\'Three Score Years and Ten\'

C >> Charlotte Ouisconsin Van Cleve >> \'Three Score Years and Ten\'

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NOTE.--Since this account was written, my dear old friend has
gone to her rest; she died at the home of her son-in-law, Mr.
Hazard, in Newport, Kentucky, September 6th, 1888, aged 91
years and seven months. She lived to hear the "Life-long
memories of Fort Snelling" read to her by her loving
relatives and enjoyed it exceedingly.

_CHAPTER III._

It seems proper to record here the names of the officers at the post
at this time. They are as follows:

Josiah Snelling, Colonel Fifth Infantry, commanding.
S. Burbank, Brevet Major.
David Perry, Captain.
D. Gooding, Brevet Captain.
R. A. McCabe, Lieutenant.
N. Clark, Lieutenant.
Joseph Hare, Lieutenant.
P. R. Green, Lieutenant Acting Adjutant.
W. G. Camp, Lieutenant Quartermaster.
H. Wilkins, Lieutenant.
Edward Purcell, Surgeon.

In addition to these I give the names of some who came afterward. All
of them are among my earliest recollections, and I can remember each
by some peculiarity of speech or characteristic anecdote. In my old
age I find myself dwelling upon these recollections of my early years
with pleasure, till the flight of time is forgotten, and in fancy I am
back again at the old fort, a happy, light-hearted, petted child:

Major Hamilton.
Captains Russell, Garland, Baxley and Martin Scott.
Lieutenants Alexander, Hunter, Harris, St. Clair Denny and
Johnston.
Major Laurence Taliaferro, Indian Agent.
Captain Leonard and Mr. Ortley, Sutlers.

Lieutenant Alexander was very popular, very kind-hearted and genial. A
reply of his, when cornered in a discussion at one time, caused much
merriment. The subject was bald-headed men. Some one remarked that
those who became gray were seldom bald. Alexander replied with
considerable warmth: "I know better than that, for my father is as
gray as a badger, and hasn't a hair on his head."

Lieutenant Hunter was a great favorite, and in his way a model man,
always courteous and attentive to ladies, and especially kind and
considerate to the little ones, but wonderfully firm and unyielding in
his views, which peculiarity on more than one occasion caused him
serious trouble. As an instance of his persistence: at one time he and
Captain Scott determined to find out by actual experiment which could
hold out the longest without eating anything whatever. As both were
very firm in their determinations, the affair was watched with great
interest. However, after two days Captain Scott surrendered
unconditionally, and it was generally admitted that Lieutenant Hunter
would have perished rather than yield.

Lieutenant St. Clair Denny was an exceedingly estimable young man, a
native of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, a Christian gentleman in the
highest sense of the term. My recollection of him is of one better
calculated to inspire awe and respect than confidence. A memorable
event in his life was his marriage with Miss Caroline Hamilton, a
beautiful girl of fifteen, as full of fun and lady-like mirth as he
was of dignity and reserve. I can barely recall their going in sleighs
on the ice to Prairie du Chien accompanied by Lieutenant Hunter and
one of the ladies, to be married, that being the nearest point where
the ceremony could be performed, for we had neither Chaplain nor
Justice of the Peace at the new fort. I have dim recollections of the
preparation of the trousseau by the nimble fingers of the officers'
wives, of the pleasureable excitement and merry chat over the unusual
event, and of the starting off of the excursion on that long, cold
ride, the "good-byes," the tears, the smiles and the blushes, and of
the hearty welcome home of the beautiful, happy bride, and the proud
but dignified bridegroom, and I there and then yielded my fealty to
the sweet child-wife, and always loved her as a dear relative. She was
a most loving wife and mother, and some who read these records will
call to mind her lovely, interesting daughter, the wife of Mr.
Corcoran, for some time Postmaster at St. Paul, and her son Brooke
Denny, whose home, when the dear mother passed away, was with his
sister in that city, and whose gentlemanly manners and kindness of
heart won for him the love and confidence of his associates. An
anecdote of Lieutenant Denny, characteristic of his precision of
speech, his perfect self-control under the most exciting
circumstances, and his strict regard to military etiquette, may be
related here:

At one of the frontier stations, where he was doing duty as
Quartermaster, he was in his office one day during a fearful thunder
storm, accompanied with high wind and pouring rain, which threatened
to demolish the building. Every one was alarmed for its safety, and
the whole garrison was in a high state of excitement. After the storm
had subsided, a group of officers were talking it over, and Lieutenant
Denny, speaking of it in his peculiarly measured tones, ended his
remarks with this climax: "I was standing in the door of my office
when the storm was at its height, and it was so terrible that I was
forced to turn and say, even in the presence of my clerk, 'Bless me!
how the wind blows!'"

Any member of the old Fifth Regiment can recall that remark, for it
became a household word; but alas! who are now living of that gallant
old regiment? Of all the names recorded in these annals, I know of not
one left to answer to roll-call, the last survivor, General David
Hunter, having passed away at an advanced age only a few months ago.
The old Mexican war decimated the regiment, which was always placed in
positions of danger, requiring brave, cool, determined men, and it
was then that Captain Martin Scott poured out his heart's blood in
defense of his country. Who has not heard of him and his indomitable
courage? Some of the most pleasant recollections of my childhood are
associated with that brave, true man, who was a member of our family
for many years, and was dearly beloved by us all. His eccentricities
were numerous, but did no one any harm, while his fondness for
hunting, his love for his dogs (of which I can clearly recall by name
eight or ten), his almost incredible skill as a marksman, and his
unvarying success as a hunter, made him the hero of our childish
admiration, and won for him the reputation of a veritable Nimrod. I
remember very clearly his habit of asking my mother what and how much
game she would like for the table, and invariably bringing her just
what she named. He was an admirable purveyor, and we lived on the fat
of the land, for there was no delicacy in the way of wild game which
he did not, in its proper season, bring from the forest and wild-wood
to make savory meat which, like old Isaac, we all loved. He had the
reputation at one time of being parsimonious, and some were inclined
to treat him coldly on that account; but in time it was found that out
of his small pay he maintained his widowed mother and a lame sister in
their New England home, and that while niggard in regard to his own
personal wants, the dear ones at the old home were generously provided
for. So, although at first the West Point graduates were disposed to
treat with contempt the Green Mountain boy who had entered the army as
a volunteer in the war of 1812, and had been retained in the service,
his sterling qualities and his dignified self-respect won for him
finally the regard of all who knew him. Indeed, it was found out very
soon that it would not do to slight or insult "Scott," and he gave
some practical lessons on that point that were never forgotten. He was
a thorough-going total abstinence man, a "rara avis" in those days. He
seldom drank even of "the cup that cheers and not inebriates," never
anything stronger; and my impression is that one great reason for his
extreme temperance was that his aim as a marksman might be perfect and
unerring. He did not marry till somewhat late in life, owing to his
inability to support a wife in addition to the care of his mother and
sister, although I have heard my father say to him, jokingly, "Scott,
it would not cost you so much to keep a wife as it does to keep all
these dogs; she'd save more than she'd cost. Try it now, and take the
word of one who knows." The lady whom he finally chose was a Miss
McCracken, of Rochester, New York, with whom he lived happily for some
years. At the battle of Cerro Gordo he was warned to be more careful
of the bullets, but he replied, "Never fear; the bullet is not run
that is to kill Martin Scott," and almost immediately fell from his
horse pierced to the heart by a Mexican bullet. Knowing that his wound
was mortal, he, with his usual presence of mind, took from his pocket
his purse, containing quite a large sum of money, and, handing it to a
soldier who stood near, said: "Give that to my wife." And the brave,
true heart was still forever.

Major Laurence Taliaferro was for many years a member of our
household, and we all loved and honored him. He was very entertaining
in conversation and full of anecdotes of Virginia, which was his
boyhood's home. His father owned many slaves, and when he, as a
student in an Eastern college, was home for vacation, he delighted to
amaze the negro boys with his knowledge and excite their admiration.
On one occasion he had been using some pretty big words in a speech
for their edification, branching out now and then into Greek and Latin
quotations, when one of them, overcome by his young master's
proficiency, exclaimed: "Oh, Massa Laurence; you larn so much since
you done been to college, you clar fool." He liked to tell this story
of himself, and admitted that the boy had good ground for his sweeping
conclusion. Dear Major Taliaferro, our happy-hearted, beloved and
trusted friend, the faithful servant of the government, and humble
follower of Christ. His picture and an accompanying letter, sent me
from his home in Bedford, Pennsylvania, when he was eighty-two years
old, are before me, and as I look on the well-known features, I repeat
from my heart the testimony of his biographer: "For more than twenty
years an Indian Agent, _and yet_ an honest man."

A few years ago, in an interview with Major Joseph Brown, so well
known to the early settlers of Minnesota, he reminded me of Colonel
McNeil's short stay at "Fort St. Anthony," as it was first called,
previous to the arrival of Colonel Snelling, and of Mrs. McNeil, a
sister of Franklin Pierce, a most estimable woman, of whom he spoke in
the most affectionate, grateful terms, saying that her kindness to
him, a mere boy, and her wise counsels had had a beneficial influence
on his whole life. He spoke most gratefully of all the ladies at the
post, and remembered our Sabbath school, established somewhat later,
with real pleasure. He went up the river with the regiment as
drummer-boy, and was always considered a faithful, well-behaved
soldier.

His whole life was passed in the Northwest. He was at one time
Representative in the Wisconsin Legislature, and was afterwards
appointed Secretary of the First Legislative Assembly of the Territory
of Minnesota. He died only a few years ago at an advanced age.

_CHAPTER IV._

In 1821 the regiment moved into the beautiful new fort, although it
was by no means completed. The outside wall was up on three sides
only, and a heavy guard was stationed on the fourth, not only to
prevent desertions, but to keep the Indians, our only neighbors, at a
respectful distance. The occupation of the new and comfortable
quarters was made an occasion of great rejoicing, an event never
forgotten by those who took part in it. Then began our regular fort
life, the flag-staff was raised in front of headquarters, the stars
and stripes were run up at the roll of the drum at "guard mounting"
and lowered with the same accompaniment at retreat day after day, and
we children learned to love its graceful folds as it floated on the
breeze and to feel no harm could come to us under the "Star Spangled
Banner."

The only white people within three hundred miles were shut within that
hollow square, a community, dependent largely on each other for all
the little every-day kindnesses and amenities which make life
enjoyable, having no regular intercourse with the civilized world,
except by mail, which at first was received semi-annually, after a
while quarterly, and for many years not more frequently than
bi-monthly. For a long while it was brought from Prairie du Chien by
an Indian on a pony, and there is no record of any unfaithfulness on
the part of our dusky carrier. But those who enjoy daily mails know
little of the excitement and tearful gratitude of those pioneers at
Fort Snelling when the announcement was made, "The mail has arrived."
Isolated as we were from the privileges and recreations and
distractions of town or city, we were drawn very closely together,
were, in fact, like one large family, and news for one was news for
all. We really "shared each other's pleasures and wept each other's
tears," and there was great rejoicing in the fort over news from
"home." I have in my possession a collection of letters from General
Gibson, Commissary General of Subsistence, received by my father,
which are interesting relics of those eventful years of privation and
hardship, of which the soldier of the present day can have but a faint
conception.

The first few letters are directed to St. Louis, to be forwarded to
the Fifth Regiment, wherever it might be; one or two are in regard to
furnishing rations to Indians who may visit the agencies of the United
States on business or otherwise, and authorizing the Commissary to
issue rations to them on the requisition of the Indian agents. I find
here a letter of instruction from the War Department to General
Gibson, and insert it, as indicating the policy of the Government in
regard to the Indians:

"_Sir:_ It is customary for the Government to furnish rations
to the Indians who may visit the agencies of the United
States upon business or otherwise, and I have to request that
you will direct the officers of your department, stationed at
posts in the vicinity of the agencies at Fort Wayne, Piqua,
Chicago, Green Bay and Mitch-ele-mack-i-nack[A] to issue
rations on the returns and requisitions of the Indian agents
at those places. The requisitions in every case must be
accompanied by a return of the number of Indians to be
furnished, and both must be filed with the account of the
officer making the issue to obtain a credit for the amount of
settlement.

I am, etc., J. C. CALHOUN.

_To Colonel George Gibson, Com. Gen. of Subsistence._"

This letter is dated August 30th, 1819, before the troops had reached
the mouth of the St. Peters, and was intended, no doubt, as a guide to
the officers in their dealing with the Indians.

In the list of rations to be issued to the command, I notice that
whisky has its place, and in turning over the leaves of this
manuscript book, I find a letter from an officer of the army, Captain
J. H. Hook, on duty at Washington, D. C., making various inquiries of
my father relative to the condition of the troops, the best way of
issuing rations, the best and most desirable articles as rations, the
wastage of each article, the precaution to guard against wastage, etc.

One inquiry will be interesting, in the light of the present feeling
on the temperance question: "_First_--Would not, in your opinion, the
service be benefitted by dispensing with the whisky ration?
_Second_--Could the soldier be brought to submit cheerfully to the
privation?"

This suggestion seems to have been acted upon, for I see a general
order dated May 11th, 1820, to the effect that "the President was
authorized to make such alterations in the component parts of the
rations as a due regard to health and comfort may require; and it is
hereby ordered that hereafter no issues of whisky will be made to boys
under eighteen or to women attached to the army." In the case of
soldiers on "extra duty," each was to receive one gill a day, and I
distinctly recall the demijohn with the gill cup hanging on its neck,
and the line of "extra duty men" who came up each morning for their
perquisite. In those days there seemed nothing wrong in this; but,
with the added light and wisdom of sixty years, all right-minded
people would now regard it as every way evil.

I find a letter concerning a contract with Joseph Rolette, of Prairie
du Chien, for furnishing the troops at Fort Snelling with fresh beef.
"The Commissary General directs that Mr. Rolette shall give a bond
duly signed by him, that Colonel Snelling may designate and transmit
it to this office, with the understanding that the Messrs. Astors, of
New York, will unite with him in the bond." In consequence of some
misunderstanding, owing to the extreme delay of communicating with
headquarters, the contract was cancelled, much to the disappointment
of Mr. Rolette. In examining these letters of directions with regard
to supplies and the time consumed in their transmission from the seat
of government, my wonder is, that the troops at this remote station
did not starve to death while waiting for authority to obtain
supplies. Pork, flour, whisky, beans, candles and salt were sent from
St. Louis, but, owing to the great difficulty of transportation, there
was much delay and frequent loss by depredations of the inhabitants of
the country through which the Government wagons passed. Beef was
supplied from Prairie du Chien, or some point nearer than St. Louis.
The following is a list of contract prices of articles purchased at
St. Louis:

$ Cts. Mills.
Pork, per pound, 7 1
Whisky, per gallon, 50
Soap, per pound, 10
Salt, per bushel, 2.00
Beans or peas, per bushel, 1.80
Vinegar, per gallon, 22
Corn meal, per pound, 2 2-1/2

Soon after the establishment of the fort, my father, as Commissary,
was requested by General Gibson to learn by experiment if wheat could
be raised in this part of the world, and the result proving that it
was a possibility, he was ordered to supply the garrison, at least in
part, with flour of their own raising. A letter bearing date August
5th, 1823, informs him that, "having learned by a letter from Colonel
Snelling to the Quartermaster General, dated April 2d, that a large
quantity of wheat may be raised this summer," the Assistant Commissary
of Subsistence at St. Louis had been directed to send to St. Peters
(as the fort was often called) such tools as should be necessary to
secure the grain and manufacture the flour, adding, "if any flour is
manufactured from the wheat raised, please let me know as early as
possible, that I may deduct the quantity manufactured at the post from
the quantity advertised to be contracted for," and here follows the
bill for the articles ordered for the purpose specified above:

One pair burr mill-stones, $250.11
337 pounds plaster of Paris, 20.22
Two dozen sickles, at $9, 18.00
-------
$288.33

This, then, was the outfit for the first flour mill in that part of
the great Northwest which was to be named "Minnesota" in later years,
and to become the greatest flour manufactory in the world. Remembering
clearly the great complaint of the destruction of grain by black
birds, I cannot think that the amount of wheat raised ever made the
command independent of outside supplies; but, having played around the
old mill many times, I know it was used for the purpose for which it
was fitted up.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: Mackinaw.]

_CHAPTER V._

Soon after we took possession of the fort, a post school was
established and some will remember the old school house just beyond
the main entrance, which has been used for various purposes, in later
years. It was there we children assembled day after day to learn to
spell in Webster's spelling book and to read in that time-honored
volume, of the "boy who stole the apples;" of the conceited "country
milk maid" who spilled her milk with a toss of her head; and of the
good "dog Tray," who fell into bad company and suffered the
consequences.

Our teacher was considered very competent for his work, but was a
violent tempered man and only maintained his position a few years, but
what we learned then, we know now, and the thorough drill we received
each day, turned out correct spellers, and good readers; with all the
improvements in the way of text books and methods, I do not think the
results, as far as fundamental education goes, are more satisfactory
now than then.

Another of my earliest recollections is the Sunday School, established
by Mrs. Colonel Snelling and my mother. There was no Chaplain allowed
us then no Sabbath service and these Christian women felt they could
not live or bring up their children in that way. They therefore
gathered the children together on Sabbath afternoons in the basement
room of the commanding officer's quarters, and held a service, with
the aid of the Episcopal prayer book, both of them being devout
members of that branch of the church, and taught the little ones from
the Bible. They had no lesson papers; no Sunday School library; no
Gospel songs; no musical instrument, but they had the Word of God in
their hands, and His love in their hearts, and were marvellously
helped in their work of love, which grew and broadened out, till it
took in the parents as well as the children, and a Bible class was
formed in which all felt a deep interest. Some who were not firm
believers in the truths contained in the Book of books, but who came
together just simply to pass away the time, were convinced of its
truth and found there the hope which is an "anchor to the soul both
sure and steadfast." I can remember the deep interest which all, even
the little ones evinced in the characters of whom we studied, how we
talked of them during the week, and chose our favorites, and how all
became deeply attached to Moses and dwelt upon his loveliness, his
unselfishness, his patience and his great love to the rebellious
people under his care. And we wept as for a dear friend when we read
that "he went up from the plains of Moab into the mountain of Nebo to
the top of Pisgah, that is over against Jericho" and viewed the land
which he might never enter, and died there and was buried by no human
hands; and "no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day." The day
following this sorrowful lesson, my mother in crossing the parade
ground, met Captain David Hunter who looked so sad and downcast that
she was distressed for him, and said: "What is the matter, Captain?
are you sick or have you had bad news?" He replied: "Oh, no! Mrs.
Clark, I am not sick or in personal trouble, but don't you feel sorry
that Moses is dead?" I have enlarged somewhat on this Sunday School
because it was somewhat peculiar, and because it was, as there are
good grounds for believing, the first Sunday School organized in this
Northwestern region, perhaps the first Northwest of Detroit.

The country around the fort was beautiful, the climate invigorating,
and in spite of the inconveniences and annoyances experienced by the
pioneer regiment they were not without their enjoyments and
recreations, and looking back through the years, recalling the social
gatherings at each others fireside in the winter, the various indoor
amusements, and the delightful rides and rambles in the summer, I feel
that ours was a happy life.

But the most charming of all our recreations was a ride to "Little
Falls" now "Minnehaha." The picture in my mind of this gem of beauty,
makes the sheet of water wider and more circular than it is now, I
know it was fresher and newer, and there was no saloon there then, no
fence, no tables and benches, cut up and disfigured with names and
nonsense, no noisy railroad, no hotel, it was just our dear pure
"Little Falls" with its graceful ferns, its bright flowers, its bird
music and its lovely water-fall. And while we children rambled on the
banks, and gathered pretty fragrant things fresh from their Maker's
hand, listening the while to sweet sounds in the air, and to the
joyous liquid music of the laughing water, there may have been some
love-making going on in the cozy nooks and corners on the hill side or
under the green trees, for in later years, I have now and then come
upon groups of two, scattered here and there in those same places, who
looked like lovers, which recalled to my mind vividly what I had seen
there long ago. That enchanting spot, so dainty in its loveliness, is
hallowed by a thousand tender associations and it seems more than
cruel to allow its desecration by unholy surroundings and various
forms of vice. Standing beside it now, and remembering it in its
purity, just as God made it, my eyes are full of unshed tears, and its
mellifluous ceaseless song seems pleading to be saved from the
vandalism which threatens to destroy all its sweet influences and make
it common and unclean. But as I, alone, of all who saw it in those
days long gone by, stand mourning by its side, there dawns in my heart
the hope that the half formed purpose now talked of, for making it the
centre of a park for the delight of the two cities between which it
stands, may be perfected, thus saving it from destruction and making
this bright jewel in its setting of green, the very queen of all the
many attractions of this part of our State. Surely no spot in ours or
any other State offers such beauty or so many inducements for such a
purpose, and coming generations will forever bless the men who shall
carry it out, thus preserving our lovely Minnehaha and the charming
surroundings for their own delight and the enjoyment of those who
shall come after them. And we went strawberrying too, children and
mothers and fathers, and young men and maidens, and often now, when
passing through the crowded streets of our great city, I feel that I
am walking over our old strawberry patch. How sweet those berries
were, and how delicious the fish which we caught in the pretty Lakes
Calhoun and Harriet, the one named for the great statesman, the other
for Mrs. Leavenworth. We generally carried our treasures from field
and lake to the "old Government Mill" at the "Big Falls" St. Anthony
and had our feast prepared and set in order by the miller's wife. And
then we had games, not croquet or any of those inventions which were
then in the far future, but "hide and seek;" "blind man's buff;" "hide
the handkerchief;" "hunt the slipper," and such old-fashioned sports
which all enjoyed most heartily, till warned by the lengthening
shadows that it was time to go home, which we generally reached in
time to see the flag lowered to the roll of the sunset drum. Writing
poetry is beyond me, but there was an inspiration in that beautiful
banner, as each day it flung out its stars and stripes over my first
and dearly loved home, which thrills my frame even now, and since the
terrible days when precious blood was poured out so freely to maintain
it in its proud position, it has become indeed a holy thing. May God
protect and bless it, keep it unsullied and speed the day when it
shall float over a nation whose rulers and law-givers shall lay
judgment to the line and righteousness to the plummet, and forever
purge from it everything that in any way dims the brightness or
retards the progress of this beloved "land of the free and home of the
brave."

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