Читать книгу Old Rail Fence Corners - Various - Страница 15

When I came to Stillwater in 1848, I thought I had got to the end of the line. I came up on the Sentinel with Captain Steve Hanks. He was captain of a raft boat then. It took ten days to come from Albany, Illinois. There was nothing to parade over in those days. We took it as it come and had happy lives. Stillwater was a tiny, struggling village under the bluffs—just one street. A little later a few people built in the bluffs and we would climb up the paths holding onto the hazelbrush to help us up. Stillwater was headquarters for Minnesota lumbering then. We would all gather together and in about two minutes would be having a good time—playing cards or dancing. The mill boarding house had the largest floor to dance on and we used to go there often. We used to waltz and dance contra dances. None of these new jigs and not wear any clothes to speak of. We covered our hides in those days; no tight skirts like now. You could take three or four steps inside our skirts and then not reach the edge. One of the boys would fiddle awhile and then someone would spell him and he could get a dance. Sometimes they would dance and fiddle too.

We would often see bears in the woods. They were very thick.

When we staged it to St. Paul down the old Government Road, we would go down a deep ravine and up again before we really got started. We paid a dollar each way. Once they charged me a dollar for my little girl sitting in my lap. We used to pass Jack Morgan's.

Once we moved out on the Government Road, three miles from Morgan's. It was a lonesome place. The Chippewas and Sioux were on the warpath as usual. A large party of Sioux camped right by us. They were dressed for what they were going after, a war dance, and were all painted and feathered. They were looking in the windows always. It used to make me sick to see their tracks where they had gone round and round the house. My husband was on the survey most of the time so I was there alone with my baby a great deal. One Sunday I was all alone when a lot of bucks come in—I was so frightened I took my baby's little cradle and set it on the table. She had curly hair and they would finger it and talk in their lingo. When they left I took the baby and hailed the first team going by and made them come and stay with me. It was the Cormacks from St. Anthony. I made my husband move back to Stillwater the next day.

The Sioux killed a Chippewa father and mother and took the son, twelve years old, captive. They had the scalp dance in Stillwater and had the poor child in the center of the circle with his father's and mother's gory scalps dangling from the pole above him. I never was so sorry for a young one.

Old Doctor Carli was our doctor. Our bill was only one dollar for a whole year. If he had not had money laid back, he could never have lived.

Once in the winter, Mrs. Durant and I were going along, I was behind her. The boys were coasting and went 'way out onto Lake St. Croix. They struck me full tilt and set me right down in one of their laps and away we went. I have always gone pell-mell all my life. If it comes good luck, I take it—if bad luck, I take it. Mrs. Durant went right on talking to me. Finally she looked around and I had disappeared. She was astonished. Finally she saw me coming back on that sled drawn by the boys and could not understand it. She only said, "Lucky it did not break your legs," when I explained.