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THE signs of human
habitation along the Menominee River when I first came to it in 1853
were few. The primeval forest, except for the small spaces cleared
by the Indians and the early traders and lumbermen, came down to the
water's edge; and the river, which has since been confined to
narrower limits and a lower level by the dredging of channels and
the improvement of the harbor, poured itself in flat volume out into
the bay. The passage of larger vessels was blocked by a bar at the
mouth of the stream and they were loaded or unloaded by means of
smaller boats or scows while they lay at anchor some distance off
shore.
On the edge of the
bay on the Michigan side were probably a dozen huts occupied by
white fishermen. On the site of the present city of Marinette were
only three houses, one belonging to Dr. Hall, another to Queen
Mannette of the Menominee tribe of Indians, and the third to her
son, John B. Jacobs, one of the early traders. About a mile from the
mouth of the river on the Michigan side was a large sawmill, erected
by Dr. Hall in the forties and afterwards enlarged and operated by
water power, and a boarding-house where the employees lived. On the
opposite side was the mill erected by Farnsworth and Brush, all
traces of which have since been obliterated.
Of the earlier
history of the settlement few vestiges remained. Menekaunee, or
Pleasant Town where the Indian band of Te-pak-e-ne-nee, the Night
Man, had established a village many years before, according to
tradition, had been reclaimed by the wilderness. Arrow heads and
stone implements turned up with the soil on the site of the mill and
boarding-house of the N. Ludington Company, which still bears the
name of Mission Point, gave evidence of the fact that the spot had
been the habitat of the red men who gathered about the mission and
post maintained there by the government.
There were still many
Indians in the vicinity, some of whom lived in huts near the river
and in small camps farther up the stream. These were removed to the
reservation in Shawano in 1856. For many years afterward, however,
they came to the Menominee, some of them from great distances, for
fishing and hunting. One band from the Straits of Mackinac camped on
the island opposite the city of Marinette some time afterward and
left their squaws there while they went up the river to hunt deer,
which were very plentiful, and the trail from the north was kept
worn by the march of many moccasined feet.
The Menominee fishing
grounds were evidently guarded with some jealousy by certain bands
of Indians who resented the invasion of others of their race. There
was a tradition extant in my time that one chief who was foolhardy
enough to encroach upon this territory was captured and minnows were
forced down his throat until he died. "If he wants fish," his
captors said, "we will give him more than enough."
Queen Marinette, the
descendant of a daughter of Wabashish and a French trapper named
Bartholomew Chevalière, was a capable woman, large of figure and
somewhat advanced in age when I first came to the Menominee, who
managed her business affairs with exceptionally good judgment
although she retained many of the traits of her Indian origin. For a
number of years she lived with John B. Jacobs, an English trapper
and trader, who came from Canada.. Later her affection for him seems
to have cooled, for he relinquished whatever claim he had upon her
to George Farnsworth for a pipe of high wine, and shortly afterward
returned to Canada.
By the first alliance
she had a son, John B. Jacobs, a very shrewd and capable man of
aristocratic bearing, who devoted his time to trading and gambling.
By the second there were several children. From one of them, Jane
Farnsworth, I purchased a portion of Marinette's property, fronting
on the river and including a portion of the heart of the city of
Marinette, for fifteen twenty-dollar gold pieces. From John Jacobs,
the son, I also purchased some property, now lying well within the
city limits. George Farnsworth another of Marinette's children, also
a man of considerable capacity became quartermaster of the
Thirty-second Regiment of Wisconsin infantry, largely upon my
recommendation, during the Civil War and proved to be a very
efficient officer.
Up to 1850 the timber
resources along the Menominee had scarcely been touched and the
extent of them was not even realized, but at that time they began to
attract the attention of lumbermen and in the following decade and
for some years afterward the river grew in importance until it
became the greatest lumber-producing district in the world. From the
few thousands of feet produced by the earlier water-mills the annual
production steadily increased until it reached six and seven hundred
million feet. The harvest of logs brought down with the drive in the
spring extended for ten miles in solid mass along the river, and
twenty-three steam mills pouring out lumber in an unending stream
presented a pageant not unlike that which I as a boy had
contemplated along the Penobscot from Oldtown to Bangor.
In 1855 a. number of
Pennsylvania and New York capitalists, associated together under the
name of the New York Company, erected at the mouth of the river a
large mill which encountered difficulties during the period
following the panic of 1857. The next mill to be constructed was
that of the N. Ludington Company on Mission Point, the site for
which had been purchased by Mr. Sinclair a number of years before.
It began operations in 1856, but continued for only two months when
it shut down because of the financial depression. When it resumed
operations on May 15, 1858, it was under my charge. From this time
development went on and eventually my brothers, Samuel and Robert,
came to the Menominee at my suggestion and occupied important
positions at the head of some of these many lumbering
establishments.
Casting back over the
past sixty years the picture of the growth of the lumbering industry
on the Menominee and the gradual recession is not without its dark
shadows. The woods I traversed in the search for pine timber have
practically disappeared. From many acres from which the pine was
stripped in these early days I have since cut the growth of
hardwood. The stream of logs driven down the river is constantly
dwindling and will soon cease altogether; and the pall of silence is
drawing down about the mills, which have closed one by one. The
epoch of which I saw the beginning and the expansion is now corning
to a somewhat melancholy close. The days of lumbering are nearly
ended.
Fortunately another
epoch is beginning. Farms are multiplying and green meadows and
fertile fields are reaching like the fingers of a hand into the
blackened waste of stumps and underbrush left to mark the passing of
the chopper, and the friendly soil cleared of one harvest is
yielding bountifully another. The past with its tumultuous days of
development, its toil and accomplishment, has gone, and the
accounting made; but, the future looms big with possibilities and
another half-century may see another tide of increase at its flood
again.
At the time I began
my career as a mill owner at Marinette, conditions were anything but
favorable. The panic had brought business to a standstill. Very few
men had much capital, and when the stress came many of those engaged
in lumbering went to the wall. The depression that prevailed was
well illustrated by a story told me by Dr. Hall at the time. When he
was in Chicago in the forties during a period of "hard times," one
of the men whom he had employed at the mill applied for his pay.
Without regard to conditions he insisted that the doctor owed him
the money and he demanded it forthwith.
"I am making
provision to pay," protested Dr. Hall.
"I don't want
provisions," said the Irishman. "I get all the provisions I want
from you at the mill. I'll take money or nothing."
The predicament in
which Dr. Hall found himself was common to almost everyone along the
Menominee in the late fifties. The New York Company and the
Ellsworth Company both failed, as Dr. Hall had failed earlier. The
whole community was demoralized and the flow of commerce was
stopped. As a basis of exchange some of the people accepted cattle,
others tools. This situation was one that I had never been called
upon to meet before. I and the people with whom I had been
associated had always met our obligations promptly, and it was
difficult to listen patiently to importunities and the stories of
failure and misfortune addressed to me. Before the country had
recovered from the depression following the panic, the war began and
it was not until 1864 that conditions returned to a normal basis and
the light of prosperity again dawned.
When we began the
manufacture of lumber at Marinette in 1858, before the effects of
the financial cataclysm had passed altogether, it was sold on the
market at Chicago at from seven to eight dollars a thousand feet,
scarcely sufficient to pay the cost of production. The stumpage
represented a dead loss. The same grade of lumber to-day would be
worth from thirty to thirty-five dollars a thousand. At the same
time there was very little difference in the cost of sawing. What
advantages have been gained and economies effected through
mechanical improvements on one hand were offset by the lower wages
and longer hours on the other.
Our mill at Marinette
had been hastily erected and was in constant need of alterations and
repairs, and at this time men competent to look after machinery were
few. This condition necessitated my working at night, very
frequently, and to avoid shutting down during the week - which would
have added still further handicaps to those under which we were
already laboring. I recall that on Monday morning a religious old
man in charge of a lath mill, who had observed with distrust the
changes I had made on the preceding day, protested against my
working on the Sabbath and predicted that no good would come of it.
Before the week had ended, he said, we would pay the penalty by an
accident or break of one kind or another. The prophecy did not come
to pass and the mill ran without interruption or mishap of any sort
- somewhat, I believe, to his disappointment.
I stuck indefatigably
to the task before me and, whether by good luck or skill, acquired
no indifferent reputation as a millwright. At least, the mill was
kept running. The lack of mechanics and men to file the saws was the
occasion of much inconvenience, but this disadvantage had no marked
effect on our production. Despite the improvement in mill machinery
and the increased facilities for making repairs, the average output
remains proportionately the same. The competition, as I have said
before, rests with the logging. Two camps under the same conditions
and with the same number of men will frequently show a surprising
disparity in the number of logs produced. This might be due to many
things, the disabling of horses by inefficient teamsters, bad
management by the "boss," dissatisfaction among the crew created by
men of a. certain class whom the sailors call forecastle lawyers,—
in short, a variety of causes. Sawing, on the contrary, is largely a
matter of mechanical precision.
Although I did not
acquire an interest in the Escanaba plant of the N. Ludington
Company, now called the N. Stephenson Company, until 1858, I had
supervision over it in a general way and frequently made trips from
Mannette to observe the progress of operations there. The
vicissitudes of travel between the two points, which bore heavily
upon those not accustomed to the rigors it entailed, are illustrated
in one expedition I made with Nelson and Harrison Ludington and a
boy named Merrick, afterward a member of the tobacco firm of
Spalding anti Merrick, of Chicago, during the latter part of
January, 1854.
We started from
Menominee in a double sleigh, the first to go north on the ice that
winter. The snow was about twelve inches deep and the anchor ice had
blown up in ridges in which there were crevices. When we were three
and one-half miles north of Menominee, off what is now known as
Poplar Point, the horse stepped into one of these crevices and broke
his leg. The misfortune was a serious one. Harrison Ludington,
contemplating it almost with stupefaction, exclaimed: "My God! The
horse has broken his leg." In our plight the others were helpless
and the burden of the mishap fell upon me. I killed the horse by
striking it one or two blows in the forehead with an axe, threw the
harness in the sleigh and started back for Menominee to bring a
small Indian pony and more supplies. I suggested that in the
meantime the others proceed on foot until overtaken. The walking was
difficult because there was from three to six inches of water under
the snow on the ice, and when I returned Harrison Ludington was
waiting for me at the sleigh, while the others had gone only a few
rods.
When we resumed the
journey it was necessary for me to walk ahead to break a path
through the untracked snow, exchanging places for brief intervals
with Harrison Ludington. At noon we arrived at Cedar Point, built a
fire and made tea. After a brief rest we headed for Cedar River,
arriving at Norway Bay at evening. Cutting a way through the shore
ice, which was very high, we found a deserted fisherman's camp, a
small hut without windows. For fuel I cut away a part of the roof
and floor, while my fellow travelers sat by commiserating one
another. The chinks in the hut were stuffed with plains moss, which
was very inflammable, but this fact I kept to myself.
When the fire was
made I went to the bay and cut a hole in the ice, only to discover
after much labor that it was too far inshore and that there was only
sand at the bottom. My second attempt farther out was successful.
After our meager meal I arranged beds for the others so that each
had his feet toward the fire. My own was a plank. At midnight when I
went out for fuel the air was clear and frosty, so frosty that an
hour later I awoke to find my moccasins and stockings, wet from
walking on the ice, frozen stiff. I thawed them out at the fire, and
to run no further risks remained awake for the rest of the night.
We breakfasted at
four o'clock and resumed our journey, arriving at Cedar River at
eight o'clock. Here our troubles ended. From there Mr. Hamilton
drove us to Ford River, where Mr. Sinclair joined us, and we went on
to Escanaba without further mishap. On our return to Marinette,
three days later, Alden Chandler accompanied us on his way to Green
Bay, where he was to take the oath of office as the first postmaster
of Escanaba. The Ludingtons went on to Chicago, glad that the
ordeal, their only real experience with the wilderness, was over.
In this environment
of hard work we had our diversions, especially on the Fourth of July
and at Christmas time. On these occasions, now and then, there was a
ball in which everybody joined and we danced as energetically as we
worked. I have beside me the announcement of an "Independence Ball
at John Quimby's new hall in Menominee, on the Fourth of July, '60,"
for which "the company of yourself and lady" was "respectfully
solicited." The floor managers were John B. Jacobs (Queen
Marinette's son) and H. K. Fowler, and the committee of arrangements
representing the five towns along Green Bay were: "for Menominee,
Jabez Hawkins, I. Stephenson, James Laughrey and Levi Odell; for
Peshtigo, Anson Place and Levi Hale; for Oconto, G. P. Farnsworth
and George C. Ginty; for Cedar Forks, S. Hamilton and M. Boyd; and
for Escanaba, D. Langley and H. Shields." Those opportunities came
so seldom that we made the most of them and danced from early in the
evening throughout the night without pause until seven or eight
o'clock the following morning.
Even this achievement
was outdone on Christmas Day, 1838. We drove to the house of "Abe"
Place on the Peslitigo road, arriving there about noon, took down
the partition dividing the interior of the house, and, starting with
a cotillon shortly before twelve o'clock, danced until nightfall.
After supper we drove to Peshtigo, cleared out the large attic of
the boarding-house, and continued our festivities until after seven
o'clock the following morning.
In these days the
charivari also was a recognized institution, and many a groom faced
the ordeal of noise and by beating circular saws suspended on cords
or ropes. The only escape from the terrific clanging was to "treat"
the crowd in one way or another. Many times I was appealed to by the
prospective bridegroom who sought a way of escaping from the
ear-splitting serenade. The most enjoyable form of diversion,
however, was an excursion to a neighboring village on the bay by
steamer. More than once I took the entire community, men, women, and
children, on board one or more vessels and set out on expeditions of
this kind. |
