Dakota 38

Abraham Lincoln as the Puppetmaster of Death (of starvation, war, and executions)
Ledger Art by Travis Blackbird

by Prairie Rose Seminole

Remember the #Dakota38, hanged in Mankato, MN on Dec 26, 1862, under the orders of President Abraham Lincoln. It is the largest mass execution in U.S. history.

The hanging of 38 Dakota came at the culmination of the Dakota War, which started because of a treaty broken by Congress. 

The Dakota people were being starved to death.

“Let then eat grass or their own dung,” Andrew Myrick, a trader & store owner who withheld their rations.

Andrew Myrick was among the first to die. He was found with grass in his mouth.

The accused were subjected to sham trials held in English (a language foreign to them), and they had no legal representation. They were also not allowed to discuss the broken treaty, or treaty law. Many were innocent. They were hanged anyway, on a custom made scaffold, in front of a cheering mob.

Dakota women & children were forced to watch the hanging. One Dakota infant was reportedly snatched from the arms of a mother and killed on sight.

Around 1,700 Dakota, mostly women and children, were held as prisoners at Fort Snelling. Disease & death were rampant.

Chief Little Crow, a leader during the Dakota War, was later assassinated. His remains were mutilated by townspeople & displayed. They stuffed firecrackers in his nose & ears and lit them. Local doctors eventually took his body parts to study.

Two more Dakota leaders, Shakopee (Little Six) and Medicine Bottle, were later captured and executed.

After the hanging of the Dakota 38, the Dakota people were exiled from their stolen homelands in Minnesota. Banned from entering, unable to return to MN. The governor put a bounty on their scalps. The Dakota people were separated and sent to prison camps in other states where the women were raped by soldiers.

Following the U.S-Dakota War of 1862, the United States government hanged 38 Dakota men on December 26 in Mankato. It was the largest mass execution in United States history. A US military commission, tainted by racism and in violation of due process, hastily convicted two of the Dakota men of rape and all of them of murder in trials that lasted as little as five minutes. President Lincoln approved their executions. Here are the names and faces of some of the men known as the Dakota 38.

All things being ready, the first tap was given, when the poor wretches made such frantic efforts to grasp each other's hands, that it was agony to behold them. Each one shouted out his name, that his comrades might know he was there.  - From New York Times article, The Indian Executions

Postscript to the U.S.-Dakota War

by Curt Brown [Minneapolis Star Tribune, November 8, 2015]

Shakopee, left, and Medicine Bottle were hanged three years
after the U.S.-Dakota War because military leaders wanted to
prove they finished the job.     [Source:  Minnesota Historical Society]

They were the last two high-profile holdouts.

The bloody U.S.-Dakota War had been over for three years. Thirty-eight Dakota men had been hanged in Mankato. But white military and political leaders weren’t satisfied.

They felt they had to show, once and for all, that they’d handled the Indian problem and the frontier was back in business for immigrant settlers who could replenish the fledgling Minnesota economy.

So just after noon on Nov. 11, 1865, 425 soldiers marched in formation to surround a specially constructed double gallows at Fort Snelling.

More than 400 St. Paul citizens turned out 150 years ago to watch the hangings of two Dakota leaders: Medicine Bottle and Shakopee. They had eluded soldiers for years, escaping across the Canadian border to Manitoba with more than 500 Dakota refugees from the war.

John McKenzie was the man who drugged Little Six (aka Shakopee) and Medicine Bottle after the Sioux massacre and brought them in this condition from Manitoba and delivered them to Major E. A. C. Hatch. Knowing the frailty of Little Six, who was a different man from the old chief Little Six, his father, McKenzie left a bottle of drugged whisky with a woman at the house which he was accustomed to visit, knowing that his greedy appetite would ferret it out. The artifice succeeded, and Little Six and Medicine Bottle were tried and hung at Fort Snelling for killing Philander Prescott. - History Of The Minnesota Valley, Scott County History Archives, 1882

Their flight ended in January 1864, when Shakopee and Medicine Bottle stopped by the home of a white friend near Winnipeg’s Fort Garry. That "friend" - Canadian trader, John McKenzie - was secretly in cahoots with a U.S. Army major across the border in what would become Pembina, N.D.

McKenzie plied both Indian leaders with alcohol laced with drugs. Shakopee, then in his 50s, was dosed with chloroform and rendered unconscious. Medicine Bottle, in his mid-30s, struggled longer but several men subdued him. Both Dakota men were tied to dog sleds and taken to Pembina, then Fort Abercrombie, en route to Fort Snelling.

The Minnesota Legislature forked out $1,000 — big money in the 1860s — to McKenzie as a bounty. Trials were held and both men were convicted despite sketchy evidence that they had committed atrocities during the war. They were blamed in the death of Philander Prescott, 60, who had lived among the Dakota for more than 40 years. He was beheaded on the first day of the war as he fled toward Fort Ridgely.

“It would have been more creditable if some tangible evidence of their guilt had been obtained,” said an editorial in the St. Paul Pioneer Press, published the day before the hangings.

The newspaper said “no serious injustice will be done by the execution,” but warned of a dangerous precedent of “hanging without proving.” Saying the men were probably guilty of murder, the paper nevertheless pointed out that “no white man, tried by a jury of his peers, would be executed upon the testimony thus produced.”

President Abraham Lincoln had been assassinated seven months earlier. He had stepped in to reduce the number of Dakota men hanged in Mankato from 303 to 38.

One of Medicine Bottle’s descendants, Dakota researcher and filmmaker Sheldon Wolfchild, insists Lincoln would have halted the hangings. But the president’s successor, Andrew Johnson, quickly approved the executions of Medicine Bottle and Shakopee.

When Shakopee and Medicine Bottle were captured in Manitoba, a French Jesuit priest and missionary named Augustin Ravoux baptized them and administered their Last Rites, accompanying them up until their final moments on November 11, 1865.

Wolfchild, 68, lives in Morton, Minn., and has produced a film about the era that saw his ancestors swept from the area five generations ago.

After their hangings, some of the witnesses ran up and cut off pieces of the nooses for souvenirs. St. Paul photographer Joel Whitney snapped glass-plate images showing white caskets at the feet of the dangling men.

Wolfchild says rocks went in the caskets that were buried in a nearby cemetery, with onlookers thinking they had witnessed the interments of important Dakota figures.

Their bodies, instead, were taken away in a horse-drawn cart at the behest of two doctors with offices near 7th and Jackson Streets in St. Paul. Some accounts say the doctors dug up the bodies the next day.

Wolfchild says Shakopee’s body was preserved in a wooden whiskey barrel and sent to a Philadelphia medical school where a professor Pancoast used it in anatomy lessons. St. Paul doctors dissected Medicine Bottle’s body.

“Who is the savage here?” Wolfchild asks. “Running to the scaffold to get a piece of the rope? The bottom line is they had to dehumanize us to where we were little more than beasts so they could get rid of us.”

Wolfchild says that his grandfather five generations ago, Medicine Bottle, didn’t die instantly when his body dropped at the Fort Snelling gallows.

While Shakopee’s neck snapped immediately, he said, Medicine Bottle dangled for 10 minutes before dying.

“He was saying: ‘We don’t die like that. You cannot kill us with a rope,’ ” Wolfchild said. He’s trying to find any remains that might still exist of the two men, pointing to the Missing In Action banners popular since soldiers went missing in the Vietnam War.

“We feel the same way about our ancestors, they are missing in action and their bodies are in universities, museums and private homes,” he said, “waiting for proper burials so they can continue their journey to the spirit world.”

Scaffold:  Shakopee and Medicine Bottle, moments after the execution
[Photographer:  Joel Emmons Whitney - Source:  Minnesota Historical Society]

Best Kept Secret

This poster from 2010 represents what you can
typically see at the festival! [Click to enlarge...]

I had the opportunity to share one of our state's 'best kept secrets' this week on Minnesota Public Radio, and it is related to our history up here in the far northwest corner of the state: The Chautauqua and French Festival at Old Crossing Treaty Park near Huot, Minnesota. Take a listen

The Returns from Pembina

President Cleveland once asked Bishop Whipple what would be the effect of making the Indians voters. Then Bishop Whipple told him that it had been tried, and after listening to the story, President Cleveland gave up the idea....

1876 was a very contested
election in general... 

 

In Dakota territorial days a law was passed allowing Indians wearing civilized dress to vote. In the following election, when both sides were claiming the victory, some one said: "Wait until you hear from Pembina." In Pembina lived a large number of the Pembina tribe of Indians, and there also dwelt the local political boss, "Jud" La Moure, famed for his sealskin overcoat and his qualities as a political fighter. When the returns came in from Pembina, it was found that the members of the tribe had all been put into hickory shirts and trousers on election day, between sunrise and sunset, and after exercising the inalienable rights of citizenship, at the dictation of the local boss, they returned again to their blankets, having decided the territorial election.

From:  The Bourbon News (Paris, KY) November 12, 1901

Pembina Christmas, 1801

The Time of Trouble at Cornplanter's Village, by Jesse Cornplanter

From the journals of Alexander Henry (the Younger):

Friday, Dec. 25th (Christmas) - Snowed all day. Indians perpetually going around coming from one house to another, getting what they ask for, without the trouble of hunting...

28th - Red Lake Indians arrived...We have our hands full; since my arrival it has been the same - never one day quiet.

Friday, Jan. 1st, 1802 - This morning the usual ceremony of firing, etc., was performed. I treated my people with two gallons of high wine, five fathoms of tobacco, and some flour and sugar. My neighbors came visiting, and before sunrise both sexes of all parties were intoxicated and more troublesome than double their number of Saulteurs; the men were fighting and quarreling all night.

Caribou Tales: Dennis Boucher

St. Nicholas Ukrainian Church (Caribou, Kittson County, Minnesota)

Let me introduce you to someone from my hometown area - eastern Kittson County to be more exact, an area known as Caribou.

His name is Dennis Boucher¹, and he grew up in Caribou.

Dennis and I found one another through this website. For the past eight months, he and I have been corresponding via email, with Dennis sharing many stories of his family and area local history of which his family has been a part of. Much of it is unknown outside his family, and I am thrilled that he has been willing to share it with me.

Scientific Find in Kittson County (1892)

Found via Google Books,
aka "the researcher's friend"

The following excerpt highlights a pharmacological discovery by university scientists of an important plant (Northern Senega) in locations in northwest Minnesota, including Kittson County. 

The plant (general species, Senega - sometimes spelled Seneca) was originally identified into modern medicine, in the 18th century by a Scottish physican, whose attention was brought to it by the Seneca tribe in Pennsylvania. The plant had (and continues to have) important properties used in medical products to this day. It is also important in alternative medicine, as demonstrated at this Manitoba website showcasing local herbal remedies - all available to me in my backyard.

Trivia:  Metis (introduced to it by the Ojibwa) have long used Senega/Senega, aka Snakeroot, for it's medicinal properties.

I found it fascinating to run across this medical journal report of the find from 1892 (especially since the natives in our area are mentioned as using it mainly for subsistence purposes, not medicinal as tribes in other areas of the country had...)

THE AMERICAN

JOURNAL OF PHARMACY.

MARCH, 1892.

NORTHERN SENEGA.

By L. E. Sayre, University of Kansas.

The geographical distribution of senega has been a subject of a good deal of interest to the members of the pharmaceutical profession and the drug trade for a number of years. Chief among the contributors to our present knowledge of the drug in this particular have been Prof. J. M. Maisch and Prof. J. U. Lloyd, as will be seen by glancing over the back numbers of the American Journal of Pharmacy, the Proceedings of the American Pharmaceutical Association, and other pharmaceutical publications.

Reference has been made to senega growing in Wisconsin and Minnesota, but there has not been very definite information given, I believe, as to its collection or the exact district of country from which it is collected in these States. "Northern Senega" has been a current term meaning a variety of senega having certain physical characteristics very unlike the original Polygala Senega. Prof. Lloyd (Proc. Amer. Pharm. Asso., 1881), describing this variety¹ — which he says is derived from the Northwest from the States of Wisconsin and Minnesota—says it is very large and fleshy, sometimes white, again rather dark brown, the knotty crown measuring often from two to three inches in diameter, even of the dried plant. The root just below the knotty head is (when dry) from the size of the little finger to that of the thumb of a man ; six to ten inches in length and generally destitute of keel; not so contorted and branched as the " Southern " senega.

Northern Seneca Root
harvested in Manitoba

L. L. Dyche, Professor of Zoology and Taxidermy, of the University of Kansas, some months ago made an extensive hunting tour in the Northwest, the main point of his operations being in that country lying near the Lake of the Woods. During this hunting expedition he had an excellent opportunity of studying the country, its products and its people. On his return he handed me a root which he thought might be of some interest to me. He said it was collected in very large quantities and seemed to be one of the staples of that country. The natives depending upon its collection as one of the means of subsistence, have made this quite an industry among them. There the squaws and the children dig the root while the " Braves " hunt the valuable fur-producing animals. Prof. Dyche says that he saw at the different trading posts in Marshall and Kittson Counties, in the storehouses, as much as a thousand pounds stacked up in one heap. At a little town, Rocksted, near Thief River Falls, the Indians come in from long tramps of forty miles or more and bring in the fur, skins and this snakeroot. Here they had an immense stock on hand. Since his return, Prof. Dyche has received a letter from a trader at Jadis², Kittson County, stating that he has on hand a thousand pounds bagged up, waiting for a fair market price.

The root referred to is undoubtedly a good sample of senega. In length it varies from 4 to 8 inches; in diameter from 1/16 to 1/2 inch. Surrounding the root is a dark scar-covered head. This head in the case of younger roots is covered with immature pinkish leaf-covered stems. The characteristic keel of Southern senega is rarely present and the contour of the root is much less contorted. The color ranges from the light yellow of young roots to the dark brown of the older ones.

Near the head, prominent annulations are present. These continue with enlarging intervals of space for some distance down the root. Lengthwise the whole root is deeply wrinkled, while frequent warty enlargements occur. The branches are not numerous. In considerable quantities, the odor of gaultheria is quite prominent, as it is also in a cold aqueous infusion. The taste is very acrid.

Under the microscope the wood is found to be cylindrical, and the ingrowth of the inner bark on one side which produces the keel of the Southern variety is not apparent in a majority of cases. The wood is whitish, ligneous and occupies about y of the diameter of the root.

A sample of the drug was handed to Mr. McClung, one of the senior students, for the estimation of the polygalic acid. He used Quevenne's process, and obtained of the pure acid 35 per cent. Methyl salicylate was abundant, as shown by the ferric chloride test.

It would seem from the above that this specimen handed to me by Prof. Dyche represented a good sample of senega; its quality, equal to the average root of the market.

I have planted some of the roots, which seem to be full of vigor, and hope to be able at some future time to classify the plant.

¹ — Northern senega, collected in the northwest United States, is considerably larger than the usual variety (western senega), and darker in colour; it is less contorted and shows the keel less distinctly, but it has a very acrid taste, and is undoubtedly a good senega. It is said to be derived from Poly gala Senega, var. latifolia.

² - Jadis (named for Mr. Jadis, Kittson County Auditor) eventually was renamed Roseau - Kittson county included the western portion of what is now Roseau County until 1894 - From Kittson County History.

The Other Side of the Ledger

I discovered this film on the National Film Board of Canada website today, which I was not aware of before. I think it has a lot to say, things that needed to be said, and I want to share them with my readers. Some of the white traders the indigenous peoples worked with, knew the natives were being exploited and refused to participate. Others knew it was wrong but just looked the other way. But far too many knowingly and willingly participated, using dishonest and immoral business practices with them.

It is described as a documentary about...

The Hudson's Bay Company's 300th anniversary celebration was no occasion for joy among the people whose lives were tied to the trading stores. This film, narrated by George Manuel, president of the National Indian Brotherhood, presents the view of spokesmen for Canadian Indian and Métis groups. There is a sharp contrast between the official celebrations, with Queen Elizabeth II among the guests, and what Indians have to say about their lot in the Company's operations.

It was one of the first NFB films made by a [Canadian] First Nations filmmaker. George Manuel, then president of the National Indian Brotherhood, narrated the film; he presents the views of spokesmen from First Nations and Métis groups, including Métis historian and activist Howard Adams. They discuss the unscrupulous economic control the Hudson’s Bay Company held over First Nations and Métis peoples.

NORTH COUNTRY: The Making of Minnesota

Ironically, as I have been trying in my own humble way, to show the more accurate history (not easy to do when you are depending on second-hand accounts that many times have a skewed agenda of their own, i.e., aren't very objective), a new book trying to do the same is just being published by the University of Minnesota, called North County: The Making of Minnesota...


In an article in the Winnipeg Free Press, comes this description of the book...

Parallels between the Canadian story and the American one are striking, but not surprising. In both cases Euro-centred peoples displaced the traditional occupants, using an essentially similar combination of duplicity and force.

In both cases the native occupants were sidelined by a population that overwhelmingly outnumbered them.

What is particular to the history of Minnesota is what Wingerd terms Minnesota's "civil war." Coinciding with the early part of the American Civil War, the struggle between the Dakota [Sioux] and the incoming "Americans" -- actually waves of whites, many direct from Europe -- erupted in 1862.

Wingerd spares no detail in describing the conflict. Innocent people (many who, in another war, could be called civilians) died. Outcomes of the bloody fighting included the forcible confinement on reservations of Dakotas, at least of those not executed or jailed after hasty and often unjust trials.

Years would pass, she explains, before the heritage of Hiawatha obscured the reality of the clash of cultures in which the more powerful triumphed and advanced its version of the story.

However, as Wingerd makes clear, she believes the writing of the "new history" (and by definition, more accurate history) has really just begun.

In a recent interview, the author said,

The biggest myth is that Indians in Minnesota country were hostile to whites. In fact, there were almost no incidents of Indian attacks on white people, Europeans or Americans. When rare cases did occur, it was always an individual spat and not an organized attack. The Dakota and Ojibwe went to great lengths not to drive traders away. The Dakota were frustrated with trying to get traders to establish a stable source because they needed guns. All the tribes to the East had been supplied with firearms in the early 1600s by the Dutch and English, and it didn't matter how terrific the Dakota were as warriors. Without guns, they were at a huge disadvantage in intertribal disputes.

Profile: Ezra Woodruff

Ezra Woodruff was the first post surgeon at the new Fort Pembina, arriving in May 1870 as the post officially opened, with the first post commander, Captain Lloyd Wheaton.

An interesting piece of trivia about Dr. Woodruff, that links his time here with our own time, is that he began a process that took over 150 years to complete, that began nearly 200 years ago - repatriating indigenous remains...




At the time he served, there were only about 150 post surgeons in the entire country.

Other known Fort Pembina Surgeons during its existence were: Captain Rudolph G. Ebert, Captain Harry O. Perley

[Source: Medical & Surgical Directory of the United States (1886)]

Anatomy of a Print

Boundary Post Rupert Land / Pembina by Major George Seton¹
(The Illustrated London News, January 29, 1870)
Additional Information from Glenbow Archives:
In background Cree medicine man with pipe
leads procession to willow enclose for a dog
dance ritual. Cree camp at right. Midewiwin ritual.

I bought the above print from an antique maps and prints dealer out of London. I've seen this print many times over the years, in different online digital collections, and referenced in different articles and books. I decided to look into the background of the print to finally get to the bottom of who drew it, who wrote the article, who published it, and if the image was actually authentic and/or accurate...

From the accompanying article to the original illustration:

The British-American Frontier.

The revolt of the French and Indian half-breed population in the Red River and Lake Winnipeg district of North America, several hundred miles west of Lake Superior, is rather a troublesome affair. This district is part of the Hudson's Bay Company's vast territory, which has lately been transferred to the Dominion of Canada. The insurrection hitherto has been confined to the neighbourhood of Lake Winnipeg, from which the British Canadians have been expelled; the Governor, Mr. Macdougall, has been obliged to return to Canada, and Fort Garry remains in the possession of the rebels. It is thought these were instigated by some of the French priests to resist the establishment of the Canadian Government, but the Vicar-General of Quebec, accompanied by Colonel de Salaberri, himself a half-breed, has gone to the Red River country to use his influence on the side of loyalty and to persuade the Winnipeg people to lay down their arms.

Another influence to be noted in stirring up the insurrection and keeping it alive is that of American annexationists at Pembina, cooperating with others engaged in business at Red River. Pembina is a settlement of three or four log-houses on the Dacotah side of the frontier, where every white resident but one is said to hold an office of some sort or other. Besides the few residents, there has been an Illinois lawyer, who is described as 'running the machine' in the interests of annexation. All the American versions of the affair have come from him. Hence the exaggerated stories about the Indians being called to arms, for which there has been no foundation except in the circumstance that Colonel Dennis garrisoned the Sonte Fort in the Lower Settlement with fifty Swamp Indians, an inoffensive set of semi-civilized half-breeds who live by farming in that neighbourhood. It has, of course, been the policy of the annexationists to lead the American people and Government to believe the Canadian officials have been inciting the Indians to take up arms. The most recent canard of this sort has been that Macdougall bribed the Sioux to make a descent on Pembina, in revenge for the conduct of the people there². If the trouble should continue, and should tend towards annexation, there certainly would be reason to look for a movement of the Indians in that direction. This, however could not be owing to Canadian influence, but to the fears of the Indians themselves, who naturally dread the prospect of their being brought under American sway. We have to thank Major G. Seton, who was lately in that part of the world, for a View of the plains near Pembina, with the boundary-post there erected to mark the frontier between the United States and British territory of Rupert's Land. the boundless level of rich grass is here traversed by the road, or track, which appears in the foreground. Major Seton's sketch is also an illustration of the habits and costumes of the Cree Indians. These are represented as walking in procession, headed by the Medicine Man, with the sacred rattle in hand, within which is celebrated a 'Dog Feast', so called from their eating dogs on the occasion, and being a mixture of religious ceremony and social mirth. In the half-distance are their tents, made of dressed bison (called buffalo) leather, with their badges or armorial bearings painted upon them, beside which stand their carts, made without a particle of iron, and which are very strong and so light as to be serviceable as rafts when deep water has to be crossed. In the foreground is a group of two young Indians in their gala costume, with their dogs, which in winter are used to drag sledges.

When I first viewed this sketch, I thought it was unrealistic [based on my experience viewing actual photographs of the time] on what the natives looked like. Then I found several specific references concerning the specific event this print depicts. These references, including the above text, explain this was representing the indigenous population in ceremonial dress, which then makes more sense...

¹ - Major George Seton (1819-1905) of the 93rd Highlanders and the Royal Canadian Rifles (British Army). Seton came to Lower Fort Garry (Red River) in advance of his troops and, in July 1857, met John Palliser of the Palliser Expedition there. [From Fur Trade Family History]

² - To our local history's shame, this included behavior such as the instance below, documented in a book published in 1871 based on eye-witness accounts:

...Some officers attached to Major Hatch's battalion had visited the colony and gained some of its residents over to their interests to such an extent that they cordially entered into a scheme for kidnapping one of the principal chiefs, "Little Six," a half brother of "Little Crow," and one of his followers named "Medicine Bottle," were selected as the men to be caught. These Indians having been purposely permitted to drink more alcohol than was good for them, were drugged with laudanum and chloroform, and while in a state of insensibility were conveyed to Pembina, where their surprise and consternation were great when, on waking from their lethargy, they found themselves securely bound and surrounded by a group of soldiers under command of Major Hatch. This incident was commented on somewhat severely by some newspapers in the United States, which amused themselves by trying to magnify it into another "Trent affair." It also excited great dissatisfaction among people in the settlement, who feared retaliation on the part of the Sioux against the English in crossing the Plains during summer...

Another more recent account was more blunt (and in my opinion, honest) saying

Major Edwin Hatch, a subordinate of Sibley operating out of the village of Pembina, just south of the Canadian obrder, retains John McKenzie, an American living in Canada, to bribe a pair of Canadian officials into drugging Shakopee and Medicine Bottle during a "friendly meeting." The two unconscious Indians were then handed over to Hatch in Pembina. After the hangings, the Minnesota legislature appropriated the sum of $1,000 to reward McKenzie for his part in the crime [William W. Folwell, A History of Minnesota (St. Paul: Minnesota Historical Society, 1924) pp. 443-50. Also see Robin W. Winks, "The British North American West and the Civil War," North Dakota History, Vol 24, 1957.]

By the way, the context was the aftermath of the Dakota War...

BORDERTOWNS: Epilogue

EPILOGUE


Charley Brown was sheriff of the Pembina area, Dakota Territory from 1875 until his death in 1884.

The hangings by the Fort Pembina military took place in the vicinity of what is now Lancaster, Minnesota.

Approximately three years after the disappearance of Pete, S. C. Cady visited the Vaughn homestead. After discussing the rumor as to the location of the Indian body, Vaughn and he searched for and found the corpse. Due to decomposition, the body could not be positively identified.

Manitoulin, the Collingwood boat that transported the McLaren family to Duluth, sank near Collingwood, Ontario, on May 20, 1882, with the loss of 25 lives.

In the early 1950's a shallow trench was dug just north of the present Pembina, ND schoolyard, for the purpose of planting a shelter-belt. Parts of two uniformed bodies were found and an argument ensued as to whether or not there were two complete bodies. It was decided to re-bury the remains in the public park in Pembina. A marker was placed there stating: "An unknown soldier from Hatch's Battalion."

Hatch's Battalion arrived in Pembina in November of 1863 and left on May 5, 1864, on the steamboat International, bound for Fort Abercrombie. There seem to be no existing records of any death or burial of his men while stationed in Pembina. All bodies interred at the Fort Pembina Cemetery during the fort's existence (1870-1895) were moved to Fort Lincoln when the fort was closed; thence again to a final resting place at the greasy-grass, the Custer Battlefield in Montana.

This leads to conjecture that the men were probably listed as deserters at Fort Pembina, but in actuality were murder victims.

C.W.

Old Crossing Mural

Click on the image above to see easier-to-read larger version...

I have written of it before - the Treaty of Old Crossing. The painting above is in reference to that treaty.

The Whole Picture

I have strong feelings about trying to show as much of the whole history as best as I can of our area, and that must include the peoples that were here before the European settlers came. I will continue to share what I find in that regard...

Early Boundary Marker

Marker at the International Boundary and principal meridian, Pembina area, Manitoba. In background Cree medicine man with pipe leads procession to willow enclose for a dog dance ritual. Cree camp at right. Midewiwin ritual.

Sketch by Major G. Seton (of the Royal Canadian Rifles)

First Farmers

In 1832, Anglican missionary William Cockran tried to convert Red River Natives to Christianity and a life of farming. The plan failed. Cockran concluded that Natives were ill-suited for farming. Today, archeological investigations have proved the Anglican missionary to have been wrong.

What they were wrong about was assuming (not for the first time, nor the last) that the aboriginal populations, since they were not currently farming, had never farmed. They were wrong...

Several thousand years before the arrival of European immigrants, many Native nations in North America had developed sophisticated farming methods. Four centuries before Europeans settled beside the Red River, Native people were agricultural pioneers in the valley.

The skills of these early farmers are attested to by recent archeological evidence...

The Native farmers...developed a strain of corn that could mature in the typical 100-day growing season near the present-day Canadian border with the United States Midwest. The adaptation of corn to the long-day, short-season environment of the Red River Valley - from the plant's original short-day, long-season climate in Central America - testifies to the selective plant breeding skills of these first farmers.

So what happened to the farming skills of the natives? Why didn't early European explorers observe farming being practiced by the natives they encountered?

500 years ago, during the so-called Little Ice Age, summers became much shorter and cooler. With this climatic change, the pendulum swung back to hunting, fishing and food-gathering as the primary ways to survive. The skills of agriculture fell into disuse and were virtually forgotten.

From Red River - First Farmers

Bordertowns: Chapter 5

Jerold was proud of the three mules Ian had purchased. They pulled well together and were fast becoming pets. Occasionally Jerold would pick small bunches of the delicate sweet-grass and hold it out to them. Their flop ears stood straight as they vied with one another, greedily stretching their necks to seize the morsel from his hand. The new breaking plow was his joy, and after each day's use, he wiped the gleaming share with an oily rag to prevent rust; then he carefully greased the wheels.

At his request Ian approached a local blacksmith, and together Ian and the smith made a twelve-foot harrow with an oak frame and steel teeth. Jerold was determined to fall plow the next year's acreage quota in addition to the oat land which he would cut for their future winter's hay. He reasoned the frost would break up the large lumps by spring. Harrowing it then would form a good seedbed for the future crop. When his father agreed with his suggestion, Jerold's face beamed.

Mary or Jerold frequently checked Mike while he herded the cows, never letting him know he was being watched. Both knew there was little danger to the boy, for there were no poisonous snakes in the area. In addition, Mike was warned time and again to always remain within sight of the village.

Early that fall Patrick and Ian, along with several of the grading crew, were taken off the scraper work and employed removing and stockpiling rails from river barges and huge piles previously stacked along the riverbank. They were told the final leveling of the roadbed would be left until spring. Toward the end of October, work finally ran out and the crew was laid off with a promise of being rehired in early spring. Ian was only too glad to be released. He was sick of the foreman, Brogan, who had repeatedly ridiculed him with disparaging remarks, often using foul language. Ian found himself gritting his teeth, barely able to control his temper. He feared losing his job, knowing any display of anger ending in fisticuffs would automatically result in his being fired and blacklisted. Patrick felt fortunate in driving his own team, a team he had raised from colts while in Orillia. A young team true, but well trained by him and the boys. He noticed that the foreman vented his wrath only on the younger men, perhaps afraid the more experienced would take him to task. He felt relieved at his layoff, for preparations had to be made for the coming winter. The house needed banking, the barn needed repairs, and the few acres of oat hay had to be hauled in from his land in the States.

Maggy’s pregnancy was now obvious. She found she suffered the same back pains she had endured during past pregnancies. Jerold was her savior, often doing household chores in addition to his outside duties. "Mother, I've plenty of time. You rest -- there's lots of help."

A young lieutenant from the American fort, Kirby Ralston, stopped by occasionally to visit Mary. He had introduced himself while on a routine border patrol, stopping to ask her name. He was tall, handsome and courteous; Maggy secretly thought him ideal for Mary's future. When Maggy made a chance remark in his presence about the shortage of whitewash, the next patrol passing by dropped off a mixture of lime, whiting and adhesive.

Patrick built a hayrack for their wagon, and the men hauled and stacked over thirty tons of hay against their cattle shed. After the hay was up, the men went stateside to cut the winter's firewood from the land grant. The trees along the river were mostly oak, ash and elm, with a sprinkling of poplar. Every deadfall was picked up and several large ash trees were cut and corded. Patrick remarked to Jerold, "It only takes three big ash trees to make a cord of wood. It'll burn green without forming Creosote in the chimney. We'll have to cut the oak early in the spring for next winter's use. It'll be dry by fall."

By chance, while stopping at the St. Vincent lumberyard, the proprietor, Nixon, introduced Ian to a fur buyer from St. Paul. "Ian, this man is a representative of Abram Furs from the cities. He is seeking someone in the area to act as a fur buyer. Would you be interested? It's strictly a wintertime job."

"I could use the money, but I know nothing about buying furs."

The Abrams representative smiled. "Not to worry. Two years ago I was in the same boat, but it's not a difficult trade to learn. All it takes is common sense." Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew several cards. Handing one to Ian, he said, "These are the prices you should pay for prime pelts, but only prime. If you'll take the job, I'll give you a hasty education, here and now. I'll buy all the pelts you can garner this winter and pick them up in St. Vincent. My next trip will be early in January. You'll buy only on the U.S. side of the line, east and west of the Red River.”

The thought ran through Ian's mind, if this man learned how to buy furs, so can I. Eyeing the buyer, he said, "I'll take the job."

"Good! Now come outside. I've some furs in my buggy that I'll show you." For the next hour the buyer thumbed through various pelts. All were prime, or nearly so, but he showed Ian how to detect green hides by color of the skin. He also clued him in on worthless hides, by the loose, shedding or discolored hair. After completing his instruction, he said, "You'll have to finance yourself until I return. That's customary. You'll find our company reliable; Mr. Nixon will vouch for my honesty." Studying Ian carefully, he added, "There are furs to be had on the Canadian side of the border. They may gravitate to you, but don't get involved in smuggling. It's a mighty temptation, but we'll disown you if you are caught."

That afternoon Ian stopped at McRae's blacksmith shop in Emerson, the smith who had assisted him in making the harrow for Jerold. He mentioned accepting the offer of the fur buyer, but said worriedly, "The thing that bothers me is that I don't know any of the breeds and Indians around the area."

"Might be able to help you there." McRae began to smile. That is, if you can stand the man's smell. He's a breed, a Chippewa, almost looks white. He's a Mide. Know what that means?"

"Some kind of witch doctor?"

"Just about. It's a society of the Indians, organized to preserve the traditions and to give the ambitious a good living at the expense of others of the tribe." He laughed, "Something like the Orange Lodge and the Masons."

"Anyway, he's supposed to be a fourth degree, entitled to be called a Midewewan. He’s supposed to have magic powers, able to change into an animal or bird, if you can believe that crap. He's a shaman to his people, and well respected and obeyed by the local Indians and breeds. He hangs around here most afternoons, usually late in the day." McRae smiled sheepishly. "My fault, for I feed and share a bottle with him now and again." Turning momentarily to pump the bellows of the forge, he added, "Don't know his last name, but everyone calls him Pete, just Pete. He stays in St. Vincent with old man Grant."

"Will he work for me?"

"He might; he's usually broke. Why don't you come back later in the day? He may show up."

When Ian returned just before dark, he found McRae bending strips of iron on the toe of his anvil. Ian recognized the pieces he was bending to be future horseshoes. A ragged, hunched-up figure sat silently watching McRae.

"Ian, this is Pete." McRae nodded toward the man.

Pete's face was expressionless, and his gaze remained upon McRae, even after the introduction. Ian noted the broad, powerful shoulders, the shapeless coat, and the trousers tucked into high-laced moccasins. The man's face was burnished a tan color; his black hair hung carelessly from beneath a dirty stocking cap. The coppery cheeks were devoid of hair, but his lower chin showed a few sparse, black whiskers, indicating some white heritage. Ian detected a cunning expression on his face and sensed the potentiality for brutality in his makeup.

"Will you work for me? I'm going to buy furs." As he asked, Ian wondered how long it had been since the man had a bath and a change of clothes.

The breed, Pete, finally gazed at him. "You feed and pay?"

Ian nodded. "I'll feed you and pay you what you're worth."

"When start?"

"Tomorrow. I live by the boundary . . . "

"Know where you live. I be there in morning."

Pete stood slowly and held out his hand. A slow smile came to his face. Ian guessed his newly hired man to be a bit over six feet in height and approximately forty-five years of age.

McRae ceased bending the horseshoe on the anvil horn to say, "You've got your man, now try to keep him sober." He grinned at Pete in a conspiratorial manner. Ian noted the sly grin that appeared on the Indian's face.

Habitually, Ian was the first to arise each morning to start the kitchen fire and make coffee. Even before he entered the kitchen the following morning, he detected a strange, smoky odor. There, sitting by the kitchen door, was Pete. He had quietly entered the house sometime during the early hours and seated himself on the short bench by the door.

Wordlessly, Ian lighted the kindling in the stove and filled the coffee pot with water. Measuring out coffee beans, he dropped them into the small grinder and turned the crank. Finally he added the grindings to the pot. Pete watched his every move without speaking.

Moments later, the creaking of a bed could be heard, then slow footsteps on the stairs. When Patrick entered the kitchen, still tugging on his trousers, he saw Pete. He exclaimed, "What the hell?"

Ian grinned. "My hired man. I told you about him last night."

Patrick attempted to cover his surprise by pretending indifference. Then, obviously curious, he asked Pete, "How did you get into the house without making a sound?"

Pete said nothing, but pointed to his moccasins. Patrick shook his head in wonder, finally turning to the cupboard for cups. Later, when he told Maggy about it, she exclaimed, "Lord, Pat, we could be murdered in our beds!"

The sun had aged, becoming weak when the first snowflakes came on November 20. Hours later the wind came out of the northwest with a fury, discouraging all outdoors work. Visibility dropped to zero for the following two days. It was after this first storm that Patrick loosened his purse to purchase sheepskin coats for each member of the family. He also bought a second Swede saw, and the boys began cutting the stacked cordwood into stove lengths. Neighbors warned of the necessity to keep at least a week's supply of wood by the back door for emergencies.

The high price of coal oil, one dollar a gallon, resulted in only one lamp being used in the evenings when supper was over. Mary was again teaching, so she was usually crowded close to the feeble light, studying and planning for the next day. Only recently she and Mr. Baldwin had paid a visit to one of the town founders, Mr. Fairbanks. They complained about a lack of books, supplies and a proper blackboard for the school. Their request met with some success, for two weeks later a huge slate was delivered and attached to an inside wall of the schoolroom.

Mike's pet badger, now fully grown, was put into the small chicken house with the birds, supposedly to hibernate for the winter. The animal slept, but only periodically, waking each time the birds were fed. On one occasion Mike allowed the badger to follow him back to the house. While no one was watching, his pet tore open a 100-pound sack of flour. The resulting mess caused his firm banishment to the chicken house for the remainder of the winter.

Winter boredom set in and Patrick began to carve duck decoys from chunks of soft poplar stove wood. Discussions were held on how they should be painted. Ian suggested the color of mallards, but Jerold disagreed. "There are just as many pintails and spoonbills as mallards on the lake and river. Why not paint some of each?"

Patrick looked from one son to the other. "I'll carve an even dozen. You two can do the painting."

Shaggy coats appeared on the horses and mules as nature provided protection against the cold. Twice a week Jerold harnessed the horses and, using a homemade sled, loaded and spread the manure on the garden area. The milk cows were fed, watered and milked in the barn to protect them from the intense cold. Only when the temperature moderated, or when Jerold cleaned the barn, were they allowed outside.

Early in the winter snow was melted for washing and drinking water. Evaporation from the snow kept moisture in the house, aiding the family's comfort. In December the men joined neighbors in cutting ice from the Red River, keeping a load of the crystal-clear blocks stacked on sawhorses near the back door. When Mike questioned the wisdom of raising the heavy blocks of ice off the ground, Patrick laughed. "Dogs, son, dogs. We don't want yellow ice."

Melting snow for water required prodigious amounts of crystals, while the ice required very little space, being water in a solid form. Mike was hard pressed to understand why the muddy river water froze into the clear, glassy form. He was skeptical of Mary's explanation that only the water would freeze, excluding the dirt particles.

The Presbyterian Church started a Sunday school and Mary volunteered to take over the youngest of the children. Reverend Scott managed to obtain drawings to illustrate the biblical stories, making it more interesting for the youngsters.

After several unsuccessful tries, Jerold managed to construct a snow igloo for Mike. He found hard-packed snow necessary to form the building blocks. Even so, it was Ian's hired man, Pete, who aided and advised him on the construction. Jerold laughingly admitted to his father, "I cheated; I used water to freeze the blocks together.

Ian began buying furs in early November, often visiting the breeds and Indians on the west side of the river. His Métis helper thought nothing of venturing long distances through the snow to a shack, tepee, or one of the dugouts along the river. Most of Pete's friends lived at the Indian camp located north of Pembina, and seemingly through them, he was able to contact others.

Pete's only problem, other than his smoky odor, was the strong drink occasionally consumed at stops made to buy furs. Ian found himself spending an occasional night away from home, sometimes due to the distance traveled, but often because of Pete's inability to walk after getting drunk. He knew Pete's road to hell was paved with good intentions, but when he was drunk, he was irresponsible. Ian knew that to refuse any hospitality offered by Métis or Indians would be taken as an insult, but he soon learned how to decline the liquor with courtesy, and not linger too long at any one stop. Pete, on the other hand, would loiter as long as any liquor remained in a bottle or jug.

Traveling the twenty miles west to Smuggler's Point by horse or snowshoes involved spending the night, the snow being deep on the prairie; especially deep where the tall grass held the drifting snow. After the first thaws in early spring problems were encountered; ice forming on the surface of the snow cut into the horse's forelegs.

To his surprise Ian found the Indians in awe of Pete, and they often broke into a chant when he and Ian visited their camps. Ian also found the Indians very superstitious. To them it seemed that anything out of the ordinary bordered on the occult. The only conclusion Ian could reach was that both the Indians and breeds accepted Pete as some sort of medicine man.

The quantity of furs that began to come into his possession made Ian suspect that many were smuggled across the border from Canada. Yet, he felt no guilt, for he deemed anything he purchased stateside as legal.

One evening in late November, Pete insisted upon Ian's stopping at Joseph Grant's house, where Pete lived. It was late and Ian was anxious to reach home before total darkness. Pete was insistent, saying, "You'll see. You'll see."

Ian's objections ceased when he glimpsed Grant's youngest daughter Susan. Although she was of a mixed race, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She was tall and slender, very fair-skinned and shapely, with a mischievous smile. He was instantly smitten and could scarcely keep his eyes from her. Unfortunately, she went to bed that evening before he could speak with her. From the general conversation that ensued, Ian learned that Susan had an older sister named Marguerite. She was being sparked by the sheriff from Pembina and was away at the time. His next visits to the Grant home were frustrating; in spite of his every effort to speak to Susan, either her father or mother rebuffed him.

Ian guessed Joseph Grant's age at nearly 70. His skin had the thin-translucent look of the aged. The droop of his shoulders and forward pitch of his head were readily noticeable.

Joseph's wife, Annette, was much younger, possibly in her early 40's. Her complexion was light and clear, and she retained an attractive face and shapely body. She was quite youthful looking, to Ian's thinking. He mentally questioned the difference in their ages and was puzzled. It didn't make sense to him.

Pete detected Ian's interest in Susan during that first visit, and teasingly whispered, "Pretty girl! Pretty young!"

Ian glanced at Pete suspiciously, guessing that it had been his intention all along that he see Susan. You schemer! He thought. He smiled to himself as he whispered back, "Beautiful girl! Almost old enough to marry!"

On December l0 Ian picked up the mail on his way home for dinner. In addition to the St. Paul Globe newspaper, there was a letter for Mary. She felt her heart beating wildly as she tore open the seal.

December 7, l877

Winnipeg

Dearest Mary,

Absence does make the heart grow fonder! I will see you before Christmas if all go as planned. So many of our surveyors quit this past summer due to the trying circumstances of weather, mosquitoes and sickness, that we remaining few must bear the burden of completing the work. We arrived in the city yesterday and are endeavoring to finish our maps.

Thank the Lord! I am to be assigned to the Selkirk-Emerson route this coming spring. It will mean all the world to me, for I will be able to see you frequently. My stay with you over Christmas will be limited, as we never seem to catch up on work. I hope to spend almost a week with you, hopefully longer.

From your letters I gather your family home is small and crowded. Don't make any special preparations, since I've already written to the Hutchison Hotel for a room. I can hardly wait to see you again. I should arrive there a day or two before Christmas.

All my love!

Robert

Her fantasizing over the letter that afternoon, as she read it over and over, was interrupted by the sound of a horse approaching the house. The rhythmic crunching of its hooves could be heard clearly on the path outside. Hastily stretching a shawl over her shoulders, she opened the door to see a heavily bundled man astride a steaming horse. It was the tall, smiling Lieutenant Kirby Ralston from the fort. Stepping down from the horse, he casually tossed the reins to the ground and began tugging at his heavy mittens. Noting the reserved look on her face, he said mildly, "Golly, I flattered myself into thinking that you'd be glad to see me."

For a moment Mary was at a loss for words. Then she smiled. "Oh, Kirby, I am glad to see you! You know you're always welcome here! Come inside . . . it must have been a cold ride from the fort. It's way below zero."

"One moment." Turning back to his horse, he removed a blanket from behind the saddle and spread it over the animal, prudently securing it. When he had completed the chore, he followed Mary into the house.

Maggy looked up from the table where she had been putting her hair up into a bun. From her relaxed posture and form, it was obvious the baby would be arriving soon.

"Hello, Kirby! Don't worry about the snow on your boots. We need the moisture in the house. Have some time off?" She studied the tall lieutenant's face, knowing well that he was in pursuit of her daughter. From prior visits he had impressed her with his courtesy and knowledge. She knew he was a recent graduate of West Point and the son of an influential eastern family. Secretly, she determined to do everything in her power to push her daughter in his direction. Turning to Mary, she suggested, "Why don't you start tea?"

Mary knew her mother favored Kirby, but although he was a fine figure of a man, he didn't excite her, as did Robert. Going to the cupboard, she casually lifted the plates to hide Robert's letter under them. While Kirby seated himself across from her mother, she filled the kettle and moved it to the hottest part of the stove. Tea, to her mother, had become a social amenity, necessitating careful brewing and steeping, with attention to sugar and milk. Her mother liked lemon with her tea, but none were available just now.

"What's new at the fort, and in Pembina?" Maggy’s winter confinement made her eager for news.

"The usual. A stolen horse and a few frozen ears and toes." He laughed as he removed his heavy coat. "The sheriff took after the horse thief. It was George Parker's animal. The fool left it tied in front of the Double Decker saloon while he caroused with his cronies." He shook his head. "Sheriff Brown will catch the thief before he gets to Grand Forks. All he has to do is follow the tracks in the snow."

Mary picked three matching bone china cups from the varied assortment on the shelf and poured the fragrant tea. Kirby appraised her quietly, realizing he had never expected to find such a stunning girl in a prairie town. Why, she would light up any room, even his folk's home in Washington. He waited for her to sit down. "Mary, I've come to invite you to the Christmas Eve Ball at the fort." Glancing at Maggy, he added, "Maggy, you and your husband are also invited. Captain Collins has entrusted me with your invitation." Reaching into his blouse, he withdrew a small envelope and placed it before her. "There are over 100 invitations being sent out, many to folks in Emerson. It's to be a formal ball."

Maggy’s eyes glowed as she opened the envelope. She knew that the honor of this invitation was due to Kirby. "Oh, Kirby, you know Pat and I can't come. The baby is due at the end of January." Reflecting, she added, "It would be nice if we could be there to watch. Oh pshaw! It probably wouldn't work out." Turning to Mary, she exclaimed, "Just think, your first formal ball! You and Kirby will have a wonderful time. The officers will all be in dress uniform and the ladies in evening gowns."

Mary wished she could magically disappear. Her hopes were being shattered; she wanted to spend Christmas with Robert. Kirby was kind and sincere, and probably fine husband material, but he was not for her. She ran her forefinger around the edge of the teacup. The long silence that ensued was almost embarrassing.

"Well, what about it?" her mother demanded.

She could feel her temper rising. "Mother, I promised Robert I'd spend the holidays with him. He's coming at Christmas time and I can't let him down."

Kirby's disappointment was obvious. Then he suddenly brightened. "Well, if he is here on Christmas Eve, I'll invite him and we'll both escort you to the ball!"

"Would you?" Her face suddenly lit up. "In that case I'll gladly accept." She noted the look of chagrin on her mother's face and sought to defuse the tension. "Mother, I wish you and Father would go. Perhaps we could arrange it.”

Kirby was talkative and seemingly forgot the uncomfortable moment. From then on he and Maggie virtually monopolized further conversation. Mary relaxed to gather her thoughts. Perhaps Robert won't want to go to the ball. Even so, it would be unfair of me not to tell him of Kirby's invitation. Why did this situation have to happen? And the very first time I've been invited to a party at the fort. She could feel tears of frustration forming.

Late that afternoon, after Kirby had returned to Pembina, Mary walked to Trayner's millinery and apparel store on Main Street. The small door stood between two large display windows. The building itself was long and narrow, with a single aisle. Glass cabinets stood on either side, displaying lace, ribbons and all matter of trim for gowns and dresses. Although she had saved very little of her teaching money, she determined to have a stylish gown for the coming occasion. After minutes spent selecting a pattern, she settled on a rose silk material. Then seeds of doubt encompassed her. The material was expensive, and the fine stitching required a skill beyond her ability. Besides, she realized there were only a few days left until Christmas. A quick glance indicated that the dressmaker was behind in her work; several partially finished gowns hung in sight. Addressing the owner, she said, "Miss Trayner, I need a gown for the Christmas Eve Ball at Fort Pembina. How much would it cost and would you have time to make it for me?"

The small, short, bespectacled woman eyed Mary intently. At first she saw an image of herself, of decades ago. She noted with distaste the sheepskin coat and faded wool scarf. But it was the oval face and perfect creamy complexion, set off glossy black hair that won her over. Lordy, this child is a beauty! And her stature! Irish, of course, but she has no brogue. Her family hasn't much, goodness--they just moved here last summer. She's certainly not getting much pay as a teacher at the school. She can hardly afford my prices. How can I tell her that it's just impossible for me to squeeze in another customer?

Slowly an idea came to mind and she began to smile. Lately the demands on her time by the social set of Emerson were wearing on her. In fact, she was becoming irritated at the constant clamors to hurry, hurry, hurry. She would defy the elite of the community and turn this young Aphrodite into a princess. She would play Venus and bring this plain girl to life. It would be like the story of Pygmalion. Reaching out to touch Mary's shoulder reassuringly, she said, "Wait a moment. I have an idea."

Walking to the back room, she disappeared, to return within moments with a large box. After wiping away the dust, she cut the cords and raised the lid. Reaching inside she carefully lifted out a yellow silk dress. Examining it minutely, she smiled. “It's kept to perfection; it hasn't faded a bit." Handing it to Mary, she advised, "Go into the back room and try it on. It's closing time. I'll draw the curtains and lock the door."

After removing her heavy coat and sliding her wool dress off over her head, Mary felt uncomfortable. She was ashamed of her thin cotton chemise, high wool socks and boots. Carefully she sought the bottom of the silk dress and hurriedly slid it down over her shoulders. Seconds later, Miss Trayner rejoined her and began to hook the long row of small buttons at the back of the dress.

"Hold still, Mary, I don't want to pinch you. Ah! It's just as I thought. It fits to perfection. A little tight in the bosom, but that's to the best."

Mary could feel the tight enclosure of her breasts and buttocks under the yellow silk and turned partially to view herself in the oval mirror. She almost blushed when she saw the snug fit of glimmering silk over her bottom, and just below, the billowing, swirling, and circular full hemline brushing the floor. Turning to face the mirror fully, she was shocked to see most of her cleavage daringly revealed. Why, but for her chemise she would have been exposed nearly to her nipples! The gown actually hung from her upper arms, for her shoulders were completely bare, showing an expanse of creamy white flesh. Startled, she interjected aloud, "Oh, Heavens! Mother will be shocked if I wear this!"

"Hold still. Don't move!" The seamstress ignored her outburst and walked to the front of the store, returning with a double strand of imitation pearls. As she fastened the clasp behind Mary's neck, she said, "I'll lend these to you; they'll balance the neckline." Stepping back, she studied Mary critically. "There's still something missing. You'll need a pair of small curved combs or a clasp comb to set off your long hair and add to your height. Here, I'll show you." Stepping behind Mary, she bunched the heavy, long hair upright in her clenched fist, letting it fall to the rear, down over Mary's shoulders. "It adds to your height and poise, almost like a crown, you might say."

In the looking glass Mary could see the effect it created. She remembered her mother's Spanish combs. Perhaps she could borrow them. A sudden feeling of dismay came over her. "I can't buy this dress Miss Trayner. It must cost a fortune!"

The small woman looked at her intently. "My name is Emily . . . please call me that in the future. After all, we'll be seeing each other often." Turning partially away, she said, "I made that dinner dress for my niece when we lived in Toronto. She never wore it; she died during the diphtheria epidemic of '70."

Noting tears forming on the wrinkled cheeks, Mary gathered the small woman to her. Moments later, the seamstress pulled away. Finding a handkerchief, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose violently. "There now! That's over with."

Looking up, she said, "I'll be proud if you'll wear the gown. It's yours now; I don't want to keep it any longer; it holds too many memories." Then her personality changed dramatically; she was all business. "You'll need slippers and a wrap to match. Slippers are no problem. Mr. Suffel, the shoemaker, has them in a variety of colors. But a wrap . . . oh my!"

Mary was overwhelmed by the gift, but reasoned aloud, "It's so cold now, Miss Trayner -- I mean Emily! -- I'd be forced to wear a heavy coat when we travel to the fort. Perhaps I can wear a loose sweater under the coat to protect the dress -- or I could put it on at the fort. I still don't know what mother will say. The dress is gorgeous, but it's so mature. I've never worn anything so beautiful. It frightens me!"

"Ah, youth, and your first ball! Perhaps it's a bit daring." She grasped the front of the bodice and raised it slightly. "I'll take in the flare at the shoulders to conceal a bit." She tittered nervously. "It's not what's revealed; it's what's concealed."

Quickly she stepped behind the counter and returned with elbow-length, yellow gloves that matched the dress. "Try these on for size. You'll need a pair and you shall pay for them." Firmly, she added, "After all, I've a store to run, and it must support me."

In gratitude Mary impulsively hugged the small woman and kissed her cheek. "I don't know what to say, but thank you! Thank you!"

After re-dressing and shrugging her arms into her heavy coat, Mary wrapped her scarf over her head, tucking the ends under her coat collar. She was about to close the door when she heard Miss Trayner's parting words, "Come in tomorrow and we'll do a final fitting. Then you can take it home for your mother's approval. I'll bet she'll love it."

Stepping to the street, Mary turned toward home, her mind a hodgepodge of thoughts. Seconds later she became aware of a huge, heavily-bearded man standing in front of the corner tavern. A peculiar feeling of fear came over her for it was nearing dark. As she approached the saloon, the man made no effort to step aside; instead, he held out his arms to stop her. Her first reaction was that the man was drunk. Alarmed, she attempted to pass around him, but he easily blocked her movement and grasped at her arm. The feel of his fingers revolted her and she jerked free.

In a gruff voice he said, "Whoa now, girly! Let's have a look at you." For a brief moment he studied her face, and then said, "I know you from somewhere."

She ducked quickly under his outstretched arm and ran. She heard his laughter from behind, and at a safe distance cast a look back at him. He was facing her with a vacuous expression on his face. It wasn't until she was nearly home that she felt safe.

That evening when her father and Ian came home for supper, Mary related her experience with the stranger. Ian broke in angrily, "It could have been that foreman, Brogan. You say he was a big man, and heavily bearded? Was his head canted to one side?"

"I don't remember. I was so frightened."

"If it was Brogan, I'd like to deform him!" Ian was furious.

"Easy, son, he'll get his due some day. He'll find the wrong man to insult." Patrick was angered at first, but Maggie reached over to take his hand. At her reassuring squeeze, he turned to her and smiled, returning the pressure.

It was after Maggy and Mary had gone to bed that Ian managed to converse alone with his father. "I've heard talk that Brogan came from eastern Canada, and that he arrived here shortly after we did."

Patrick said grimly, "I've heard it too, and I can guess what you're thinking. You believe he could be the one who attacked your sister, eh?"

"It's possible, Pa. He has that crooked neck."

"Just a shot in the dark, but there's no proof; and even if we had it, what could we do?" He continued, "It's remotely possible, but very likely improbable. We'll bide our time and tend to our work. Justice usually works out in strange ways.

"There's another thing I wanted to bring up, for I'm guilty too. We've got to learn to control our rage and frustration." He hesitated, "Perhaps time will temper us. Pa always said haste creates stupid judgments and brings about the worst decisions."