\'Three Score Years and Ten\'

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

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Soon after our return, my father and Major Garland obtained permission
to build more commodious quarters outside the walls, and the result
was the erection of the two stone cottages nearly opposite the old
Indian Agency, a few rods from the fort. The grounds about them were
improved and beautified with flowers and shrubs, and the change was
very beneficial and agreeable to us all. Here, I remember, we had
regular instruction in the fundamental English branches from our
father, whose great anxiety was that we might suffer for want of good
schools; and so great was his zeal and thoroughness in this direction,
that in after years, when we had greater advantages, it was found that
we were fully up to the grade of children of our age who had been to
school all their lives.

The two families became much attached to each other, and when Major
Garland was ordered elsewhere, we felt the separation keenly. We have
never met since that time. One of the Major's daughters, my early
friend and playmate, married General Longstreet, and the time came
when our husband's stood on opposite sides in the lamentable civil
war. Thank God, that is all over now, and should we ever meet again,
we could talk lovingly of the old times when, as children, we played
together under one flag, in happy unconsciousness of the trials and
sorrows that lay before us.

_CHAPTER VIII._

A WOLF STORY.

Among the recreations which relieved the tedium of garrison life, was
an occasional wolf chase. I am too tender hearted to call it an
amusement, but it was exceedingly exciting. The animal having been
caught in a box-trap, and not maimed or crippled in any way, was first
muzzled, and then let loose for a race for its life over the prairies,
with hounds and hunters in full pursuit. All the blue coats and brass
buttons of the hunters did not make that a brave thing to do, but the
wolves were great nuisances, and it was long before the days of Bergh.
On one of these occasions, the wolf was led to the starting point by
some soldiers to be prepared for the chase, but none of them really
liked the idea of taking hold of his fierce looking jaws while the
muzzling process was going on. My brother, Malcolm, a boy of seven or
eight, and already an apt pupil of Martin Scott, stepped up and
grasping the animal's snout with his little hands, called out: "Muzzle
him now, I'll hold him," and they did it. Those who know how the land
lies, and how well adapted it was for such a chase, can readily
imagine that for those who like such sport, it must have been very
enjoyable, and a great relief from the monotony of life in a frontier
fort.

During the winter of '25 and '26, the wolves were unusually
troublesome, and came every night to the barns and out-houses,
carrying off any small stock they could find. We were occupying the
stone cottage at that time, and my brother and I were much interested
in the case of some chickens and other pets which we were allowed to
call ours.

Of course we grieved over the result of these nightly raids, and,
finally, thought we would try and catch some of the marauders; so
procuring a steel-trap, we had a dead carcass of some animal hauled to
the foot of our garden, and began our work in real earnest. Our
success was far beyond our hopes, and it was our custom to rise every
morning at reveille, dress ourselves hastily and run down to look at
the trap, which was rarely without an occupant. One morning, to our
astonishment, the trap was gone, but the blood on the snow, and the
peculiar track leading toward the woods, satisfied us that a wolf was
in that trap somewhere between the fort and the "Little Falls." Hoping
to find him near home, we started in pursuit, without any protection
from the cold, which was intense, but the sun shone so brightly that
we did not think of the cold; our one idea was--the wolf, and how to
catch him. I was bare-headed and bare-handed; my brother, boy-like,
had seized his cap and mittens as he left the house, and was better
off than I. After traveling on, and on, not in the beaten path, but
wherever that track led us, we, of course, became cold and very
tired, but still could not think of giving up our search, and my dear,
brave brother insisted on my wearing his cap and mittens, saying,
"boys can stand the cold better than girls." We must have gone more
than a mile when our consciences, aided by the cold, began to warn us
that we were doing wrong, that our parents would be anxious about us,
and we ought to go back, but how could we give up the pleasure of
taking that wolf back in triumph, for the track assured us we should
find him crippled and fast to the trap, and we thought how pleased
Captain Scott would be to see us there with our prisoner as he came
out to breakfast. Looking back over the long years, I can clearly
remember that that thought gave me courage, and enabled me to hold out
so long. But, as we talked the matter over, setting duty against
inclination, and unable to decide, there appeared to us what may have
been an angel in disguise; to us it was an Indian boy in a blanket,
with his bow and quiver, emerging from the bushes very near
"Minnehaha," and thus my brother accosted him: "How! Nitchie." After a
friendly reply to this invariable salutation, Malcolm told him in the
Indian language, which was then as familiar to us as our mother
tongue, why we were there and what we wanted, offering him a loaf of
bread and piece of pork if he would find our wolf and bring him to our
door immediately. The lad gladly closed with the offer, took the trail
and started after him, while we turned our faces homeward. And now,
the excitement of expectancy being over, we began to have serious
misgivings as to the propriety of having gone so far from home without
the knowledge of our parents, and the wind, which blew keenly in our
faces, sided with our consciences, and convinced us we had much better
have either staid at home or prepared ourselves with a permit and good
warm wrappings. It all comes back to me so plainly that I can almost
feel the pinchings of the cold and the torment of a guilty conscience
as I write, and I feel a real pity for these two little children as
they trudge along over the prairie, so troubled and so cold. My dear
brother being older than I, and the chief party interested, generously
took most of the blame to himself, and comforted me as well as he
could, running backwards in front of me to shelter me from the wind,
and assuring me he would tell father all about it, and he would
forgive us. I have carried in my heart of hearts for sixty years the
image of that beautiful, bright-eyed, unselfish brother; and when, not
many years ago, the terrible news came to me that treacherous hands
had taken his precious life, like one of old I cried in my anguish,
"Oh, Malcolm! my brother, would to God that I had died for thee, my
brother, oh, my brother!" Just as we reached our garden fence we heard
the familiar breakfast drum, and saw our father and Captain Scott
walking in a somewhat excited manner, back and forth, and discussing
something, we could not hear what. We afterwards learned it was our
conduct, and that while father felt that we should at least be
severely reprimanded, our friend, the Captain, made him promise he
would say nothing in the way of reproof, until he had drunk his
coffee. In consequence of this we were simply saluted kindly, but not
warmly, and we followed the gentlemen to the breakfast-room, where a
rousing fire in the great fireplace, and a most appetizing breakfast
awaited us, which our long tramp in the bitter morning air had
prepared us to enjoy most thoroughly, notwithstanding the mental
disturbance which could not be allayed, until confession had been made
and forgiveness granted. Just as our meal was ending, a soldier
entered the room, and said: "Malcolm, there is an Indian boy here with
a wolf, who wants to see you." This announcement brought all to their
feet, and every one rushed out so see the sight, and there, with his
foot fast in our trap, lay a large timber-wolf, exhausted with pain
and fatigue. Captain Scott examining him carefully, pronounced him the
very one they had tried in vain to capture, and he congratulated the
little boy and girl who had succeeded so fully where older ones had
failed. That was a proud moment in our lives, but until we had told
our parents how sorry we were to have grieved and distressed them, and
had obtained full pardon, sealed with a loving kiss from each, we
could not wholly enjoy it. Then we gave our Indian a royal breakfast,
and his promised reward beside, and the wolf was taken away and put
out of his misery, while beside the comfortable fireside we told all
about our morning walk, from reveille to breakfast-drum.

After this Captain Scott took me to the Sutler's store, and made me
select for myself a handsome dress, as a present from him, to a brave
little girl, as he was pleased to call me, and he took me in his
sleigh, drawn by one of his beautiful horses (I think his name was
"Telegraph"), back to my mother, telling her, not many little girls of
seven years old could go out before breakfast on a cold morning, and
chase a wolf so successfully. To my brother he gave a pretty pony,
which was a never-ending source of joy to him, and which, under the
skillful training of the mighty hunter, he learned to ride fearlessly
and most gracefully.

The story of this, my first and last wolf hunt, has entertained
children and grandchildren, not only mine, but many others, and has
been repeated so often that it has been learned by heart, so that if,
in telling it, I have sometimes varied the phraseology, I have been
promptly corrected and set right. If any of those, once my little
hearers, should read this written history, it may carry them back to
the days when life was new and fresh, and when adventures of any kind
seemed greater and more important than they do now. "God bless them,
every one."

_CHAPTER IX._

RED RIVER OR SELKIRK SETTLEMENT.

The story of the early days of Minnesota would be incomplete without a
more detailed account of the Red River or Selkirk settlement than the
allusions made to it in the history of the Tully boys, and turning to
"Harpers Monthly" of December 1878, I find a most satisfactory and
interesting history of the enterprise, by General Chetlain of Chicago,
who is a descendant of one of the settlers and is so well and
favorably known in the Northwest as to need no introduction from me.

After speaking of the disastrous effect of the Napoleonic wars on the
social relations of Europe he alludes to the extreme suffering in
Central Europe, and in Switzerland particularly, owing to a failure of
crops from excessive rains in 1816, and says: "the people wearied of
struggles which resulted in their impoverishment, listened eagerly to
the story of a peaceful and more prosperous country beyond the sea." A
few years earlier Thomas Dundas, Earl of Selkirk, a distinguished
nobleman of great wealth had purchased from the Hudson Bay Company a
large tract of land in British America, extending from the Lake of the
Woods and the Winnipeg River eastward for nearly two hundred miles,
and from Lakes Winnipeg and Manitoba to the United States boundary,
part of which is now embraced in the province of Manitoba and in which
are the fertile lands bordering on the Red and Assinniboine Rivers. It
formed a part of "Rupert Land," named in honor of Prince Rupert or
Robert of Bavaria, a cousin of King Charles II of England and one of
the founders and chief managers of the "Hudson Bay Company." In the
year 1811 he had succeeded in planting a large colony of Presbyterians
from the North of Scotland on the Red River, near its junction with
the Assinniboine; this was followed four years later by another but
smaller colony from the same section of Scotland. In consequence of
the stubborn competition and the bitter dissensions between the Hudson
Bay Company and the Northwest Company of Montreal, these were
compelled to abandon their new homes, nearly all of them removing to
Lower Canada. This Scotch settlement having proved almost a total
failure Lord Selkirk turned his attention to the Swiss, for whom he
entertained a great regard. By glowing accounts of the country, and by
the offer of great inducements, which were endorsed by the British
government whose policy it was to favor these emigration schemes, he
succeeded in persuading many young and middle aged men to emigrate to
this new world. The colony numbered two hundred persons, nearly
three-fourths of whom were French or of French origin, they were
Protestants and belonged to the Lutheran church. Some of the families
were descendants of the Hugenots of Eastern France, all were healthy
and robust, well fitted for labor in a new country; most of them were
liberally educated and possessed of considerable means. Among the more
prominent were Monier and Rindesbacher, Dr. Ostertag, Chetlain and
Descombes, Schirmer, afterwards a leading jeweller at Galena,
Illinois, Quinche and Langet. In May 1821, they assembled at a small
village on the Rhine near Basle and in two large flat-boats or barges,
floated down the Rhine, reaching a point near Rotterdam where a
staunch ship, the "Lord Wellington" was in readiness to take them to
their new home towards the setting sun. Their course lay North of
Great Britain and just South of Greenland to Hudson Strait. After a
tedious and most uncomfortable journey they arrived at Hudson Strait,
and after a hard journey of four months they landed at Fort York.
Embarking in batteaux they ascended the Nelson River, and at the end
of twenty days reached Lake Winnipeg, and after encountering all
manner of discouragements arrived at the mouth of the Red River, only
to learn that the locusts or grasshoppers had been before them, and
had literally destroyed all the crops. With heavy hearts they
proceeded up the river thirty-five miles to Fort Douglas, near the
site of the present Fort Garey, then the principal trading post of the
Hudson Bay Company. Governor Alexander McDowell and the other officers
of the company welcomed them cordially and did what was in their
power, to supply their wants and make them comfortable, but they were
by no means able to furnish them with supplies for the coming winter,
and as it was terribly severe there was untold suffering among them.
But by scattering to different points and struggling bravely against
great difficulties, they managed to exist and some of them in time
made permanent homes for themselves, while others feeling they could
not content themselves in what had impressed them as an inhospitable
country, left the settlement as opportunity offered and came nearer
civilization. As early as 1821, some who had put themselves under the
protection of a party of armed drovers, on their return to the States,
having taken some cattle to the settlers, arrived at Fort Snelling and
were kindly cared for by Colonel Josiah Snelling who consented to let
them remain at the fort during the winter. The next spring they
settled on the military reservation near the fort and made homes for
themselves. I well remember my mother's descriptions of these
emigrants as they arrived, so nearly famished, that the surgeon was
obliged to restrict the amount of provisions furnished them lest they
might eat themselves to death.

In the spring of 1823, thirteen more of the colonists started to go to
Missouri, of which country they had heard glowing accounts. They made
the journey as far as Lake Traverse, the headwaters of the St. Peter's
river, four hundred miles, in Red River carts, which need no
description here; where they remained long enough to make canoes, or
dugouts, of the cottonwood trees abundant there, when they began the
descent of the river, and after perils by land and by water, and
perils by savages, who were very hostile to them, they reached "St.
Anthony" in September, and were warmly welcomed by the friends who had
preceded them two years before. After a few weeks rest, our Colonel
furnished them with two small keel-boats and supplies for their
journey, and they went on their way comforted and encouraged. But
probably from the effects of the fatigue and hardships of their long
and wearisome journey, and from the malarial influences, at that time
prevalent on the river, several sickened, and Mr. Monier, the senior
of the party, and his daughter, died and were buried near Prairie du
Chien. Mr. Chetlain also became so ill that he and his family remained
at Rock Island until his recovery, when he joined his friends at St.
Louis, but finally settled at La Pointe, on Fever River, where now
stands the city of Galena, Illinois.

In the spring of 1826, owing to the great rise of water in the
Mississippi and its tributaries, and in the Red and Assinniboine
rivers, caused by the unusual deep snow of the preceding winter, which
had melted with warm and heavy rains, the losses sustained by the
settlers at La Fourche were so heavy that no attempt was made to
repair them, and nearly all the French settlers there became
thoroughly discouraged and left their home. Over the same route their
friends had traveled three years before they came to Fort Snelling,
and nearly all took passage in a small steamboat for the lead mines at
and near La Pointe, Illinois.

I remember well when this party arrived. One of them, a very pretty
girl named Elise, was employed in our family as a nurse for our baby
sister, and remained with us some time.

General Chetlaine closes his very interesting article thus: "The
descendants of these colonists are numerous, and are found scattered
throughout the Northwest, the greater part being in the region of the
lead mines. Most of them are thrifty farmers and stock breeders. A few
have entered the professions and trade. All, as far as is known, are
temperate, industrious, and law-abiding citizens."

_CHAPTER X._

RUNNING THE GAUNTLET.

Like the old man in Dickens' "Child's Story," "I am always
remembering; come and remember with me." I close my eyes and recall an
evening some sixty years ago, when in one of the stone cottages near
Fort Snelling, which was our home at that time, a pleasant company of
officers and their families were spending a social evening with my
parents.

The doors were thrown open, for the weather was warm, and one of the
officers, Captain Cruger, was walking on the piazza, when we were all
startled by the sound of rapid firing near us. The Captain rushed into
the house, much agitated, exclaiming: "That bullet almost grazed my
ear!" What could it mean? Were the Indians surrounding us? Soon the
loud yells and shrieks from the Indian camp near our house made it
evident that the treaty of peace made that afternoon between the Sioux
and Chippewas had ended, as all those treaties did, in treachery and
bloodshed. The principal men of the two nations had met at the Indian
Agency, and in the presence of Major Taliaferro, their "White Father,"
had made a solemn treaty of peace. In the evening, at the wigwam of
the Chippewa chief, they had ratified this treaty by smoking the pipe
of peace together, and then, before the smoke of the emblematic pipe
had cleared away, the treacherous Sioux had gone out and deliberately
fired into the wigwam, killing and wounding several of the
unsuspecting inmates. The Chippewas, of course, returned the fire, and
this was what had startled us all and broken up the pleasant little
gathering at my father's house. The Chippewas, with their wounded,
sought refuge and protection within the walls of the fort, commanded
at that time by Colonel Snelling. They were kindly cared for, and the
wounded were tenderly nursed in our hospital. One, a little girl,
daughter of the chief, excited much sympathy, and I cannot forget the
interest I felt in her, for she was but a year or two older than
myself, and it seemed to me so cruel to ruthlessly put out her young
life. I remember the ladies of the fort were very kind and tender to
her, and, since I have had little girls of my own, I know why. She
lingered but a few days, in great agony, and then God took her out of
her pain to that land where the poor little wandering, wounded child
should know sin or suffering no more.

Meanwhile our prompt and efficient Colonel demanded of the Sioux the
murderers, and in a very few days a body of Sioux were seen, as we
supposed to deliver up the criminals. Two companies of soldiers were
sent to meet them and receive the murderers at their hands. Strange to
say, although they had the men, they refused to give them up, when
our interpreter (I cannot recall his name) stepped out from among our
soldiers, and said: "If you do not yield up these men peaceably, then,
as many leaves as there are on these trees, as many blades of grass as
you see beneath your feet, so many white men will come upon you, burn
your villages and destroy your nation."

A few moments' consideration, a few hurried words of consultation, and
the guilty men were handed over to our troops. The tribe followed as
they were taken into the fort, and, making a small fire within the
walls, the condemned men marched round and round it, singing their
death songs, and then were given up to be put in irons and held in
custody until time should determine how many lives should pay the
forfeit, for it is well known that Indian revenge is literally a life
for a life, and the Colonel had decided to give them into the hands of
the injured tribe, to be punished according to their own customs.

Some weeks passed, and it was found that five lives were to be paid
for in kind. A council of Chippewas decided that the five selected
from the prisoners should run the gauntlet, and it was approved. And
now, back over the lapse of many years I pass, and seem to be a child
again, standing beside my only brother, at the back door of my
father's house. The day is beautiful; the sun is so bright; the grass
so green, all nature so smiling, it is hard to realize what is going
on over yonder, by the graveyard, in that crowd of men and women; for
there are gathered together the Chippewas, old and young men, women
and children, who have come out to witness or take part in this act of
retributive justice. There are blue coats, too, and various badges of
our U. S. uniform; for it is necessary to hold some restraint over
these red men, or there may be wholesale murder; and borne on the
shoulders of his young men, we see the form of the wounded, dying
chief, regarding all with calm satisfaction, and no doubt happy in the
thought that his death, now so near, will not go unavenged. And there
stand the young braves who have been selected as the executioners;
their rifles are loaded, the locks carefully examined, and all is
ready when the word shall be given. There, too, under guard, are the
five doomed men, who are to pay the forfeit for the five lives so
wantonly and treacherously taken.

Away off, I can not tell how many rods, but it seemed to us children a
long _run_, are stationed the Sioux tribe; and that is the goal for
which the wretched men must run for their lives.

And now, all seems ready; the bolts and chains are knocked off, and
the captives are set free. At a word, one of them starts; the rifles,
with unerring aim, are fired, and under cover of the smoke a man falls
dead. They reload; the word is given, and another starts, with a
bound, for _home_; but, ah! the aim of those clear-sighted,
blood-thirsty men is too deadly; and so, one after another, till four
are down.

And then the last, "Little Six", whom, at a distance, we children
readily recognize from his commanding height and graceful form; he is
our friend, and we hope he will get _home_. He starts; they fire; the
smoke clears away, and still he is running. We clap our hands and say,
"He will get home!" but, another volley, and our favorite, almost at
the goal, springs into the air and comes down--dead! I cover my face,
and shed tears of real sorrow for our friend.

And now follows a scene that beggars description. The bodies, all warm
and limp, are dragged to the brow of the hill. Men, who at the sight
of blood become fiends, tear off the scalps, and hand them to the
chief, who hangs them around his neck. Women and children with
tomahawks and knives, cut deep gashes in the poor dead bodies, and
scooping up the hot blood with their hands, eagerly drink it. Then,
grown frantic, they dance and yell, and sing their horrid scalp-songs,
recounting deeds of valor on the part of their brave men, and telling
of the Sioux scalps taken in former battles, until, at last, tired and
satiated with their ghoul-like feast, they leave the mutilated bodies
festering in the sun. At nightfall they are thrown over the bluff into
the river, and my brother and myself, awe-struck and quiet, trace
their hideous voyage down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico. We
lie awake at night talking of the dreadful thing we have seen; and we
try to imagine what the people of New Orleans will think when they
see those ghastly up-turned faces; and we talk with quivering lips and
tearful eyes of "Little Six," and the many kind things he has done for
us--the bows and arrows, the mocauks of sugar, the pretty beaded
moccasins he has given us; and we wish, oh! we wish he could have run
faster, or that the Chippewa rifles had missed fire. And we sleep and
dream of scalps, and rifles, and war-whoops, and frightful yells, and
wake wishing it had all been a dream.

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