St. Paul, the chief city of the State of Minnesota, is the great border town of the North Western States. Beyond, collections of houses called cities dwindle down to even a single hut—an outpost in the wilderness. One of these which we passed on the road, a solitary house, uninhabited, rejoiced in the name of “Breckenridge City;” and another, “Salem City,” was little better.
From St. Paul a railway runs westward to St. Anthony, six miles distant—the commencement of the Great Pacific Railroad, projected to run across to California, and already laid out far on to the plains. From St. Anthony a “stage” wagon runs through the out-settlements of Minnesota as far as Georgetown, on the Red River. There we expected to find a steamer which runs fortnightly to Fort Garry, in the Red River Settlement. The “stage,” a mere covered spring-wagon, was crowded and heavily laden. Inside were eight full-grown passengers and four children; outside six, in addition to the driver; on the roof an enormous quantity of luggage; and on the top of all were chained two huge dogs—a bloodhound and Newfoundland—belonging to Treemiss. Milton and Treemiss were fortunate enough to secure outside seats, where, although cramped and uncomfortable, they could still breathe the free air of heaven; but Cheadle was one of the unfortunate “insides,” and suffered tortures during the first day’s journey. The day was frightfully hot, and the passengers were packed so tightly, that it was only by the consent and assistance of his next neighbour that he could free an arm to wipe the perspiration from his agonised countenance. Mosquitoes swarmed and feasted with impunity on the helpless crowd, irritating the four wretched babies into an incessant squalling, which the persevering singing of their German mothers about Fatherland was quite ineffectual to assuage. Two female German Yankees kept up an incessant clack, “guessing” that the “Young Napoleon” would soon wipe out Jeff. Davis; in which opinion two male friends of the same race perfectly agreed. The dogs kept tumbling off their slippery perch, and hung dangling by their chains at either side, half strangled, until hauled back again with the help of a “leg up” from the people inside. This seventy mile drive to St. Cloud, where we stayed the first night, was the most disagreeable experience we had. There six of the passengers left us, but the two German women, with the four babies they owned between them, still remained. The babies were much more irritable than ever the next day, and their limbs and faces, red and swollen from the effects of mosquito bites, showed what good cause they had for their constant wailings.
The country rapidly became more open and level—a succession of prairies, dotted with copses of wild poplar and scrub oak. The land appeared exceedingly fertile, and the horses and draught oxen most astonishingly fat. Sixty-five miles of similar country brought us, on the second night after leaving St. Paul, to the little settlement of Sauk Centre. As it still wanted half an hour to sundown when we arrived, we took our guns and strolled down to some marshes close at hand in search of ducks, but were obliged to return empty-handed, for although we shot several we could not get them out of the water without a dog, the mosquitoes being so rampant, that none of us felt inclined to strip and go in for them. We were very much disappointed, for we had set our hearts on having some for supper, as a relief to the eternal salt pork of wayside houses in the far West. On our return to the house where we were staying, we bewailed our ill-luck to our host, who remarked that had he known we were going out shooting, he would have lent us his own dog, a capital retriever. He introduced us forthwith to “Rover,” a dapper-looking, smooth-haired dog, in colour and make like a black and tan terrier, but the size of a beagle. When it is known from the sequel of this history how important a person Rover became, how faithfully he served us, how many meals he provided for us, and the endless amusement his various accomplishments afforded both to ourselves and the Indians we met with, we shall perhaps be forgiven for describing him with such particularity. Amongst our Indian friends he became as much beloved as he was hated by their dogs. These wolf-like animals he soon taught to fear and respect him by his courageous and dignified conduct; for although small of stature, he possessed indomitable pluck, and had a method of fighting quite opposed to their ideas and experience. Their manner was to show their teeth, rush in and snap, and then retreat; while he went in and grappled with his adversary in so determined a manner, that the biggest of them invariably turned tail before his vigorous onset. Yet Rover was by no means a quarrelsome dog. He walked about amongst the snarling curs with tail erect, as if not noticing their presence; and probably to this fearless demeanour he owed much of his immunity from attack. He appeared so exactly suited for the work we required, and so gained our hearts by his cleverness and docility, that next morning we made an offer of 25 dollars for him.
The man hesitated, said he was very unwilling to part with him, and, indeed, he thought his wife and sister would not hear of it. If, however, they could be brought to consent, he thought he could not afford to refuse so good an offer, for he was very short of money.
He went out to sound the two women on the subject, and they presently rushed into the room; one of them caught up Rover in her arms, and, both bursting into floods of tears, vehemently declared nothing would induce them to part with their favourite. We were fairly vanquished by such a scene, and slunk away, feeling quite guilty at having proposed to deprive these poor lonely women of one of the few creatures they had to lavish their wealth of feminine affection upon.
As we were on the point of starting, however, the man came up, leading poor Rover by a string, and begged us to take him, as he had at last persuaded the women to let him go. We demurred, but he urged it so strongly that we at length swallowed our scruples, and paid the money. As we drove off, the man said good-bye to him, as if parting with his dearest friend, and gave us many injunctions to “be kind to the little fellow.” This we most solemnly promised to do, and it is almost needless to state, we faithfully kept our word.
A fortnight afterwards, these kindly people—in common with nearly all the whites in that part of Minnesota—suffered a horrible death at the hands of the invading Sioux. This fearful massacre, accompanied as it was by all the brutalities of savage warfare, was certainly accounted for, if not excused, or even justified, by the great provocation they had received. The carelessness and injustice of the American Government, and the atrocities committed by the troops sent out for the protection of the frontier, exasperated the native tribes beyond control. Several thousand Indians—men, women, and children—assembled at Forts Snelling and Abercrombie, at a time appointed by the Government themselves, to receive the yearly subsidy guaranteed to them in payment for lands ceded to the United States. Year after year, either through the neglect of the officials at Washington, or the carelessness or dishonesty of their agents, the Indians were detained there for weeks, waiting to receive what was due to them. Able to bring but scanty provision with them—enough only for a few days—and far removed from the buffalo, their only means of subsistence, they were kept there in 1862 for nearly six weeks in fruitless expectation. Can it be a matter of surprise that, having been treated year by year in the same contemptuous manner, starving and destitute, the Sioux should have risen to avenge themselves on a race hated by all the Indians of the West?
Unconscious of the dangers gathering round, and little suspecting the dreadful scenes so shortly to be enacted in this region, we drove merrily along in the stage. As we went farther west, the prairies became more extensive, timber more scarce, and human habitations more rare. Prairie chickens and ducks were plentiful along the road, and the driver obligingly pulled up to allow us to have a shot whenever a chance occurred. On the third day we struck Red River, and stayed the night at Fort Abercrombie; and the following day, the 18th of July, arrived at Georgetown. The stage did not run beyond this point, and the steamer, by which we intended to proceed to Fort Garry, was not expected to come in for several days, so that we had every prospect of seeing more of Georgetown than we cared for.
CHAPTER II.
Georgetown—Minnesota Volunteers—The Successful Hunters—An Indian Hag—Resolve to go to Fort Garry in Canoes—Rumours of a Sioux Outbreak—The Half-breeds refuse to Accompany us—Prepare to Start Alone—Our Canoes and Equipment—A Sioux War Party—The Half-breed’s Story—Down Red River—Strange Sights and Sounds—Our First Night Out—Effects of the Sun and Mosquitoes—Milton Disabled—Monotony of the Scenery—Leaky Canoes—Travelling by Night—The “Oven” Camp—Hunting Geese in Canoes—Meet the Steamer—Milton’s Narrow Escape—Treemiss and Cheadle follow Suit—Carried Down the Rapids—Vain Attempts to Ascend—A Hard Struggle—On Board at last—Start once more—Delays—Try a Night Voyage Again—The “Riband Storm”—“In Thunder, Lightning, and in Rain”—Fearful Phenomena—Our Miserable Plight—No Escape—Steering in Utter Darkness—Snags and Rocks—A Long Night’s Watching—No Fire—A Drying Day—Another Terrible Storm—And Another—Camp of Disasters—Leave it at last—Marks of the Fury of the Storms—Provisions at an End—Fishing for Gold-eyes—A Day’s Fast—Slaughter of Wild-Fowl—Our Voracity—A Pleasant Awakening—Caught up by the Steamer—Pembina—Fort Garry—La Ronde—We go under Canvass.