Trick Drummer

One Dominion Day celebration in Emerson brought out a combined [brass] band from Fort Pembina, Emerson, and Dominion City. Tubby Ardis of Pembina was on the bass drum and during the street parade the band played the Ruby Rose March. Tubby was carrying the drum high, as bass drummers do, and marching along at a fairly good clip when he ran right square into the silent policeman¹ (big cast-iron affair weighing well over 200 pounds). The impact forced Tubby to turn a complete backward somersault which landed him right on his feet. Coming down he accidently hit his drum twice, right in time with the music, and never missed a beat. Spectators watching the parade figured the band had engaged a trick drummer especially for the occasion. From DOMINION CITY: Fact, Fiction & Hyperbole

¹ - Before the days of the horseless carriage, horse & buggy drivers pretty much drove where they pleased, obeying rudimentary traffic rules. Generally, horses would not run into each other, regardless of what kind of attention was being paid by their driver. There were no one-way streets around the turn of the 20th Century, and if everyone kept to the right, few problems developed.

However, with the advent of the newfangled gasoline-powered automobiles, which came upon the scene during the early 1900's, drivers, both horse and auto, would become much more aware of the problems which arose when they met.

Horse owners complained of the high speeds that autos drove–up to 20 miles per hour!–and the noisy engines, which scared their teams. To accommodate and protect the horse teams, proper etiquette dictated that cars must keep to the right of center, and not exceed a 6 mile per hour speed when turning street corners.

How far right, was right? Some vehicles would cut a corner, thereby getting into the oncoming lane, with potential disastrous results. Intersections were the worst, where four streets met. Few, if any, stop signs existed then, so who had the right-of-way?

Instead of having a traffic officer at each busy intersection directing traffic, the problem was solved with the installation of what was then called a “Silent Policeman”. It consisted of a cement pillar, about 5 feet high, usually with a shiny globe on top. The globe sometimes lit up at night for better visibility. It was understood that, upon entering an intersection, drivers must always keep to the right of the Silent Policeman. If one wished to make a 90 degree left-hand turn, the driver would have to turn right, circle the pillar and exit at the desired street. It was a type of “roundabout” commonly used in Europe at the time.

From Silent Policemen by Bill Schuette

Rail Line Celebrated as West's First Railway

Right on the heels of the transcontinental railroad in America, the first rail line in Western Canada came to be. It connected our neighbors to the north, down into the heart of Minnesota, going right through the Pembina/St. Vincent towns. From Saturday's Winnipeg Free Press comes this bit of news concerning history of our area...

July 5 at 02:30 PM CDT - A plaque marking Western Canada's first railway was unveiled today in Dominion City by Provencher MP Vic Toews. The Pembina Branch, completed 130 years ago, connected St. Boniface to St. Paul, Minnesota via Emerson and Pembina, ND, giving Western Canada its first rail route to eastern Canada, via American lines. The route brought immigrants and manufactured goods west, while providing a cost-effective way to get western grain and other farm produce to the east. "The completion of this important rail line in 1878 heralded the era of railways in the Canadian West and represented Canada's commitment to connecting the West and East," Toews said in a news release. New Brunswick, Nova Scotia and British Columbia joined Canada on the promise of a transcontinental railway. Sir John A. Macdonald had proposed an all-rail link, but his eagerness to realize his vision led to the Pacific Scandal and the downfall of his Conservative government in 1873, according to Parks Canada. That gave Prime Minister Alexander Mackenzie's Liberal coalition an opportunity to implement his own vision of a combination of water and rail routes across the continent.

The Pembina Branch, built by the St. Paul, Minneapolis and Manitoba Railway Company, followed the Red River and old cart paths. The last spike was driven Dec. 3, 1878, when western Canada's first locomotive -- the Countess of Dufferin -- met an American train at Dominion City. "It is my hope that the plaque will educate Canadians on the monumental importance that the construction of this railway had for the development of Canada," Toews said in the release. 

The Countess of Dufferin steam locomotive, named after the wife of then governor general Lord Dufferin, is on display at Via Rail's Union Station in Winnipeg.

Trivia: October 9, 1877 - Locomotive Countess of Dufferin arrives at St. Boniface on a barge towed by the steamer "Selkirk". It was brought in by the contractor Joseph Whitehead to work on the Selkirk - Emerson line and was the first locomotive in Manitoba and on the Prairies. From Colin Churcher's Railway Pages

A Prohibition Communion

A "Rye Communion" was held in Christ Church during Prohibition!

I stumbled across a mention of St. Vincent in a Google Books snippet recently. I tracked down a second-hand copy of the book, which wasn't easy since it's pretty obscure. The title? God's Dodger: The Story of a Front Line Chaplain, by G.W. Stephen Brodsky.

The main scope of the book (written in autobiographic, first-person style) is about a man named Russell Oliver "Rusty" Wilkes. Wilkes was a Canadian officer during WWII, a chaplain (among many other roles) which is what the book is mainly about. He was a hero of sorts, but that is another story. The part of the book I was drawn to was the lead-up - his earlier life as a student, young husband, and new minister. One of the areas he was sent to, was where I grew up. In fact, he ministered to my own family (my grandparents and my mother, then a young girl...) at Christ Church.

The colorful story below is told with the warmth and humor that the perspective of time gives us all of such awkward occasions!

In the spring of 1932...I took up new duties at the town of Emerson, Manitoba, on the Manitoba-Minnesota border. The parish included Dominion City, Ridgeville, and St. Vincent, Minnesota. This was prairie wheat country, and here we experienced the worst of the infamous '20's drought and the awful poverty it brought at the peak of the Depression...[There was a ] scarcity of water in summer. Our basement cistern was cracked and empty, and a sweaty session of pumping proved only that the well was dry. Everybody was in the same fix, and the town's water was carefully rationed. Water came in a tank car a couple of times a week from somewhere west of Emerson, and every morning townsfolk would line up at the railway station with their pails while Emerson's lone constable unlocked a padlock on the town pump.

My usual Sunday routine was to drive to Dominion City in time for a late morning service, then to Ridgeville by mid-afternoon, and back to Emerson in time for evening service. Once a month I'd leave the folk of Ridgeville wallowing in a moral slough, and head across the border for St. Vincent in Minnesota, where the Episcopal Church observed Anglican rites.

These were prohibition days, and I suppose I could have made a tidy profit exporting other kinds of spirit.  But, discretion being the better part of piety, I left my stock of communion wine in St. Vincent in care of the verger. The verger and organist Henry Young was a slightly built elderly gentleman of great devotion and impeccable morals. He would bring the wine faithfully to every service and return it to his home afterwards. One Sunday as I prepared the cruets for communion my nose caught the pungently unmistakable bouquet of 100 proof rye whiskey. I tiptoed from the vestry, across the church to where Henry was at the organ warming up the congregation with a rousing dirge.  He was smiling beatifically, his eyes closed in reverential rapture.  I murmured in his ear, "Henry, would you join me in the vestry, please." Henry came in still smiling vaguely, and stood swaying unsteadily.

When I told him he'd turned wine into whiskey, the smile vanished and his eyes bugged in spirituous indignation. He drew himself up to his full five-foot-three. "My dear Reverend Sir," he burst out, "I have NEVER had whiskey in my home. THAT, sir, is your communion wine." He turned on his heel and stalked out, his dignity marred only slightly as he tripped on the raised door sill and shot back into the church. Consecrate as I might, I didn't have a divine knack for turning whiskey back into wine. But there was nothing for it, so we had a rye communion. There was an occasional grimace of surprise among the kneeling celebrants, and even a smile or two. But nobody commented afterwards except Ethel, who didn't admire my novel approach to the sacrament.

Another interesting aspect to the excerpt above is its opening paragraph. I always wondered how the Depression manifested itself in my hometown area. Whenever I asked my Mom, she didn't have much to say about it. Granted, she was just a kid at the time, but I always figured that people here felt the effects in some measure. Turns out they did.

Emerson Hockey Memories

Photo Source:  James McClelland

The team in the picture above is from the early 1960s. It was made up of players from Emerson, Dominion City, Letellier, Noyes, and players from UND.

Back row, left-right: John Mathes, Al Hayden-Luck, Ben Comeault, Unknown, Tony Loiselle (Goalie), Unknown, Ed Mackay, Alfred "Babe" Ayotte, Doug Gruenke, Gary Beckstead¹.

Front Row left-right: Clayton Grey, Tom Forrest, Dean Beckstead, Donny Kernihan, Barry Solnes, Sam Leathers, Wilf Beaulieu (playing coach). "The unknown players probably were imports from Grand Forks; the team was often accused of bringing in imports", says James McClelland

James McClelland [formerly of Emerson] shared the photo with me, and the following commentary:

Documentary: EMERSON

Emerson was the subject of feature of a CTV documentary, as part of the Manitoba Moments series that airs each Sunday At 6:30 P.M. The show reveals Emerson’s efforts to rival Winnipeg in the 1880s as Manitoba’s major urban centre. The documentary also shows how Emerson’s history is tied in with significant events on Canadian history - the abortive Fenian Raid in 1871 and the establishment of Fort Dufferin which was associated with land surveyors who marked out the Canadian Border and Northwest Mounted Police who started their historic trek west. Also, we are reminded that Emerson housed Mennonites from Russia as they traveled along the Mennonite Post Road en route to farmland in the West Reserve. The TV show was researched and written by James McClelland who taught school in Dominion City and Vita from 1974 to 2003. It premiered on March 6, 2005.

- From Manitoba Historical Society's TIME LINES, Volume 37, No. 4 (April/May 2005)

BORDERTOWNS: Chapter 19

From Dominion City: Fact, Fiction & Hyperbole
The entire countryside was anxious to be at the Emerson depot to greet the first train arriving from St. Paul on the morning of November 11. Shortly after daylight on the auspicious day, Susan left home and after walking down the alley, rapped lightly on the McLaren back door. When she entered the kitchen a brief spate of cold air followed. She felt the sudden warmth of the room and the mouth-watering smell of frying bacon. Dancing flickers of light leaked from the damper on the left side of the cast iron range.

Mary glanced up from where she was turning the bacon. "You're just in time for breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes and toast." She reached to the cupboard and handed a cup to Susan, then began turning the bread toasting on the hot top of the stove.

Maggy was sitting quietly at the table, nursing Kate at her breast. Reaching for the coffee pot, Susan said, "I've had breakfast. I came over to see what time we're leaving for Emerson." Seating herself opposite Maggy, she asked, "Will Patrick be able to get off work to come along with us?"

Baby Kate stopped nursing and turned upon hearing Susan's voice. Susan smiled at her. "Gosh, every time I see her she's grown." She marveled, "She'll be walking soon, I bet."

Maggy looked down at Kate fondly. "She's on solid foods, too, but she's still a glutton for breast milk. She says "Mama" and "Dada," and I do believe she'll start walking in another month or two. That is, if someone holds her hand. She can already pull herself up and stand." She looked to Mary. "You were walking by yourself when you reached your first birthday."

Mary smiled and reached behind her head to pat her back in jest. "Yes, and you've told me a hundred times how I got into everything." She looked toward Susan. "Pa can't get off work, but Jerold and Knute will take us over in the buggies. There's not much snow, and with the five of us and Mike, we'll need your buggy too."

"Ian got off work at six this morning. I fed him breakfast and he's fast asleep by now. He'll join us in Emerson around noontime. It's a pity we all can't go to Roseau Crossing¹ to see the spike-driving ceremony, but Ian says it's too far and too cold a ride."

Knute entered the kitchen and wiggled a silent hello to Susan with his fingers as he sat down at the table. He had evidently overheard Susan's remark, and he added, "Nearly a three-hour ride each way and a chilly one too."

Mary scooped the fried bacon and potatoes onto a platter and placed it on the table. Grasping the covered dish of scrambled eggs from the warming side of the stove, she removed the cover and inserted a serving spoon. Placing the bowl in the center of the table, she remarked, "The toast will be ready in a jiffy."

"It sure will," Knute was smiling. "It's already burning!"

"Oh, my gosh!" Mary hastily stabbed into the offending slice of bread with a fork, and then examined it closely. "It's all right, just burned a little on the edges."

Baby Kate pulled away from Maggy and endeavored to stand in her lap. When Susan held out her arms coaxingly, the baby smiled and attempted to crawl across the table to her. Sliding back her chair, Susan stood and lifted the child from Maggy's lap, saying, "I want two just like her, and two like Ian."

"And are you trying?" Maggy teased.

"You bet!" Susan broke into a merry laugh.

While the women smiled, Knute sat back silently; he was obviously embarrassed.

"We should leave by 10 o'clock." Maggy said. "I want to look around the stores this afternoon, for I've heard they have good print on sale for 12 cents a yard. Kate needs new dresses; she's nearly outgrown everything. We can eat dinner at one of the hotels. We're not packing any lunches today; it'll be my treat."

Sounds from the back porch indicated Jerold was back from the barn. They could hear the thumping of the milk pails on the porch floor. Moments later he entered the kitchen. "Smells like heaven in here. Anything left for me?"

"Not if you'd stayed out there much longer," Mary teased.

"Well, it was my turn to milk this morning." He grinned. "Knute's turn to milk tonight, then I'll be the one to have it easy." He sat at the table and began helping himself.

Susan stood and lowered Kate into her high chair. "I'll be back with the buggy at ten."

"No, you won't!" Jerold was smiling. "I will be the one. If you'll wait a moment until I finish eating, I'll walk back with you and be your chore boy while my big brother is busy sawing logs."

Susan looked up at the ceiling musingly. "Let's see. I need kindling split for the stove, the ashes must be cleaned from both the kitchen and parlor stoves, the barn needs cleaning, and, oh yes..."

"Whoa there! Have pity! Leave something for Ian to do."

"If you want it so." Susan looked at her brother-in-law fondly. She knew she had joined a wonderful, loving family.

It was nearly noon before the two buggies crossed the international boundary and proceeded north along Emerson's Main Street. It seemed a few tents were pitched helter-skelter here and there. Before they turned east on Church Street, they noticed each hitch rail in sight was occupied by riding horses or teams. The saloons were evidently doing a booming business, due to the crowd. It seemed every man who had ever worked on the railroad was in town for the celebration. Turning east toward the Depot, they were finally forced to stop; they were still two blocks short of their destination. Further travel was impossible for sleighs and buggies blocked the entire street.

Jerold turned to his mother. "What time is the train supposed to arrive?"

"Pat said sometime shortly after the noon hour. We might as well step down and visit a bit. I hope we don't have to stand in the cold too long." She handed Kate to Mike while she stepped from the buggy, and then reached to take the baby back. Walking to Knute and the girls, whose buggy had stopped behind theirs, she said, "Let's mingle a bit with the crowd until train time. No doubt some of our old neighbors will be about."

They had barely approached the crowd at the tracks when the shrill whistle of the northbound train was heard. Within a minute the highly decorated 4-4-0 engine slowed for the depot. Crowds momentarily panicked to clear the track and the train stopped, steam jetting out from the cylinders. From where the McLaren family stood, they could not hear the welcoming speech, but they could see the arms of the speaker gesturing vigorously. Flags decorated the engine and bunting hung from the cars. To Maggy, it seemed there were few passengers. She later found there were only 24, mostly executives of the St.P.&P.

The stop in Emerson was brief; with a sudden surge of power, the high driving wheels of the engine slipped momentarily, then slowed to seize the rails. People were waving from the car windows as the train finally moved north to the ceremony planned at Roseau. Mary turned to her mother. "Let's meet at the Gillis' restaurant. It'll fill quickly, so we'll hurry. We'll save seats for you."

Knute smiled, confident they would get to the café in plenty of time since they were on the outer fringe of the crowd. He remarked, "We'll beat everyone downtown. There aren't any rigs parked behind us."

They were two blocks from Main Street when Knute noticed a small group of men standing at the next corner. He became apprehensive when he saw they were watching the approaching buggy with obvious interest. The men were smiling and exchanging smirks, as if in anticipation. Just as their buggy passed by, one of the heavily bearded men threw something just ahead of the horse.

Susan clutched Knute's arm tightly. "Watch out! He threw a firecracker."

The explosion that followed was no firecracker. It was tremendous. For a second the girls and Knute were in shock. Then the horse began bucking. Twisting wildly, it forced the buggy nearly over on its right side. Mary was toppled out onto the ground. Kicking and rearing, the horse broke into a wild gallop, the right rear wheel of the buggy passing over Mary's chest. Out of control, the horse then left the road, bolting between two buildings. The two right wheels were torn from the axles as they scraped through to the alley. When the horse turned suddenly at the alley, Susan lost her balance. She was thrown clear of the buggy and landed heavily on the slushy ground.

All of the force Knute could exert on the reins by bracing his feet on the dash of the buggy failed to stop the horse. When a large water trough blocked the way, the animal attempted to jump it and failed. As the buggy struck the trough, it was totally demolished; Knute was thrown forward, his body striking heavily against a board fence.

Jerold, Maggy and Mike, who had been following a half-block behind Knute, witnessed the explosion and runaway. They noted that the men responsible for throwing the explosive charge cast furtive glances among themselves, and then hastily left en masse, in the direction of the Russell House. Not one man went to the aid of Mary, who was lying as if dead on the snow-laden street.

Maggy hastily pushed Kate into Mike's lap, crying, "Hold her!" Even before Jerold could bring the buggy to a complete stop, she leaped from the side and ran to Mary. Pushing back Mary's long hair, she saw the scraped, bloody face. Her daughter was moaning with pain, attempting to straighten from a fetal position.

"Hold still, darling. Everything will be all right."

Mary's eyes began to flicker as she became conscious. Her face was colorless. It was obvious she was in shock.

Maggy drew in a deep breath as she placed her fur muff under her daughter's head. From business establishments along the street, faces appeared, alarmed by the loud blast. Several men, seeing Maggy crouched down alongside Mary, approached at a run.

Jerold shouted to Maggy, "I'll follow Knute's buggy. He and Susan are in trouble." Driving hurriedly around the end of the block, he entered the alley in time to see Susan rising groggily from the ground. She looked dazed and was futilely attempting to wipe mud from the front of her coat.

Further along the alley was the smashed buggy. The horse was straddled across the water trough, flailing wildly with its front legs and emitting pitiful screams of agony. Drawing the buggy to a quick halt, Jerold thrust the reins into Mike's hand, commanding, "Hold the animal! Stay in the buggy with the baby!"

Knute was crumpled against the board fence motionless, yet apparently conscious. His eyes were open, but his extended right leg was strangely bent below his right knee. Moving cautiously to avoid the threshing legs of the horse, Jerold endeavored to pull Knute from the danger. A sick feeling came over him as he drew Knute's body back and saw what looked like a jagged stick protruding from the torn trouser leg. Although dazed, Knute recognized Jerold. He burst out, "I hurt like hell! My leg is on fire."

Susan, although badly shaken, joined Jerold in tugging Knute clear of the threshing hooves.

"Lay still, Knute," she ordered, while cradling his head in her hands. Motioning to Jerold with a jerk of her head, she said, "Give me your coat!" Jerold quickly complied and she gently tucked it under Knute's head.

Jerold cast a glance down the alley to the west. "Stay with him, Susan. I'll get help and find someone to dispose of the horse -- it's done for."

Before he could rise to his feet, they heard excited voices. The first two men to appear were clerks from Ashdown's store, located just on the corner. Realizing the situation of the maimed and crippled horse, one of the men cried, "I'll get a gun." Turning, he ran back to the store. The other clerk knelt by Susan and Jerold anxiously as Susan carefully wiped Knute's face with her scarf.

The man volunteered, "I'll get help to carry him into the store. We've got to get him off this cold ground." He headed toward the store.

Jerold urged, "Susan, why don't you see to Mike and little Kate? Take them into the store where it's warm. I'll stay with Knute until they return with more men."

Returning to the carriage, Susan reached to take Kate from Mike's arms. Mike jumped from the buggy and looked at up at her apprehensively. "Knute's going to be all right, isn't he?"

Susan looked as him reassuringly and put her arm around his shoulder. "He'll be fine, Mike. We'll have him home in no time."

Within a few moments one of the clerks returned with three men. As they carried Knute into the mercantile store, they heard the sharp crack of a pistol.

The shock from the impact with the ground was leaving Mary and she groaned, "It hurts to breath, Ma."

The merchant who was kneeling by her side looked up at Maggy. "She probably has some cracked ribs. It happened to me years ago; that's how I felt."

Maggy was somewhat relieved when she wiped the blood from Mary's face to find it oozing from a cut lip. She looked up at the men gathered around her. "Can you help me get her into a warm building?"

One of the men took charge. While he and two others carefully lifted Mary, another man assisted Maggy to her feet. "We'll take her into Ashdown's and call the doctor."

Luckily, the doctor was found at his hotel by one of the Ashdown clerks. After examining Mary briefly, he said, "She possibly has some cracked ribs in addition to her bruises; also, she has bitten her lip -- that's not serious. However, I can't tell if she has internal injuries, I'll have to look closer. He turned to the nearby watchers and said pointedly, "I need privacy to conduct a more detailed examination."

As the men turned away, another group of men entered through the rear door of the store. They were carrying Knute. The doctor looked startled and Maggy heard him mutter, "It never rains, but it pours!" Opening Mary's blouse, he slid the straps of her chemise down over her arms. Dark blue and red discolorations were on each side of her chest. One well-marked hemorrhaging streak had evidently been made by one of the buggy wheels.

"Like I thought, she has damaged ribs. I'll have to bind her chest. It will hurt to breath for a few days, but they'll mend and the pain will go away." He turned to Maggy, "Find a glass of water and I'll give her some laudanum before I wrap her chest. That will kill nearly all of the pain. Buy a pillow case from the store and I'll bind her chest with that. Oh, yes, get some large pins also. She'll need to be moved gently if you intend to take her home. I'll give you additional medication for her before you leave." After watching Maggy coax Mary into drinking the sedative, he said, "Now I'd better look at that other chap."

The men carrying Knute had laid him on a section of the store counter. Someone had placed a rolled blanket under his head. Susan, holding Kate in her arms, moved hastily over to join Maggy and Mary.

The doctor noted Knute's pasty, grim countenance. "What hurts the most, son?"

"My leg! My damn leg!"

The doctor briefly ran his hand down Knute's blood-soaked pantleg, then looked to Jerold. "Borrow some scissors from the store and slit the leg of that trouser carefully."

After the fabric had been cut open, Jerold noted the sudden grim look on the doctor's face. Moving away from the counter, the doctor beckoned to Jerold. "You'll have to get him over to my hotel room. Thank goodness, he's lost little blood. I hate to say it, but the lower part of the leg will have to be amputated. Both the tibia and fibula are broken and it's a compound fracture. Morever, just above the ankle, the two bones are mangled beyond repair. There's no way I can splint them. If it's not done immediately, there's almost a 100% chance of infection and then he will have little chance. He appears to be a strong, healthy boy. He should pull through satisfactorily."

The doctor turned to Enoch Winkler, the proprietor of the store. "Have you a mattress available for use to convey the boy to my hotel? His leg will need support while he is being moved."

Without answering, Winkler nodded and turned to the rear stockroom.

With Maggy's and Susan's help, the doctor deftly wrapped Mary to prevent the shifting of her ribs. By this time the laudanum had taken effect and she appeared to be sleepy and in little pain.

The doctor turned to Maggy. "Do you live in town, madam?"

"No, I'm Maggy McLaren, from St. Vincent. This girl is my daughter.

"I'd suggest a hotel room for her, but I'm afraid with the huge crowd in town, you'll look in vain."

Maggy reached out to smooth back the hair of her nearly sleeping daughter. "We'll see she gets home safely. Can you call over at our house in St. Vincent tomorrow, Doctor?"

"Yes, perhaps in the early afternoon. I must see to the lad now. He will need my room for a few days. I'll make the necessary arrangements."

When Knute was finally secure in the doctor's room at International Hotel, he appealed to Jerold. "My leg is shot, isn't it?"

Jerold tried to keep lightness in his voice. "It's just bad above the ankle."

"He's going to take it off, isn't he?"

"It won't make any difference, Knute."

Knute exploded, "What the hell will I do with one leg? Can't farm, can't do anything. Where are those sons-of-bitches who threw that bomb in front of the horse? They're responsible!"

"We'll find out who they are and get them!"

"You damn right! I'll spend the rest of my life getting even with them."

Ian arrived in Emerson too late to see the train pass through. A townsman recognized him and apprised him of the accident and of the location of his family. He immediately went to the Ashdown store to find his mother already making arrangements to have Mary returned to their home in St. Vincent. Mike was sitting quietly on a window seat by the door holding Kate on his lap. Concerned about his wife, he asked anxiously, "Just what happened? Where is Susan? Has she been hurt? Where are Jerold and Knute?"

Maggy hastily explained, "Susan is fine. She and Jerold took Knute to the International Hotel. He's in the doctor's room. His leg is badly broken and I don't know what the doctor plans." She looked at the sleeping Mary. "Mr. Winkler is out locating a spring wagon to carry Mary home. Mike, Kate and I will return with her; you see to Susan and Jerold. They're with Knute and know more what's going on than I." She added, "They've got our buggy; yours is shot. Also they've had to destroy your horse."

Ian hurried to the hotel and found Susan by the desk. Grasping her arms gently as she arose from a chair, he asked, "Have you been hurt, darling?" He noted her ashen look.

"No, just a bit shook up. But the doctor said Knute's right lower leg will have to be amputated."

"Oh, God! Poor kid! He'll need a lot of cheering up.”

Susan noted the grim look on his face and hugged him close. "We'll all see to that!"

"Can I see him?"

Susan shook her head. "The doctor is operating on him now. Jerold and another man are helping."

"Then I guess there's not much I can do except see Jack Bell and find the scum who did this. Sure you're not hurt?"

"I'm fine. Just find those men. They've got a lot to answer for."

Ian found Bell at the corner of Main and Church. The constable had already been informed of the accident and turned as Ian called to him. He smiled grimly and held out his open hand as Ian approached. Ian immediately identified the two objects Bell held in his hand as partial sticks of dynamite. "What are you doing with those, Jack?"

"I found them at the scene of the explosion." He fingered the greasy, oily paper.

"The bastards who caused the runaway stole this from the railroad, then cut it into three pieces. When they saw the damage they caused, they dropped the remaining portions on the ground to get rid of them. I checked your horse, too. No wonder he went wild. The explosion blew a chunk of hide from one of his front legs. I've been told those same men were seen walking toward the Russell House. I'm just heading for a look-see. Want to come along?"

"You bet!" Ian was grim. "They're going to pay the piper! I'm told Knute will lose a leg. What a hell of a thing to happen at a celebration!"

Bell whistled softly as he exhaled. "That should get them a few years in jail when we find them."

At the door of the saloon they hesitated momentarily to make plans. "We'll stick together and see who we can recognize," Bell advised. "Sometimes you can spot the guilty by their evasive actions and the looks on their faces."

The large barroom of the Russell House was packed with railroaders and civilians. Ian estimated the room held at least sixty men. All appeared boisterous, apparently oblivious to the heavy, blue haze of tobacco smoke that filled the room. Four harassed bartenders moved hurriedly behind the long mahogany bar. The chairs at every table were fully occupied and men stood two-deep along the bar.

"It's not going to be easy," Bell murmured.

Stepping ahead of Ian, he beckoned to the nearest bartender, who finally noticed him and turned. "I'm looking for four or five men who came in here recently, maybe a half hour ago, maybe a bit longer."

"Hell, Jack! I haven't had a chance to even look at the door. Look at this mob!" He waved his arm around. "Help yourself!"

Ian overheard the words and touched Bell's arm. "I'm going to look around."

While Bell remained in position to size up men he knew, men who would possibly have information, Ian went back outside. He realized that there were no saloons within a block and hoped the men they sought were inside. Then he saw a boy of about ten years of age playing just across the road. He had a hoop and stick and was chasing the hoop up and down the wood sidewalk. Crossing the street, Ian blocked the boy's path. The youngster stopped, looking puzzled.

"Son, did you see a group of men come over from Church Street some time ago? Maybe they entered that side door to the saloon across the street."

"You mean the ones that lit that big firecracker?" The small freckled face lit up.

"They're the ones," Ian said expectantly.

"Yup! They went into that side door. There were five of them and two were big buggers. They all had beards and one of them grabbed my hoop and threw it into Tennant's back yard."

"Were they drunk?"

"They were all laughing." He pointed at the hotel. "They haven't come out of there either."

Ian picked up the hoop and handed it to the boy. "Thanks! You've helped a lot."

Re-crossing the street, Ian realized he was in luck. He joined Bell and related his conversation with the boy, saying, “They’re still in here, according to the lad. I'm going back along the bar and see who's here."

Men blocking his way made movement difficult; they were intent in their conversations and reticent to move aside. He forced himself to be patient while worming between them, not wanting to irritate anyone. He knew that in a bar, with many drinking, anything deemed an insult could result in a massive brawl. At the far end of the crowded room, he suddenly stopped in surprise. Standing by the wall, nearly hidden from sight, were Brogan and Murphy with three other men. Wending his way back to Bell, he briefly related his past troubles with them and told of his suspicions.

"I know both of them. Come on!" Bell led the way forcefully, pushing through men, raising bitter looks as he shoved through the crowd. When he and Ian reached the end of the bar, sudden, apprehensive looks appeared on the faces of the five men as they were spotted. Their quick exchange of glances was obvious. Brogan and Murphy pretended a nonchalant conversation as their companions began to drift away.

Bell reached out and grasped Brogan's shoulder. "You and Murphy come outside with me. I want to talk to you." Murphy casually turned his back. "Yes, you too, Murphy."

"What the hell you want, Bell? We're drinking and minding our own business." A troubled look came to Murphy's face.

Bell thundered, "Either you two come with me or I'll drag you out!"
At first Ian though Murphy intended to start a fight, but then perhaps he thought better of it. Obviously reluctant, he followed Brogan and Bell to the door. Outside the bar, Bell turned on them. "How long have you two been in the saloon?"

Brogan exchanged glances with Murphy. "Hell, since early this morning."

"Turn out your pockets. I want to see what's in them." Bell demanded.

"What's this all about?" demanded Murphy.

"Never mind, just do it!" Bell ordered.

Slowly they emptied their pockets, displaying loose change, tobacco, jackknives, matches and sundry items, even a few buttons.

"What, no dynamite caps?" Bell looked at the two shrewdly.

Even Ian detected the startled looks on the men's faces. Murphy snorted. "What the hell are you trying to pin on us?"

"Pin what on you?" Bell had a nasty smile on his face.

Ian lost his temper. "You bastards set off that dynamite. Knute is going to lose a leg over your meanness, and both my wife and sister have been hurt. In addition a good horse is dead and my buggy destroyed." He surged in anger toward Murphy.

"Hold, Ian, hold!" Bell moved his huge bulk between them. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a revolver. Pointing it at the suspects, he exclaimed, "You are both going to jail. Now march, and you know where. Down to McRae's blacksmith shop. You'll stay locked up until we sort this out." He looked at them grimly, "In my book you're a pair of skunks!"

He called to Ian as he started the prisoners toward the jail. "Find Kenny McRae and tell him I need him at his shop. I'll arrange a hearing for tomorrow; then I can transfer them to Winnipeg."

Ian lost half an hour hunting up McRae, then he hurried to the hotel to check on Knute. He found Jerold and Susan conversing in the lobby.

"How's Knute?"

Both arose to greet him. "The doctor removed his foot just above the ankle," Jerold said. "I helped a bit to hold him while the ether was applied, but I never want to go through that again. I'm not cut out for doctoring."

Susan sounded hopeful. "The doctor said that he'll be able to walk again. He said they make what is called prosthesis, a kind of artificial foot that can be attached to Knute's leg. He's asleep now, but we want to stay until he wakes up. He'll need a lot of looking after and bolstering up."

"He'll get it too!" Ian reached to put his arm around her shoulders. "It was railroaders who threw the explosive. Bell has Brogan and Murphy in custody. We think they were the ringleaders. That wasn't a firecracker they threw under the horse; it was part of a stick of dynamite."

A puzzled look appeared on Jerold's face. "Did they single out Knute and the girls, or were they just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"I guess we'll never know the answer to that unless they confess," Ian retorted.

"There have been too many coincidences lately: the attempted burning of my crop, the harming of Charley's horse, and the burning of Mason's livery. Now this! What's next?"

"Surely they'll get jail sentences over this. That should end any more trouble." Susan looked hopeful. "It could have been by chance they picked us. We might have returned downtown on another street."

Jerold glanced at his watch. "It's almost suppertime. When Knute wakes up, someone should be with him." He turned to Susan. "Why don't you go home with Ian? I'll stay with Knute tonight."

Casting a wry look down at her long skirt, Susan shrugged, and then turned to Ian.

"It's impossible to ride double in this dress. Why don't you leave your horse for Jerold and we can take your Father's buggy home?

"Jerold, if it's agreeable with you, I'll come over in the morning and spend the day with Knute. Perhaps I can divert his mind a bit by reading to him. He likes that."

Bell was tired and disgusted when he went home after locking up the prisoners. He and McRae had difficulty putting leg irons on the two men, because of their vociferous objections. It had taken a firm threat of shooting them both before the suspects backed down. Locked in the small building and limited in movement, Brogan and Murphy were forced to feed the small jail stove during the night to keep warm. It was only after Bell and McRae left that they began to discuss their plight.

Murphy sneered, "That damn fool Bell never found the other two capped dynamite fuses. I'll scrape out some chinking between the logs and hide them."

"Where'ja have them hid?"

"Got a secret pocket in the inside of my vest. If he had searched me good, our goose would have been cooked. Why, that dumb blacksmith never even found my knife. He put the irons on tight around my ankles but he never lifted either of my pant legs. Don't guess they have anything to hold us on -- they've got no proof."

"You suppose he'll corner Arnie and the boys and maybe work on them?"

"No chance. They won't spill any beans. They're just as guilty as we are."

Murphy began shaking his head. His headache was coming back and the voice was saying: You damn fool! Damn fool! Get that McLaren bunch, especially the girl!

He had tried and got one of them, but the wrong one. He judged himself lucky that they had come along Church Street when they had. The others had wanted to throw the explosive under the first buggy or sleigh that came along, but he had waited.

"What you got against the McLaren family, Eck? Do you know them from somewhere?"

"None of your damn business!" Murphy rolled into one of the dusty buffalo robes on the wall bunk, pulling it tightly to him. He cursed aloud, for McRae had tightened the ankle irons before riveting them shut. They were pinching and uncomfortable.

Brogan studied Murphy's form in the dim light. Why in hell did I ever get mixed up with him? He's peculiar at best and dangerous too. He talks to himself -- even shouts out in his sleep. Moody as hell -- guess he's a crazy. I should have known better. If I get out of this we're splitting company for sure, else he'll get me in serious trouble someday. His mouth was becoming dry and the effects of the day’s drinking were wearing thin. Geez! Wish I had a bottle now. It's going to be a long night and that dinky stove throws little heat!

Shortly after Maggy, Mike and the baby arrived home with Mary, Kirby rode into the yard. Hurriedly tossing the reins to the ground, he burst into the back door of the house. Mike was alone in the kitchen, making a sandwich.

"Where's Mary? I just got word at the fort that she's been in an accident."

Mike glanced up briefly. "Mother is upstairs with her. We just got back from Emerson. The doctor says she has broken ribs. I think she's asleep now, but you can go up and see."

Kirby took the steps two at a time, meeting Maggy just as she stepped from Mary's bedroom. She held a finger up to her lips and said softly, "She's asleep now. I've just tucked her in. You can go in and sit with her if you like, but don't wake her."

"How was she hurt?" Kirby's query came as a hoarse whisper.

"A buggy accident. It's a long story. When you come downstairs, I'll explain. Pat should be home from work soon; it's nearly suppertime."

Patrick, Ian and Susan arrived nearly simultaneously at the house. When Susan stepped from the buggy, Patrick said amiably, "You must have had a full day, just getting home now. Where is the rest of our family?" A puzzled look came to his face.

"How come you're driving my rig?"

"We've had trouble, Pa." Ian jumped down and turned to Susan. "Why don't you go into the house, I'll put up the horse." Then he saw Kirby's shivering animal. "Looks like Kirby is here; I'll put up his horse too." He looked puzzled, "It's not like Kirby to neglect his animal."

When all had gathered in the kitchen, Kirby heard the voices and came downstairs. As Maggy and Susan related the happenings in Emerson, Patrick became livid with rage.

"Those no-good rotters! So Bell has them in custody, eh? What's he going to do with them?"

Ian attempted to calm his father. "He said he'll try to schedule a hearing for tomorrow, then he’ll take them to Winnipeg for trial. He has them locked in the shed adjoining McRae's blacksmith shop."

"Perhaps I should go to Emerson to stay the night with Knute." Patrick looked questioningly at Maggy.

Ian interrupted, "No, Pa. It wouldn't do any good. He was still under the effect of the anesthesia when Susan and I left. Jerold is staying the night with him and Susan will take his place in the morning. Meanwhile, I'll do the chores tonight and again in the morning after I get off work."

Susan placed her hand on Patrick's arm in a further effort to placate him. "Knute will have to stay in Emerson for at least two or three days. The doctor seemed concerned about the possibility of an infection."

Glancing at Kirby, Ian could see the cold, calculating look on his face. Instinctively, he knew that it was just as well that Brogan and Murphy were locked up in Emerson. When word of what they had done became widespread, their lives would be in danger.

Maggy arose from the table and turned to Susan. "Help me get supper on the table for the men. You and Ian eat with us tonight. It'll save you cooking at home." She turned to the men. "Now that we know that everything is under control, and there's nothing further we can do tonight, let's relax."

¹ - In this same book is a very cool story about how the last spike, although driven by several VIP's (all men) and even some women from the crowd, was driven home by Mary Sullivan, the section crew boss' daughter. The passage, written by the daughter whose parents were witnesses to the event, says:

Standing among the group of ladies who had been too shy and modest to come forward and take a tap at the spike was a stalwart looking young girl, Mary Sullivan. She was the daughter of the section boss Sullivan, the referee. She was eighteen years old and had been closely watching and enjoying the last spike driving. Like some of the other ladies, however, including my mother, she had been too shy to come forward before the huge gathering and take a whack at the spike. SHe loved section work and used to help her dad pump the hand car, drive spikes, tamp ties, and do any track work she could.

The spike had still over an inch more to go and the ladies were about ready to give up and let the men finish the job when Charlie Lynne, who had worked on the section and knowing Mary quite well, also knew of her ability at railway work, notced her among the ladies and shouted out, "Hey Mary, come on over and show them how to drive a spike."

Mary, blushing from head to toe, quickly ran over. Her dad very proudly handed her the spike hammer and the crowd roared approvingly. She stepped back the proper distance, spit on her hands (like her dad always did) and with a mighty over hand swing drover the spike home and right down to the rail. At her mighty feat, the crowd set up a tremendous roar! The trains blew their whistles making a din that was heard for miles around. Mary, of course, had stolen the show!

The drinks were passed around again, but this time the toast was to Mary Sullivan, "The Hero of the Day." The crowd ignored the bigshots and everyone huddled around to congratulate Mary and shake her hand.

Sea of the North / Agnes Christina Laut

QUOTE:

Pierre de la Vérendrye had heard of a region to the south much frequented by the Assiniboine Indians, who had conducted Radisson to the Sea of the North fifty years before—the Forks where the Assiniboine River joins the Red, and the city of Winnipeg stands to-day.

AND

When the Sautaux were at war with the Crees, he met the Crees and heard of the great salt sea in the north. Surely this was the Sea of the North—Hudson Bay—of which the Nipissing chief had told Groseillers long ago.

AND

When Radisson came back from Onondaga, he found his brother-in-law, Groseillers, at Three Rivers, with ambitious designs of exploration in the unknown land of which he had heard at Green Bay and on Lake Nipissing. Jacques Cartier had discovered only one great river, had laid the foundations of only one small province; Champlain had only made the circuit of the St. Lawrence, the Ottawa, and the Great Lakes; but here was a country—if the Indians spoke the truth—greater than all the empires of Europe together, a country bounded only by three great seas, the Sea of the North, the Sea of the South, and the Sea of Japan, a country so vast as to stagger the utmost conception of little New France.

SOURCE:

Title: Pathfinders of the West Being the Thrilling Story of the Adventures of the Men Who Discovered the Great Northwest: Radisson, La Vérendrye, & Lewis and Clark by Agnes Christina Laut
__________

QUOTE:

I question if Norse heroes of the sea could boast more thrilling adventure than the wild buffalo hunts of American plain-rangers. A cavalcade of six hundred men mounted on mettlesome horses eager for the furious dash through a forest of tossing buffalo-horns was quite as imposing as any clash between warring Vikings. Squaws, children and a horde of ragged camp-followers straggled in long lines far to the hunters' rear. Altogether, the host behind the flag numbered not less than two thousand souls. Like any martial column, our squad had captain, color-bearer and chaplain. Luckily, all three were known to me, as I discovered when I reached Pembina.

SOURCE:

Title: Lords of the North
Author: A. C. Laut

Agnes Christina Laut(1871–1936). The prolific Canadian author Agnes Christina Laut wrote fiction and nonfiction mostly about the exploration and early settlement of Canada. Her topics included explorers, fur trapping and trading, gold prospecting, and other aspects of Canadian life in the era of European settlement.

Like so many other adventurous women at the turn of the century, Agnes C. Laut knew a passion for travel as well as a "gipsy yearning for the wilds." Fortunately she lived and worked at a time when the sphere of women´s lives was widening significantly. She was born the youngest of eight children in Ontario´s Huron County on February 11, 1871, just one year after Manitoba, amidst the troubles on the prairies, became the first province of the new Dominion of Canada. Her father was John Laut, a merchant from Glasgow and her mother was Eliza George, the daughter of Rev. James George, Chair of Logic and Mental and Moral Philosophy and vice-principal of Queen´s University from 1853 to 1857.

When Laut was two years old, she and her family moved to Winnipeg, which had just been incorporated as a city. In 1907 Laut recalled the importance of her early childhood years: "It was my good luck to have spent the first seven years of life on a farm enjoying all the fun of the real thing; riding real horses, not rocking horses; sailing real rafts on real creeks, not just blowing paper boats on a bath tub; hunting the secret nooks of live, real, woodland things ..."

Laut acknowledges some of the pioneering historians whose works inform her fiction: Alexander Ross, author of The Fur Hunters of the Far West (1855); George Bryce, author of Manitoba: Its Infancy, Growth, and Present Condition (1882) and The Remarkable History of the Hudson´s Bay Company (1900); and Donald Gunn, co-author of History of Manitoba (1880).

SOURCE:

Lords of the North

TRIVIA:

Agnes Christina Laut, 1871-1936, (Herstory 1985), was a novelist and historian who based many of her works, such as Lords of the North, and The Conquest of the Great Northwest (1908), on the Hudson's Bay Company's records of the fur trade. She was the first historian allowed access the the HBC archives, then in London, England.

Mike's Memories: Town Ball

After the First World War, Manitoba became a preferred destination for barnstorming  ball teams from the United States. All professionals, these American teams would roll through towns and villages throughout the province playing local amateur and semi-pro squads and often, the barnstormers got themselves whupped.

From:  Home Run

My earliest memories were going to baseball games on hot summer evenings. My home town of Humboldt, Minnesota had first rate baseball teams in the 1920s and 1930s. The entire town would follow the town ball team.

The early teams featured the Diamond brothers: Levi, Herb, and Ikey. Lomas Matthews was another legendary track star and baseball player who hailed from Humboldt. Happy Chandler, later to become the baseball commissioner and Senator from Kentucky played one summer for Humboldt.

Another early legendary player from the Humboldt team was Cal Farley who, like most of the other ball players on the 1910 team, was also interested in track and wrestling and went on to form Cal Farley's Boys Ranch in Texas. The U.S. Government honored him by printing a U.S. stamp named for him. The 1920 team also shows many of the players.

During the late 1940s and early 1950s, Humboldt had an excellent travelling team.

My Dad played first base and my Uncle Burton Turner was a pitcher. Burton's father, Ernest Turner, was a legendary pitcher. Many of the stories of early Humboldt baseball are well documented on this web site.

Who was the greatest player in Kittson County History? Some might say Ernie Turner, Happy Chandler, the Diamond boys, or Clarence Beck. [Note from Trish:  And don't forget Eli Gooselaw...] We don't have videos and it is impossible to compare players across generations. My candidate for player of the Millennium for the County is Humboldt's own native son, Scott Matthew.

WPA Tours of 1938: North Dakota

From the NDSU Center for Heritage Renewal's project, Highways and Trails of the WPA...



Tour 1
(Winnipeg, Man., Can.) – Pembina – Grand Forks – Fargo – Wahpeton – (Watertown, S. Dak.). US 81. Canadian boundary to South Dakota Line, 256.5 m.

N. P. Ry. parallels route between Canadian border and Joliette; G.N. Ry. between Hamilton and Fargo; Milwaukee R. R. between Fargo and South Dakota Line. Winnipeg-Fargo route of Northwest Airlines parallels route between Canadian border and Fargo. Graveled roadbed except about 31 m. bituminous-surfaced. Accommodations of all types in principal towns.

US 81 crosses North Dakota along its eastern boundary from the Canadian to the South Dakota border, and passes through the rich low valley of the Red River of the North, a wide level plain that was once the bed of the great prehistoric Lake Agassiz. The route parallels the Red River to Wahpeton, and the Bois de Sioux River between that city and the South Dakota Line. Constantly in sight to the left of the road are the heavily wooded river banks, but except for crossing several timbered tributaries the route runs through almost unbelievably flat green fields, broken here and there by an occasional farmstead.

During the early settlement of this region the Red River provided transportation into the newly opened Northwest, and beside its course slow-moving trains of creaking oxcarts preceded the steamboat into the new land. It was in the Red River Valley that the first white settlements in the State were made. Here in the last quarter of the nineteenth century flourished the bonanza farms--those huge land tracts entirely devoted to the growing of wheat that earned for this valley the title of "the bread basket of the world." Today the Red River Valley produces many other crops—potatoes, sugar beets, alfalfa—in addition to wheat. Its natural endowments of rich soil and good rainfall combine with the man-made facilities of transportation to constitute the most prosperous section of North Dakota.

US 81 crosses the Canadian border 64.5 m. S. of Winnipeg, Can.

PEMBINA (Chippewa, for highbush cranberry), 3 m. (792 alt., 551 pop.), named for the berries that lend their flaming color to the nearby woods in autumn, is the cradle of North Dakota white settlement. Here, at the confluence of the Red and Pembina Rivers, the earliest trading posts and the first white colony in the State were established. Charles Chaboillez, representing the North West Co., built the first fur post on North Dakota soil on the south bank of the Pembina River within the present site of Pembina in 1797-98. Rudely constructed and of short duration, it had already disappeared when Alexander Henry, Jr., also of the North West Co., came up the Red River in 1800. The following year he built a post on the north side of the Pembina, and in the same year both the XY and the Hudson's Bay Co. opened posts at the mouth of the river. The three competing companies, with their free rum and unscrupulous trading, brought about a lawless social condition in the new settlement. Drinking bouts and brawls were continuous as the Indians were plied with liquor by the conscienceless traders, who excused their conduct on grounds of competition.

It was during this time that the first child of other than Indian blood was born on North Dakota soil. The child was not white, but Negro, the daughter of Pierre Bonga, Henry's personal servant. The first white child in the State was born at Henry's post in 1807, the illegitimate son of the "Orkney Lad", a woman who had worked at the post for several years in the guise of a man. Her imposture was not generally known until the birth of her child, after which a collection was taken up and she and the child were sent back to her home in the Orkney Islands.¹

During the middle of the nineteenth century Pembina was the rendezvous for white and metis hunters, and the town was the starting point for the great Pembina buffalo hunts (see Side Tour 5A).

...Charles Cavalier, one of the most prominent settlers of the State [resident of Pembina, and what would become North Dakota], in the 1860s while making a trip with a party from Pembina..., saw a herd of buffalo like a black cloud on the horizon. The party immediately arranged their carts in a semicircle and prepared for an onslaught. The bison came on with a rumble like thunder, the rumble became a roar, and the earth trembled; but when they reached the carts the heard parted and swerved on either side, upsetting only the outside row of the improvised stockade. Not until the second day could the journey be resumed, and even then there were buffalo in sight for another day. The herd was believed to number two or three million, and in its wake was an area, several miles in width, entirely devoid of vegetation.

The fur trade brought some white settlers to this area, but it was not until 1812 that systematic colonization was attempted. In that year William Douglas, Earl of Selkirk, brought a group of dispossessed Scottish peasants to the Red River Valley to farm under an agreement with the Hudson's Bay Co. Untrained for the rigors of frontier life, and persecuted by the fur traders of the rival North West Co. who did not want settlers in their lucrative area, many of the Selkirk colonists moved to Canada in 1818 after establishment of the international boundary defined Pembina as United States soil. The next 30 years saw a slow influx of settlers into the Red River Valley and by 1851 Pembina had become a fairly important river port. In that year Norman Kittson, a fur trader, was named postmaster, the first in North Dakota; and Charles Cavalier, for whom the town and county of Cavalier were later named (see Tour 5), was appointed collector of customs at Pembina. Cavalier became postmaster in 1852, and, as under his influence newcomers arrived to farm, the fur trade declined and there developed the first permanent agricultural community in the State.

Pembina appears from a distance more like a grove of trees than a town. Most of its buildings are old, reflecting the rococo architecture of an earlier day.

On the Red River at the eastern end of Rolette St. is MASONIC PARK, where a marker commemorates the site of the first Masonic lodge in the State, organized at Pembina in 1863. Each year, both on July 1, which is Dominion Day (the Canadian holiday similar to the U.S. Independence Day) and on July 4, the flag of the United States and the Canadian Union Jack fly together from the park flagpole, a practice illustrating the neighborliness of the border States and Provinces. The Canadian flag is a gift of the Masonic Grand Lodge of Manitoba.

The highway crosses the Pembina River, which in dry seasons is likely to appear more like mud than water. Left on the highway is PEMBINA STATE PARK (good water, firewood, kitchens, and tables), which includes the site of the Chaboillez trading post.

A bridge over the Red River connects Pembina with St. Vincent, Minn., situated on US 59 (see Minn. Tour 17).

At 4 m. is the PEMBINA AIRPORT (R), airport of entry operated by the Northwest Airlines. It is on part of the former military reservation of Fort Pembina, established in 1870. The reservation was turned over to the U. S. Department of the Interior in 1895 and sold at public auction. The fort was situated a mile and a half S. of the city of Pembina on the Red River ...

Isobel Gunn

¹ - UPDATE January 29, 2016:  Since I posted this in 2007, I have found out a few more details about the "Orkney Lad" named John Fubbister.  Her name was actually Isobel Gunn, and while her story began with courage and inspiration (not to mention hard work), it ended with more hard work, but sadly. Another recent article shares even more information, along with the sources they came from. Hudson's Bay Company itself has a history write-up about Isobel Fubbister "Gunn", aka John Fubbister, on their website with additional parts of the story.  However, another version claims that Isobel and the father of her son, John Scarth, were not so unknown to one another as others have contended.

Profile: Jean Baptiste Wilkie

I have written about Jean Baptiste Wilkie (1803-1886) before, but only in his role as leader of the great annual Pembina buffalo hunts.

Below is a brief yet comprehensive biography of a fascinating man from our area, telling more regarding the roles he played in our local history and beyond.  One role he played was to facilitate treaties between the Sioux and the Obijway (and Metis) in 1861; it is an amazing piece of history to read, how Wilkie (and others prominent to our area, including Dumont and Grant) played a major role in maintaining peace at a time of tension,  This process included a visit to our nationa's capital with President Lincoln. One can only wonder what influence or bearing this treaty may have had, along with broken promises from the federal government agents, on the 1862 uprising?

I have also been in touch with the Great gr gr gr granddaughter of Alexander Wilkie, Jean Baptiste Wilkie's father, who has Alexander's original Northwest Company contract in hopes it may have been scanned - that would be a fascinating piece of history to see!

This is a biography of Jean Baptiste Wilkie¹, a great Metis warrior, buffalo hunter and Chief of the Metis at Pembina, North Dakota. He was one of the Metis hunters who fed the Scots Selkirk Settlers during their first six years in the country.² In the mid-1820s he was operating a large horse ranch beside the Red River in what is now St. Vital. Because of HBC prohibitions on Metis free-trade Wilkie permanently moved his operations south of the border in the 1840s. His family then appears in the 1850 Pembina Census.

On the Chippewa side of his family he was a descendant of Mezhekamkijkok. Jean Baptiste and his family were on the Pembina Annuity Roll for Little Shell’s Band in 1867 and in 1868 appear on the Annuity Roll for Way-ke-ge-ke-zhick’s Band. Under the Red Lake and Pembina Treaty (1872) he was issued Half Breed scrip #172. His family appears in an early Red River Census.

Known as the chief of the Half Breeds in the Pembina/St. Joseph area, Jean Baptiste married Amable Elise (Isabella) Azure (b. 1808). Wilkie’s father Alexander was from Scotland and his mother’s name was Mezhekamkijkok. Jean-Baptiste’s wife, Amable Azure (b.1808) was the daughter of Pierre Azure (b. 1788) and Marguerite Assiniboine.³ Amable died in 1888 and is buried at Olga North Dakota. Two of their sons-in-law, Gabriel Dumont and Patrice Fleury, were leaders of the 1885 Metis Resistance.

The Wilkie’s had a large family:

• Jean Baptiste Jr. (b.1824) married Marie Laframboise then Isabelle Patenude.
• Judith (Berger). (b. 1825) In 1879, Judith and her husband Pierre Berger, led twenty-five Metis families to central Montana in search of the diminishing buffalo herds.
• Augustine (b. 1829)–married Marie Paquin
• Alexander (b. 1831)–married Louise Gariepy.
• Marie Catherine (b. 1834 at St. Boniface) married Michel Gladu.
• Madeleine (Dumont) (1837-1886) Madeleine married Gabriel Dumont in 1858 at St. Joseph (North Dakota). Soon after, they moved to the St. Laurent area of Saskatchewan. Madeleine gained a reputation for being hospitable and compassionate to those less fortunate than herself. There is evidence that she and her husband had a very close relationship and he greatly respected her. The couple had no children but adopted a daughter, Veronique (born 1863 at Red River) and a boy, Alexandre Fageron (Fayant). As well as coping with everyday duties, Madeleine frequently accompanied Gabriel on long trips by snowshoe, Red River cart and horseback. Indeed on several occasions she traveled alone from Batoche to Winnipeg to sell the furs that Gabriel had acquired. The ability to speak English gave her an advantage Gabriel did not have, although he spoke French and five Native languages. Madeleine also acted as a teacher for the children of Batoche. During the 1885 Resistance she nursed the wounded and distributed the meager rations and supplies. Gabriel saw to Madeleine’s safety before crossing the border into the United States after the Battle of Batoche. She soon joined him because she could not tolerate the resultant situation in the Batoche area. Her health suffered severely in Montana. Madeleine died in October 1885 at Lewistown, Montana, from consumption and complications arising from a fall from a buggy.

• Elizabeth (b. 1839)–married Antoine ‘Henry’ Fleury.
• Cecilia (b. 1843) –married Joseph Gariepy.
• Agathe (b. 1844)–married Patrice Joseph Fleury. Her husband was born in 1848 at Pembina, the son of Louison Fleury and Josephte, a Gros Ventre woman. Patrice was involved in the 1885 Resistance at Duck Lake and Batoche with Dumont. At Batoche, he was one of Dumont’s captains on the west side of the Saskatchewan River.
• Marie Marguerite (b. 1845)–married Henry Bousquet.
• Antoine (b. 1848)–married Esther Gladue.
• Mary (b. 1849)
• David (1853-1854)

Wilkie and the Chippewa reportedly had a palisaded fort on the Souris River near Towner, N.D. called “Buffalo Lodge” which was attacked and burnt down by the Dakota in 1825.

Wilkie Leads Buffalo Hunt of 1840

Alexander Ross describes a buffalo hunt out of Red River led by 37 year-old Jean
Baptiste Wilkie:

On the 15th of June, 1840, carts were seen to emerge from every nook and corner of the settlement bound for the plains ... From Fort Garry the cavalcade and camp- followers went crowding on to the public road, and thence, stretching from point to point, till the third day in the evening, when they reached Pembina, the great rendezvous on such occasions ... Here the roll was called, and general muster taken, when they numbered, on this occasion, 1,630 souls; and here the rules and regulations for the journey were finally settled. The officials for the trip were named and installed into office; and all without the aid of writing materials.


The camp occupied as much ground as a modern city, and was formed in a circle; all the carts were placed side by side, the trains out-ward. These are trifles, yet they are important to our subject. Within this line of circumvallation, the tents were placed in double, treble rows, at one end; the animals at the other in front of the tents. This is in order in all dangerous places; but where no danger is apprehended, the animals are kept on the outside. Thus the carts formed a strong barrier, not only for securing the people and their animals within, but as a place


The first step was to hold a council for the nomination of chiefs or officers, for conducting the expedition. Ten captains were named, the senior on this occasion being Jean Baptiste Wilkie, an English half-breed, brought up among the French; a man of good sound sense and long experience, and withal a fine bold-looking and discreet fellow; a second Nimrod in his way. Besides being captain, in common with the others, he was styled the great war chief or head of the camp; and on all public occasions he occupied the place of president. All articles of property found, without an owner, were carried to him, and he disposed of them by crier, who went around the camp every evening, were it only an awl. Each captain had ten soldiers under his orders; in much the same way that policemen are subject to the magistrate.⁴

Battle of O’Brien’s Coulée, 1848

In the mid-summer of 1848 a large Chippewa-Metis and Dakota battle took place at O’Brien’s Coulée⁵ near present day Olga, North Dakota. The Chippewa-Metis hunting camp was made up of 800 Metis men and 200 Chippewa Indian men. They had their families, horses and over 1,000 Red River carts. The Chippewa were led by Old Red Bear and Little Shell II. The Metis were led by Jean Baptiste Wilkie whose mother was a full-blood Chippewa. François Corvin Gosselin who along with William Gaddy who would later be a sub-leader of the 49th Rangers attached to the British Boundary Commission were also at this battle.⁶

Wilkie established himself at St. Joseph, North Dakota about 1847. His house was the stopping place for Indians passing through the town. A fatal encounter occurred at his home in 1861 between several Sioux and Chippewas. Several Indians were killed, among them the brother of Chippewa chief, Red Bear.

The Dakota, Chippewa, Metis Treaty of 1859

This treaty was negotiated by Jean Baptiste Wilkie on behalf of the Metis and Chippewa. William Davis (born Red River 1845) was present at this meeting as a 14 year-old. He tells the following story: There had been a conference at St. Joseph in 1858 where it was agreed that a meeting should take place the next year at Les Isles aux Mort, near Leeds N.D. (north-west of Devil’s Lake) to set the boundary lines for the hunting grounds of the Sioux, Metis and Chippewa. There was water everywhere in the vicinity of the treaty site. This created islands, leading to the name of the site.

On the first day of the conference the bands rode out and met halfway between the camps. They were on horseback and fully armed, ready for battle, if necessary. They rode in parallel lines until they were about 100 feet apart. They then turned to face each other. After a few moments of silence a Sioux Chief slowly dismounted, accepted a huge peace pipe of catlinite (pipestone) from a warrior, stepped into the lane between the lines and invited the Metis leader to join him.

The pipe was first presented to Chief John Baptiste Wilkie, leader of the mixed-bloods and after him the sub chiefs and headmen of the Sioux and the captains of the Metis puffed the pipe. When the serious matters were finished the two groups mingled freely to indulge in sports and trade, the latter consisting chiefly of barter for guns and buffalo robes and horse trading.

The next day the conference began. It was agreed that the unpleasant relations between the Chippewa (the relatives), the Metis and the Sioux were unnecessary and dangerous. The Sioux were accused of raiding the Chippewa country, stealing horses and sometimes scalping Chippewa people. The Metis were most concerned because the Sioux “made fun” with the “meat” (other portions of the body).

The Sioux charged that the Metis encouraged the coming of whites and the killing of too many buffaloes. But the line was fixed. It was to follow the Goose River from the mouth to the timber of the Goose where the river has three branches. From the source of the branches the boundary followed the stream to its mouth and continued to Dog Den Buttes, from there it ran south to the Missouri River opposite the mouth of the Knife River.

Gray Owl, Wanata or Wanaatan II (The Charger)⁷, Tete la Brule (Makaideya, or Burnt Earth) and Mato Wakan (Medicine Bear) were the Sioux leaders. Grey Owl was described as a fine appearing man and very eloquent by Mr. Davis. “He had fine limbs, thick and strong and was straight and tall/ He spoke well and was not afraid.”⁸

The Dakota Metis Treaty of 1861

In subsequent years the hunting parties of the Dakota and the Metis continued to fight over the same hunting grounds. The Dakota (the people of the “Ten Nations”, some 400 lodges) would typically gather at what was called “Sioux Coulee” near present day Langdon, North Dakota. The gathering place for the Chippewa and Metis was between Cando and Devil’s Lake. Tired of this stand-off, Chief Wilkie as leader of the Metis and Chippewa hunting parties decided to bring some resolution to the situation in the early 1860s. Gregoire Monette⁹ of Langdon, North Dakota tells the following story in 1917:

In order to put an end to the suspense, fear and worry of watching the enemy, the Half-Breed hunters and Chippewa Indians under Chief Wilkie decided to send a commission to Washington to interview the president and find out how to obtain peace between these tribes. Chief Wilkie and Peter Grant were the men chosen. So well did they impress the authorities at Washington that President Lincoln told them they could have all the ammunition they needed for their protection. He asked them at the same time not to induce trouble but to go to them as brothers taking with them the bravest and best to make parley for peace. This was done and Chief Wilkie, Peter Grant, Gabriel Dumont, Joseph LaFramboise, Antoine Fleury, and seven others were chosen. They went direct to the village of the Dakota’s or Nadouissioux and direct to the lodge of the chief. This they found surrounded by soldiers. They reported to the chief, and he asked for them to be brought in. The rabble had gathered about the lodge and threatened to kill them, but the soldiers would not allow them to do so saying that their chief was a brave man who would dare to come alone to a hostile camp. The crowd was so envious and angry that with their knives they slashed the tent cloth in the lodges. Although they were admitted to his presence the chief was very austere. They told him their mission, and being very tired and thirsty, Gabriel asked for a drink of water. This was refused which was known to be an indication of trouble. Chief Wilkie became alarmed and sadly dropped his fine bearing. Gabriel, his son-in-law asked him “What is wrong with you?” When the old gentleman told him his fears, he became very angry. He began at once to load his gun, saying “I won’t die before I kill my full share,” and again demanded water which was brought immediately and due respect was shown their high commission from that time forth.


When asked to fully explain their mission, as spokesman, Chief Wilkie said, “We are enemies wasting the good gift that has been bestowed upon us through nature. We are preventing each other from trapping and killing the animals. There is plenty of room and much provisions. Let us help each other as brothers, let us have peace together.” When the council was concluded, the pipe of peace was ordered to be brought. This was a very long pipe, ornamented with human hair so long as to reach the floor, bear claws and porcupine quills were also part of its decoration. The tobacco was cut by his first lieutenant; this was mixed with several herbs, and kinnikinnick. This mixing of the tobacco was to indicate the fusion of their interest and harmony of the whole people. The pipe was then handed to the Sioux chief, who took three draws and passed it to chief Wilkie. In this way it went around the lodge. Three times the pipe was filled and solemnly smoked and peace thereby established.


Chief Wilkie then distributed to them gifts of tobacco, tea and sugar. They were then given a great feast at which they told how sad they were and afraid when they thought they were going to regret their friendship, and asked how they should get safely home. The chief said with great dignity, “I will give you safe conduct; I will send my soldiers with you to your lodge and nothing will harm you. You have seen here some of my bad children and you may meet them on the way, but if they attempt to harm you, kill them and I will protect you.” The above took place on Grand Coteau, forty miles west of Devil’s Lake. Before leaving, Chief Wilkie invited the Sioux to send a delegation to visit his people, setting the day and hour for their arrival. When the time came near chief Wilkie bearing in front of him a white flag, went a mile out to meet them. About one hundred came, the chief and his staff were quartered in Chief Wilkie’s lodge, the common people were scattered so as to get better acquainted. When the time came for them to go, they, as a sign of their friendship and brotherly feeling traded all their horses taking back none they had brought with them. Much good was accomplished, although there were still bad children (perhaps on both sides). (Cited in St. Ann’s Centennial, 1985: 231-232.)

Note: The picture of Jean Baptiste Wilkie is from Manton Marble, “Red River and Beyond (Third Paper)”, Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, February 1861, Vol. 22, Issue 129: 306.

Compiled by Lawrence Barkwell
Coordinator of Metis Heritage and History Research
Louis Riel Institute
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¹ - The Plains Cree called Wilkie and the Metis “Nakawiniuk”.
² - The Selkirk Settlers wintered at Pembina because of its proximity to the buffalo herds.
³ - Amable’s grandparents were Joseph Azure, born 1767 in Quebec and Lizette Ma-na-e-cha (Ojibwe). He died suddenly on January 29, 1832 at St. Boniface. This family appears in the Red River Census between 1832 and 1840. In 1804 Joseph was working as a guide for the NWC; he accompanied Francois Antoine Larocque on an expedition to the source of the Missouri River.
⁴ - Alexander Ross, The Red River Settlement. Edmonton: Hurtig Publishers, 1972: 245-247.
⁵ - So called because O’Brien lived at this location some 35 years after the event. It is a short distance west of Olga, N.D. Olga is between one branch of the Pembina River to the north and the Tongue River to the south.
⁶ - Libby Papers, A85, Box 36, Notebook #14. August 4, 1910 interview with Little Duck, Dominion City, MB, interpreter Roger St. Pierre. This paper was given to me by Louis Garcia, historian for the Mni Wakan Oyate.
⁷ - This was the son of the Yanktonai chief of that name who died in 1840, He was wintering along the Missouri River by 1828 and had frequent conflicts with the Minnesota/Pembina/Turtle Mountain Chippewa and Michifs.
⁸ - Turtle Mountain Indian Reservation. St. Ann’s Centennial: 100 Years of Faith. Belcourt, N.D.: 1985, pp.314-315.
⁹ - Gregoire was married to Philomene Wilkie (b. 1863) the grand-daughter of Chief Wilkie.