At Galena I parted with Mr. Rogers, my traveling companion, who went south. On the fifteenth of December I traveled to Dubuque on foot. When I came to the Mississippi river I sat down on its banks and recalled the humorous description of old Mr. Carson, my neighbor, to which I had listened wonderingly when a small boy. "It was," he said, "a river so wide you could scarcely see across it. The turtles in it were big as barn doors, and their shells would make good ferryboats if they could only be kept above water." Sure enough, here was the big river, but covered with ice, scarcely safe to venture on. Several persons desiring to cross, we made a portable bridge of boards, sliding them along with us till we were safe on the opposite bank. I was now at the end of my journey, on the west bank of the Mississippi, beyond which stretched a vast and but little known region, inhabited by Indians and wild beasts.
As I review the incidents of my journey in 1836, I can not but contrast the conditions of that era and the present. How great the change in half a century! The journey then required thirty days. It now requires but three. I had passed over but two short lines of railroad, and had made the journey by canal boat, by steamer, by stage, and a large portion of it on foot. There were few regularly established lines of travel. From Michigan to the Mississippi there were no stages nor were there any regular southern routes. Travelers to the centre of the continent, in those days, came either by the water route, via New Orleans or the Fox and Wisconsin river route, or followed Indian trails or blazed lines from one settlement to another. The homes of the settlers were rude—were built principally of logs. In forest regions the farms consisted of clearings or square patches of open ground, well dotted with stumps and surrounded by a dense growth of timber. The prairies, except around the margins or along certain belts of timber following the course of streams, were without inhabitants. Hotels were few and far between, and, when found, not much superior to the cabins of the settlers; but the traveler was always and at all places hospitably entertained.
DUBUQUE.
Dubuque was a town of about three hundred inhabitants, attracted thither by the lead mines. The people were principally of the mining class. The prevailing elements amongst them were Catholic and Orange Irish. These two parties were antagonistic and would quarrel on the streets or wherever brought in contact. Sundays were especially days of strife, and Main street was generally the field of combat. Women even participated. There was no law, there were no police to enforce order. The fight went on, the participants pulling hair, gouging, biting, pummeling with fists or pounding with sticks, till one or the other party was victorious. These combats were also accompanied with volleys of profanity, and unlimited supplies of bad whisky served as fuel to the flame of discord. Dubuque was certainly the worst town in the West, and, in a small way, the worst in the whole country. The entire country west of the Mississippi was without law, the government of Wisconsin Territory not yet being extended to it. Justice, such as it was, was administered by Judge Lynch and the mob.
My first employment was working a hand furnace for smelting lead ore for a man named Kelly, a miner and a miser. He lived alone in a miserable hovel, and on the scantiest fare. In January I contracted to deliver fifty cords of wood at Price's brickyard. I cut the wood from the island in front of the present city of Dubuque, and hired a team to deliver it.
While in Dubuque I received my first letter from home in seven months. What a relief it was, after a period of long suspense, spent in tediously traveling over an almost wilderness country,—amidst unpleasant surroundings, amongst strangers, many of them of the baser sort, drinking, card playing, gambling and quarreling,—what a relief it was to receive a letter from home with assurances of affectionate regard from those I most esteemed.
Truly the lines had not fallen to me in pleasant places, and I was sometimes exposed to perils from the lawless characters by whom I was surrounded. On one occasion a dissolute and desperate miner, named Gilbert, came to Cannon's hotel, which was my boarding house while in Dubuque. He usually came over from the east side of the river once a week for a spree. On this occasion, being very drunk, he was more than usually offensive and commenced abusing Cannon, the landlord, applying to him some contemptuous epithet. I thoughtlessly remarked to Cannon, "You have a new name," upon which Gilbert cocked his pistol and aiming at me was about to fire when Cannon, quick as thought, struck at his arm and so destroyed his aim that the bullet went over my head. The report of the pistol brought others to the room and a general melee ensued in which the bar was demolished, the stove broken and Gilbert unmercifully whipped. Gilbert was afterward shot in a drunken brawl.
I formed some genial acquaintances in Dubuque, amongst them Gen. Booth, Messrs. Brownell, Wilson and others, since well known in the history of the country. Price, the wood contractor, never paid me for my work. I invested what money I had left for lots in Madison, all of which I lost, and had, in addition, to pay a note I had given on the lots.
On February 11th I went to Cassville, journeying thither on the ice. This village had flourished greatly, in the expectation of becoming the territorial and state capital, expectations doomed, as we have seen, to disappointment. It is romantically situated amidst picturesque bluffs, some of which tower aloft like the walls and turrets of an ancient castle, a characteristic that attaches to much of the bluff scenery along this point.