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THE only industries of
consequence in the Territory of Wisconsin were farming and
lumbering, both of which had just entered upon the period of rapid
development that constitutes an epoch in the exploitation and
expansion of the resources of the United States. The one was the
corollary of the other. As the prairies were settled and towns and
cities were established and enlarged, lumber was required for
building; and as the volume of immigration pouring itself over the
broad acres of the Middle West grew, the lumbermen pushed their way
the more energetically into the forests.
Both of these
industries absorbed Mr. Sinclair's attention. In the neighborhood of
.Janesville he owned a large tract of land, as yet in a virgin
state, which he purposed to bring under cultivation. From his
brother-in-law, Mr. J. B. Smith, afterward mayor of Milwaukee, he
also acquired an interest in a sawmill at Flat Rock, now Escanaba,
Michigan.
The exigencies of the
time left no opportunity for diversion or relaxation nor did we
regard it as necessary to recuperate from the effects of our long
and trying journey. There was much hard work ahead of us and we set
about doing it without a moment's delay. The morning after our
arrival at Milwaukee, Mr. Sinclair hired a horse and buggy and we
drove to Racine, which he intended to make his home. Here he left
me, returning to the city where, as it happened, he was obliged to
remain for four weeks because of the illness of his children. During
this time I lived at the Congress Hall hotel, which had just been
erected, one of the largest in the territory. When Mr. Sinclair came
back to Racine he brought with him his family and we took up our
residence in one of the only two brick houses in the town.
Before we could
adjust ourselves to our new environment we encountered further
difficulties. Almost at the outset of our activities in the new
field there was a period of "hard times" which, at seemingly regular
intervals, occurred to impose further hardship upon the struggling
settlers. Business was demoralized and there was little or no market
for the products of the farms. The Sinclair family, also, after
residing at Racine for five or six weeks, found life there too
monotonous after the advantages of Bangor. Mr. Sinclair, therefore,
decided to return to Milwaukee, which he did in January, 1846,
renting a house on Mason Street.
This gave me another
opportunity to resume my interrupted studies for about three months,
until April 1, 1846, during which time I went to school at
"Professor" Skinner's on what is now Jefferson Street. In the
meantime Mr. Sinclair made a trip to Escanaba. He took with him two
teams and sleighs laden with supplies for his camps, the first to go
northward on ice on Green Bay. From Milwaukee to Green Bay City the
country was to some extent settled but beyond that point it was
practically uninhabited except for the Indians, who maintained a
small settlement or center at the mouth of the Menominee River on
the site of the present city of Marinette, and several small
lumbering settlements.
With the advent of
spring I set out for Janesville to begin the work of "breaking" some
of the land which Mr. Sinclair owned in Rock Prairie, about five
miles south of the village and within three miles of Turtleville, or
Turtle Creek, as it was then called. There were two sections,
twenty-eight and twenty-nine, with smaller parcels near by. I left
Milwaukee with a six-horse team, which I drove through Water Street,
and a wagon laden with lumber and supplies with which to build a
shanty to begin farming operations in April.
We brought two
hundred acres under cultivation, one hundred and thirty of which I
plowed alone, and paid a neighboring farmer two dollars an acre to
cultivate two hundred more. Turning the unbroken soil was no easy
task. The plows held themselves, making a furrow twenty- two inches
wide and only two and one-half inches deep, but the turf was tough
with roots in places and it was necessary to stop and sharpen the
share with a file about every mile of the distance traversed. This
required some skill, as the share, if not pitched correctly, would
cant out of the furrow or bury itself in the ground.
Our equipment, as
might be expected, was somewhat primitive. For plowing, oxen were
generally used, for which purpose they were better suited in many
respects to the conditions then prevailing than horses. They
required no water, a decided advantage in view of the fact that we
were obliged to haul our supply from Turtle Creek, two miles away.
It was not until some time later that we sank a well, being obliged
to dig ninety-five feet before striking the water level. Neither was
it necessary to feed the oxen. They sustained themselves on such
provender as they were able to secure when they were turned out at
night to graze.
We purchased six yoke
of oxen, together with a "hoosier" wagon, a large covered vehicle
built in Pennsylvania in 1834, from the Lovejoys, of Princeton,
Illinois, cousins of Mr. Sinclair, who afterwards became persons of
some notoriety. One of them, Owen, was a Congregational minister
with an ambition to go to Congress. I heard him say to Mr. Sinclair,
using the expression of the time: "Eight dollars a day and roast
beef is better than preaching in a country village." All of them
were abolitionists and gained distinction as orators during the
agitation over the fugitive slave question.
Another of the
brothers, Elijah, established a newspaper in Missouri and became so
energetic in his support of the abolitionist propaganda that a mob
one evening descended upon his newspaper office, seized the printing
press and threw it into the river. Undeterred by this misadventure
he went to Alton, Illinois, and established another paper devoted to
the same cause. He was shot without warning one evening while
standing in the doorway of his office. Owen Lovejoy achieved his
ambition to serve in Congress in 1858 and was re-elected in 1860.
During the following year, after the outbreak of the war, while
delivering a speech in the House of Representatives he stalked
defiantly down the middle aisle of the chamber and with clenched
fist turned toward the Southern members and said: "You murdered my
brother more than twenty years ago and I am here to-day to vindicate
his blood."
Hard as the work was
at the farm at Janesville our earlier efforts did not meet with
success. The first crop of wheat was killed during the winter. The
second crop rusted. At the same time the price was so low, only
forty cents a bushel at Milwaukee, that it was scarcely worth the
trouble of hauling it from Janesville. In spite of such early
failures and the difficulties of breaking a way the tide of
development swept on apace. In 1846 and again in 1850 on my way from
Janesville to Milwaukee I passed from fifty to one hundred teams
within a single mile, all hauling wheat to market. Not infrequently
during this period, after the long and arduous task of cultivating
the stubborn soil, sowing and harvesting his crop and transporting
it to Milwaukee, the farmer received for a load little more than
sufficient, after deducting his expenses, to purchase a few boards
and a. barrel of salt, and other supplies.
In many instances the
trip from the farm was longer than could be made in a single day and
lodging houses were established along the road where, for
approximately sixty-two and one-half cents, five "bits," a farmer
could secure lodging and two meals for himself and stable room and
hay for his horses. Of these institutions one of the most notable
along the Janesville road was at East Troy, thirty-one miles west of
Milwaukee, conducted by a man named Thayer, a favorite stopping
place for teamsters who slept in a large room which, in taverns
throughout the Wrest generally, was designated the ''school
section." Each lodger, if he wished it, was given a cigar and glass
of whiskey, both of indifferent quality, night and morning. It was a
far cry from these establishments to the taverns along the St. John
and the Penobscot stage route but they served the purpose for which
they were created very well.
The road from
Janesville to Milwaukee was a part of the main route from the lead
district in the vicinity of Galena, Illinois, then the most notable
town of the northern Mississippi River region. Farther south, toward
Chicago, a city relatively of much less consequence in the West than
it was to become after the advent of the railroads,— the roads were
usually in bad condition and at times impassable, a fact which
accounted for the more rapid development of Milwaukee at the outset
of its history. The lead wagons, largely of the "hoosier" type, were
drawn by from five to seven yoke of oxen and the drivers during the
journey slept in their wagons at night. On the same route was a
stage line, with coaches leaving daily, from Milwaukee to
.Janesville, a distance of sixty-five miles, conducted by Davis and
Moore. Its equipment was much less elaborate than the Concord
coaches and well-groomed horses that carried one from Mattawamkeag
to Bangor and the drivers were much humbler individuals. They
received only twelve dollars a month and performed as well the
duties of hostler.
In this environment
the knowledge of oxen I had gained in the woods in Maine proved to
be of great value to me. Mr. Sinclair, who was of a most practical
turn of mind, was desirous of outdoing his friend "Mose" Ryan,— who
with his brother, Stover Ryan, whom I have mentioned in connection
with the Aroostook War, came from Maine some years before,-- in
hauling flour and commissioned me to perform that exploit. I had
been associated with him long enough to know that whenever he gave
an order he expected it to be carried out regardless of the cost or
consequences and I acted accordingly. Discarding my clothes, which I
put in a paper bag, for a pair of overalls and a "hickory" shirt,
the garb most frequently seen on the highway, I hooked up five yoke
of cattle in October, 1847, and at Jackman's mill loaded twenty-five
barrels of flour. This was the largest load ever hauled over the
Janesville road, at least up to that time. Some drivers had taken as
much as twenty-two barrels with a team of six horses in the winter
time but no one had even approached in the summer the record I had
established. Instead of a goad stick I used a whip similar to those
with which the lead teamsters were equipped, a fifteen-foot pole
with a lash of the same length. Slowly and laboriously we plodded
along but we progressed steadily and reached our destination without
mishap. These and many other trials of skill and capacity were a
part of Mr. Sinclair's method of schooling me to meet the problems
of the time and since then I have had many occasions to be grateful
for the experience so obtained.
I have not exhausted
the catalogue of difficulties which the early settlers of the Middle
Wrest encountered. in addition to "hard times," the disastrous cold
of the winters, and the drouth of the summers which sometimes
withered the crops, there were epidemics of "ague-and-chill fever,"
malaria, which ran in virulent form through the Middle West. It. was
a common saying at the time that in Illinois and Indiana even the
dogs shook in the spring and autumn and reports of the unwelcome
visitation carried back to the East caused many who were
contemplating moving to the new country to hesitate, as I had
occasion to discover at first hand on my trips to Maine.
In 1846 and again in
1850 most of the people living in the vicinity of the lakes,
principally in Manistee, Muskegon, Grand Haven and other places on
the lower peninsula of Michigan, in middle and southern Wisconsin
and in Illinois and Indiana were afflicted with the disease. It
seemed to descend upon the country like a blanket and the popular
superstition was that it was due to the plowing of the "wild" soil.
Few escaped it and I was no exception to the general rule. For a
time I was obliged to abandon my work and put myself into the hands
of Dr. Wolcott, one of the best known physicians in Milwaukee.
Although I recovered sufficiently to go to Escanaba in the latter
part of 1846, the malady was tenacious and I did not rid myself of
it entirely for five or six years. During this period I had a
recurrence almost every time I went to Chicago or Milwaukee.
On every side one
came in contact with unfortunate victims of the disease, sometimes
trembling in the throes of a chill, sometimes burning with a. raging
fever. It was no marvel that exaggerated reports of the prevalence
of the scourge were carried hack East. The salutary effect of
quinine as a remedy was very little appreciated at this early day.
Many still regarded it as a dangerous medicine and in most cases if
it were administered at all it was given in such small quantities,
in fourth proof brandy, that it was entirely ineffective. I myself
took liberal doses of it often by the spoonful, in its unadulterated
form, and have relied upon it to a large extent ever since. To its
stimulating effect I owe relief from many possible illnesses. The
"chills and fever" did not disappear entirely until 1869 or 1870 and
the only way of escaping it for a long time seemed to me to go north
of Green Bay, beyond which latitude it did not extend in Wisconsin.
It was not my fate,
nor was it Mr. Sinclair's purpose, that I devote myself to farming
as a career. My training in that branch of activity was concluded
with the brief experiences I have narrated. Thereafter my attention
was to be absorbed by lumbering with the exception of brief
excursions into other fields such as sailing. In 1846 Mr. Sinclair
purchased from George Dousman, the "forwarder and warehouse man" of
Milwaukee, the schooner "Nancy Dousman" for use in connection with
the mill at Escanaba. The vessel, which I hauled out on the ways,
was cut in two and lengthened twenty-five feet, rechristened the ''Gallinipper"
and placed under command of Captain George W. Ford. In the autumn
with a number of other men, among whom was Henry Gunsaulus - the
uncle of Dr. Frank Gunsaulus, of Chicago - who was to receive wages
of fourteen dollars a month as an axeman and sawyer, we embarked on
the vessel for Escanaba or Flat Rock, arriving there on November 5.
At this time the
entire region north of the city of Green Bay, formerly an army post,
sometimes called Navarino, was practically a wilderness and the
northern peninsula of Michigan was a trackless forest, the main
outpost being Sault Sainte Marie, where Fort Brady was situated.
There were two mills of considerable size at Green Bay, a large mill
at the mouth of the Menominee River, mills with one saw at Oconto,
Cedar River, and Ford River, and on the White Fish River at the head
of Little Bay de Noc, four mills. At Flat Rock, or Escanaba, the
Sinclair and Wells Company operated two mills, one about a mile from
the mouth of the river, where the plant of the Stephenson Company is
now, the other about two miles up. These two mills taken together
were considered the largest lumbering establishment in the United
States west of the Hudson River. The next in size was probably up at
Grand Haven, Michigan, and there were smaller mills at Muskegon and
Manistee. Although seemingly numerous these mills were primitive
structures mechanically and otherwise and their output was very
limited. It would be accurate to say, I think, that in 1846 all of
the mills on Green Bay represented an investment of less than fifty
thousand dollars and could have been purchased for that amount.
At Escanaba there
were not more than a dozen houses, in addition to the company's
boarding-house, clustered around each mill. Until 1861 there was not
a house from the Escanaba to the Ford River, a stretch of ten miles.
Building operations on the site of the Present city of Escanaba were
not begun until 1863 when the Tilden House,— owned jointly by Perry
H Smith, vice-president of the Northwestern Railroad; Dunlap, the
superintendent, and the Ludington and Wells Company, successors to
Sinclair and Wells,—was erected. Up to this time the place was known
as Sand Point. Neither did the city receive its present name until
the branch of the Northwestern Railroad from there to Negaunee was
built in 1863. The settlement around the mills was known generally
as Flat Rock, a literal translation of the Indian name for the
river, Scoo-naw-beh, which ran through a flat, shelving geological
formation. In casting about for a name for the station and terminus
of the road Smith finally evolved Escanaba and so it was christened
on the railroad company's maps.
Little was known of
the region to the north with the exception of the old Indian trading
settlements along Lake Superior in the vicinity of the Apostle
Islands and at Sault Sainte Marie where there was an Astor trading
house and a Hudson Bay Company store. Marquette had not yet been
established. I remember Robert Graveraet, one of the pioneer mining
men of the upper peninsula, representing Boston capitalists, saying
that he took Peter White, the Pioneer resident, there in 1848 and
left him behind in his tent. My first visit to the place was made in
the winter of 1851-2 on snow shoes, on which occasion the first town
meeting was held.
The mining of iron
and copper which, with the forests, was to produce almost fabulous
wealth, had not yet begun. A year or two earlier government
surveyors at work near Negaunee, puzzled for a long time by the
unusual variations of their compasses, which sometimes pointed
almost south instead of north, found indications of magnetic iron
ore; and the discovery of mass copper, chunks of pure copper
weighing in some instances several tons, had just aroused the people
along the lake to the possibilities of the mining of this very
valuable metal. During the following year, 1848, I saw tons of mass
copper on the dock at the "Soo" but no one would have predicted at
this time the establishment of time great mines which have since
made the region one of the most notable copper districts in the
world. But the era. of development was soon to begin. In the wake of
the sinking of the Jackson mine, the first iron mine to be
discovered at Negaunce came many others and the mineral deposits of
the region are still largely unexplored.
Escanaba was the
southern outpost for the Lake Superior country. During the summer,
of course, transportation was carried oil water, but in the winter
time when the lakes were closed to navigation the only avenue of
communication was north from Green Bay city on ice to Escanaba and
thence up the supply roads we had established along the Escanaba
River to our logging camps. Beyond this point was a trail to
Marquette through the forest which one traversed on snow shoes. The
mail was transported over this route on toboggans drawn, as a rule,
by dogs, the trip from Green Bay requiring approximately six days.
Most of the carriers were half-breed Indians or French.
When the Northwestern
completed its road from Negaunee to Escanaba a line of steamers from
the latter point to the city of Green Bay was established and
maintained with a daily service until 187, after which the railroad
was extended northward from from Green Bay. In 1846 the Sinclair and
Wells Company had carried carried its logging Operations about
twenty-five miles up the Escanaba River. Gradually we penetrated
farther into the forest and the travel to Lake Superior followed the
supply roads as our camps were advanced. Eventually we constructed a
logging railroad, the Escanaba and Lake Superior, one hundred and
eighty-five miles of roadbed and trackage on the main line and
lateral branches, over which large quantities of iron ore from the
upper peninsula mines are now transported to the big docks at Wells
for transshipment on the lakes.
There were few
Indians, when I first went to Escanaba, north of the Menominee
River, where there was a trading post, and they gave us no trouble.
Some Canadians and half-breeds trapped and hunted in the forests and
traded in their pelts at the settlements along Lake Superior, but
the evidences of human activity were very scant and the brooding
silences of the primeval wilderness were rarely disturbed except by
the cry of the wild fowl or the call of the beasts. There were some
wolves which seldom molested us, deer were plentiful, and in
exploring rivers and streams I came upon many haunts of the
industrious beaver. In 1850 I purchased more than forty marten skins
at Marquette for eight or nine dollars each. Mink pelts were sold at
this time for fifty cents. Not many years later, in accordance, very
likely, with the whims of fashion, mink became as expensive as
marten had been and the latter could be obtained for one-twentieth
of what it had cost before.
In many directions
throughout this wilderness I made timber cruising expeditions,
locating suitable lands which we purchased from the government, in a
region which, so far as I knew, had never been tracked by white men
except the surveyors. For several months in the year, particularly
in the summer time,— during the winter time we were engaged in
logging,— I drove my way through the forests on foot carrying a
knapsack and compass with an exploring crew. In a period of twelve
years at least four were spent in this fashion. Our equipment was as
light as possible. We carried no tents, slept under the open sky,
frequently were deluged with rain and at times floundered through
bogs and morasses. Oftentimes, too, as we made our way through the
dense brush, the moisture on the leaves and branches saturated our
garments so that for days at a time, neither awake nor asleep, did
we enjoy the comfort of dry clothing. We slept on the ground with a
single blanket for covering and at times, after a torrential rain
during the night, I awoke at dawn to find that I was lying in a pool
of water.
These exploring trips
carried me far beyond the range of the known country. In 1850 I went
through to the mouth of the Sturgeon River, now Nahma, on Big Bay de
Noe, Garden Bay and Fish Dam River at the head of the bay. On the
Escanaba River I was the first lumberman to penetrate as far as
Cataract Falls, four miles above what is now known as the Princeton
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