Mr. Chandler first came to Michigan in 1833. Three years before (1830) the census of the entire territory, as it was constituted when Illinois was admitted to the Union, was 32,531. The growth during the preceding decade had been steady, not immense; that was to come after. It was in the year of 1833 that the first settlement was made in the present State of Iowa. And in that fall (September) the people of Detroit were rejoicing that "arrangements were in train for the establishment of a new stage-line route to Chicago, by which travelers can go from one place to the other in five days." There was not then a mile of railroad in the territory, and not until five years after (1838) was the first twenty-nine miles completed to Ypsilanti. Detroit was still a frontier post numbering less than 4,000 inhabitants. On all the Western lakes at the beginning of that year there were but eighteen steamers, ranging from fifty to 395 tons in burden, and aggregating but 3,710 tons, and with the best of these a voyage of thirty-nine hours from Buffalo to Detroit was a remarkable passage. All this was improvement; yet the Detroit merchant in that year could not expect to receive his purchases made in New York within less than from three to six months after the time of setting out to procure them. During the winter steamboats and river craft were ice-bound, and the settlements at Detroit, the River Raisin and elsewhere throughout the broad peninsula, were shut out from the Eastern world, except as travelers braved the tedious and painful staging through Canada to Buffalo, with its week of continuous day and night journeying.
A year later (1834) Congress defined the boundaries of Michigan Territory. Let the finger trace on the atlas the northern borders of Ohio and Indiana, follow around the south shore of Lake Michigan to the boundary between Wisconsin and Illinois, pursue that line to the Mississippi river, then down its stream to the north line of the State of Missouri, along that westward to the Missouri, and up that river until between the 25th and 26th degrees of west longitude the finger reaches the faint line, coming down into the Missouri from the north, of the White Earth river—all the land and lakes between the Detroit straits and this little White Earth river and between the line so traced and the British possessions, was Michigan Territory in 1834 and until Michigan was admitted as a State into the Union. It was an imperial domain, larger than Sweden and Norway united; nearly three times greater than England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, and the Channel islands; surpassing the united territories of France, Belgium, Switzerland, Denmark and The Netherlands; even exceeding the combined acreage of Italy and the German Empire. Yet in all this region, when Mr. Chandler displayed his first stock of goods in Detroit, there was not one mile of railroad or telegraph, not one steam mill or manufactory, but one city approaching 4,000 inhabitants and not one exceeding it, and not a single mile of paved street or sewerage. There was but one water-works, and no gas-works. There was not one daily newspaper, and but few of any kind. The valuable iron deposits of the Upper Peninsula were undiscovered. The wealth of pine timber was unknown. In the previous year (1832) the total value of foreign and domestic produce exported from Michigan amounted to but the trifling sum of $9,234, and in the preceding federal census (1830) the entire civilized population of this vast area of limitless possibilities was less than 33,000, although there were then in the Union twenty-four States with a population of 12,866,020.
DETROIT TN 1834.
Mr. Chandler came in with the first swell of the great tide of emigration which broke over Michigan Territory. Up to within a brief period preceding, that extensive and fertile region was scarcely known except as it appeared on maps. Its rich prairies, its fertile plains, its deep forests with all their wealth, were a terra incognita to all white men except the fur traders. But it was being rapidly known and understood. Its fame had rolled back over the East, and the fruits were seen in the new faces and sturdy forms swarming to Detroit as a point of departure to the new and beautiful land. In that year (1833) it was a matter of boasting that as many as "one hundred and seventy-five emigrants had landed in Detroit in one day." The next year Niles' Register had a report from Detroit that the arrivals had reached the magnificent proportions of "nine hundred and sixty in one day," and that "the streets of Detroit were full of wagons loading and departing for the West," principally for the region about Grand river. And the same journal said: "The character of these emigrants is in every respect a subject of felicitation. They will give Michigan a capital stock of wealth and moral worth unequaled by any of the newly-formed States, and scarcely approximated by Ohio."
In 1833 and for more than a year afterward the business part of Detroit was confined to the narrow space bounded by Wayne and Randolph streets, Jefferson avenue and the river, and at the same time there were but few buildings on Jefferson avenue above Rivard, and but one on Woodward avenue north of State street. Old wind-mills lined the shores; the little unsightly French carts clattered through the streets; ducks, geese and pigs were the only city scavengers. This sounds like another age—another continent—but it was the Detroit and Michigan of but forty-six years ago. Change came with population—slowly at first, then with increased speed, then with immense strides. Mr. Chandler lived to see it all and to be a part of it. He came with the early tide of population; he saw the tide rising, at first languid, halting and uncertain; he saw it year by year gathering momentum and volume until it swelled and rolled over Michigan a mighty flood of brawn and brain, of enterprise and conscience.
On the fifth day of November, 1879, tens of thousands of people looked upon the dead face of the stalwart Senator and followed his body to its last resting place in the city to which he had come in 1833. Forty-six years and a few weeks had passed; no more. But in that time the city which he made his home had spread its wings until it covered an area of thirteen and a half square miles, with 300 miles of streets (seventy-six miles paved), and some of them among the broadest and most beautiful in the world, shaded by rows of graceful trees of luxuriant foliage, and adorned by stores and private residences rich in finish and architecture. It had 200 miles of water-mains and 150 miles of sewers, making it one of the most perfectly-drained cities on the continent. Its population had grown to be 120,000, and its taxable wealth to exceed $87,000,000. School buildings, representing a public investment of $650,000 and accommodating 15,000 pupils, were scattered through its wards, and numerous churches and abundant public and private charitable institutions made proclamation of the faith and philanthropy of its citizens. Great manufacturing enterprises lined its wharves and suburbs; scores of railroad trains arrived at and departed from its depots daily; and the commerce of the lakes was passing along its river front at the rate of thousands of tons hourly.