Flemming, poor fellow, was suffering with dysentery when he started on the trip. On reaching Grand Rapids, he was no better, and it was thought best not to take him along to the frontier, so he was allowed to go home. Miller was not of a peace loving disposition, and, having shown this characteristic early, was also allowed to leave the party. It was best that all weaklings and quarrelsome ones should be left behind, because it was easily foreseen that when winter closed in upon the band of frontiersmen, it would be difficult to reach the outer world, and it would be unpleasant to have any in the party that were not, in some sense, companionable.
Considerable time was consumed in getting all of our supplies to headquarters camp, which consisted of a log cabin. The first misfortune that befell any one of our party came to Frank Hoyt, who one day cut an ugly gash in the calf of his leg with a glancing blow of the ax. The cut required stitching, but there was no surgeon in the party. Will Brackett, the youngest of the party, a brother of George A. Brackett, and a student from the university, volunteered to sew up the wound. This he did with an ordinary needle and a piece of white thread. The patient submitted with fortitude creditable to an Indian. Some plastic salve was put on a cloth and placed over the wound, which resulted in its healing too rapidly. Proud flesh appeared, and then the wisdom of the party was called into requisition, to learn what thing or things available could be applied to destroy it. Goose quill scrapings were suggested, there being a few quills in the possession of the party. Brackett, however, suggested the use of some of the cook's baking powder, because, he argued, there was sufficient alum in it to remove the proud flesh from the wound. "Dr." Brackett was considered authority, and his prescription proved effectual. Hoyt was left to guard the provision camp against possible visits from the Indians, or from bears, which sometimes were known to break in and to carry away provisions.
It is never necessary for surveyors whose work is in the timber, nor for timber hunters, to carry tent poles, because these are easily chosen from among the small trees; yet nine of our party one time in October, with the rain falling fast and cold, found themselves, at the end of the four mile Cut-foot Sioux Portage, on a point of land where there were no poles. All of the timber of every description had been cut down and used by the Indians. The Indian chief and several of his family relations lived on this point. They had built the house of poles and cedar bark, in the shape of a rectangle. Its dimensions on the ground were about twelve by twenty feet; its walls rose to a height of about five feet; and it was covered by a hip roof.
"Our camp was established on the shores of Kekekabic Lake". (Page [151].)
Our party must either obtain shelter under this roof or must get into the canoes and paddle nearly two miles to find a place where it could pitch its tents. At this juncture the hospitality of the Indians was demonstrated. The chief sent out word that we should come into his dwelling and remain for the night. The proffer was gladly accepted. When we had all assembled, we found within, the chief and his squaw, his daughter and her husband, the hunter, his squaw and two daughters, besides our party of nine, making a total of seventeen human beings within this small enclosure. A small fire occupied a place on the ground at the center of the structure, an ample opening in the roof having been left for the escape of the smoke and live sparks. Indians can always teach their white brothers a lesson of economy in the use of fuel. They build only a small fire, around which, when inside their wigwams, they all gather with their usually naked feet to the fire. It is a physiological fact that when one's extremities are warm, one's bodily sufferings from cold are at their minimum. Our party boiled some rice and made a pail of coffee, without causing any especial inconvenience to our hosts, and, after having satisfied hunger and thirst, the usual camp fire smoke of pipes was indulged in, before planning for any sleep. Our party had been assigned a portion of the space around the open fire, and our blankets were brought in and spread upon the mats that lay upon the earth floor.
The additional presence of nine Indian dogs has not previously been mentioned. Before morning, however, they were found to be live factors, and should be counted as part of the dwellers within the walls of this single room. They seemed to be nocturnal in habit, and to take an especial delight in crossing and recrossing our feet, or in trying to find especially cozy places between our feet and near to the fire, where they might curl down for their own especial comfort. It was not for us, however, to complain, inasmuch as the hospitality that had been extended was sincere; and it was to be remembered by us that it was in no way any advantage to the Indians to have taken us in for the night. Therefore, we were truly thankful that our copper colored friends had once more demonstrated their feelings of humanity toward their white brothers. They had been subjected to more or less inconvenience by our presence, but in no way did they make this fact manifest by their actions or by their words. The rain continued at intervals during the entire night, and it was with a feeling of real gratitude, as we lay upon the ground, and listened to it, that we thought of the kindly treatment we were receiving from these aborigines. In the morning we offered to pay them money for our accommodations, but this they declined. They did, however, accept some meat and some flour.
While we were crossing the lake, one day, in canoes loaded with supplies of various descriptions, an amusing, yet rather expensive, incident happened in connection with one of the canoes. Its occupants were George Fenimore, a Mainite Yankee, and Joe Lyon, a French-Canadian. Both were good canoemen, but only Fenimore knew how to swim. They had become grouchy over some subject while crossing the lake, and, as they neared the opposite shore from which they had started, in some manner which I have never understood, the canoe was overturned. Little of its contents was permanently lost, except one box of new axes. The water was about eight feet deep under them. Each man grasped an end of the overturned canoe, and clung to it. Then an argument began between the two disgruntled men, about getting to shore. Lyon wanted Fenimore to let go of the canoe and swim ashore; but this, the latter refused to do. Finally, after considerable loss of time, Joe Lyon, who was nearest to shore, turned his body about, with his face toward the shore, and, letting go of the canoe, went to the bottom of the lake and floundered to gain the shore. He had only to go a short distance before the water became sufficiently shallow for his head to appear, but he was winded, and thoroughly mad. I have always believed that Fenimore purposely overturned the canoe, but if so, he never admitted the fact.
The pine timber lying east of Bow String Lake, and included in the survey of 1874 and 1875, was all tributary to waters running north, into the Big Fork River, which empties into the Rainy River. Levels were run across from Bow String Lake into Cut-foot Sioux River, and considerable fall was found. The distance, nearly all the way, was over a marsh. It was shown that a dam could easily be thrown across from bank to bank of the river at the outlet of Bow String Lake, and by thus slightly raising the water in the lake, plus a little work of cleaning out portions of the distance across the marsh, from Bow String Lake to Cut-foot Sioux, the timber could be driven across and into the waters of the Mississippi River. All of this engineering was before the advent of logging railroads. However, before the timber was needed for the Minneapolis market, many logging railroads had been built in various localities in the northern woods, and their practical utility had been demonstrated. When the time came for cutting this timber, a logging railroad was constructed to reach it; and over its tracks, the timber was brought out, thus obviating the necessity of impounding the waters of Bow String Lake.