of course all responsibility for the money and goods was shifted from the former and laid upon the latter, which was to me a great relief, as I had transported many wagon loads of specie from St. Paul to the agencies without guard, and at great personal and financial risk. A payment was due early in July, 1857, and the superintendent had brought the money as far as Fort Ridgely. Arriving at that point, news came of much excitement among the Indians at the agencies, which was not at all unusual, as thousands of savage fellows used to come in from the Missouri river country, and make trouble for our tribes about payment time, and the superintendent decided it was prudent to leave the money at Fort Ridgely until matters quieted down. There was no vault or other safe place in which to deposit the money at the fort, so it was placed in a room occupied by the quartermaster's clerk, a Frenchman, an enlisted man, and he, with another soldier, a German, who was the post baker, were put in charge of it. This Frenchman had been selected from the ranks of Captain Sully's company and made quartermaster's clerk on account of his superior education, his excellent penmanship and his good character. I always have thought he was some unfortunate young gentleman, serving under an assumed name. The money was all in stout wooden mint boxes, holding each $1,000 in silver, and in gold about $25,000 or more, there being usually one or two boxes of gold. The boxes were spread on the floor of the room, and the men slept on them.
The constitutional convention to frame the organic law for the proposed State of Minnesota had been called to convene in St. Paul, on the thirteenth day of July, 1857, and the people of the Minnesota valley had done me the honor to elect me a member of it. I had delayed starting for St. Paul until a day or two before the meeting of the convention, and having heard rumors that there would be trouble in organizing it, I felt very anxious to be there on the opening day. The only mode of transportation, except the river, in those days, was the little canvas-covered stages of Messrs. M. O. Walker & Co., which would hold four inside comfortably, and six on a pinch. When the down stage reached Traverse des Sioux, on the morning of the 11th of July, it was full; that is, there were five inside, three on the back seat, and two on the front, and one man on the seat with the driver. I insisted strenuously on going, and said I would ride in the boot rather than not go at all, my insistence, of course, having reference to my desire to be at the opening of the convention. I was admitted, and took my place on the front seat, with my back to the driver, and my knees interlocked with those of the passenger on the back seat who faced me. At this time I had heard nothing of what had happened at the fort. The fact was that the two men who had been placed in charge of the money had opened one of the boxes of gold, taken out a bag containing $5,000 in quarter eagles, and sealed it up again. When the superintendent sent down for his money, and it was loaded into the wagon, the two soldiers immediately deserted, which, of course, excited the suspicions of the officers. A courier was at once dispatched to the agency to see if the money was all right, and the theft was soon discovered. The superintendent, who was then Major Cullen, had handbills struck off, giving the description of the deserters, and offering $600 for their capture and the return of the money. Couriers were dispatched in all directions to effect their arrest, and one of the handbills reached Henderson, which was the county seat of Sibley county, some twenty miles down the river from the point at which I took the stage. A deputy sheriff of that county had started out to hunt the thieves and secure the reward, carrying one of the handbills with him, and had proceeded up the river as far as Le Sueur, about half way between Traverse des Sioux and Henderson.
It is well to state here that the stages carried the mails, and always stopped at the post towns long enough to deliver the incoming and receive the outgoing mails, which afforded time for a bit of gossip, a drink, and a stretch of the legs. There were two postoffices in Le Sueur, in upper town and lower town, about a mile and a half apart. As soon as the stage stopped at upper town, the deputy sheriff handed me the handbill through the window, announcing the theft and describing the thieves. I read it right in the face of my vis-a-vis, and after congratulating myself that I had no responsibility for the lost money, I remarked to the sheriff: "Of course, you don't expect to find these fellows on the main thoroughfare. They are probably now going down the Missouri in a canoe." Nothing more occurred until we arrived at the lower town postoffice, where we again stopped to change the mails.
Let me here state that the man in front of me was the Frenchman, and the man on the front seat with the driver was the German, the deserting thieves. The Frenchman was slight of build, but the German was a powerful fellow, and had in his hand a double-barrelled shotgun. I, of course, had no idea of their identity at this time; but they, and especially the Frenchman, knew me perfectly well, having frequently seen me about the garrison. They had construed my anxiety to go on the stage into the belief that I knew them, and was after them, and had made my remark to the sheriff as a mere blind connected with some other scheme for their capture. It must have been a trying ordeal for the man in front of me, who was evidently watching my every move, and feeling the weight of his guilt, supposed I knew all about it.