CHAPTER XIX.
Long Prairie was our home for five years which though not unmixed with trial and sorrow, were happy years. Some few neighbors settled in and around the Prairie, and the visits of lumbering and surveying parties, passing to and fro, made a pleasant variety in our simple life. We were directly on the route over which the Indians, both Sioux and Chippewas travelled as they went for game or scalps; but they behaved themselves circumspectly, except when bad white men crept into the settlement and made them crazy with "fire water." This infamous traffic we resisted to the extent of our power, and on one occasion blood was drawn on both sides, but no lives were lost. We always treated the Indians well, dealing fairly with them as with white men, and they looked upon us as their friends. At one time, however, rumors of danger warned us to take measures to insure our safety; and we applied to Floyd, then Secretary of War, for military protection, the result of which step was, that some soldiers were quartered at the Prairie for the winter of '58 and '59, and we dismissed our fears. Captain Frederick Steele and Lieutenant Joseph Conrad were the officers in command of the detachment, and proved most agreeable neighbors, making our winter very enjoyable. The former of these, our friends, was a General during the war of the Rebellion, and lost his life in the service; the latter, now a Major, is still doing good service as a gallant and efficient soldier.
The next winter we had the protection of Lieutenant Latimer and his company from Fort Ridgley, a most genial and whole-souled Southern gentleman, who endeared himself to us by his frank kindly manners. Gen. Irwin McDowell, inspecting officer, made us a charming visit during this winter, and by his kindly, unassuming manner, won all hearts, while his splendid form and manly beauty made an impression on us never to be effaced. He survived the war, but died in the prime of life, sincerely mourned by a large circle of friends and fellow soldiers.
Possibly we might have spent our lives at Long Prairie, but for the bombardment of Fort Sumter, on the eventful 12th of April, 1861, whose vibrations thrilled the whole North, and reaching us in our pastoral home, changed entirely our plans and purposes. When our youngest boy was twenty-four hours old, his father went to St. Paul, in obedience to a summons from Governor Ramsey, and was soon after commissioned Colonel of the "2d" Regiment of Minnesota Volunteers, which was rendezvoused at Fort Snelling for thorough organization and drill. As soon as possible his family joined him there, and, once again my temporary home was in the old Headquarters, and in memory I live my childhood over again. The few weeks spent there were full of excitement and pleasant incidents, but over all, hung the dark shadow of the dreadful civil war, and hearts ached sorely, in spite of the brave talk and smiling faces. Writing of those days I recall a picture of the parade ground at the time of the sunset drum: the men are placed by companies, the officers in proper position; many visitors, ladies and gentlemen, stand near; the drum beats, the flag is lowered; and, as the Chaplain steps forward, every head is uncovered, and he offers the evening prayer to the God of battles. I am glad they prayed; did they think of this when they gained the victory in that first, fierce battle at Mill Spring? And there are those living, who will recall that sad parting hour, when those brave men said, "Good-bye, and God bless you," to their mothers, wives and children, and went forth with tearful eyes, and quivering lips to hazard their lives for their country. It was a holy cause, and the women, too, were brave, and would not hold them back, but entered willingly upon that sad, weary time, when tears were shed till the fountains were dry; when prayers and groanings that could not be uttered, arose to heaven by day and by night, alike from luxurious homes, and from humble cottages, for the safety of the beloved ones, and the success of the sacred cause. The children felt it, too. A little curly-headed seven year old boy, whose father was at the front, waking one night from troubled sleep, stole softly to his mother's bedside, and kissing her tenderly, said, in a voice broken with sobs: "Mother, did you pray for father to-night?" She replied: "Yes, my son, mother never forgets that." "But, mother, are you sure?" "Yes, dear one." "Well, mother, won't you kneel down here by me, and pray for him again?" and side by side, the two knelt humbly, the mother with her arms about the sobbing boy, while she prayed most earnestly for the precious one far away. Then, the dear child ceased his weeping, and kissing "mother" for herself and "father," lay down to sleep again, saying: "Mother, I don't think God will let the Southerners kill father." And thus it was all over the North. Mothers and children weeping and praying, and working, to keep the home bright and comfortable for the soldier when he should come back. And many fair, smooth faces, grew pale and seamed with care and anxiety, many brown heads turned to gray, and erect forms became bent as with years; and, alas! many hearts broke when the list of "dead and wounded" reached the Northern homes. Oh! history makes record of the heroes who fell fighting bravely, and of those who survived; of great deeds of daring done and suffering endured; but there were heroes who won no stars, who received no ovations, whose histories were never written, and who none the less were martyrs to their country.
"But men must work,
And women must weep;
Though storms be sudden and waters deep;
And the harbor-bar be moaning."
But God gave us the victory and our beloved country, aye, the whole world has made a forward move because of our heart-breaking, agonizing Civil War.
CHAPTER XX.
After the breaking up at Long Prairie, a few months were spent by our family in St. Paul, but in the early spring it seemed expedient to remove to "St Anthony," which has ever since been our home. It was at that time a very quiet village; very many of the young and vigorous men were at the front, and business was at a standstill; property was very cheap, and real estate men had little or nothing to do. Minneapolis, on the west side of the river, was a small town, and had any one predicted at that time that the city of Minneapolis would one day become what it is now, he would have been regarded as a lunatic. The Indian outbreak of '62 stirred things up for a while, but that passed away, and the place resumed its sleepy condition, waking up now and then at the news of a victory, or on the occasion of the return of a regiment, to whom an ovation was tendered, when it became manifest that there was a great deal of energy and power latent in the community, which only needed an occasion to bring it out. But the immense water power kept up its music, the mills ground flour and sawed logs and made paper, and, all unconsciously, we were growing great and preparing to become the wonder of the world. When the old settlers get together now-a-days, we like to talk of those pleasant, quiet times, when a ride in a stage to St. Paul was a treat, and a trip to Minnetonka in a double wagon, with provisions and camp fixtures for a week's picnic, was delightful; when we caught fish in Lake Harriet and cooked it at our camp-fire, and had a most enjoyable time rowing on the lake, gathering pond lilies, singing songs, telling stories, and taking in with every breath the delicious, invigorating air of that most charming spot.