These low lands moreover send out during the hot summer days great swarms of immense mosquitos.
There is no gravel with which to make roads, hence in the spring they are something wonderful to behold; at certain seasons they are impassable. “I have just driven five miles,” said a gentleman, “and every foot of the way the wagon wheels sank to the hubs. There have been no drays in the streets of this city for three weeks. All carting has been done with hand-carts.”
And yet there is no doubt that this is a country with grand possibilities, able to support an immense population, rich in its soil, and worth all it is costing to make it habitable. Pioneer life is not one-half as hard here as it was in the days when New York State was reclaimed from a wilderness; but let no one come here thinking there is nothing to be done but to select a quarter section of land, and in a few months become rich. There is wealth here for those who seek it, but they must seek it with all their hearts.
The most prosperous section of the country, as it appears to a stranger, is on the line of the North Pacific road between Fargo and Bismarck. The foot hills begin at the James River and the grade ascends steadily until a point is reached at least five hundred feet above the valley. From Huron, in the south, to the Turtle Mountains, in the north, and west to the Missouri River, are what may be called the high-lands of Dakota, embracing as fine a rolling prairie land as can be found in the West. There are, however, poor sections; the soil is not so rich and deep as lower down in the valley; yet here 14,000 bushels of oats are said to have been raised from 180 acres, and 400 bushels of potatoes per acre. In the north, at Fort Totten, on Devil’s Lake, small fruits are grown in abundance, all kinds of vegetables and an inferior kind of corn. Yet in Russia apples and cherries are raised in abundance, three hundred miles farther north than Winnipeg. Toward the south, between Huron and the North Pacific Railroad, it is much warmer, and a larger variety of crops can be raised. This whole section has good air, is not flooded every spring, has a fair amount of rain, and produces well under proper cultivation. As a rule the water is poor, alkaline and brackish. At Steele, a bright and thriving county seat, on the Northern Pacific, half-way between Jamestown and Bismarck, soft water has been found.
There are some things about the Devil’s Lake country that seem very odd. As far as the eye can reach there is scarcely a tree or shrub. You may ride across the prairie for a hundred miles and not cross a stream, large or small; the surface is a rolling prairie, and in almost every hollow there is a pond of water; some of these ponds are half a mile across and remain throughout the year; probably the ground is frozen so deep that it can not absorb the water from the melting snow. The same cause prevents the forming of streams as the frozen hollows hold the water. A proper system of drainage, connecting all the ponds, would fill the country with brooks.
It is almost the country of the “midnight sun.” One can see to read without lamp-light till nearly ten o’clock, and again as early as three in the morning. It is said that in summer the evening and morning twilight can be seen at the same time.
The “shacks,” or houses, are strange dwellings for human beings to live in; being merely a board shanty, one story high, often only ten by twelve, with perhaps one small window and a door, the whole cabin covered with black tar-paper, and batten strips nailed over the cracks. Sometimes the home is nothing but a hole dug into the side of a hill, with a door and no window. Some of the houses, and many of the barns, are made of sod cut and laid one upon another, just as we lay brick; occasionally the walls are thicker at the base than at the top, and curve in at the center with graceful lines; in fact some of the sod houses are very pretty, and must be quite warm. We fancied them covered with green grass in summer, and sprinkled with violets and blue forget-me-nots.
Fort Totten and the Indian Reservation are here, and the government is experimenting with an industrial school, trying to Christianize and educate the Indians. It is a success. In answer to questions Major Crampton said, “You can educate and civilize them as well as you can the whites, but you must have patience, and begin with the children. We have a school for girls, and the Sisters of Charity teach them how to sew, cook, and do housework, and we teach the boys how to farm and do general work; then when they want to marry we give them their own home and land in severalty, and you have no idea how happy and prosperous they are. You couldn’t get a civilized girl to go back to the old life, and even the heathen want civilized wives. I make and unmake chiefs. The best men are appointed to all the offices. Old men with two wives are permitted to live with them, but young men are put in prison if they attempt polygamy. We forbid immoral dances.”
Devil’s Lake is sixty miles long and six miles wide; there is no outlet or inlet, and the water is brackish; it abounds with fish. The name of the lake seems to be a misnomer, as there are no evidences of heat in any part of the country, not even enough for comfort. In May it was covered with ice four feet thick. A little warmth would have done no harm. The owners of property in that section are anxious to make it a summer resort, and propose to give hearty assistance to any Chautauqua workers who will open a Sunday-school assembly there.
There is beauty here for the artist. Over there is the white line of the beach, with a forest background, a green slope between. To the left are dim wreaths of smoke, curling cloudward: they come from the “council fires” of the Sioux braves, as they camp on the reservation; they seem to ascend from fires lighted by invisible hands, and around them seem to be gathered the spirits of departed warriors, shadows, hidden from unanointed eyes. To the west the sun is a ball of fire dropping into a sea of ice: sapphire, flame and pearl are mixed with the blue and golden light, and arch toward heaven, tinging forest and hill with celestial splendor. As the orb of day sinks behind the hills, it seems like the path to glory, and but a step—