Fifty Years In The Northwest
youth, was he who fired the first gun from Sumter, Maj. Anderson. The
other, and he who administered the oath, was in after years president
of the southern confederacy, Jefferson Davis.
AN EARLY RUNAWAY MATCH.
We have gleaned from the newspapers the particulars of a love romance
in which Jefferson Davis was the central figure.
It was down at old Fort Crawford, whose ruins are still to be seen
just south of Prairie du Chien. It was away back in 1834, when
ex-President Zachariah Taylor, then a colonel in the regular army, was
commandant of the post. Jeff. Davis, who was then a young lieutenant,
was assigned to duty under Col. Taylor, and fell in love with his
commander's beautiful daughter. The love making between the young
people was the most natural thing in the world under the
circumstances, but for some reason Col. Taylor had taken the most
intense dislike to the young lieutenant and frowned upon his suit. In
order to prevent his daughter from marrying Davis the grim old warrior
sent her to a convent at Baton Rouge.
Some months afterward the young lieutenant appeared before Col. Taylor
with a document which required his signature. It was an order from
Gen. Wayne granting a furlough to Davis. Old Zach. understood human
nature well enough to know that when young Davis got his leave of
absence he would take a bee line for Baton Rouge, so he immediately
dispatched his swiftest messenger to bring his daughter home by the
most circuitous route, and thus thwart the young officer, who he knew
would be hurrying to meet her. When Davis returned to Fort Crawford
the coldness between himself and his old commander grew more frigid,
while the young woman pined away in the seclusion of a log hut, where
her father had established his headquarters, until at last she was
released from her imprisonment by her lover, who took her from her
father's roof by stealth and in the night, and taking her across the
river to a spot where a priest was in waiting, they were made man and
wife.
George Green, an old river man, now eighty years old, who still lives
at Prairie du Chien, is the person who rowed them over the river that
night. He says that Davis took the young woman from an upper window in
the log cabin and by the assistance of the chaplain was able to get
her beyond the picket lines unobserved. Green was at the river bank in
waiting with a canoe and took them to the spot where the marriage
ceremony was performed. He says the young lady cried a good deal
during the voyage across the river, but she leaned her head on the
young lieutenant's bosom in a way that assured him that she was not
altogether unhappy. Soon after the marriage a steamboat from St. Paul
came down the river and by a preconcerted arrangement halted, took the
bridal couple on board and passed on down the Mississippi to Jeff.
Davis' home in the South.
Gen. Taylor never did forgive Davis for marrying his daughter. He
never spoke to him from that time until the evening after the close of
the battle of Buena Vista. Jeff. Davis had undoubtedly won the battle
with his Mississippi Rifles, and as he lay wounded in his tent that
night Gen. Taylor walked in, extended his hand in friendly greeting
and thanked him for his gallant services. But there was no further
attempt at reconciliation after that. Mrs. Davis did not live long,
and the lady who now presides over Beauvoir is Mr. Davis' second wife.
She was a Miss Howell, of Georgia.
DRED SCOTT AT FORT SNELLING.
The following incident connected with the famous Dred Scott case,
taken from a St. Paul paper of 1887, may prove of interest to the
present generation of readers, few of whom are aware that the
principal personage in the case was a resident of Fort Snelling, or
more exactly speaking, the chattel of an American officer at that
place:
In the year 1839 the Fifth United States Infantry was stationed on the
Upper Mississippi and Wisconsin rivers, and, although Fort Crawford
(Prarie du Chien) was their headquarters, Fort Snelling was the most
important, it being the only military post north of Prairie du Chien,
between Lake Superior and the Pacific ocean, and far from the
frontier, as the nearest settlement was several hundred miles away.
During the season of open water the post was reached by boats, and in
the winter by pony or dog trains, but in the spring before the river
was free of floating ice and in the fall before it was frozen, the
inhabitants were almost cut off from civilization, as the place was
considered inaccessible, by all but the hardy voyageur and the
postman, who brought the mail on his back twice a month from Prairie
du Chien. Fort Snelling was the only post office in what is now
Minnesota, Dakota and Montana.
It was seldom that a stranger made his appearance after the close of
navigation, for the timid did not venture so far from the comforts of
life. During the winter the weather was severe, the houses were not so
comfortable as now, storm windows and furnaces were unthought of, and
stoves were considered luxuries.
It happened that on a cold, dreary day in the early winter the
quartermaster was distributing stoves, but did not have more than
enough to supply the officers and the married men of the command, and
not all of the latter. The surgeon, Dr. Emerson, a giant in body,
applied for one for his slave, Dred Scott, but was told by Lieut.
McPhail, the quartermaster, who was a man under size, that the darkey
would have to wait until the others were supplied, and it was doubtful
if there were enough for all. The doctor became very much excited and
insinuated that McPhail was lying, whereupon the latter hit the doctor
between the eyes, breaking his spectacles and bruising his nose.
Emerson, very much infuriated, rushed to his quarters, loaded a pair
of huge flintlock pistols, returned to McPhail, who was unarmed, and
without ceremony presented them to the head of the little
quartermaster. He, not liking their looks, sought safety in flight,
and with a speed that showed a good condition of body ran across the
parade ground, followed by the doctor. As they neared McPhail's
company quarters a friend of his, Lieut. Whitall, and a sergeant,
seized firearms and prepared to give their assistance if it was
needed. The commanding officer, Maj. Plympton, armed with a cane, ran
after the doctor, and upon overtaking him put him under arrest. By
this time the occupants of all the quarters had gathered upon the
scene, too excited to feel the cold or think of stoves, and two
parties were quickly formed. The smaller party consisted of the young
men, who, anxious for a fight, insisted that by running McPhail had
brought disgrace upon himself which could be wiped out only by blood.
The other and influential side was composed of men with families, who
knew that in case of illness no other physician could be had except
from Prairie du Chien, and the roads were such that it might be
impossible to get one at all; therefore they urged peace, and after
several days of excitement they were able to unfurl the flag of
triumph.
The terms of settlement between the belligerents were not made known,
and those who had hoped for a fight felt that the secrecy added
largely to their already heavy disappointment; but the men of peace
wore an expression of relief when they realized that if ill, their
victory would enable them to obtain the immediate services of the
doctor, and that there would not be a repetition of the duel which had
been fought there many years before, the first and last duel ever
fought in Minnesota. Although peace was declared, bitter feelings
which had risen during the strife still lingered in the heads of all
but Dred Scott, the innocent cause of the trouble, who for the first
time in his life became at all conspicuous. Shortly after, however,
his name was as well known, and oftener heard in social, military and
political circles than any other, not only in his own country, but
abroad. He left Fort Snelling with Dr. Emerson, and was afterward in
Missouri, where he was one day whipped, as he had often been before.
But this proved to be the last time the poor fellow intended
submitting as a slave, for immediately after a suit was commenced for
assault and battery, claiming that as he had been in a free territory
he was a free man. His master dying, his widow and daughter defended
the suit, which was decided in their favor two days after the
inauguration of President Buchanan, and Dred Scott was remanded to
slavery. This was considered a great victory for the South, but in
reality was not, for the civilized world became aroused in behalf of
freedom, and public opinion, the higher law, was invoked. Civil war
soon followed; slavery was abolished, and Dred Scott made free. It was
half a century ago that this simple-minded negro lived in slavery in
Hennepin, the historic county of Minnesota.
OLD BETZ AND THE ST. PAUL TRIBE OF INDIANS.
No history of the early days would be complete without mention of the
celebrated and picturesquely homely squaw known as Old Betz and the
tribe to which she belonged. The camp of the latter may still be seen
at South St. Paul to the number of three or four tepees. The Indians
are the descendants of the warriors of Little Crow. They live in
canvas tepees of primitive style, but with the exception of moccasins
and a few Indian trinkets they have conformed somewhat to the costumes
of the civilized people around them.
The Indians living in this vicinity, says A. L. Larpenteur in the
_Pioneer Press_, represent a remnant of the Minnesota Sioux who were
not taken to the reservation after the massacre of 1861. There may be
nearly a score of families in all, including the inhabitants of the
little Indian village at South St. Paul, the aboriginal residents at
Mendota, and some red men living near Newport. These are mostly
descendants of the members of Little Crow's band. Three or four
families have descended from the famous old squaw known as "Old Betz,"
who died at an advanced age only two years ago. At least two of old
Betz's daughters are living. They are very large, fleshy squaws, and
are frequently seen on the streets of St. Paul. When you catch sight
of a big squaw with a heavy pack slung over her shoulders, seated in
some doorway down street panting for breath, you may make up your mind
that it is one of Old Betz's daughters--either Doo-to-win (Scarlet
Female) or Pa-zen-ta-win (Medicine Woman); for such are their names.
They obtain a livelihood suitable to their lingering aboriginal tastes
and their condition of life, by selling moccasins, ginseng and wild
flowers in their season, and the skins of animals which they hunt or
trap. These skins are chiefly muskrat skins. They bring several
hundred to market in the course of the season. Then the squaws do the
begging, and the great white packs which these dusky females carry
upon their backs as they trudge along the streets of the city are
filled with specked fruit, tainted chickens and meat, dried up
cranberries and other unsalable stuff that the commission men of the
city have kindly bestowed upon them. An Indian is not so particular
about what he eats as a white person. When meat is tainted he boils it
until he gets all the taint out. What remains serves as savory sauce
for the meat. The Indians are intelligent. They don't have much to say
to strangers, but among themselves they are quite sociable, and sit
together by the hour smoking pipes and recounting traditions and
incidents. They are very fond of story telling. They also discuss
topics of interest with a freedom and intelligence worthy of a modern
white man's debating society. "I have sat with them in their lodges by
the hour," says Mr. Larpenteur, "and have been vastly entertained by