Chapter 5

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.

Next day the chief sat up in bed, painted himself for death, sang his death song, and, with those five fresh, bloody scalps about his neck, lay down and died calmly and peacefully in the comfortable hope, no doubt, of a welcome in the "happy hunting grounds," prepared by the "Good Spirit" for all those Indians who are faithful to their friends, and avenge themselves upon their foes.

A few years ago, I told this story to another "Little Six." "Old Shakopee," as he lay with gyves upon his legs, in our guard house at Fort Snelling, awaiting execution for almost numberless cold-blooded murders, perpetrated during the dreadful massacre of '62. He remembered it all, and his wicked old face lighted up with joy as he told me he was the son of that "Little Six" who made so brave a run for his life, and he showed as much pride and pleasure in listening to the story of his father's treacherous conduct, as the children of our great generals will do some day, when they read or hear of deeds of bravery or daring that their fathers have done.

_CHAPTER XI._

The incident recorded in the preceding chapter occurred in June, 1827, and in the autumn of the same year two companies of our command were ordered to Prairie du Chien to strengthen the garrison there, in anticipation of trouble with the Indians. One of these was Company "C", commanded by our father; the other company was in command of Captain Scott.

We had become so attached to a home so filled with peculiar and very tender associations that our hearts were sad indeed when we bade "good bye" to all, and from the deck of the steamer took our last look at the beloved fort where we had lived so many years. In later years when passing the spot where we bade farewell to the flag which floated over headquarters on that bright morning long ago, I involuntarily look up at the beautiful banner still waving there, and a tender, reverential awe steals over me, as when standing by the grave of a friend long buried.

We had hardly been a year at Fort Crawford when my father was detailed on recruiting service, and ordered to Nashville, Tennessee. This was in 1828, memorable as the year of the presidential campaign which resulted in the election to that high office of General Andrew Jackson. When our friend Mr. Parton was writing his "Life of Jackson," I gave him, at his request, my impressions as a child, of the great man, with whom we were daily and intimately associated, and now transfer those impressions from that great work, "Parton's Life of Jackson," to the pages of this unpretentious record of past times.

At the time referred to, our family boarded at the "Nashville Inn," kept by a Mr. Edmonson, the home of all the military officers whom duty or pleasure called to Nashville. It had also been for a long time the stopping place of General Jackson and his wife, whenever they left their beloved "Hermitage" for a temporary sojourn in the city. Eating at the same table with persons who attracted so much attention, and meeting them familiarly in the public and private sitting rooms of the hotel, I of course felt well acquainted with them, and my recollections of them are very vivid even now. The General's appearance has been so often and correctly described that it would seem almost unnecessary to touch upon it here; but it will do no harm to give my impressions of him.

Picture to yourself a military-looking man, above the ordinary height, dressed plainly, but with great neatness; dignified and grave--I had almost said stern, but always courteous and affable; with keen, searching eyes, iron-gray hair standing stiffly up from an expansive forehead; a face somewhat furrowed by care and time, and expressive of deep thought and active intellect, and you have before you the General Jackson who has lived in my memory from my childhood. Side by side with him stands a coarse-looking, stout little old woman, whom you might easily mistake for his washerwoman, were it not for the marked attention he pays her, and the love and admiration she manifests for him. Her eyes are bright, and express great kindness of heart; her face is rather broad, her features plain, her complexion so dark as almost to suggest a mingling of races in that climate where such things sometimes occur. But withal, her face is so good natured and motherly, that you immediately feel at ease with her, however shy you may be of the stately person by her side. Her figure is rather full, but loosely and carelessly dressed, with no regard to the fashions of the day, so that, when she is seated, she seems to settle into herself, in a manner that is neither graceful nor elegant. I have seen such forms since, and have thought I should like to experiment upon them with French corsets, to see what they would look like if they were gathered into some permanent shape. This is Mrs. Jackson. I have heard my mother say, she could imagine that in her early youth, at the time the General yielded to her fascinations, she may have been a bright, sparkling brunette, perhaps may have even passed for a beauty; but being without any culture, and out of the way of refining influences, she was at the time we knew her, such as I have described. Their affection for each other was of the tenderest kind. The General always treated her as if she was his pride and glory, and words can faintly describe her devotion to him. The "Nashville Inn" was at this time filled with celebrities, nearly all warm supporters of the General. The Stokes family, of North Carolina, were there, particular friends of his; the Blackburns, and many other old families, whose names have escaped my memory. I well recollect to what disadvantage Mrs. Jackson appeared, with her dowdyfied figure, her inelegant conversation, and her total want of refinement, in the midst of this bevy of highly-cultivated, aristocratic women; and I recall very distinctly how the ladies of the Jackson party hovered near her at all times, apparently to save her from saying or doing anything which might do discredit to their idol. With all her disadvantages in externals, I know she was really beloved. She was a truly good woman, the very soul of benevolence and kindness, and one almost overlooked her deficiencies in the knowledge of her intrinsic worth and her real goodness of heart. With a different husband, and under different circumstances, she might have appeared to greater advantage, but there could not be a more striking contrast than was manifest in this dignified, grand-looking man and this plain, common-looking little woman. And the strangest of it all was, the General did not seem at all aware of it. She was his ideal of every thing that was good, and loving, and true, and, utterly unconscious of any external deficiencies, he yielded her the entire homage of his own brave, loyal heart. My father visited them more than once at the Hermitage. It was customary for the officers of the army to do this, as a mark of respect to the General, and they frequently remained at their hospitable mansion several days at a time. The latch-string was always out, and all who visited them were made welcome, and felt themselves at home.

An anecdote which my father told us, characteristic of Mrs. Jackson, impressed my young mind very forcibly. After the evening meal at the Hermitage, as he and some other officers were seated with the worthy couple by their ample fireplace, Mrs. Jackson, as was her favorite custom, lighted her pipe, and having taken a whiff or two, handed it to my father, saying, "Honey, won't you take a smoke?"