Chapter II

_Indians, Dugouts, and Wolves_

In that early day when my acquaintance with the Mississippi began,

Indians were numerous. Their dugouts lay at the levee by the dozen,

the hunters retailing the ducks and geese, or venison and bear meat,

which had fallen to their guns, while the squaws peddled catfish and

pickerel that had been ensnared on the hooks and lines of the women

and children of the party.

Situated as Prescott was at the junction of the St. Croix with the

Mississippi, its citizens were favored with visits both from the

Chippewa, who hunted and fished along the former stream and its

tributaries in Wisconsin, and the Sioux, who made the bottom lands on

the Minnesota side of the river, between Hastings and Red Wing, their

home and hunting ground. This was the boundary line which had existed

for a hundred years or more; although the Sioux (or Dakota) laid

claim to many thousand square miles of hunting grounds in Wisconsin,

for which they actually received a million and a half dollars when

they quit-claimed it to the United States. Their claim to any lands

on the east side of the river had been disputed by the Chippewa from

time out of mind; and these rival claims had occasionally been, as

we have seen, referred to the only court of arbitration which the

Indians recognized--that of the tomahawk and scalping knife.

As a boy I have spent many an hour searching in the sands at the

foot of the bluffs below Prescott, for arrowheads, rusted remnants

of knives and hatchets, and for the well-preserved brass nails with

which the stocks and butts of old-time trade muskets were plentifully

ornamented. Just how many years ago that battle had been fought, does

not appear to be a matter of historical record. That it was fiercely

contested, is abundantly proven by the great amount of wreckage of

the fight which the white lads of Prescott recovered to be sold to

tourists on the steamboats which touched at our levee. The Indians

themselves had a tradition that it was a bloody fight. Taking the

word of a Chippewa narrator, one was easily convinced that hundreds

of Sioux bit the sand on that eventful day. If the narrator happened

to belong across the river, one felt assured, after listening to

his version, that the Chippewa met their Marathon on this battle

plain. In any case the treasure trove indicated a very pretty fight,

whichever party won the field.

Charlevoix, the French historian, relates that in 1689 Le Seuer

established a fortified trading post on the west side of the

Mississippi, about eight miles below the present site of Hastings. In

speaking of this fort, he says:

"The island has a beautiful prairie, and the French of Canada

have made it a centre of commerce for the western parts, and

many pass the winter here, because it is a good country for

hunting."

As a boy I have many a time visited the site of this ancient

stronghold, and hobnobbed with the Indians then occupying the ground,

descendants of those with whom the French fraternized two hundred

years ago. At this point the islands are about four miles across from

the main channel of the river; the islands being formed by Vermillion

Slough, which heads at Hastings, reëntering the river about two and a

half miles above Red Wing. Trudell Slough, which heads in the river

about four miles below Prescott, joins Vermillion at the point at

which was probably located Le Seuer's post. At the juncture of the

two sloughs there was a beautiful little prairie of several acres.

On the west, the bluffs rose several hundred feet to the level

prairie which constitutes the upper bench. Just at this point there

are three mounds rising fifty to seventy-five feet above the level

of the prairie, and serving as a landmark for miles around. Whether

they are of geological origin or the work of the Indians in their

mound-building epoch, had not been determined in my day. There are

other prominences of like character everywhere about, and it would

seem that they were erected by the hand of man.

On the north, east, and south the islands afforded good hunting

grounds for the French and their allies. In 1854 and later (I think

even yet), the site of this ancient fort was occupied by a band of

Sioux Indians of Red Wing's tribe, under the sub-chieftaincy of a

French half-breed named Antoine Mouseau (Mo'-sho). In Neill's history

of the settlement of St. Paul he mentions Louis Mouseau as one of the

first settlers occupying, in 1839, a claim lying at the lower end of

Dayton Bluff, about two miles down the river from the levee. This

Antoine Mouseau, a man about forty in 1854, was probably a son of the

St. Paul pioneer and of a squaw of Red Wing's band.

In the days when the white boys of Prescott made adventurous

trips "down to Mo-sho's", the islands were still remarkably rich

in game--deer, bear, wolves, 'coons, mink, muskrats, and other

fur-bearing animals; and in spring and fall the extensive rice swamps

literally swarmed with wild fowl. Two or three of the adventures

which served to add spice to such visits as we made with the little

red men of Mouseau's tribe, will serve to illustrate the sort of life

which was led by all Prescott boys in those early days. They seemed

to be a part of the life of the border, and were taken as a matter of

course. Looking back from this distance, and from the civilization

of to-day, it seems miraculous to me that all of those boys were not

drowned or otherwise summarily disposed of. As a matter of fact none

of them were drowned, and to the best of my knowledge none of them

have as yet been hanged. Most of them went into the Union army in the

War of Secession, and some of them are sleeping where the laurel and

magnolia bend over their last resting places.

The water craft with which the white boys and Indian boys alike

traversed the river, rough or smooth, and explored every creek,

bayou, and slough for miles around, were "dug-outs"--canoes hollowed

out of white pine tree trunks. Some canoes were large and long, and

would carry four or five grown persons. Those owned and used by the

boys were from six to eight feet long, and just wide enough to take

in a not too-well-developed lad; but then, all the boys were lean

and wiry. It thus happened that the Blaisdells, the Boughtons, the

Fifields, the Millers, the Merricks, the Schasers, the Smiths, and

the Whipples, and several other pairs and trios ranging from fourteen

years down to seven, were pretty generally abroad from the opening

of the river in the spring until its closing in the fall, hunting,

fishing and exploring, going miles away, up or down the river or

lake, and camping out at night, often without previous notice to

their mothers. With a "hunk" of bread in their pockets, some matches

to kindle a fire, a gun and fishlines, they never were in danger of

starvation, although always hungry.

One of the incidents referred to, I accept more on the evidence of

my brother than of my own consciousness of the situation when it

occurred. He was eleven at the time, and I fourteen. We each had a

little pine "dug-out", just large enough to carry one boy sitting in

the stern, and a reasonable cargo of ducks, fish or fruit. With such

a load the gunwales of the craft were possibly three or four inches

above the water line. The canoe itself was round on the bottom,

and could be rolled over and over by a boy lying flat along the

edges, with his arms around it, as we often did for the amusement of

passengers on the boats--rolling down under water and coming up on

the other side, all the time holding fast to the little hollowed-out

log. Such a craft did not appear to be very seaworthy, nor well

calculated to ride over rough water. Indeed, under the management of

a novice they would not stay right side up in the calmest water.

For the boys who manned them, however, whether whites or Indians,

they were as seaworthy as Noah's ark, and much easier to handle.

A show piece much in vogue, was to stand on the edge of one of

these little round logs (not over eight feet long), and with a

long-handled paddle propel the thing across the river. This was not

always, nor usually, accomplished without a ducking; but it often

was accomplished by white boys without the ducking, and that even

when there was some wind and little waves. The Indian lads would not

try it in public. For one thing, it was not consonant with Indian

dignity; for another, an Indian, big or little, dislikes being

laughed at, and a ducking always brought a laugh when there were any

spectators. I cannot, after all these years, get over an itching to

try this experiment again. I believe that I could balance myself all

right; but the difference between sixty pounds and a hundred and

sixty might spoil the game.

Some boys, more fortunate than others, were from time to time

possessed of birch-bark canoes--small ones. Of all the craft that

ever floated, the birch-bark comes nearer being the ideal boat than

any other. So light is it, that it may be carried on the head and

shoulders for miles without great fatigue; and it sits on the water

like a whiff of foam--a veritable fairy craft. It was the custom of

the boys who owned these little "birches" to shove them off the sand

with a run, and when they were clear of the land to jump over the

end, and standing erect, paddle away like the wind. This was another

show piece, and was usually enacted for the benefit of admiring

crowds of Eastern passengers on the steamboats.

On one such occasion, a young man from the East who professed to be

a canoeist, and who possibly was an expert with an ordinary canoe,

came off the boat, and after crossing the palm of the birch-bark's

owner with a silver piece, proposed to take a little paddle by

himself. The boy was an honest boy, as boys averaged then and there,

and although not averse to having a little fun at the expense of the

stranger, in his capacity of lessor he deemed it his duty to caution

his patron that a birch-bark was about as uncertain and tricky a

proposition as any one would wish to tackle--especially such a little

one as his own was. He proposed to hold it until his passenger had

stepped in and sat down and was ready to be shoved off. This was

the usual procedure, and it had its good points for the average

tourist. But this one had seen the boys shoving the same canoe off

the sand and jumping over the stern, and he proposed to do the same

thing, because he was used to canoes himself. Against the cautions

of the owner he _did_ shove off and jump, but he did not alight

in the canoe. That elfish little piece of Indian deviltry was not

there when he arrived; it slipped out from under him, sidewise, and

with a spring which jumped it almost clear of the water it sailed

away before the wind, while the canoeist went headfirst into six or

eight feet of water, silk hat, good clothes and all, amid the howls

of delight from the passengers on the steamer who had been watching

him. He was game, however, and admitted that he had never imagined

just how light and ticklish a birch-bark was; nor how much science

it required to jump _squarely_ over the stern of such a fragile

creation and maintain one's balance. Woodmen and canoeists familiar

with "birches" will understand just how small a deviation is required

to bring discomfiture. A little carelessness on the part of an old

hand is often just as fatal as a little ignorance on the part of the

tenderfoot.

But I digress. On the trip concerning which I started to tell, my

brother and I had been down to the Indian village and were on our way

home. When we emerged from Trudell Slough we found a gale blowing

from the south, against the current of the river, and great combing

waves were running, through which it seemed impossible to ride in

our little boats. However, we had to cross the river in order to get

home, and we did not long debate the question. Being the oldest I

took the lead, Sam following. He was but eleven years old, and had

a boat all by himself to manage in that sea. But he could paddle

a canoe as well as any Indian boy. I also could paddle, and being

older, nearly fourteen, was supposed to have the wisdom of the ages

in the matter of judgment in meeting and riding combers.

Under these conditions, I started out to make the crossing. My

brother has told me since that he never thought of any danger to

himself; but he figured, a dozen times, that I was gone--in fact he

lost three or four good bets that I would not come up again after

going down out of sight. My canoe would go down into the trough of

the sea at the same time that his did, thus he would lose track

of me. He had to keep his eyes on the "combers" and meet them at

just the right angle, or he himself would have been the "goner".

Sometimes he would not locate me until he had met three or four big

ones. Then he would rise over the tops of the waves at the same time

and would be able to reassure himself that I was still right side

up and paddling for life, and that he was out another bet. I do not

know that I thought of the danger at all, as I simply had my canoe

to look out for. Had Sam been in front I would have realized, as he

did, that we were taking lots of chances, and would have learned from

the diving of his craft just how great the danger really was, as he

did. We shipped a good deal of water--that is, a good deal for the

amount we could afford to take in and maintain any margin between the

gunwales of our canoes and the water outside. Before we got across we

were sitting in several inches of water, but a little baling cleared

this out as soon as we reached the Wisconsin side, and we proceeded

up the river, hugging the shore and keeping in the eddies and under

the points, without further adventures. I do not think we mentioned

the crossing as anything to brag of, as under the circumstances any

of the boys would have done the same thing in the same way.

One other incident in which the little canoe figured, involved the

closest call to drowning I ever had as a boy. Again I was out with my

brother, some ten miles down the river, near Diamond Bluff, fishing

and scouting about in the customary manner. Sam was ahead of me, and

had landed on a pile of driftwood lodged against a giant cottonwood

which had been undermined by the eating away of the river bank.

In falling, one or more of its branches had been so deeply driven

into the bottom of the river that it held at right angles with the

current, extending out fifty feet or more into the channel. Against

this obstruction all sorts of logs, lumber, and other drift had

lodged, forming a large raft. My brother had run in under the lower

side of this and climbed out, preparatory to dropping his line for

fish. I, doubtless carelessly, drifted down toward the upper side.

One of the limbs which did not quite reach the surface so as to be

seen, caught my little vessel and in an instant I was in the water,

and under the raft. I thought I was surely gone, for I supposed that

the driftwood was deep enough to catch and hold me. I had presence of

mind enough left, however, to do the only thing which was left--dive

as deeply as possible, and with open eyes steer clear of the many

branches through which I had to find my way toward the open water

on the lee side of the raft. Sam ran to the lower side to catch me

if I came up--an expectation which he had little hope of realizing,

thinking as I did that I would be caught like a rat in a trap, and

never come up until dug out. Fortunately the drift was not deep, and

the limbs not very close together, and I popped up as I cleared the

last log, but with so little breath left that another ten feet would

have drowned me. Sam caught me by the hand and "yanked" me out on the

drift, where I lay and took in air for some minutes to fill out my

collapsed lungs. In another ten minutes we were fishing as if nothing

had happened.

In these upsets which we were almost daily experiencing, our costumes

played an important though passive part. The entire uniform of the

average river lad of those days consisted of a pair of blue jean

trousers, a calico shirt, a home-made straw hat, and sometimes a

pair of "galluses". The last named item indicated an extravagant

expenditure; one "gallus" was ample for all practical purposes;

the second represented luxury and wanton extravagance. With such a

costume a boy in the water was practically unhampered, and could

and did swim with all the freedom of an unclothed cupid. One of the

customary relaxations of the Prescott boys was to run down Orange

Street when school "let out", in single file, dressed as above

described, hats and all, and dive from the ledge of rocks fifteen

feet high into water forty feet deep.

It was on one of these excursions that I had the only real scare of

my life. This may sound like braggadocio, but it is a fact. I have

been in places since that time, where I thought death imminent, and

knew that it was possible, if not probable, at any moment; but in

such situations I have more or less successfully been able to conceal

the fact of fear. In the case in question I did not attempt to

conceal from myself the fact that I was sincerely alarmed.

We had, late in the autumn, landed at a desolate _coulee_ several

miles below Prescott. I had gone back about half a mile from the

river, on to the prairie, leaving my brother at the canoe. Suddenly I

heard the long-drawn hunting cry of a wolf. Looking in the direction

of the sound I saw a big grey timber wolf loping toward me with the

speed of a race horse. His cries were answered from a distance, and

then I saw six other big wolves bounding over the prairie after me.

I looked around for some place of safety and saw at some distance--a

good deal less than a quarter of a mile, as I know it now, but it

looked all of that at the time--a small burr oak, the only tree near

enough to be available in this crisis. I knew enough about the big

timber wolves to know that I would instantly be in ribbons after they

were upon me. One alone might be kept off; but seven would have the

courage of numbers, and would make short work of a single boy. Then

I was scared. I could actually feel every hair upon my head standing

straight on end, as stiff as Hamlet's "quills upon the fretful

porcupine". It has been worth all that it cost, this hair-raising

experience, as an interpretation of the much-quoted expression from

the immortal Bard of Avon.

A good runner, I had a full half mile the start of the leading wolf.

I did not wait for him greatly to diminish the lead, but "lit out"

for the little burr oak. I covered the ground in the shortest time I

had ever devoted to a like distance, and although very nearly winded

jumped for the lower limbs and pulled myself up just in time to

escape the teeth of the forward beast. In another minute there were

seven of them, leaping to within a few feet of my legs as I stood on

a branch of the small tree, as high up as I dared to go.

My brother had heard the cries of the wolves, and running to the top

of the bank had watched the race with great interest. When the tree

was safely reached he shouted to me to hold on and he would go for

help, and he at once started for Prescott, four miles away, against

the current. For some reason which I have never been able to explain,

the wolves, after yelping and leaping for an hour or so, suddenly

started off across the prairie, and when they had gone a mile away I

climbed down and ran for home. In the meantime my hair had resumed

its normal position, and never since, under any circumstances, have

I experienced a like sensation. I presume that the thought of being

torn to pieces by the wolves, a contingency which seemingly was quite

probable, added a horror to the imminence of death which was not

present at a time when there was an equal chance of being drowned.

It was not because I did not know all about wolves, for I did. Their

cries were familiar sounds in that wild country, and their ferocity

had been proven time and again; but I had never heard nor seen them

when it meant quite so much to me, nor when the chances seemed so

slim.